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queers-gambit · 5 months

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Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine oneshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x f!reader #tangerine x female!reader #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj #atj character

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mostlysignssomeportents · 23 days

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Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

#pluralistic #john stewart #the daily show #apple #monopoly #lina khan #ftc #too big to fail #too big to jail #monopolism #trustbusting #antitrust #search #enshittification #kagi #google

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taffywabbit · 11 months

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idk if i'm way off the mark on this, but the way some people are responding to that Guillermo del Toro interview about the decline of studio animation is a bit frustrating to me. specifically the bit where he talks about "emoji animation" and how everything is over-animated and pushed too far and things are rarely allowed to not be ultra-cartoony (y'know, because animation always needs to be marketable to children who are never trusted to have attention spans, right?). like, i think he's generally correct about it! but some folks are taking the wrong message away from that.

i've seen people going off about how "soulless" and "corporate" various recent examples are, and talking about these pieces of media as though they're the result of some kind of personal failing or lack of skill/range on the part of the animators, and it's just like. do people realize that's the only animation you're usually allowed to DO in the industry, unless you get incredibly lucky and land yourself on a project/studio that's unusually cool?

when i was in college for animation it was literally drilled into us nonstop that everything had to be pushed more, that exaggeration was not a guideline or a sometimes-treat but a hard rule that always had to be applied regardless of what was going on, because the viewer couldn't be trusted to pick up on subtlety and we sure as hell couldn't be trusted to convey it. you ever wonder why there's such a specific vibe to a lot of self-directed student films, particularly ones that are focused on character acting/interaction or deep emotions and introspection (especially when there's minimal/no dialogue)? it's because for a lot of young animators, they haven't had the freedom to experiment with realism and subtlety up to that point and they're likely not going to have it again for a while (or at all, unless their career path leads to higher positions where they might have more creative direction over the things they work on. which also becomes a lot less likely if they're anything other than a cishet white dude, for what it's worth).

i would LOVE to see more nuanced, realistic, understated motion and acting in animation. i WANT more characters to be able to express what they're feeling through natural body language and facial cues and for scenes to allow me to breathe instead of spelling everything out in giant bold flashing text all the time. what del Toro wants to see changed in the animation industry sounds great, and i hope others join him in seeking to revamp what modern animation is allowed to be.

but as things currently stand, and as they've stood for a long while now, most artists doing the grunt work on the shows and movies you see are completely at the mercy of corporations and networks who have a vested interest in producing a very specific kind of marketable and cost-efficient media all the time. (and by extension that style is ALSO what's taught in most animation schools, because their job more than anything is to grind you down into a perfect little sweatshop worker who will bend over backwards to meet quotas and get your work approved and not question the higher-ups, even if you have little to no personal investment in the projects you're working on, so that the studios who employ you can maintain their good reputations or whatever)

anyways idk what my point was here, this really just sorta became a rant and my views have undoubtedly been coloured by my own personal experiences (this kinda shit is largely why i dropped out before my last year of animation school, for the record).

i guess just be kind to folks in the animation industry? they've had it fucking rough nonstop for well over a century (the majority of them are still not unionized and there's HUGE pushback against doing so in many places). i assure you they are doing their best to infuse the latest uninspired illumination flick or weird spinoff kids' show with literally any amount of soul they can. you don't have to like the stuff that gets produced by any means! be a hater! i'm certainly not gonna stop you. just remember where these creative decisions come from and why these conditions exist, and consider that when YOU watched something and thought "hmm that could've been done better", you can bet your ass someone actually working on it probably thought the same thing but couldn't do anything about it. these things WILL change as the industry itself improves, but in the meantime folks have to pay their rent, and that usually means doing what they're told and working in a way that will minimize revisions and meet quotas so they can keep their jobs. it sucks, but it is what it is.

#buny text #long post #animation #i don't have a rant tag because i don't necessarily want to encourage myself to make posts like this frequently #but this is obviously a touchy subject that's close to home for me and it felt important to get it out #i realize i am on the Getting Super Mad At People Who Make Popular Media website so hopefully this does not bite me in the ass

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multifandomimagin3s · 1 year

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Mercenary! Reader - 141, Los Vaqueros + Konig

So I recently rewatched Deadpool, and I was thinking about what the boys reactions would be to finding out that (r/n) is a mercenary - gave them a little bit of Wade's personality too~

Mentions of violence, strong language, little bit of angst if you squint.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Oh, he definitely doesn't trust you.

He's impressed by your skills on the battlefield, and knows that you're very good at what you do - otherwise you wouldn't be a mercenary - but he absolutely wouldn't turn his back on you.

Price would have probably already told 141 about you, but even if he hadn't he probably would have put two and two together on his own.

Doesn't judge you...much - he's done some pretty fucked up things, it comes with his line of work, but being a mercenary is on another level.

Your sense of humour piques his interest, his humour is dark at the best of times so the fact that you can match his dark comments with some of your own is fine by him.

Don't get it twisted though, if he thinks that you're trying to double-cross his team, he wouldn't hesitate to kill you.

If you were recruited to help 141 on a mission, it would probably mean that the mission was going to be hell on Earth; I can see Shepard hiring you - his intentions were probably never disclosed to you, which makes you trust him less and less.

Given that you're not part of the British Army, your clothing and gear probably wouldn't be similar at all; picture the suits from Black Widow, because Yelena is a goddess~

He definitely hasn't secretly admired your arse when you're not looking - Soap definitely caught him once and was given a glare as a warning to keep his mouth shut.

You'd have to prove yourself to him before he lets himself feel any of the feelings of attraction he has for you - mans has a lot of past trauma that he doesn't want repeated, so until he knows that you're trustworthy, he's going to be cold and calculative as always.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

While he may be a generally friendly guy, Johnny is far from stupid; he'll make small-talk with you in the beginning, but knows not to let his guard down - no matter how much your sense of humour makes him chuckle.

Watches you take down 4 soldiers almost twice your size with ease, and almost pops a boner.

If you're anything like Wade, he's a bit of an over-sharer; when you tell him about parts of your past that led to you becoming a mercenary - some parts which may have been slightly traumatic and concerning to hear - with a smile on your face, he's a bit worried for you.

Definitely flirts with you on the regular - Ghost just gives him a blank stare, wondering why Soap likes to gamble with his life since the team barely even know you.

Once you prove that you're trustworthy, he opens up to you more; we've seen how he acts with Ghost, undeterred by the big guy's cold exterior.

He asks to train with you - doesn't mind being thrown to the mats a hundred times over, "I don't mind the view from doon here, like ;D" [doon = down], "Aye, I knew you'd look great on top a' me"

Asks to try out your weapons - some are not too different from his own, while some are quite clearly black-market issue.

All in all, Soap's an easy-going guy - so as long as you don't try to kill him or anyone he cares about, you're golden.

Captain John Price

Another one who doesn't trust you at all.

He's been in the military for a long time, and he's encountered mercenaries from across the globe - most of them weren't the friendly type, especially when they were after the same target.

