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bountydroid · 9 days

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Darlin' pt 2

pt 1 / pt3

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (right now there is nothing romantic, maybe in the future I am undecided.)

Description: Where the reader arguably makes the stupidest decision of her life, following a ghoul who obviously doesn't want her there.

TW: Talk of physical abuse and bad parenting

I stayed there on my knees in the mud for some time. Stunned at the events that just transpired. I had nowhere to go, my wrists were still bound, and I had no weapon. I was truly fucked. I slowly rose to my feet as I looked around. The ghoul took one of the men's guns and Slim's was far too heavy for me to carry. I stumbled my way to the grave to look down inside. Honcho wasn't moving, and if I crawled down in there to get his gun there was no way I was getting out again. I sighed. I thought back to the ghoul. He was my only chance, but he didn't want my help.

I sighed again as I looked down at the chicken before untying her and setting her free. "At least one of us can be free," I said smiling to her before she ran off.

I stood there in the dark weighing my options when my eyes fell to the tracks in the mud. Maybe if I stick close to him, I'll be okay? At least until we reach a town. I would stay out of his way. Ideally, he wouldn't even know I was there.

"You are insane," I said to myself before I started following the tracks in front of me, grabbing Slim's bag on my way past him.

After about a day I was exhausted. I had no idea if I was going in the right direction anymore, I was no tracker and I lost his prints a long time ago. I stopped and bent over, pressing my palms to my knees while trying to catch my breath when I heard a gun cock behind me.

"Now why would you be following me?" The ghoul said behind me. "You must be a special kind of stupid."

I couldn't help the exhausted laugh that bubbled in my throat as I slowly stood up. "I must be. If you killed me right now, it wouldn't make a difference. I'll die on my own anyway." I said still facing away from him, feeling defeated.

There was a long moment of silence before I finally looked behind me. There was no hint of emotion on the ghoul's face.

"Let me follow you until we reach a settlement. I'll stay out of your way. I won't ask you for anything. Please." I begged.

At this, he looked down at my still bound wrists and then back up at my sad face. He sighed as he holstered his gun. "Come here then girl," he said, waving me over.

I tripped over my feet hurrying over to the man, raising my wrists as he took out his knife and cut me free. "Thank you, sir."

At this, it was his turn to laugh. "Sir? Well I'll be damned you are probably the only person left on this godforsaken planet with some manners."

I smiled up at him, I thought maybe he wasn't so scary after all.

"You will be completely silent. No complaining. If you annoy me, I will turn that pretty ass into jerky. Got it?" He said with a serious look on his face.

"Right. I can do that." I whispered looking down at my feet, feeling stupid.

We walked until it was far too dark to continue. I silently collected firewood as he put his bag down on the ground. As I made my way to our makeshift camp I stood in front of him with my arms full of sticks.

"What?" He barked out, obviously annoyed.

"Nothin'" I responded quickly before shuffling away from him embarrassed.

I tried my best to arrange the wood before pulling the flint out of the bag I took off of Slim. A small fire started and I smiled. I was cold from all the mud plastered to the front of me and was relieved to feel the warmth of the fire. I looked over at the ghoul to see him leaning up against a tree with his hat covering his face. I hummed happily as I thought about the arrangement we came up with, although I couldn't help but want to talk to him, the walk has been incredibly boring.

After a while of warming up by the fire, I got comfortable and drifted off to sleep.

I woke with a start. I looked around confused before I realized there was a boot in my side. I looked up at the ghoul hovering above me. "Get up darlin'." He said before walking away. "Time to move."

I quickly jumped up and grabbed my bag before running after him. This was the routine for days. I had honestly lost track of how long I had been following the ghoul. The silent marches from sun up to sun down were starting to get to me. I felt like I was going crazy.

"If my memory serves me well. I can be rid of you by tomorrow morning." He said with a sour tone.

"Okay," I responded quickly. I wanted to say as little as possible so he doesn't make true to his threat.

He looked back at me for a second as he continued to walk. "How did you get yourself into this mess anyway?"

I hesitated to answer, remembering he told me to stay silent. I looked up at him to see him scoff and turn away again.

"I ran away from home. Was on my own for a while before I ran into those idiots. They found me while I was sleeping, I had no chance to escape until you killed them."

"Ran away from home?" He repeated back at me. "That was stupid."

"Well, I'd rather be eaten by a ghoul than continue to be beaten by my father," I responded curtly.

He laughed at this. "Getting feisty aren't we darlin'?"

"Sorry," I responded. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have." He said with a tone that I couldn't quite figure out.

We walked in silence for what felt like forever, I tried to keep track of time by looking up at the sun but it was a cloudy, cold day. I couldn't help but start to shiver. My feet started to ache terribly, I wanted to ask for a break but I bit my tongue. No complaining had been one of his rules. I didn't want to push my luck with him.

"Stop." He said abruptly, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Wha-" I asked confused.

"Quiet." He interrupted as his hand slowly wrapped around his gun and turned towards me.

Before I had a chance to react the barrel of his gun was next to my face and he shot a round off.

I cried out as my ears rang painfully and I fell to the ground in shock. He said something to me, but I couldn't hear a thing. I held my head as I watched him walk behind me towards a man, dead on the ground. He rummaged through the dead man's pockets, pulling out a couple of caps before walking back towards me.

"A fiend." I thought to myself.

Instead of saying anything he offered me his gloved hand. I hesitantly took it and let him pull me back to my feet. He mumbled something but I couldn't hear it. Not long after this, we made camp again.

The next day, I slowed down a lot, but we were very close to town. I was beyond exhausted and barely had any will to keep going. The distance was growing between us before he finally stopped and whipped around, visibly annoyed.

"Walk faster. Remember what I said about annoying me darlin'." He barked at me.

I stared at him quietly before saying. "Why not just leave me behind, then?"

"Don't tempt me." He grumbled as he roughly grabbed my arm and started dragging me along.

A few minutes later we reached a small settlement. We got a couple of strange looks as he continued to drag me by my arm before finally letting go as soon as he set eyes on a "doctors" office. I just stood there. Unsure what to do now. I was in town, albeit a small one. There were only three buildings and a couple of food stalls. I could do whatever I wanted. I couldn't follow him anymore, that was for certain. I heard a commotion from inside the office, but it wasn't my problem anymore. I slowly wandered away eyeing up the food stands. Dog meat wasn't appetizing, but I hadn't had real food in days. I rummaged around Slim's pack before I found enough caps to buy myself a meal.

I hummed happily as I finished my food, I hadn't realized how hungry I was.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" A man slurred behind me. "How much for your time?"

"I am not a prostitute." I scoffed as I turned around to face him.

"Free then?" He smiled menacingly as he grabbed ahold of me. His grip was so tight that I could feel my arm bruising.

Without thinking I drove the empty skewer in my hand into the man's eye and ran. I heard yelling behind me, but I kept running mindlessly. Before I realized what I was doing, I ran right into the arms of the ghoul as he was exiting the doctor's office.

"What in the hell?" He exclaimed, shocked by my actions before he looked up to see the man following me with blood running down his face.

"That bitch belongs to you? She must be some kind of freak to be with a ghoul." He growled angrily.

I buried my face into the ghoul's chest, afraid to look at his face. I desperately hoped he would take mercy on me once again.

"Well, darlin' you do have some bite to ya." The ghoul laughed while eyeing up the man standing in front of him.

"Give me the girl and get gone." The man spit out.

"Well, that just won't do." The ghoul responded while smirking, obviously amused. "Get behind me darlin'," he whispered quietly as he stared down the thug.

I quickly did as I was told before I heard some more shots ring off, before I knew it, the whole town turned into a shoot-off. I dropped to the ground and crawled into the doctor's office hiding behind the counter next to a very dead doctor.

"What the hell?" I mumbled to myself looking over at him, wondering what had transpired between him and the ghoul.

I stayed there until I heard a familiar voice yell out. "Anyone else wanna try me? That was fun, but I am itching for a REAL challenge." Only to get silence in return.

I peeked my head around the counter before finally getting up to my feet and shuffling to the doorway. Before I could stick my head out, the ghoul appeared in front of me.