He's definitely angry when Shepard tells him that you'll be accompanying his team on the next mission; he's offended, for one, as it makes it seem as if his team are incompetent or not skilled enough to go it alone.

Doesn't take his eyes off you for a second - in his eyes, you're not a soldier, you don't abide by legalities and you essentially kill for money so you might as well be a fully-fledged assassin.

Doesn't bat an eyelid at your humour either, and doesn't let his guard down.

Your fighting skills are undeniable - you're very good at what you do, and you're clearly very intelligent, but don't mistake this for respect.

You probably don't show your face at all - revealing your identity would probably incriminate yourself and put yourself and anyone around you in danger; this doesn't phase him, but it makes it harder for him to trust you.

For Price to trust you would take a hell of a lot of work; you'd have to prove yourself, not just in the field but from a moral standpoint too.

If you do manage to prove yourself to him, then he might gradually start to see you in a different light.

Soap may or may not have caught him eyeing you up appreciatively - but a stern look from his Captain shut him up immediately.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

I can see Gaz keeping out of your way as much as possible.

Out of everyone in 141, he's the youngest and hasn't been in the military for very long either, so he hasn't encountered mercenaries before.

That being said, he knows what a mercenary is and knows that Price doesn't trust you at all - the fact you were hired by Shepard is questionable in itself, so he keeps his interactions with you to a minimum.

Doesn't know what to make of your humour - sometimes your comedic timing and the things you come out with are quite funny, he can't deny that. But other times, you come out with some twisted shit that makes him wonder about your mental state.

He's naturally curious at to how you went from being a soldier to a mercenary - he doesn't have to ponder for long, sometimes you'd just openly remark about things that happened in your past and he was able to figure it out on his own.

He'd never admit it out loud but watching you rile up Ghost with your sarcastic comments and dark humour was entertaining - even if he did fear for your safety when the hulking soldier was due to blow a gasket.

If you showed him your face, he would be pleasantly surprised - Price definitely gives him the disapproving Dad face whenever he catches Kyle oggling you after that.

Alejandro Vargas

*I used google translate for both Alej, Rudy and Konig so if the translations are wrong I apologise*

Oof, he is angry.

We saw how he reacted with Valeria, he doesn't like soldiers who turn their back on morality for money.

He doesn't even attempt to hide his distaste for you.

"Eres un maldito traidor y un asesino." ["You are a fucking traitor and a murderer."]

Finds out you're working with 141 and he's just >:(

"¡¿Por qué diablos están aquí?!" ["Why the fuck are they here?!"]

Warns you that if you betray the team - his friends - that he'd be coming for you, and he would kill you without hesitation.

Your dark humour would probably rub him the wrong way, further solidifying his perception that you were a soldier who walked down a path that you couldn't come back from, "No tienes verguenza?" ["Do you have no shame?"]

I think that even if you did prove yourself, he still wouldn't fully trust you - it would take years for him to look you in the eye with a modicum of respect.

If he sees you getting along well with 141, it might slightly make him think differently of you - especially if Ghost seems to be okay with you being around them.

But it would take him a while to see you as anything other than a killer; "No eres malo, pero recuerda, traicionarnos y estarás muerto antes de que puedas correr." ["You're not bad but remember, betray us and you'll be dead before you can run."

Rudy Parra

Rudy's naturally quite a quiet guy, so I doubt he'd say much to you anyway.

However, this silence doesn't mean acceptance.

He keeps a close eye on you, analysing every move you make.

Would probably ask for your opinion on things when you're on a mission; it's partially out of curiosity, a way to see how your mind works, and other parts to air on the edge of caution because your sense of humour consisted of coming out with some crazy shit.

I reckon if he did trust you, he'd still be very cautious and aware of what you were and what you were capable of; after seeing you take down soldiers like it was nothing, he's inwardly grateful that you were fighting on the same side...for now.

If you let your guard down and told him about aspects of your personal life, it might change his mind a bit - it shows that you're human, you have a life outside all of this...but that being said, he's never seen your face, so you could walk past him in the grocery store and he would never know. It's unnerving.

If you do trust him enough to show your face, he's conflicted; "No te ves como esperaba que te vieras." ["You don't look how I expected you to look.] You look perfectly normal, minus the black paint around your eyes - pretty, even.

Alejandro doesn't like you one bit from the jump, and is constantly hovering around you both like >:(

It'll take a while for Rudy to trust you, but rest assured if you were to break his trust, it wouldn't end well at all - he's a Sergeant Major, and don't let his quiet nature fool you, he too is capable of doing damage.

König

The big guy is unphased - he's a mercenary too, so if he were to judge you then that would make him the biggest hypocrite of all.

Nonetheless, he doesn't trust you either - if you're not from KorTac, and he doesn't know who you are, then he's not letting his guard down at all.

Your sense of humour could go one of two ways with him:

If he's out on the field, and you're making dark jokes and sarcastic comments, then he'll probably laugh and join in; he's a completely different man when he's working, it's what makes him so good at what he does.

But if he's back on base...he's probably going to be a little awkward - the adrenaline's worn off and he's back to being his normal, shy self.

Wants to train with you but is hyperaware of his size and strength - he's seen you take down soldiers his size, but he's still concerned that he'd seriously hurt you.

Pin him to the mat and watch as his eyes widen and he averts his gaze, cheeks heating up under his mask; "Du kämpfst gut." ["You fight well."

There's a slim possibility that he would show you his face - you made the mistake of teasing him and he almost backed out, "Show me yours' and I'll show you mine~"

If you show him your face, he won't be able to look at you the same; how is he supposed to focus now when he knows you're attractive?!

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paper-mario-wiki · 1 month

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hi, i'm not the person who asked you about the life update, but could you elaborate on how being a creator means to live in a world of ideas instead of the real world? i'm just really curious about your reasons for quitting, specially because i want to create things in the future (not necessarily streaming, but anyways), hope you have a good day!

i'll be talking mostly about streaming for the sake of this answer, but this is similarly applicable across a wide range of platforms:

the job of the streamer is, effectively, to be the life of the party every single day. your goal is to be the person that has something interesting to talk about, and is quick with a joke, and has nuanced understandings of certain things, without actually obtaining any sort of "expertise" in anything lest you alienate viewers. short of having a stated goal for a stream, the only goal of the streamer is to let people relax with a voice they enjoy, saying things they like hearing. you can become very strong in different aspects of streaming, like in the production, or as someone who focuses more on a skill they've honed like art or speedrunning, but the demographic of streamers which pulls, by far, the most significant viewership, is personality based streamers.

this becomes more complicated when, for example, you are very interactive with chat, or you stream with multiple people at once. now, to maintain this charismatic sway you have (the one that got you the job in the first place), you must be able to adapt to and bounce off of other people, as you are now no longer performing alone. naturally, there's a need to not only manage your own flow of consciousness, but also to be at least partially in sync with someone else's.

beyond these complications, you must also consider drawing in new viewership. when i was a streamer, i was quite successful, relatively speaking. pulling 300 viewers consistently is something a very slim amount of streamers can actually do, and even then i was still making under 50k a year, which is not bad, but also not good. in paying for my apartment, my insurance, my travel fare, and all the other stuff that living independently draws money out of you with, i was more often in the red than i was in the green. hence, the need to draw in new viewers, which cannot be done without something eye-catching.

think about this: there are, at any given time, TENS OF THOUSANDS of streamers live in your native language on twitch, and they are all FREE TO WATCH. the attention market is sparse because the streamer market is oversaturated. and considering all of THEM want new viewers too, everyone is constantly refining and improving their craft, which requires everyone to move creatively in tandem with each other lest they get left behind.

if you are a streamer making ass-dollars and ass-cents, it becomes easy to begin resenting people like jerma, solely because everything he touches seems to turn to gold. i personally found it easy to feel very disappointed in myself when peoples projects that seemed so simple would take off. it was a constant "why didn't i think of that!" situation, at least for me. and when you don't have the energy to keep that up, or the social stamina necessary to figure that all out while also being upbeat and happy in front of people near daily, it can become very draining.

what i mean specifically when i say the "world of ideas", is like. there would be times where i could schedule out my failures weeks in advance. i'd be so in my own head about the process, i could see the exact path i could see myself taking that would lead me directly to ruin. how playing games i actually enjoyed would steadily drop viewership, or how focusing on my studies would make people forget about me. and of course this is augmented by my anxiety, i know this is absolutely not the case for every streamer, but that overwhelming feeling of needing to find a new game to play, or a new gimmick to use, or a new ploy to get money that doesn't make you feel guilty even though your source of income is mostly queer and mostly poor young adults and your rent is coming up and you're $200 short but you also just had a fundraiser last month about a DIFFERENT emergency but you cant make it a bummer or else people wont want to tune in so you have to make it something fun like "you laugh you lose!" or "$1 art request streams!" while feeling nothing but anxiety while youre trying to sound like youre enjoying yourself even when youre asking 250 people to donate every 30 minutes or so and nobody seems to want to and chat is moving slowly and. and and.

well, it starts to eat away at you.

#anon

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txttletale · 4 months

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Your discussions on AI art have been really interesting and changed my mind on it quite a bit, so thank you for that! I don’t think I’m interested in using it, but I feel much less threatened by it in the same way. That being said, I was wondering, how you felt about AI generated creative writing: not, like AI writing in the context of garbage listicles or academic essays, but like, people who generate short stories and then submit them to contests. Do you think it’s the same sort of situation as AI art? Do you think there’s a difference in ChatGPT vs mid journey? Legitimate curiosity here! I don’t quite have an opinion on this in the same way, and I’ve seen v little from folks about creative writing in particular vs generated academic essays/articles

i think that ai generated writing is also indisputably writing but it is mostly really really fucking awful writing for the same reason that most ai art is not good art -- that the large training sets and low 'temperature' of commercially available/mass market models mean that anything produced will be the most generic version of itself. i also think that narrative writing is very very poorly suited to LLM generation because it generally requires very basic internal logic which LLMs are famously bad at (i imagine you'd have similar problems trying to create something visual like a comic that requires consistent character or location design rather than the singular images that AI art is mostly used for). i think it's going to be a very long time before we see anything good long-form from an LLM, especially because it's just not a priority for the people making them.

ultimately though i think you could absolutely do some really cool stuff with AI generated text if you had a tighter training set and let it get a bit wild with it. i've really enjoyed a lot of AI writing for being funny, especially when it was being done with tools like botnik that involve more human curation but still have the ability to completely blindside you with choices -- i unironically think the botnik collegehumour sketch is funnier than anything human-written on the channel. & i think that means it could reliably be used, with similar levels of curation, to make some stuff that feels alien, or unsettling, or etheral, or horrifying, because those are somewhat adjacent to the surreal humour i think it excels at. i could absolutely see it being used in workflows -- one of my friends told me recently, essentially, "if i'm stuck with writer's block, i ask chatgpt what should happen next, it gives me a horrible idea, and i immediately think 'that's shit, and i can do much better' and start writing again" -- which is both very funny but i think presents a great use case as a 'rubber duck'.

but yea i think that if there's anything good to be found in AI-written fiction or poetry it's not going to come from chatGPT specifically, it's going to come from some locally hosted GPT model trained on a curated set of influences -- and will have to either be kind of incoherent or heavily curated into coherence.

that said the submission of AI-written stories to short story mags & such fucking blows -- not because it's "not writing" but because it's just bad writing that's very very easy to produce (as in, 'just tell chatGPT 'write a short story'-easy) -- which ofc isn't bad in and of itself but means that the already existing phenomenon of people cynically submitting awful garbage to literary mags that doesn't even meet the submission guidelines has been magnified immensely and editors are finding it hard to keep up. i think part of believing that generative writing and art are legitimate mediums is also believing they are and should be treated as though they are separate mediums -- i don't think that there's no skill in these disciplines (like, if someone managed to make writing with chatGPT that wasnt unreadably bad, i would be very fucking impressed!) but they're deeply different skills to the traditional artforms and so imo should be in general judged, presented, published etc. separately.

#ask #ai art

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bettsfic · 6 months

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Writing q: do you/did you ever feel like there's a dichotomy between writing something fun and light and tropey & writing something good/that you're proud of? I'm trying to write a romcom-esque multichap fic that ends happily but I keep running into this mental block that it's not Serious Work so it can't be what i would consider good (which is hilarious because a) its all fanfiction none of it is serious?? and b) i know that's not true!) lmao. Was jw if you have any thots on this

i've got an analogy for you.

before i started writing, i was really into baking. back then i was not only a perfectionist but an extremist. i believed that REAL baking meant using the rawest possible ingredients. the idea of store-bought puff pastry or pie crusts was appalling to me.

and every year i baked a pumpkin pie for thanksgiving. to bake the pumpkin pie, i had to go out at early o'clock in the morning on a saturday to my local farmer's market and pick out the most perfect pumpkins. and i don't know if you've ever baked pumpkin pie with real pumpkins but it takes a long damn time. and it's hard. and so i baked the pumpkins for hours and scraped out the innards and made a puree, and i roasted the seeds for a snack. and amid all that, i made the crust from scratch too.

the pie always turned out! so i kept making it that way. until one year i just wasn't up to the task, and instead swallowed my pride and bought canned pumpkin and a premade crust.

and it tasted exactly the same as the pie that took me an entire day to make. it was also much cheaper, because in our era of industry, the processed stuff has become more affordable than the raw stuff unless you grow it yourself. (and believe me, i wanted to.)

the only difference i could discern was in the texture, because canned pumpkin is pureed more than i could puree real pumpkin. canned pumpkin also has other kinds of gourds in it, but that doesn't really affect the taste. i also felt bad for not supporting my local farmers. but it was worth it to be able to bake a pie from start to finish in 90 minutes.

for so many years i had it in my head that if a process is harder, the result is better. it was that mentality that kept me in a job i hated for a long time. it's hard and i don't like it, therefore it's more serious and respectable. it was unconscionable to me to think that something fun and easy could result in something good.

when you're writing fanfiction or anything where you're relying on the audience's knowledge of something else (like tropes), you can get it in your head that it's inherently easier and therefore worse. and because it's a skill, in order to become better at it, you have to challenge yourself. to challenge yourself, you have to make it harder.

but you're making something. you're putting words on a page in formations that have never existed before. that's hard, period. you don't have to make it harder. your readers will value it regardless of the challenge you give yourself. every thanksgiving, my family just appreciated that i had baked a pie. they didn't care how i'd baked it or what ingredients i used. yes, the longer and more difficult process created a product i was more proud of than the shorter, easier process. but you can't taste pride.

this is something i have to remind myself of all the time, because my instinct is to make everything more difficult than it has to be. you're always going to be your own worst critic, in part because you're the only one who knows your own process and the blood, sweat, and tears you put into it. but ultimately, nobody cares about the pumpkins. all they want is the pie.