"Thank you," I said smiling shyly up at him.

He stared down at me for a moment before saying, "Come on then. I need to get going if I am going to catch that bounty and Filly ain't far."

"I am coming with you?" I questioned, trying to hide the relief on my face.

"Well, you obviously can't be trusted on your own. Can ya darlin'?" He responded slyly.

"Oh thank you so much. You won't regret this!" I said to him as I grabbed ahold of his sleeve.

He stared down at my fist before looking back up into my eyes. I could see the hesitation on his face. Little did I know, this was the most human contact he had had in a long time, and it stirred something deep within him.

An odd friendship had formed between us, and neither of us knew how to feel about it.

tag list: @msrawog

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul fallout #fallout #fallout tv series #the ghoul x reader

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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Spitfire

(Philip Graves x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+) Wordcount: 3.5k Tags: PwP, Quickies, Semi-public sex, Clothed sex, Hate fucking, Brat-Taming, Dirty Talk (Graves has insane rizz in this I don't know why), PiV sex Warnings: None A/N: Dedicated to @writeforfandoms who listened to be somehow convert myself to the Graves agenda. Apologies. Also let's see if this somehow gets the mark of moderation on here, yippee

“Been avoiding me, sweetheart?”

You turn, a retort ready on your tongue, but a set of gloved hands seize your hands and hauls them up so they press against the wall behind you. It takes a moment for the flurry of movement to settle, but it takes less for you to look up into the glinting, grinning eyes of Philip Graves, commander of Shadow Company.

The smile on his lips tugs askew on his mouth, up towards the scar on his right cheekbone. Smug, pleased with himself at having caught you off guard, blue irises darting down to the thin press of your lips, annoyance souring your expression.

“Yeah.” You levy back at him, trying to flex your wrists in his grip. “You’ve had me running rookie drills for a week straight, Graves. Haven’t had time enough to wipe my own ass, let alone run into you.”

Graves only tilts his head at you, and you feel a familiar tug of both displeasure and need low in your belly at the vain, self-satisfied sparkle of his gaze. He loves this, you know that. You fight him tooth and nail, snarl and bite at him, only for him to dance just out of reach before catching you by the waist and dragging you back to him. The chase, the challenge of taming you is a special kind of addiction, and you can’t help but rise to his goading, making him work for whatever reward you dare to tempt him with. You are both like pieces of flint- striking each other over and over just so the sparks alight between the touches you share.

Graves tuts at you, pouting, and it makes a little sneer rise to your features, trying to unlock the grip he has on your hands to no avail. When he speaks, you feel his knee pressing higher between your legs, making you stretch up on your toes just to spite him.

“Yet here you are.” He purrs, the suggestion clear in his tone. “I managed to catch you anyways, darlin’.”

You snort. “Yeah, feel like I’ve caught you instead. Like a bad cold that won’t quit, or maybe an STD.”

Graves barks a laugh, head tossing back as the sound erupts from his chest. His hands flex on your wrists, hoisting them a touch higher, forcing you to balance on your toes. It sends a little thrill through you, being at his mercy like this, not that you’ll ever let him see it. You make a little grunt of protest at the motion instead, and Graves only coos at you mockingly, mouth puckering even as you seethe.

You both know that despite the bite of your words, despite the insults thrown between you both, that you’re exactly where you want to be. You hate it. Hate that he sees right through this little game of yours where you snap and snarl at him, only to inevitably end up mewling his name as he presses you into the too nice sheets of his quarters. He can take you apart like he’s dismantling a rifle in record time, knows your body like he’s squeezing down the trigger to your desire.

“That’s alright, sugar. I like having to work for my meals.” He purrs, leaning up to nip at your ear. You can’t contain a little shudder at that, a traitorous reaction that has his warm huff of satisfaction spills across the soft flesh of your cheek.

“Oh I’ll make you work for it, alright.” You manage, though the retort isn’t as venemous as you want, not when his knee rises to barely graze against the apex of your thighs. Your voice is a little shudder as his lips trail down the underside of your jaw, pressing little, open-mouthed kisses against the scant bit of skin revealed by the collar of your uniform. You can feel the smile against your neck, and you again want to snarl at him with just how much he’s enjoying this.

“I’d expect nothing less, baby.” He replies easily, and then bites.

You yelp, knees going weak and dropping you down the last few inches fully onto his thigh. A moan chokes your throat before you can stop it, fueled even further as Graves sucks on the tender spot, forming a dark bruise that borders on painful.

“Asshole.” You seethe, and the chuckle he gives you in return curls with a sharp, thrumming intensity low in your core, building an electric current that pulses on the underside of your skin.

“Just had to leave you something to remember me by.” Graves tells you simply, pressing a half-hearted apology kiss onto the spot. “Can’t have you forgetting about me.”

It’s not like you can, you think. It’s a rarity Graves has left you alone as long as he has this week. More often than not he seeks you out, finds a reason to summon you to his office, comes to check on you in your duties. He slides a few snide comments over in your direction, taunts you so you rise to the challenge, curl your fists and grit your teeth and feel shame color your face that you know how it’ll all end. He’ll goad you, will whisper teasing, mocking little murmurs to you until you bite at him, only to easily turn the tables on your and have you pressed down by the weight of his body.

Even now, you know where this rendezvous will lead. You can tell by the way Graves cups you through your pants, hears the miniscule, shuddering little gasp you give him in response. He knows exactly where to touch you, which buttons to push to have you melt into his hands- open, pliant, pleading him for more like you’re begging for scraps. He’ll give it to you, will have you mewling and glassy-eyed by the end of this, limp by his expert fingers tracing against the bare flesh of your waist, gripping your nape like he’s scruffing a hissing, feral cat.

“Enjoying yourself there, soldier?” He asks in a low, pleased murmur as you shift on his thigh, eyes scrunched and teeth biting down on your lip to keep your breathy little gasps swallowed deep down so he can’t hear. The friction grazing against your clothed core is just enough to make a murmur of delicious weakness pulse through your hips, arousal slickening your folds shamefully.

It feeds his ego to know he can make you come apart so easily like this. You hate him for it, hate that he’ll crow about how much he’s satisfied you, knowing he can back up his words with his record of your fists gripped into the bed, the claw marks he sports on his back, under his tactical gear. It infuriates you that Graves is good at what he does, that he leaves you dizzy and gasping wetly, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your muscles tremble under his soothing hands. Ire boils your blood, and when you deliver it to him, Graves only laughs, drinks it down like he’s addicted to the burn of your venom.

“Not at all.” You grit back, shooting him a glare despite your warm cheeks. Graves teeths his lip, like he’s excited at the thought of just tasting you, eyes glinting and lips slightly swollen from his ministrations.

“That’s not what you said last week when I had you screaming my name into your pillow.” He reminds you smugly.

“Fuck you.” You tell him even though it’s true.

“That’s the plan, baby.” Graves smirks, cheeks rising pink with a tell-tale lust. “Though I was going to wait until I got you in private so I could take my time enjoying you. But…” Graves trails off, tilting his head in thought, considering.

“This’ll work too.”

You’re given little warning before Graves releases you abruptly, maneuvering you so he yanks at your belt, then scoots your tac pants down to your thighs. You try to shove at him, and Graves stumbles back a half-step even though you really didn’t shove hard enough to warrant it, eyes excited, eager.

“Someone could see.” You hiss at him, and it isn’t a ‘no’. You’ve done this in riskier places, but the idea of being caught by another shadow like this, with Graves having his way with you makes your skin itch under his gaze.

“I’ll kill them.” He promises with a nonchalant little shrug before his head tilts down so his eyes fixate on you. You pause, shocked, and then shudder at the dark intensity of his gaze. There’s a low, dangerous tumble to his words, and you don’t doubt for a moment that he means it.

“Only I get to see you like this, understand sweetheart?” Graves asks suddenly, advancing on you with one large step, a hand raising up to tilt your chin up to him, gripping it so you can’t look away. There’s a storm in the void of his blown pupils, like the thundering, inky clouds that roil over the prairie, promising devastation. You’re caught in the gale of him, nodding in hopes the wind will lift you higher, lash at your skin so the mark of him remains there.