#writing advice #process

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delicatenightfury · 1 year

Text

Letters

2022 Month of Writing: Day 5

Pairing: Henry!Sherlock Holmes x reader

Prompt:

Word Count: 2,551

Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work.

I just watched Enola Holmes 2 last night and felt inspired to write a Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes style) fic today.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Newman,” y/n said with a smile.

“Not a problem, dear!” the man said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you around. Feel free to stop by again soon!”

“I’ll do my best. Good day!”

She stepped out on the cobble street, still smiling. Mr. Newman was a pleasant man. He was old enough to be her father, and greeted every customer that walked into his shop with a smile. He sold a variety of items, but she primarily stopped in for art supplies. She would send him a telegram, detailing the items she wanted, and within a week, Mr. Newman would make sure to have them for her.

Painting was a hobby of hers, one she didn’t get to do often but greatly enjoyed. She had learned at a young age from her mother and had continued to enhance her skills as she grew older. However, painting now remained a thing to do in her spare time.

She quickly ran the rest of her errands, making her last stop in the local market. She greeted the usual stall owners as she bought her groceries for the week. She knew that some people found it odd that she did her own shopping, but she enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the market. The people were pleasant for the most part and it gave her a chance to get out of the house.

Once she had all that she needed, she began making her way back home. She hummed lightly to herself and smiled at people as she passed by them. She always felt that it was right to smile at people, because you never knew if they needed a little bit of happiness. Not everyone responded to her smiles, but she was never offended by it.

Just as she turned a corner, she heard someone shout her name.

“Miss l/n!”

y/n turned her head quickly to determine the source and smiled. Lilliana, a local florist, waved at her. y/n walked over to her, carefully crossing the street.

“Lilliana, it’s so good to see you!” y/n said. “How are you? Is your sister doing all right? Better I hope?”

“Much, thank you. Seemed to have just been a little cold. She’s back to causing chaos, that one.” Lilliana took in y/n’s bags. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

“I’m afraid so. Otherwise I would be more than happy to buy some flowers off of you today. They look absolutely lovely.”

Lilliana smiled at the compliment.

“Well at least take a look around,” she invited. “If you’re not in a rush, that is.”

“All right, I’ll take a look.”

The girl cheered and left y/n to attend to another guest. y/n slowly walked through the selection of flowers, admiring the colors and scents. She carefully knelt down next to a basket full of (favorite flower). They were beautiful. She felt a little silly buying flowers for herself, but she couldn’t resist.

She waved down Lilliana and requested a small bundle of flowers. She smiled as she watched Lilliana build a small bouquet for her. Lilliana always treated her too well, giving her more than she paid for. As Lilliana carefully picked flowers to put together, she glanced at y/n.

“You know, y/n,” she said, “you seem to have an admirer.”

y/n looked at her, puzzled.

“I’m sorry?”

“An admirer. Since you started browsing, there’s a gent across the street that’s had an eye on you.”

Now that she mentioned it, y/n could feel the gaze. She was used to the occasional glance, but this felt different. It was… more persistent, curious even. y/n glanced around, making sure not to make it obvious. She didn’t notice anyone terribly out of place, but the street was filled with people. However, she knew not to question Lilliana. The girl saw these people almost every day. She would know when someone breaks routine.

y/n simply smiled, playing it off. She carefully adjusted her bags so she could get out a bit of money to pay Lilliana. They exchanged the money for the bouquet and y/n smiled.

“It’s beautiful, Lilliana,” she said. “Excellent job as always.”

“You flatter me. Have a lovely day, y/n.”

“You too! I’ll see you soon.”

y/n started back down the street, ready to get home. Her shoulders were starting to hurt from the weight of her bags. Luckily her flat was only about a block away. She briefly wondered about her mysterious admirer, but chose to forget about him.

She made good time and got to her home in no time. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was moments like this when she disliked living on the third floor. She waved briefly to the landlord’s wife, slowly made her way up, and was soon back in her comfortable home. She laid her things out on the dining table, sorting them briefly before beginning to put things away.

The food went in their respective homes, organized in a way that would be easy for her to access later. She cut the bottoms of the stems of her flowers and placed them in a vase, which she left by the window.

She then went to her bedroom and shed her overcoat. It had been cold, so the coat had been welcome on her outing. Her gloves and hat were put away, and her purse stored. She proceeded to make herself comfortable. She changed into slightly more comfortable clothing, a skirt and shirt that allowed her more movement. She pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. Finally comfortable again, she went back to the main room and stored her new paints and canvases.

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door. She paused for a moment before slowly making her way to the door. She rarely got visitors, so questions started filling her mind.

y/n undid the lock and pulled the door open a little. A rather tall man stood in the hall. He looked a little awkward due to his height and broad shoulders. He turned to look at her and offered a small smile.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted.

“Hello,” y/n said. She remained partly behind the door. “Can I help you?”

“Ah, yes. I, um, well…” He fiddled slightly with his cane and hat, something she wouldn’t typically expect. “You are y/n l/n, correct?”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

“You used to live near Ferndell Hall.”

He sounded more sure of his statement this time, meanwhile she became slightly more wary.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I used to live at Ferndell with my mother and siblings.”

Of course!

“Oh my word!” y/n exclaimed, opening the door a little more. She could see it now. Those bright, intense eyes so full of wonder and never missed a thing. “I didn’t recognize you, it’s been so long!”

“Indeed it has. Might I come in?”

“Yes, forgive me.” She opened the door wider and watched him step into her home. Once he was in, she shut the door. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“Thank you.”

She went to the kitchen and started a kettle of water to heat. When she went back to check on Sherlock, she found him wandering around her flat, looking at her belongings. She didn’t say anything and simply let him observe.

It had been so long.

Sure enough, they had been neighbors. The two of them were close in age, so they frequently played together as children, running through the fields and climbing trees. They would occasionally study together too. Sherlock’s older brother Mycroft had often thought of her actions as “unfit for a lady”, but their mother Eudora encouraged the behavior for many years. They had been the closest of friends for many years. y/n smiled slightly; those were some of the best years of her life.

He had changed so much from the boy she knew. They were once the same height, now he towered over her. His dark hair was still curly and his eyes were still the same, if not more intense now. He definitely filled out. It was hard to tell with his suit jacket on, but he looked like he had gained a lot of muscle. His features became more defined. He looked handsome. She almost blushed.

“I see you still paint,” Sherlock observed. He was looking at her new and old paints, then her recent painting. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

He continued on, only briefly, and stopped at a collection of photographs. There weren’t many, but y/n loved them. One of her parents, one of her old home, one she had taken of London when she first arrived, then one of…

“Is this Alexander?”

y/n nodded sadly.

“Yes,” she said.

Alex had been her brother. He had died when she was early in her teen years. An accident. He had been on the road when his carriage was attacked. Those responsible had shot him and stolen most of his belongings. He hadn’t made it through the night. He had been only an hour from home when he was attacked.

“I am sorry,” Sherlock said, bringing her back once again. “He was a good man.”

She nodded, blinking to get rid of the tears that threatened to spill.

“Yes, he was.”

He had been her biggest supporter. He included her in all of his activities and lessons, never wanting her to feel excluded. He was the reason she knew the Holmes family. He would drag her out of the house and take her with him to visit Mycroft and Sherlock.

Just then, the kettle started to whistle. She went to the kitchen and started on the tea. She heard Sherlock’s footsteps continue to move around somewhere behind her.

“You receive letters from Enola?” he suddenly asked, loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes, I do,” she replied. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the youngest Holmes. “She is quite a character. I met her briefly when I returned from finishing school and spent many weeks with her and Eudora. We’ve kept in contact, so I’ve been up to date on her adventures.”

She joined him again and passed him his cup. He took it with a nod. y/n sat down in one of her chairs, reclining comfortably. She supposed she should be a little more polite with the way she sat, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Do you remember when we used to write to one another?” he asked.

y/n smiled a little and nodded.

“Yes. We lived only a mile apart but we sent letters almost daily. I looked forward to those moments. Your stories were quite interesting.”

“As were yours. We could have written a novel.”

y/n laughed.

“What a story that would have been. The tales of two children and their imagination.”

Sherlock hummed.

“You know,” he continued slowly. He didn’t look at her and instead stared into his cup. He cleared his throat with a hum. “After Alex’s passing, and you went off to finishing school, I still tried to write to you.”

y/n froze, teacup lifted halfway to her lips. But Sherlock surprisingly didn’t seem to notice.

“I wrote to you, daily at first. I had hoped you were well for I knew you were still grieving when you left. I wanted to continue our stories, as a way to distract you or perhaps give you something other than your schooling to think about. When I didn’t receive a response at first, I thought it was just because you were busy. So I wrote weekly. Then monthly. Then…” He sighed. “I know I really have no right to ask you this, but why didn’t you answer any of my letters?”

He finally looked at her and his deduction skills kicked in almost against his will.

Her grip was tight on her cup, yet her hands were shaking. Her eyes were wide. There were tears in them. She looked like a deer. Her expression was a little harder to read: shock, sadness, and puzzlement were the primary emotions. She gaped at him for another moment before swallowing.

“Sherlock,” she said, her voice thick. “You wrote me letters?”

Now it was his turn to be confused.

“What? Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shook her head slightly.

“I never received any letters, Sherlock.”

His eyes widened.

She blinked and the first tear fell. She quickly wiped it away.

“My going to finishing school was not by choice,” she said. “I was perfectly content to learn at home, like how your mother raised Enola. My parents were the ones who sent me away. Alex was the only thing keeping me home.” She paused to collect herself a little. “At finishing school, I would talk about you and our adventures, and I would get reprimanded by the headmistress. It’s apparently frowned upon to remain friends with a boy after a certain age.”

She looked at him and continued: “If you sent letters, Sherlock, I never saw them. I would presume the headmistress got rid of them..”

Sherlock set down his cup and moved to kneel in front of her. He gently grabbed her hand.

“I never wanted that. I wanted to keep in contact with you, to remain friends.” He paused for a moment. “Why didn’t you try to find me afterwards? You went back to Ferndell to see my mother and sister, and I was solving cases at the time. Surely…”

“I had thought you didn’t want to be friends any longer and never wanted to speak to me again. I became different after finishing school.”

He chuckled a little.

“I never wanted that. And I don’t think you’re much different now than you were then, y/n. As a detective, I can tell you are the same woman. Perhaps to an outsider you are one of society’s polite women, but here, deep down, you are the same spitfire girl I used to play with. Perhaps even more so now. If you’re friends with Enola, then I know that to be true.”

y/n laughed a little. She had to admit, he was right. Finishing school had taught her how to act in public, but had little effect on her interests and personality. She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath to calm herself. She looked back at him. He was still kneeling beside her, his large hand wrapped around hers.

“So what now?” she asked.

“Whatever you wish, I suppose. Personally, I want to get to know you again. I want to catch up on all we missed. And perhaps, make something new with it?”

y/n smiled and squeezed his hand.

“I would love that.”

She leaned forward a little and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. He sighed and closed his own eyes, enjoying the new peace that settled around them.

“Just wait until Enola hears about this,” y/n then muttered. “She will lose her mind.”

“Let’s hold off on telling Mycroft then, yes?”

#month of writing #writing prompt #Henry!sherlock #Henry!sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #Enola holmes #Enola Holmes 2 #angst #Cavill!sherlock #Henry!holmes

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queers-gambit · 4 months

Text

Menace

prompt: ( request that i accidentally deleted ) in essence, "drabble about Tangerine going to the bathroom and texting Reader 'come here'."

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.4k+

warnings: cursing, OC!Tangerine, we talk mental health (social anxiety), established relationship, busy public work settings, the request and then some, alcohol consumption, smut, bathroom sex at a work event (Cherry, what the fuck?), handguns and mild depiction of violence 'cause it's Tangerine, i give him a 'real' name (Aaron), not edited.

"This is such bullshit, sugar, c'mon, fuck are we doin' here?" Tangerine snipped in your ear, his arm curled protectively around your waist as he glared at those in rich suits and expensive colognes around him. "We don't belong 'round this lot, they're just here t'wave their money. There's no real reason for us bein' here, sweet girl, c'mon, let's just shove off. Better than chokin' on whatever this lot's wearin' - I mean, Christ Alive, smells like a bloody Bloomingdales, don't it?"

You smiled prettily in case of watchful eyes, telling him sternly in a sweet tone, "Lovie, I told you, my boss said we were needed for at least cocktail hour. We can leave before dinner, okay?"

"This is gonna last fuckin' hours, princess, c'mon, we should just go," he grumbled. "Fuck these people and these bullshit fundraisers."

"We'll be okay, I promise," you soothed sweetly, the honest opposite of Tangerine - leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You were constantly touching one another and early in your relationship, you realized how much you loved kissing him and completely forewent lipsticks or glosses because of it. Another peck and you told him in a soft tone, "C'mon, just remember we said we'd pick up Changs on our way home and there's that bottle of nice Merlot A - I mean, Lemon gave us," you almost used your boyfriend's brother's real name, but caught yourself with plenty of time.