“Good.” He soothes, a little gentler, desire still vivid in his voice as he descends to kiss you. You try to close your lips against him, but his hand that shoots down past your panties has you gasp, allowing his tongue to swipe wetly behind your teeth. Your hands reach up, grasp at him, unsure if you want to drag him closer or shove at him just to hear his breathy laugh at your feigned struggling. There’s no time to consider it, because you moan when Graves’ gloved fingers roll your clit between them just right, legs weakening under you. The length of his body presses flush against you, keeps you from slumping down the wall. You can feel the uneven surface of his gear against your own, both of you too consumed to dispose of it.

The wetness of you slicks across his fingers, and you watch Graves pause so he can tug his glove free with his teeth, tossing it to the side so he can feel you with his bare hand.

“So wet, baby.” He drawls as you pant, try and grip down on his hand curled between your thighs. “It’s just that easy to get you to fall apart for me, ain’t that right?”

You try and hiss at him, try to bite a scathing retort, and instead mewl when he presses two fingers circling against your entrance, teasing.

“Thought so.” Graves huffs, and even with your eyes scrunched shut you know the smirk that splays across his lips, egotistical at the uneven rise and fall of your chest, the little shudder in your hands as you grip at him.

Graves wastes little time in spreading you out on his fingers, and soon your fists curl into the straps of his vest to anchor you. His wet, pressing kisses drink down the sounds you offer him, swallow them with a knowing smile. You bite down on his bottom lip and Graves groans, like he’s addicted to the pain, kisses you in search of more.

“Fuck, baby.” He gasps, a little desperate, voice rough. “Gotta get myself in this sweet little cunt of yours. Can’t wait any longer.”

One boot kicks your feet a little wider, has you hoisted a little higher against the wall as he frees himself from his pants. If you part your legs just a little wider for him to angle himself between them, Graves mercifully spares you his taunting as he slides into with one smooth, powerful thrust.

“Fuck.” He snarls as you brace your damp forehead against his, moaning openly. “Fuck, that’s good. Sweetest little pussy I’ve ever had.”

He’s quick to set a pace, short little punches of his hips that angle up just right, graze against the slick clutch of your walls in a way that has you fumbling for him, a wet gasp tearing from your throat. Pleasure laces up your spine, a drum that pulses with every sharp jolt of his hips pressing into yours. You feel the stretch of him beat that rhythm higher in your chest, unfurling something thorny but good into your taut muscles- poisoned off your vexation and endless desire for him.

Just like this, you think. Here, one of his hands lifting a leg as far as your pooled pants will allow, angling himself so he can thrust deeper, fill you in all the ways you love to hate. His mouth laps against your neck, sucks a fresh bruise at an odd angle that has one of your hands digging into his short hair. It’s messy, it’s rushed, and the fire that licks between your bodies threatens to blaze out of control, scorch both your forms even as the world narrows down to the feeling of him fucking relentlessly into you. Your toes curl with it, your voice spilling out the secrecy of your desires loudly into the planes of his body flush with yours.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it.” He pants as he leans to kiss you once again, hips stuttering for just a moment as you dig a hand under his collar, fingernails pressing harshly into his pale skin. “Mark me up, baby. Dig in, make it hurt.”

He’s drunk on the pain, your commander. He needs it like he’s addicted to violence, to the jolt of a rifle, to the slice of a blade that beads red against the pad of his thumb. He sports the marks you give him like war medals, hisses at the sting and then asks for more.

“I think I like you like this.” He confesses, slowing his hips to a lazy roll that has him pressing the zipper of his pants against the inside of your thighs. “All wet and ready for me. Maybe I should keep you like this, all needy and mewling in my room just so I can have you whenever I want.”

You can’t stop the groan that tears from your throat, dragging and far too loud for the debauchery of the sight he offers you with him kneeling behind your naked form, draping himself over you and taking you with little ceremony. You feel a gush of arousal coat the girth of him that presses up a little deeper inside you at the sound you give him.

“Yeah?” He asks, tone hinting his disbelief. “You’d like that, huh? Just waitin’ for me to get back and tame you, little spitfire? Have you callin’ my name so loud that all my men on base can hear you holler, huh?”

You suck your teeth, try and summon a response, but you don’t get a chance before Graves angles himself again and begins to thrust into you with rapid, squelching thrusts that have you wail.

"Ohh I know, sugar.” He soothes, kneading the bare swell of your ass in a bruising grip. “It just feels too damn good, you can hardly speak, huh? Got you all mewlin' and wordless for me. Pretty thing.”

“Shut up, Graves.” You manage, voice cutting but breathless, pinching the skin of his nape in retribution.

Graves laughs.

The angle of his hips has you split perfectly on his cock, has bright bursts of electricity blossom with every thrust. It drags the delicious coil of your muscles higher, has your veins thrum in a clenching need. You feel like he’s trying to burn you from the inside out, the flinting sparks of his touch setting something inside you ablaze, scorching out of control until the only thing left is the choked little series of groans that fog against his cheeks.

“Goddamn, darlin. Look at the sight of you.” He breathes at your half-lidded gaze, starry with bliss and unseeing as you clench eagerly on his cock. “Prettiest sight I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

He kisses you, a low languid contact that’s so different from the sharp drill of his hips that knocks against something too bright, too warm inside you. It stretches outwards, glows golden in your veins, sizzles hot and draws pleasure thrumming through every fiber it can reach. It’s right, the way he fucks you, expertly unraveling you into putty in his hands.

“Where's that bite now, huh?” Graves goads, and you can hear the strain in his voice as he fucks into you vigorously, seeking out his own pleasure. “Have I got you that cock-drunk you can't remember how to insult me? Poor darlin’.”

It’s the mixture of spite and potent desire at his words that has you tighten around the press of him inside you, rippling over his cock and eliciting a sharp, choked groan from him in turn.

“C-close.” You whimper into his shoulder, fingernails pressing half-moons that threaten to bleed against his flesh. Graves is just as lost in it, hips slapping against yours as he ruts into you. The hand on your ass drags you to him with every thrust, fingers flexing and leaving indents that you know will leave you wincing as you sit for the next day or two. It only has that coiling, searing arousal inside you tighten further, your voice rising as you begin to climb sharply towards your climax.

“C’mon baby, c’mon baby. Give it to me.” Graves grunts, gritting his teeth as you squeeze down on him. “Let it go, let me feel it.”

It’s sudden, like a tether snapping unexpectedly inside you. It takes a single breath and then you’re gone, feeling the reverberation of it lash outwards through your limbs, bringing the bright boil of your blood to a fever pitch. Your walls grip down on him and you hear Graves hiss at the almost painful squeeze of you onto him, pressing you impossibly further into the wall behind you, trapping you between the unyielding surface at the relentless drive of his cock inside you.

He fucks you through it without stopping, has your wails trail off to little overstimulated whimpers as his pace doesn’t falter even as the aftershocks of your climax tremble through you. As they fade, the sting of too much begins to dawn over your senses, forcing you to grasp harshly at him, voice whimpering in search of mercy. He’s close, you can tell, but he doesn’t stop, making you at last choke out a breathless plea.

“Graves, please-”

Graves swears, hauls you flush against him as he grinds his hips up into the tightness of your cunt, rocking forwards until he finally releases a long, unsteady groan, spilling into you. You feel the heat of his release pulse low and sticky deep inside you, and make a mental note to bite him later for making you walk around with his cum slowly dripping into your panties.

It takes a moment for you to both to even out your breathing, chests heaving as you come back to yourselves. Your hands relax from their grip on Graves’ tac straps, feeling blood rush back to your fingers from how tight you had been clutching to him. You brace your head on his shoulder, feeling your hips murmur with a little weakness that you know will have you wobbling around for the remainder of the day. You want to seethe at him for it, but find yourself not caring in the face of your ruinous orgasm. Your body feels warm, sated, damp as Graves huffs against your neck.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He breathes at last. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You scrunch your eyes shut, something pulsing low through you for all of a moment before it’s swallowed down again. It’s as close to an ‘I love you’ as you’ll ever get, the two of you caught in an inevitable collision that will only end once one of you fizzles out like a shooting star in the midnight sky.