"Hmm," he smirked, his favorite takeout place being a happy distraction. "Cheat day sounds nice, yeah, but still don't make this go any faster, now does it?"

"No, but we're not gonna be here forever," you soothed, turning into his chest to pet the expensive material of this navy three-piece suit. "You look so handsome, my love. Really love seein' you in navy suits, and the white button up looks really clean with it." Tangerine smiled down at you, the bustle around you melting away as he could only hear, see, smell, feel, and focus on you. Then, you spoke coyly as you fixed his tie, "If you behave the rest of the night, I promise I'll make it up t'you. Yeah? Maybe wear that li'l white thing you love?" He perked up, but before he could respond, you ended, "Or maybe I already have it on - anyways, so, listen t'me, I have to go talk t'some people and do the job that pays me, so I suggest you just take a deep breath; get another drink, find Lemon, and then we'll go soon, okay?"

He looked around the usual investors his private employer had to shmooze for donated funding and frowned when he was acutely aware of not just the sheer number, but how many "important" people attended the evening's gala. The Black Market was funded by multiple someones; most of whom were in this very room and while under the radar, it still made Tangerine feel as if a huge target was painted on the building's wall. There was always a need for services outside the law and these richie-riches couldn't take the money with them to the grave, so, they donated money if it meant they were "well taken care of".

The Twins' handler insisted they attend the gala tonight; being well aware that they were more like show ponies for being on display for investors to see. Putting a face to names made myth into reality, and your boyfriend was a hot commodity due to his skill as a contract killer. He and his brother were legends around the various active agencies, investors happy to see their money going to good use; all wanting to know what they had bought for a price-tag of several billion.

The common conversation of the evening was how readily available The Organization was able to offer their services with no questions asked, no matter what. Tan hated these events, feeling nauseated, overstimulated, overwhelmed; overall, exploited by his employer as attendees gossiped about the Bolivia Job, the Kyoto Crash, the Libyan Disaster, and a few other memorable jobs Tan and Lemon were involved in. Their beady little eyes followed him around, mouths hidden behind crystal flutes of champagne, and bodies always shied away from him as if he were a wild beast.

Sure, they pay to sit and gather in the arena, but flee when the raging bull they've helped antagonize gets loose.

Then you came along and took on the brunt end of these social events. Tan was never quite sure how you got involved in this life, you always giving a new answer, but knew you had gone to university for multiple degrees - one being in something called "communications". Now, if you had asked Tan a few years ago, he'd've said that was a bullshit job, bullshit degree, a total waste of time. Now that his popularity had grown and he was exposed to more social obligations, he was was beyond grateful to have someone navigate this with him. Tangerine's bad attitude most of the time was just a deflection, being why you and Lemon could handle him; knowing the lad's anxiety often choked him past logic and made him a sarcastic, violent cunt.

When Tangerine forced himself back to reality after glaring at the other warm bodies mingling around, Tangerine's arm contracted tight enough that he could bring you in for a quick kiss. Quietly, he muttered in your ear, "I'll give you half an hour, darling, no more."

"No less," your eyes rolled but your lips were spread in a grin. He chuckled and softened his expression; whoever might've been watching feeling something akin to shock and awe (like one felt when they saw a lion in person for the first time), knowing Tangerine was a horribly stoic, violent, and short-tempered man. To see him now, amused and soft with such a beauty of a woman - well, it was jarring. He was still known to be an asshole, but it seemed you had a stronger leash on Tangerine than his handler ever did. But perhaps, no stronger than Lemon.

"Right," Tan sighed. "What was first on your list fa' me t'do?"

"You're gonna take a deep breath, get another drink, and then find Lemon," you repeated softly, "but I'm gonna say you owe me a kiss before that drink."

Tan huffed.

"That wasn't a deep breath, Tan, c'mon, we've been over this," you mock glared, feeling both his hands secure to your hips. He pet the expensive silk you wore with his thumbs, the pocket square resting over his heart a tailored square of the same material.

"Sweetheart - "

"In through your nose, out through your mouth, Tan," you cut him off. "Together, I'll do it with you, c'mon. In..."

Tangerine adjusted his stance in those shining Italian leather shoes you gifted him for Christmas that year. He took a steady breath in through his nose when you did, watching for your subtle nod, then exhaling slowly through his mouth - when you did. Again, together, in through the nose, your nod after about seven seconds, then exhaled through the mouth. After one more, you smiled at him in encouragement, both hands splayed on his lapels; his own moving so they coiled around you.

"All right," he grumbled, "yeah, it helps, pretty girl."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Feel better?"

"Don't push it, plum," he mumbled, bringing you in closer so he could kiss the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear while stroking your spine with his fingertips. "Thank you," he whispered, mustache tickling your skin, "always know how t'get me out me head, don't'cha?"

"I try, but you don't always make it easy, you know?" You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth to smother your grin, leaning into his chest. "Kiss me, please, then go get a drink and find Lemon. Don't talk to the investors," you warned, adding, "please."

This made a mischievous smirk spread across his lips, "Awe, hey, c'mon, aren't they here t'see me? I can say hello. You won't even 'ave'ta introduce me, they'll know me."

"Okay, yes, they're here t'see the lot of yah, but they're not here to get yelled at, yeah? Or called cunts? Insulted in any manner?" You sang in a light tone; caressing his cheek to guide him to your lips for a long desired kiss. The hand on his cheek curled around to grip the back of his neck, gently tugging the neat strands of hair as you tried to convey your pride.

Social anxiety was a bitch and though he'd deny it vehemently, Tan was riddled with it. Seeing him endure this evening (despite the constant complaining) was a mighty feat, wanting your kiss to spark something in his gut that would cause his confidence to soar so it'd put a bit of "pep in his step" to get through the rest of the evening.

And boy, did it.

After parting ways, Tangerine was left to get his drink with a full-chub that made him shake both legs out in an attempt to hide his arousal. Yet as he watched you melt seamlessly into the crowd, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind that maybe you were wearing that white thing he liked. Tan leaned on the bar top, cock stirring to life with each passing second; watching you mingle and mix and shmooze investors and wanting nothing more than to interrupt and get you alone. With his drink, he located Lemon, trying to forget the way his cock was begging for attention while you worked your magic on these walking-talking-money-bags.

"All right, bruv?" Lemon asked, the two standing with a few other agents that were wrangled in for the event.

"Hmm?"

Lemon glared, then snickered to himself. "Oh, fuck me, mate, you're fucked, aren't you?"

"Come off it," Tan took another slug from the expensive whiskey glass. "'S only me second."

Lemon blinked in shock, "That's not possible. You hate these fancy things, you don't like bein' sober at'em."

"I've been distracted."

"No shit, 'cause your lady's here, gotta be on your best behavior, don't yah?" Lemon snickered, sighing as he shook his head and accepted the champagne being passed around by a waiter with a full tray. "But enough that you ain't been drinkin'? Yeah, right - oh, shit, wait," he beamed, "didn't Y/N get that administrative promotion? It's that, ain't it? Ho-ho!" He laughed, "Yeah? Don't tell me you've been her arm candy all night, mate?"