“I think you’ll kill me first.” You huff back at him, craning your head to look him in the eyes. “Just gotta figure out how I’ll get you to do it.”

Graves grins at you, eyes heavy with satisfaction, cheeks flushed red in a way you’ll know he’ll have to hide in front of his men. It’s a little bit of revenge, you think, another score in this endless tit for tat that you both can’t help but be addicted to.

Graves at last separates himself from you, withdrawing even as you give a little hiss of discomfort. He goes so far as you hoist your pants back up, teasing another touch to your clit through your panties and chuckling as you jolt. You shoot him a scathing look, unable to hide a mischievous little smile underneath your sneer.

“Come see me tonight, why don’tchya?” He prompts as he tucks himself away and runs a hand through his hair, back to being the commander, the arrogant hero he thinks he is. “Unless you want me to chase you down again.”

You smile, feel your heart beat a little higher in your chest with excitement. He turns away from you as if to leave, but glances over his shoulder as you call out to him.

“Catch me if you can, Graves.”

Graves shoots you a lopsided smile over his shoulder, eyes twinkling with that tell-tale knowledge of later.

“Oh I intend to, darlin.” He drawls lazily, confident as always. “Just you wait.”

#philip graves x reader #philip graves x you #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #modern warfare 2 #mw2 #x reader #reader insert #Don't fucking look at me #This will be the only thing I ever write for him I PROMISE-#oneshots

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aangelinakii · 11 months

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PICTURES OF US

in which you and tangerine share a kiss without an umbrella

character : tangerine

song : pictures of us , beabadoobee

date : 17th june 2023

warnings : swearing

note : again,, so sorry for my hiatus !! 😭😭 but here i am <3<3

red flames flickered in the soft, chilling breeze, as your thumb clicked the flint of your lighter, setting the end of tangerine's cigarette ablaze.

smoke billowed around the two of you, its expensive scent filling your lungs, a cloak keeping you warm from the nipping chill of an autumn night in london.

for the past two weeks, your fiancé had been on a mission in paris, and you'd been left in your apartment to fend for yourself. i mean, of course you had visited friends and focused on your own job and hobbies, but whenever tangerine went on longer missions it was difficult to cope. that's why tonight, with him being back from paris for only a day, he'd treated you to dinner as a way to make up for his long absence.

now, bellies filled with the warm food from your favourite restaurant, the two of you walked arm in arm down the pavement, sky pitch, street dim.

cigarette settled between the index and middle fingers of his free hand, tangerine looked down at you, his piercing blue eyes darkened in the low lighting, turned into crescents with admiration.

"i don't know how many times i've told you tonight, but you look amazing," he smiled down at you, the arm linked with yours flexing to squeeze it. "no idea how i can stay so long away from you sometimes."

a soft laugh brushed past your lips, and you used your free hand to squeeze tangerine's bicep in return, muttering a small thank you.

for a moment you were quiet, taking in tangerine's musky cologne. "yeah," you began slowly, "it's difficult when it's just a couple days, but two weeks? you're kidding."

now it was tangerine's turn to laugh, taking another toke of his cigarette.

"i know, it's insane. i missed you like crazy this time. 'specially in paris, city of love and all. i should take you one time, when i don't have a job coming up."

your lips pulled up into a wistful grin. "paris? i'd love that."

just the thought of the couple of you strolling through the heart of paris at night, the dazzling eiffel tower peeking at you through a break between two townhouses, made you nostalgic of something that hadn't even happened yet. perhaps for your honeymoon?

"do you know where you're off to next?"

tangerine shrugged in response, exhaling more rich smoke. "lemon's handling it this time. he mentioned it on our way back, but i don't know much yet. i think somewhere in south america — bolivia? argentina? don't remember."

you only hummed back, acknowledging his response, but not asking any more as it was clear not even he knew that much.

as the two of you continued to stroll down the dark pavement, the few orange street lanterns highlighting your faces. matching in sync with your footsteps, raindrops pierced the grey concrete.

a drop landed square on tangerine's forehead, causing him to abruptly stop in his tracks. "shit!" he groaned. "if it starts shitting it down i'm gonna ruin this suit."

"hey, hey, don't worry about your suit," you spoke up, laughing all the while, the rain around you beginning to pick up in power and speed.

you removed your arm from out of tangerine's link, and moved to stand opposite him, placing your hands on each shoulder. "it's just rain, yeah? we can take it to the dry cleaner's tomorrow."

as he looked down at you, albeit droplets of rain rolling down his face, his expression softened. "i really don't wanna ruin my suit, love," he spoke, softer this time.

"dry cleaner's," you repeated, leaning closer, hands on his shoulders pressing down tighter.

opposite you, tangerine's face scrunched up, a mixture of defeat and exasperation. "god, you're impossible." with this, he inhaled from his cigarette and tried to push down his smile.

above you, dark clouds darkened the sky, if that were even possible, and the rain picked up pace. needless to say, tangerine's suit, and your overcoat, were going to the dry cleaner's tomorrow. tangerine's brown locks, which had previously been gelled back, were now spilling down his temples, weighed down by the rain.

the cigarette in his hand was of no use at this point, and he flicked it away.

"alright, love, d'you think we can keep walking now?" he asked, eyes squinting as he tried to see through the rain.

grin on your face, although rain-stricken, you shook your head. "no, let's stay for a bit. you're not in a rush, are you?"

"to get dry? yeah, kinda."

your hands on tangerine's shoulders moved up to his neck, pulling him towards yourself even more. the distance between you was closed, lips against lips.

warmth spread between the two of you, a high contrast to the striking rain falling down from the clouds above.

tangerine's larger hands took in your waist, pulling you further into him, trying to keep himself warm.

the kiss lasted a few moments, and when you pulled away, your eyes lingered closed, and your arms wrapped around tangerine's broad frame, encapsulating the two of you into the odd sensation of a warm embrace and a cold atmosphere.

your fiancé was back. in your arms. in the rain.

"my love?" his voice a ghost in your ear. you hummed in return. "paris isn't as cold as london, d'you think we can head home now?"

eyes halved into crescents as you pull out of your embrace, you looked up at tangerine with a half-laugh. "yes, oh my god, i'm so cold."

#matchajhoney #bullet train #bullet train imagines #tangerine #bullet train tangerine #bullet train x reader #tangerine imagines #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train

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meowcatsposts · 1 year

Text

Best Medicine [Ahmed]

❥ note: @treasurecat24, I hope you enjoy :)

Overview:

Date time with your precious bf!

…but you got sick

So Ahmed’s here to baby you <3

Walking in cute clothes was flattering and empowering–perfect, even.

With a sore scratchy throat, thrumming head, and heavy limbs, however? That was a different story. Each step sapped your nearly depleted energy reserve, and just to look straight ahead was a whole workout. Muscles aching, eyes watery, and head stuffed with cotton, you wished you had stayed home.

Ahmed, seeing your sunken eyes and pallid complexion, knew something was very, very wrong.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes flooded with worry. Clearly not, his mind screamed.

“Um…” Dully, you looked up to meet his gaze and slurred, “...Do I look bad?”

You weren’t alright, duh. You just answered his question with a question!

Sighing softly, Ahmed murmured, “You look pale, love. Pale, as in sick.” He placed his hand on your lower back and pushed gently, guiding your rubbery legs. “We need to take you home.”

Here you were now, lying comfortably in a bed, wrapped in a thick blanket burrito. A steaming mug of tea sat beside your nightstand and its herby aroma wafted fainty to your nose. Perhaps something warm would be nice. Feeling a little bad for not drinking it (your beloved boyfriend brewed it for you, after all), you dragged yourself up and took the cup, lifting it to your lips with shaky hands. It didn’t taste or smell really of anything, sadly, (darn germs!) but a faint sweetness tickled your tongue and you smiled. Honey.

Ahmed walked in with a tray. On it was a steaming bowl of soup, a tall glass of water, and a plastic medicine bottle.