"We've been tucked away, actually," Tan admitted, missing the way Lemon blinked in shock 'cause he was searching for you in the deepening crowd. "She knows I don't like these things, right, so, we stood away from 'em all, ova there," he pointed off to where Lemon knew was roped off for VIPs. "We were just talkin', laughin'. She makes these shitty li'l jokes, you know? Kept us more entertained than the rest of these fucks," Tangerine chuckled, hand hiding his grin of amusement as he wiped around his mouth to play it off.

This made Lemon nod with impression, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, but," Tan sniffled, "duty calls, she's gotta work a bit, get some donations goin'. Apparently, I'm not allowed t'talk t'the fancy donors."

Lemon checked his watch, "Fair enough, you did punch that Sultan - "

"Oh, come the fuck off it, that was three years ago! He was fine."

"You broke his nose, mate. You want another?"

Tangerine skulled the last of his drink, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good, mate. Might be time t'go soon."

"I'll leave when you two do, wouldn't wanna be stuck here alone," Lemon agreed, the two turning away to stand at a cocktail table together and away from the others. "This is why we don't work inna office, this lot - Jesus, fuck. Oh, shit, oi, mate, you seen who all's here tonight? Fuck's sake..."

"Yeah, mate, I've seen 'em all, but there's too many t'know who the fuck you mean specifically." He pulled his phone out as Lemon rumbled on in excited impression about the evening's guests to send you a quick text,

wrap it up, pretty girl. i got things i wanna do to you that ain't for others to see unless they pay.

He could see you from where he and Lemon stood; and when your phone chimed, you checked it almost instantly, smiling at the message. He waited for your rapid reply,

if my panties had a crotch, they'd be soaked. love you in blue 💙

That was enough for Tangerine, who nodded at his brother, "Gimme a minute, yeah? Gonna pop off t'the loo before we go. Have another," he pointed to the drink in Lemon's hand as he backed away, "but not that frilly shit, mate, have a real fuckin' drink. Oi!" He snapped his fingers at a passing waitress, "Sorry, sweetheart, yeah, my bruva, there," he pointed at Lemon, who waved awkwardly, "will take a double whiskey, on the rocks, yeah, and he likes them lemon twists. That somethin' you can grab for him, love?"

"Absolutely," she nodded, high-strung ponytail swishing.

Tangerine snickered lightly, shelling out a hefty tip that she accepted, "And bring him a Lemon Drop shot, too, please."

"Anything else, sir?"

"Ah, if you'd like, maybe your number for him, too?" Tan instigated, hearing Lemon groan and grumble in embarrassment. "My bruva, there, he's bloody golden, yeah? Can't do no better, man just has no flaws - less we count tha' he's a wee bit shy, innit? Pretty ladies intimidate him a bit, but he's the bravest man I fuckin' know. Just gotta warm 'im up a bit, don't'cha know?"

"He sounds like a real gentleman. But maybe I can give mine if you give your number to my friend?" The waitress countered, pointing towards the central bar that the servers operated out of. There was a decently pretty girl with dark hair, twiddling her fingers at them with a pearly grin. "She's sweet, kind, absolutely wild in bed - "

"Sounds like an even deal, sweets, but you see - I've got a woman, yeah? And my lady? Well, she's kinda one of your bosses tonight, so, uh, might not be a good idea now, would it? She gets all territorial, protective, likes what's hers t'be just hers - ain't real big on sharin'." The waitress flushed in embarrassment. "But my bruva, here," Tan pointed back at Lemon while unlocking his phone, "he's a fuckin' don, yeah? Ain't nobody gonna treat cha' t'a better night. Oi, hey, I'll be back, bruv," he called to Lem with a smirk, then reminded the waitress, "double whiskey, lemon twist, on the rocks. And that Lemon Drop, please."

"Of course, sir, right on it," she agreed, Tangerine finally backing away fully. He typed you a new message,

meet me in the bathroom right now

Inside, it was decently spacious; unisex, six stalls, made of pristine marble, veiled fluorescent lighting, and there was a lock on the door - which Tan cared most about.

He planted himself behind the two other men at the walled-off urinals, hands clasping together in front of him. "Right, then, you two," he gestured between them, "got 'bout 30 seconds to finish yourselves and get the fuck outta here." He pulled the usual gun from his waistband, threatening, "Or I'll give you fuckin' fucks a show 'bout all them stories you love whisperin' 'bout. Yeah? How's that? Hey? Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!"

They were barely zipped up and gone by the time Tangerine got to second 21; you entering right as the two were scurrying for the swinging-open door. You yelped a little, jumping out of their way, offering Tangerine a strange look and musing, "Uh, what was that? You fightin' in the privy, again?"

He put his handgun away as he stalked towards you, "Just makin' sure we wouldn't be interrupted."

"Tan, hell no, there's so many people!"

He yanked you from the doorway, making sure it was shut before locking it loudly. "Then we gotta be quick, don't we? C'mon, doll, real fast, bosses won't even question you bein' gone."

"I still have work - "

"Nah, nah," he pawed your gown's skirts upward, "you been teasin' me all fuckin' night, lookin' too fuckin' good - I can't wait, baby. Just look so Goddamn pretty, feels like I'm losin' my mind. Lemme see yah," he got the silk bunched around your waist, gasping loudly when he saw your panties. "You really did wear 'em... Like the good girl you are," he purred, one hand dropping the silk to run his hand over the strappy and lacy material you wore. "Swear I'll take my time with yah at home, the way I want - but can't do that here, just needa be inside yah, sugar, c'mere."

"Baby," you gasped when his fingertips ghosted around your cunt that was bare due to the crotchless cutout. "I only need a-a-a," you trailed off, panting when one finger suddenly plunged into your cunt, "ohhh, shiiiit. Yes, baby, oh, God!"

"Keep talkin'," He smirked, backing you up towards the marble counter. "C'mon, tell me off. Tell me what's more important right now, huh? More important than this? Is it work? Huh? Work got you distracted? Wanna get back t'it instead of bein' here with me?" The heels of your palms slammed into the pristine counter, whimpering when he pumped erratically. "Aht, here you go," he smirked, pausing to pull his hand free of your warmth; seizing your waist and helping hoist you back onto the sink's ledge. Your lips meshed sloppily with his, Tan letting you dominate the kiss because you were mewling - so desperate for him, you were nearly suckling on him; hands trembling as they held his cheeks with your manicured fingertips. When your legs instantly spread to accommodate Tangerine's hulking form, grinding your hips into him, he seethed, "Good girl," before sinking his digit back into your wet heat that halted your ministrations out of pure relieving pleasure.

"You're a menace," you panted against his mouth when you remembered reality, Tangerine's belt rattling open and his zipper teeth shrieking when you shucked them open. "Gimme," you whispered, reaching for him; dropping his pants the rest of the way to take his pulsing cock in hand. "This what you wanted? Right? Why you texted me? Interrupted me?"