“You’re like a doctor,” you giggled. Sandpaper rubbed your throat raw, but you didn’t really care.

“Well,” your boyfriend started, smiling softly. “I am.” He set the tray down with a soft clunk and sat beside you, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead. “And you’re my special patient.”

“Please.” Ahmed was practically begging now. “You need to take this to speed up your recovery.”

How long did this go on for? Too long. Your boyfriend usually had the patience of a saint, but he really needed to suppress the urge to wrench your pretty little lips open and shove that spoon into your mouth.

Seeing how worriedly dark Ahmed’s eyes turned, you began to second-guess your own stubbornness. Maybe you should comply, your conscience reasoned.

“Fine,” you grumbled.

“Great!” he chirped, holding a tiny spoonful of that thick bitter concoction. “Say ah~ for me.” After seeing you hesitantly part your lips, Ahmed softly cooed, “Good job,” as he slipped the syrup into your mouth. After a lengthy while you managed to swallow the darn thing, its bitterness still coiled around your tongue. You scrunched your nose.

Chuckling, Ahmed handed you a glass of water. You drained the liquid in a heartbeat.

As he set the glass atop the tray he murmured softly again, “Good job,” and stroked your head tenderly, fingers slipping through your hair. For some reason your boyfriend’s praise sparked flints in your face, so you ducked under the covers, hoping he didn’t see how red your face got.

Although Ahmed found your flustered self absolutely endearing, he was confused. Why so red? He peeled the sheets from your face, peering curiously into your eyes.

“Why are you blushing, love?” he asked. “I don’t think there’s anything to be embarrassed about…”

You just stared into his eyes. Blankly. Like a deer in headlights. Your heart thump-thump-thumped insanely, but somehow, you couldn’t break away from those emerald eyes of his. Though sick and teary-eyed, you had to admit that they were beautiful as ever, like the very first day you got lost in them; they were a flourishing spring forest, deep and nurturing.

Ahmed didn’t look away, either. He, too, admired you silently; you were adorable, all wrapped up and flustered and needing his help.

Then you blurted, “Can you hand me the soup?” to break the fat silence.

“Oh, sure.” Ahmed handed you the warm bowl hesitantly, fingers ghosting over yours. “Are you sure you don’t want me to feed you?” he asked.

Feed you? You blushed furiously–again–and nearly choked on your soup. Why was he so good at making butterflies rampage in your stomach? He was your boyfriend, but still–

“I’m fine,” you coughed, in a hushed sort of way. “I’m fine.”

Ahmed sighed. “That doesn’t sound convincing…but alright.”

Maybe you were fine. Seeing that you already took your first sip he asked rather nervously, “Does it taste ok?”

Oh, how he loved it when you bobbed your head and hummed a soft, “Mhm,” in return. He didn’t miss the smile ghosting over your lips, either.

Heart swelling with relief Ahmed said, “Really? That’s good.” He fretted over almost everything, after all–from the tea to the soup to the blankets. Everything.

He was ecstatic–absolutely happy to be of service to you–but something bothered him. He couldn’t be completely content. Yet.

“Why did you agree to go out when you were sick?” your boyfriend asked. His eyes reflected something serious and he frowned just the slightest, as if he were doing a grave examination.

“Well…” you trailed. The warm soup bowl felt good in your hands. Comforting. “One, I didn’t know it’d get this bad, and two…I felt bad canceling.”

Ahmed hummed low in his throat, presumably in disapproval, as he rubbed light circles on your outer thigh.

“You should’ve canceled. I wouldn’t have minded,” he reasoned, a light pink dusting his cheeks. “I’d still get to be with you anyway, and I get to take care of you, so…”

Not once did he break his gaze, however.

“Oh?” You almost choked on your soup again. Ahmed’s hand felt oddly hot on your thigh, and it definitely wasn’t because you were ill. In fact, your whole body was blazing.

So red again, he thought to himself, stifling a chuckle. Maybe you should get sick more often.

purple dividers provided by: firefly-graphics

#disyte #dislyte ahmed #dislyte ahmed x reader #dislyte x reader

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krabkrab-wontshutup · 10 months

Text

Yeah, I'm thinking about heartless again. Gonna slam a fic here:

The room was silent. Neither Flint nor Eira wanted to say anything to each other. Yet, the silence was uncomfortable.

Eira’s eyes darted around the room, Trying his best to keep himself from glancing at Flint.

Flint’s mind was elsewhere though, so he wouldn't have noticed. He was thinking about the run-in they’d recently had with the jury. He and Eira had both fought well, and he wasn't worried, it was just… the way Eira had looked at him during the fight, the simple smirk. It gave him this weird, fuzzy feeling.

He stood up, deciding he needed fresh air, and walked towards the door on Eira’s “side” of the room.

Eira flinched as he watched Flint leave- well, he didn’t mean to watch. Flint was just suddenly there. And the door was right next to Eira’s bed, it's not like he wouldn't notice. Eira gave Flint a small awkward smile as he opened the door. Flint smiled back.

He put his head in his hands when flint shut the door, sighing, “how am I unable to have a regular conversation with someone I share a room with?”

Flint had made the right choice by heading outside. He rarely ever got to see Eira smile, and when he did it tended to be in battle. The fact that they weren’t in action gave Flint time to think about the fuzzy feelings he got when Eira smiled at him.

Flint nodded, saying to himself, “I’m definitely going to try and get him to smile more often.”

And try he did.

“What’s your favorite type of cake?”

Eira was suspicious of the question, but he answered, “German Chocolate, why?”

“I’m just writing stuff down, trying to get everyone’s favorite cakes into my memory,” Now, this wasn’t necessarily a lie. Flint had been planning on doing this. But, Eira was the only one he asked so far. Flint cleared his throat as he wrote down “Frosty likes German chocolate”.

“German chocolate is pretty good.”

Eira nodded, made the sort of humming noise you make when you agree with someone but have nothing to add to the conversation, and went back to reading his book. It was titled “The Seer of Angels”, and it was about a man cursed to grow 6 pairs of wings and lose his sight after trying to see into the future.

“Is that book any good? I mean, do you like it?”

Eira laughed, that warm laugh that Flint just couldn’t get enough of. “Yes, it's good. I don’t think I’d be reading it if it wasn’t!”

Flint looks at Eira in a way that almost shocks him. It's uncharacteristically soft. Eyebrows raised just slightly, head tilted slightly upward, a hand rested on his chin, and a slight smile- barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But Eira was, and he practically whipped his head around to hide his face in his book. He was certain he could feel his face getting warmer.

Flint was, reasonably, a bit worried, “Ah, did I look at you weird? I’m sorry- I really didn’t mean to”

Eira cut him off, saying “It’s alright, Flint.”

And so, that was that. The two went back to their routine of not talking to each other. But this time, the silence was comforting.

Flint was suffering. The team had taken a job in a desert of all places! Everyone was wearing fewer layers. Except for Eira. Was he insane?

“Dude, why are you still wearing that? It’s boiling!”

“Hm, I guess my body just runs colder? I’m not sure.”

Flint groaned. He really hated the heat.

“If you want, you can borrow my scarf. I’m certain it's affected by my temperature.”

Flint was startled by the gesture, but he accepted.

Eira handed him the scarf. Their hands brushed against each other, causing Eira’s face to heat up again. He quickly turned away. He muttered something under his breath that Flint couldn’t hear.

“Your hand is warm..”

“What?”

“Nothing! It's nothing.”

Flint was not convinced in the slightest.

#winter solstice #eira x flint #eira hale #flint solveig #heartless abd illustrates #heartless eira #heartless flint #fic #writing #fanfiction

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tunastime · 1 year

Note

tuna tunastime knowing you you're gonna twist "look at the moon" into an angst prompt. even if it says comfort at the top. that being said,

"look at the moon..." + ethubs <3 make us go insane babygirl

“look at the moon...”

(924 words) (x)

Etho looks up.

The moon is a bright, off-yellow, yellow-white disk in the sky, just above the crest of the snow fort’s wall. He gets it, now—why it might be confused for a wheel of cheese or an eye or something just as ridiculous. But he looks up anyway, into the wheel of cheese or whatever it was and smiles. It’s not completely full, yet, so it doesn’t block out the myriad of stars sprinkled across the sky in seemingly random order. He doesn’t really recognize a lot of the patterns—more than Bdubs might, if he were out here. He tilts his head a bit. The fabric of his jacket shffs against the grass under him as he does. He’s lying flat on the grass looking up at the sky. The walls of the snow fort, drawn hastily on scraps of paper, are littered behind him, held down by apples and tools and canteens. He can hear Bdubs pacing behind him, cursing out a fire that won’t start. Luckily, it’s not cold yet, but there’s a cool smell to the air that indicates that it might be in a few days. Plus the clear sky Etho loves so much.

Etho tilts his head back, craning his neck in hopes of catching the silhouette of Bdubs behind him, haloed by fire. He doesn’t, not yet, but he can see the strike of sparks as Bdubs fights with the flint and steel, smacking them together unceremoniously. He’s lit a fire before. Etho almost snorts with how silly it seems that he’s failing now. Bdubs is still mumbling, going on about how the tinder is the issue, that the air is too damp, that he’s shaking too bad to get it right. Etho hums.

He rolls over onto his stomach, pushing up with his hands to rise to his knees. He wipes the grass and dew from his hands as he stands, shaking off excess dirt and leaves from his back. He wanders over to Bdubs after a moment of fixing himself, head cocked curiously to the side.

“You want help with that, ‘Dubs?”

Bdubs startles, nearly dropping the flint and steel into his lap. He frowns, all at once, scoffing, shaking his head.

“I can do it,” he mutters, eyebrows furrowing. He strikes again. No sparks.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it, I was asking if you wanted help to do it,” Etho supplies, crouching down next to him, balanced on the balls of his feet.

For a moment, his heart feels like it might be in his throat, beating against his vocal cords. It’s been a long day for them both. He’s sure Bdubs still has blood under his nails. It could’ve been Etho, and it wasn’t. It could’ve been Etho, but Bdubs chose not to kill him. Bdubs finally looks over to him, and his face softens. His eyes trace down the scarred side of Etho’s face like it’s been forever since he’s seen it, pausing at the corner of his mouth, back up to his bad eye. Etho offers him a little smile and extends his hands.

Bdubs hands him the flint and steel. He strikes away from himself, once, twice, three times, before the sparks catch on the half damp tinder and it stays lit.

“It’s better if you scrape,” he says. He mimes a scraping motion with his hands. The flint and steel are back in Bdubs’ hands. Bdubs nods. There’s the barest hint of a smile on his face.

“Sure.”

Etho sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder, folding his legs under him. He sighs a bit as he does. Bdubs fans the flame. After a moment, Etho shrugs off his coat. Wordlessly, he drapes it over Bdubs shoulders, instead pulling himself closer to use Bdubs’ body heat to keep him warm. He thinks he hears Bdubs make an aborted noise of protest, but he doesn’t say anything further.

After a minute, Etho glances up again. The moon’s not shifted too much in the sky, but it’s more visible now, peeking behind a stray, wispy cloud.

“Look at the moon,” he says, eyes still trained upward.

Bdubs looks up without asking twice. Etho’s eyes flick down to see him, neck craned upward, eyes soft, mouth slightly open, smiling. He smiles too.

“‘S pretty,” he says, humming. Etho looks up as Bdubs looks back down.

“Mm,” Etho agrees. “I missed being able to see the sky.”

Bdubs hums.

“Me, too,” he agrees. “We’ll have to stargaze while we’re here.”

Etho nods, humming in agreement as he sets his cheek against Bdubs shoulder. Bdubs’ hand finds his, tracing his knuckles as they watch the broken logs catch and embers float into the air. He sighs against the fabric of his own jacket.

In the middle of nowhere, Etho looks up.

The moon is bright orange, like it’s been dipped in the midday sun instead. Standing on his new porch in the middle of a strange, new world, Etho takes in the sight of the stars he knows well enough to map in his mind with his eyes closed. He can’t see many of them, not with the full moon above him, but he whistles out a breath and stares into the sky. It’s clear—an endless stretch of white dots on a backdrop of darkness, only shaded out by the yellow moon. He smiles to himself, but it doesn’t quite fix the tear in his heart.

“Look at the moon,” Etho says.

But there’s nobody around but his horse to hear it.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #hermitshipping #llsmp #last life smp #text #fic #last life fanfic #mcyt #mcyt fic #the life series #WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DID YOU CALL ME BABYGIRL #also i twisted this into angst BECAUSE you said to #so deal with that i guess #yw!!!! <3333

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strawglicks · 4 months

Note

Sorry for the ramble in your inbox incoming- I'm a really huge fan of your analysis type posts like the ones about Cathal and recently Flint ;A; So I hope its ok to maybe throw in my own 2 cents about Cogs/their society- (Sorry this gets rambly I thought about this last night and writing this like an hour after waking up lol)

I think what alot of people kind of (I wouldnt say ignore- more of:) don't really get is that I dont believe characters like Cathal or Flint have bad tendencies because they really want to in a way, (I kind of worded that poorly but point is) but because their society rewards and encourages that type of behavior. I think you said something kind of similar on Cathals post- But especially for Flint, whose a Bossbot (Who are literally the embodiment of a toxic workplace and elitism. I believe a old snippet from the TTO magazines says "They have no real skills of their own, just the ability to push down others and stay on top!" Or something to that nature.) he has to be demanding and imposing. There is no benefit to him in being kind. (Like looking at Misty for example) And don't get me wrong I don't believe that if Flint and Cathal were removed from Cog society they'd be better/objectively nicer (Like Flint not being condescending to Toons and Cathal not making people do things for him and being encouraged to try) But I do wonder how much of it is pressure, or how much of it is egged on and rewarded. Atleast in the aspects it relates to how they treat others.

(..And also I wonder what happens to Cogs that don't get jobs and are seen as ..not functioning. Since Graham was freaking the hell out in "Meeting Of Two Minds" over the possibility of not getting the job. I have a whole thing about this actually in my oc lore but thats another thing entirely I'll write about someday I swear)

Also I gasped when I saw the doodle of Graham in the MSI shirt finally a MSI listener Graham truther. I think he'd like the album "How I Learned To" and of course "You'll Rebel To Anything". I associate him mainly with the songs "Lights Out", "On It", and "You're No Fun Anymore" :p (This has been my favorite band since I was like 13 and now I get to spill all my opinions xD) I always imagined him doing the guitar backbend their bassist does! And my final hc is that Flint plays bass and Graham plays the main guitar. I think it fits them .. some people overlook bass when its actually pretty hard to learn from what I hear and vital to the song. (Like heres Feel Good Inc w/o the bass.. feels wrong x_x)

Anyways thanks for reading ;A; take care and happy new year!

RAHHHH EATING THIS UP YUM YUM YUM YES YES YOU GET IT

THe biggest issue with Cogs Inc is that it REWARDS and ENCOURAGES these poor behaviors, worsening these characters as people. ESPECIALLY cathal considering the position of power they’re in. I’m sure it applies to a ton of other cogs too, but unfortunately I haven’t gotten to them yet bc I’m not as insane abt them . LMAO

And yeah since cogs are literally built for work, it’s a wonder what happens to those who can’t find a job as easily as others. Hoping that gets built on since it’s clear in MOTM that these cogs have to actually apply and go to interviews and probably face some trial and error to land a job, just like people IRL.

ALSO. THE BAND HCS. I love it and you’re SOOOO RIGHT about the backbend that is so grahamcore. And yes I’m pretty sure Flint does play bass, I think his creator mailman said smth abt that on their blog . AND IM SO GLAD YOU BROUGHT UP FEEL GOOD INC bc i did draw flint in a demon days shirt in that same animatic . And ive def drawn them in the same shirt a couple times in the past too . I’ve always imagined him to be a Gorillaz fan, maybe graham too

Anyway ty for these thoughts im eating them up and leaving no crumbs . I love when ppl come to ramble in my inbox bc discussing this stuff IS SO FUN and a good outlet for me esp when i might be having art burnout rn .