"Exactly," he licked his lips before smashing them to yours in a suffocating kiss, always the one to help you push boundaries and do things you never thought you'd ever do if not for him. "Why're you so wet? Huh? Why's that? Had this on your mind, too, didn't'cha, dirty girl? Why else would you wear my favorite?"

"'T reward you for tonight," you panted, giving his cock a few pumps. "'S my scene, not yours, just so fucking proud of yah - for how you did, gettin' through it," you guided him to your weeping entrance after pushing his hand from you, both gasping when his cockhead notched on the lip of your cunt. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, praising him as he sunk his hips into your own; effectively blurring your mind.

He grunted, needing a single moment to press his balls between you two as he waited for you to accommodate to his size. Forehead to forehead, your eyes remained shut; breathing the same air, feeling your insides fluttering at the size of him. His mouth was at your ear, demanding, "Tell me again, pretty girl."

You knew what he wanted, letting your legs spread a little wider and held onto his shoulders since this position didn't allow for much else. You whimpered, "You did so good tonight, baby. Oh, fuck, I'm so proud of you - you did so fuckin' good." He groaned and retracted his hips, beginning a brutal pace and messy rhythm to pump himself in deep strokes. You had to hold onto his upper arms now to allow him space to move. "Always so good for me, but tonight? Fuck - you're so good, Aaron. So fucking good - and tonight you were fucking amazing. I'm so proud, so fucking proud of you," you whimpered, his hands holding your hips so the counter could pose as leverage to allow him the angle to pound up into you while shifting you down on him.

"Almost there, baby," he begged, eyes all over. He loved the sight of your 'panties' still on; the criss-crossing of the straps and pattern of the lace still in place while his cock made a mess of you. Your gown glittered in this light, your skin tacky with a thin layer of sweat from your arousal that made him dip low and lick a bold stripe between your breasts. "Lemme see - lemme get a taste, doll, want you in my mouth," he muttered against your cleavage, still holding you on his cock as you pulled a tit free. You gave a shrill yelp when Tangerine surged forward suddenly and bit harshly on your budding, sensitive nipple; but it was in-sync with him changing the pace of his thrusting to something borderline painful.

It wasn't a secret he was well-endowed, there wasn't much to the imagination with the way his suits are tailored.

But having ten(plus) inches; fully swollen, engorged, jackhammering into you at this angle? It wasn't the most pleasurable at first, but with Tan licking, nipping, and sucking at both nipples now, you endured until moaning authentically. You were all but hanging off the counter by now, Tan the only reason you weren't on the floor; using upper body strength to hold onto him while slithering a hand toy your stomach to toy with your enlarged clit.

It took very little time of harsh pressure from your fingers to come undone, pleasure mounting to a crescendo before shattering your grip to reality. With a gasp, your hips humped into Tan's by your own blinding vocation; arms tight around his shoulders to remain upright as you milked yourself.

The contraction of your cunt was all Tangerine needed, and four slaps of his balls later had him doubling over and pinning you in a small slam, chest-to-chest, to the marble.

"Oh, my fuckin' God," you panted in appreciation.

"Shit," he realized, "shit, fuck, did I hurt you? Fuck - baby - "

"I'm not hurt," you panted, keeping a tight hold to refuse him from standing up, "just happy."

He deflated with a small chuckle. In your neck, he mumbled, "I can't feel my legs."

"Wanna sit?"

"Nah, not here," he mused, licking the sweaty skin of your pulse point. "Just had t'wear the li'l white ones, didn't'cha?"

"You get all worked up when I do."

"With good reason, should see yourself the way that I do - Goddamn, doll. My girl's divine, too good for these fuckers out here."

You were about to retort, but there was a loud, rapid banging at the locked door. "Hey! Hey! Whoever's in there! There's people that need in, you fucking arseholes! Get your dick wet at your own place, you broke bitches!"

You gasped and slapped a hand over your mouth as Tangerine finally stood off you, keeping you balanced on the counter as you sat up. "Oh, my fucking God, Tan! I-I-I-I'm gonna get fired! Oh, holy shit! This isn't happening!"

"No - "

"Aaron, we were literally just caught - "

"Hey, hey, just breathe," he paused, sighing as he caressed your cheek. "Let me handle this for us, okay? The way you protect me, let me protect you. Yeah?"

You nodded mutely, looking ready to burst into tears. After Tan pulled out and helped you clean up (ignoring the warm cum that dripped down your inner thighs), he simply wrapped you in his navy suit jacket, rolled up his crisp white sleeves, and pulled out his handgun. "Oh, baby, don't - "

"Trust me," he purred, arm secure around your waist. "Oh... Shit, hang on," he set the gun down to use his hands and fix your hair, your heart soaring by the sweet, domestic gesture. "I got'cha, pretty girl, one sec - there we go, yeah," he smirked, looking proud of himself. "Yeah, all right, there we go," he cupped your cheeks, "all perfect."

"Thank you," you whispered.

"Now, we're gonna walk out with confidence. Just don't stop, don't look at anyone. Actually, look a li'l smug," he instructed. "And we're just gonna grab Lemon and get outta here, yeah?"

You pouted lightly, "After I get the O-K from my boss."

"Nah, we don't ask permission, just forgiveness."

"Terrible philosophy."

"I prefer effective. Ready?" He asked, picking his gun up again. You nodded, latching onto him as his arm secured around you again, then approached the door. He unlocked it loudly and yanked it open, glare instantly taking over his expression as you were met with a gaggle of angry, grumbling patrons. "We got a fuckin' problem?" Tangerine sneered, his gun winking in the dim lighting; those who were waiting instantly backing off.

You did as he advised: didn't look at anyone, didn't stop, looked a little smug. He lead you through the throng of people, hearing a woman sneer under her breath - gasping when Tan turned his gun on her. "Tangerine!" You snapped, the people around you all freezing.

"Got somethin' t'say?" He taunted the woman, who shook her head. "No? You sure? Now?" He asked, shifting the weapon over to her date's forehead. She shook her head again. This made Tan smirk, "Jealousy ain't pretty on anyone, love. Keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"Let's go, now," you insisted, tugging on his unbuttoned waistcoat to walk away together. "Can't shoot everyone who offers insult."

"No, but word will spread," he smirked. "Ain't nobody gonna say a fuckin' word to yah now. And if they do," he shrugged, "you'll tell me. All right, now, uh," he paused you both, nodding ahead, "that's a bit of my doin'. Question is, do we interrupt?"

You peered around a person or two until Lemon and a pretty waitress was in sight. She was giggling and grinning, the two deep in conversation; just enraptured and toying with each other's hands.

"We should probably let him know we're leaving. Maybe text him?"

"So, we are leaving, huh?" Tan smirked. "No more precious work to go run off to?"

Your lips moved beside his ear, licking the shell before speaking so your cool breath fanned over the wet skin, "I can't work with your cum leakin'."

His hand groped your arse cheek tightly, "If you do, I promise t'make yah my li'l Twinkie, huh? Fuck you all night, like you deserve."

"Oh, now you wanna stay? You fuckin' serious?"

"Yeah, but, now it's a game."

"You're a fucking menace!"

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

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