#toontown #flint bonpyre #graham payser #cathal bravecog #asks

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voltrixz · 11 months

Text

Why YOU should go vote for Montana/Shocker (TSSM) in @cartoon-character-competition

Once again, this is the first time I have managed to get Shocker into a competition which once again is a crime in itself

And like before you guys might be familiar with Shocker or Montana (even if they are a bit less known then villains like Electro or Doc Ock) (especially for Montana)

You see in TSSM, Montana is Shocker, not Herman as he’s known in the comics. Montana and Herman are different people in the comics but here Montana is essentially Herman but cooler and more skilled.

Montana is your usual merc hired by the big bad guy (or the big man as they call him) that runs a lot of the crime in NY. In episode one he’s hired to defeat spiderman along with his partners and they’re known as the enforcers

(The enforcers as seen in ep 1) (From left to right: Fancy Dan, Ox and of course Montana)

and well they’re defeated of course but Montana never gets capture and manages to run off

So when does Montana get that funny pineapple patterned suit? Well in ep 4, Market Forces, Montana is seen stealing that exact funny pineapple patterned suit and handing it over to his boss before about to go on his merry way and putting on his cowboy hat again before being stopped and told to wear the suit and stop spiderman as he still owes them (visibily pissed off at being told to not wear his hat (which is silly to me) (LET HIM WEAR HIS COWBOY HAT!!!!)but grins when being told about his new assignment)

and so peter is led over to where shocker is by flint and alex (2 criminals who will become major villains later)

and well shocker does what he does best, FUCK SHIT UP!!!!!!

and whats funnier is his first line to Spiderman is “I reckon that came as a bit of a real SHOCKER eh bug” He fuckin starts off a fight with a fuckin PUN (I love him for that)(its in his subtle himbo coding) and you want to know what else? When asked who exactly Montana is by Spiderman, Montana comes up with a villain name right on the spot and well guess what he chooses? He chooses his INITAL FUCKIN PUN (still love him for that) and well he absoutely destroys spiderman and even picks him up like a wet cat

either spiderman weighs like nothing or shocker is just REALLY strong

and well Montana goes off to his bar, just to enjoy a game of 8 ball with a job well done

(hehe look at him, just enjoying a game of pool ^^ )

that is until well obviously spiderman isnt just gonna say down so Montana is stopped by his boss (cant believe he interrupted his game of pool, you cant do this to him) and he’s sent right back to fight Spiderman

and well you know how it goes, he’s defeated (SPIDERMAN LITERALLY DROPS AN ENITRE BUILDING ON THIS GUY LIKE??? OK????) but yeah off to jail ig

So what happens next is basically

- Thanks to Doc Ock and his plan to form the sinister six, he breaks out of jail and joins the sinister six by orders of his boss

- is defeated once again by Spiderman and taken to jail

- doesnt join the next formation of the sinister six sadly (crying coping tossing everything)

- however he comes back with his enforcer partners, now with his partners rocking new suits too

(as seen here) (they’re robbing a bank btw) (cute things to do with your boyfriends: rob a bank!)

- but yeah once again defeated by spiderman and all of them are tossed to jail

- seen in big jail breakout scene but sadly does not escape

- and who knows maybe we could have seen Shocker rejoin the sinister six or get up to new silly things (criminal activity) with his partners but erm

Tssm got cancelled as I mentioned before in my electro post so yeah (crying dying coping sobbing kicking everything tossing everything RAGHH)

but yeah shocker is cool as hell and gives me immense gender envy

like LOOK AT HIM!!!!

need to be him so so bad (the gender envy he gives me is INSANE)(also has made me realize hm i may be queer aroaceflux)

(he has a resting bitch face and its so silly to me) (yes im just using this as an opprtiunity to show you images of him)

sigh sigh LOVE YOU SHOCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also he is gay and polyam coded as hell!!!!!! um something something why do you work in such a man dominated field? Do you want to be dominated by men? And also um that one thing of “detectives will always go: here’s my partner. erm ok???? 🏳️‍🌈???? but its just “mercs will always go: here’s my partner(s) like ok???🏳️‍🌈??? (not kidding he almost always refers to dan and ox as his partners and also just look at him, he is THE gay cowboy merc ever

but yeah LOVE YOU SHOCKER!!!! THE GAY COWBOY MERC/VILLAIN EVER!!!!!!!!! GO VOTE FOR HIM!!!!!!!!!!

#sorry this is like really late i got distracted a lot #tssm #tssm shocker #tssm montana #the spectacular spiderman #the spectacular spider man #spectacular spider man #spectacular spiderman #ignore any spelling and grammaer mistakes its like late for me and oops!!

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elbiotipo · 8 months

Note

I was waiting to see what you would think of Arknights not only because it seems to be up your alley but because it got nations based off Latin America. There's a nation literally called Bolívar with nods here and there about the US dictatorship, and you can argue it's mixed with Mexican, the Gran Colombia and Brazil influences. There's also Sargon which feels like a mix between South America and Africa - or rather, the Amazon rainforest and the Saahara desert. You can argue Eunectes and Flint are Brazilian and Peruvian respectivelly. There's also La Pluma (real name: Rafaela Silva) who's apparently Chilean?? I don't think there's a furry Argentina... at least not yet

OH YES, the moment I saw "Bolívar" I knew that was Furry Latin America, I haven't looked up much of the lore though I did get spoiled with some characters I'm learning on my own, and so far it's interesting. Completely insane but compelling. I also got very confused when they said "Columbian" because I thought it was the classic anglo mispelling of Colombian, but no, Columbia is apparently Furry United States.

I actually just got an operator from Bolívar, an electrician kid (we need to talk about Rhodes Island labor laws) named Greyy who says he wanted to study electricity to bring light to the slums he came from. Yeah. But hey, I'm headcanonning him as Argentine now. I can't wait to find more about Bolívar. Or not. We'll see.

I really like the part in the archives where you can look up all the operators, where are they from, their relationships, what squad they belong to, and all that. It's very fun to see who's friends with who and where they came from. For a character based game they really really took a lot of care with their characters and how they fit with each other, most of the time (other "hero" based games just make them individually based in "cool" concepts and they don't fit at all together, like Overwatch for example) Somehow the angel girl with a machine gun and the italian mafiosa wolf girl fit in the same universe and are coworkers and it makes sense.

#el biotipo plays arknights

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valeriianz · 1 year

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Hi! How are you? For the dreamling prompt, from the list:

❝ i don’t have perfect words. i’m not the kind of person who knows how to sound poetic and shit. so all i know what to tell you is that i belong to you. i don’t know if you want me. but i’m yours. and at this point however it is you need me, i’m here. ❞

Thank you!!

☺️

hi! i'm home from work with an injury but i feel loads better after receiving this! have some hurt/comfort! (kiiind of vulgar but nothing explicit) from this prompt list

It’s their first fight.

The relationship had been new, Hob throwing himself into it with reckless abandon, flying high from the raw sexual chemistry between Morpheus and him. Their passion burned like a match striking against flint every time they saw one another. Hob felt like a teenager the way his blood raced and his arousal spiked at the most chaste kiss. He let Morpheus fuck him in his office, in the bathroom at a staff party, in his fucking car in coffee shop’s parking lot. Hob felt his neck heat up, red crawling all the way up to his ears with the admission of how absolutely gone he was for this man, who always wore black and form fitting clothes that left nothing to the imagination. He’d bend over anywhere for Morpheus and in turn, his new companion absolutely came undone when Hob touched him.

And it’s startling because it's all so… unnatural, uncharacteristic. Hob’s track record, people had said, was below average. But only because Hob was always in it for the long haul; his last relationship ended after five years and before that seven. He didn’t flirt, he courted. Hob wasn’t timid, he was sure. And he didn’t like, he loved.

So when a one night stand turned into two, then three, then ten, Hob had proposed something mutual. His heart had been in his throat at the time. Morpheus was a quiet man, a little broody and egotistical, and infuriatingly secretive. They didn’t talk much, but there was this unspoken understanding between them where it felt like communication wasn’t essential (but also, why talk, when your partner knew how to make you cum with nothing but his tongue). So Hob had been nervous, asking to be exclusive, and was embarrassingly pleased when relief flooded through him as Morpheus agreed that yes, he’d like them to be together.

And perhaps that is why their first fight comes with such a vengeance. It’s over something stupid, so tiny that Hob can’t even recall why or how it started in the first place. But just as they made love, screaming and clawing and damn near crying, it would make sense how a muted argument would escalate into something equally as passionate. Fighting with Morpheus feels like a storm, the air around them crackling and tense, like a rolling thunder. Shouting over each other and gesticulating wildly on Hob’s part, while Morpheus paces, exuding fury and impatience. It gets to a point where they’re just glaring at each other, eyes intense, piercing, breath labored from the shouting match they’d been caught up in.

It’s obscene how, instead of trying to fix the problem with words, all Hob can think about is how utterly and devastatingly ravishing Morpheus looks when he’s angry. His menacing stare goes right through Hob and all he wants to do is grab Morph and shove him against the nearest flat surface and fuck him senseless. He wants to kiss until it bites and bruises. Wants Morpheus to pin him down, all that heated energy punctuated with teeth and thrusts, punishing Hob and– fuck, this is insane.

“I’m leaving.”

Hob grabs his jacket and shoes, breaking the tension in the room and marching to the front door, pointendly not looking at Morpheus as he passes him.

“Where are you going?” Morpheus is right behind him, but not stopping him otherwise as he reaches the front door.

Hob shakes his head. “I’m just– I need to clear my head.”

And he slams the door behind him.

His heart breaks as he stalks down the hall and doesn’t hear Morpheus follow after him. He swallows hard and nearly trips as he runs down the stairs and makes it outside the apartment building.

The cool night air helps a little, but Hob groans as he feels hot tears begin to fall, wiping them from his cheeks indignantly and sniffling.

He makes it a couple blocks, the pain and frustration from the argument fueling every step, when his phone rings.

It’s Morpheus. Hob almost doesn’t answer, almost chucks his phone into the nearest tree, but staring at the caller ID, something shifts in him, something ingrained to always answer a call from someone he cares about, no matter the circumstances. He stops walking and sighs, accepting the call and putting the phone to his ear.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Morpheus says over the phone. His voice makes Hob’s breath falter, it’s thick and wet, like he’d been crying too. “Come back.”

Hob squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to give in, he always forgives too easily, and for once he wants to be stubborn, even if it feels wrong.

“You’re sorry?” Hob forces a laugh, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I didn’t even know you knew those words.”

“I’m not good at this,” Morph admits, quiet. “I’m not good at relationships. But I want to try. With you.”

Hob holds his breath, his heart racing and hope filling his chest.

“I don’t have perfect words. I don’t know how to talk…” Morpheus takes a rattling inhale. “But I think what we have is real, and I want to learn how to be better. I hope you need me, because I need you, and I’m still here.”

Hob lets his head fall, smiling through the new wave of emotions that rushes through him.

“Come home?” Morpheus says again, after a long silence.

“Yeah,” Hob says softly. “I’m coming home.”

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dream x hob #human au #feels a lil ooc but i just wanted to write some angst #just a lil #hope you like it!#and sorry i didnt copy the prompt verbatim #i could actually see Hob saying that #but as i wrote it turned to Dream #and i had to finagle it to make it fit into his vocabulary #if that makes sense #my writing #thank you so much!

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milo-my-beloved · 1 year

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meet-cute

@bookishbunnies asked for a fic about the night Wylan and Jesper met in the show canon, so here you go!!

Summary:

meet-cute noun (in a film or television programme) an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

One meet-cute isn't enough for Jesper and Wylan. Here's the story of their first two.

Read under the cut // Read on AO3.

The first time Wylan lays eyes on Jesper is at the tannery.

Wylan thinks he's hallucinating. The bosses don't waste their profit by providing masks or goggles for their staff, so his eyes are blurry from stirring the bubbling vat of chemicals in front of him. This tall, grinning Zemeni man belongs in his dreams, not his workplace. But when he blinks away his tears, the man is still there, one hand tucked into the pocket of his lime plaid waistcoat, and the other perched on the pearl handle of a revolver on the hip of his yellow trousers.

His second thought, after pinching himself to check this is real, is that his father has sent another man to kill him. In broad daylight.

Instead of threatening his life, the man says, "Hear you know your way around a chemistry set."

"What?" Wylan expected him to shoot him, not ask him about his marketable skills. "I... yes. A bit."

"Just a bit?"

"I have a background," he hedges.

"Then come to this address when you get off work tonight." He holds out a folded piece of paper, a lazy smile on his face. Wylan takes it, his hands shaking as he looks down at the carefully arranged cursive and then back up at the stranger. "We have a job for you. A real job."

Wylan glances down at the tangle of letters. "I — I don't know where this is."

The man sighs. "You're not from here, are you?" Wylan shakes his head. "Fine. I'll come fetch you, because clearly I don't have anything to do with my time but squire new lilies around town. Wylan, right?"

He nods.

"Wylan what?"

"Wylan... Hendriks."

"You know much about demo, Wylan Hendriks?"

Sometimes, he swears the Barrel has its own language. "Demo?"

The man's grin widens. "The boom, the bang, the flint and the fuss," he says, gesturing wildly.

Wylan doesn't point out that such a vague explanation is entirely unhelpful, because this conversation feels important, somehow. "Sure."

"We'll see. Be out front at six bells. And no guns unless you want trouble."

"Of course not." Is it the chemicals or the insanity of the situation making him light-headed?

"Kaz has got to be out of his mind," the man mutters, before sauntering away, leaving Wylan alone with his chemicals and a head full of questions.

*****

Just past six bells, Wylan meets Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa for the first time. Desperate for enough cash to stay in the terrible boarding rooms he found on his first night in the Barrel, he agrees to make a handful of phosphorus bombs.

It should be a simple transaction: explosives, in exchange for enough kruge to see him through the next two weeks and a promise not to involve him in any more schemes. Like most things in Wylan's life, though, it complicates itself.

"I'm starving," declares Jesper once the meeting is over. They're standing outside the Slat and are definitely in the way of the Dregs coming and going, but neither of them are keen to leave. "You should come with me to get dinner."

Wylan's brain stops working. "What?"

Jesper rolls his eyes. He seems to do that a lot around Wylan. "I'm starving," he repeats, "and you must be hungry after working all day, so the solution to both of these problems would be..."

"Dinner," he finishes, slightly dazed.

"Exactly."

He has to crane his neck slightly to look up at Jesper. The light from the doorway illuminates one side of his face in a magical glow that has Wylan's fingertips itching for a paintbrush. But although Jesper may not have been sent to kill him, he's still dangerous. The Barrel is where the criminals and conmen come out to play, and Wylan isn't stupid enough to believe a man as handsome as Jesper Fahey is actually interested in him.

"It's quite late," he says.

"Past your bedtime?" He scoffs. "There's a place down the road that stays open all night. They serve the most delicious poffertjes, with the right amount of butter instead of the piddly amount the street vendors give you."

Wylan's stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but with the money Kaz is offering him to do this job...

"Let's go get dinner," he agrees.

After all, they're work colleagues now. They may as well be on friendly terms.

Jesper leads him to a cafe a few streets away with flower boxes in the windows. It's quiet this late at night, with only a handful of customers scattered around the tables and one waitress flitting between them. They seat themselves across from each other in one of the booths that line the left wall, and the waitress hands them each a menu and tells them she'll be back in a minute.

"Ooh, they have syrup now," says Jesper as he scans the menu.

On the few occasions Wylan's father was forced to bring him to dinner, he always ordered for him to avoid any potential embarrassment. Although it was condescending and his disappointment was palpable, he was always secretly relieved. Now, he's on his own, and he has to protect his own shame.

"What are you thinking of getting?" Jesper asks.

He shrugs. "What do you recommend?"

The waitress returns. The bags under her eyes are as black as ink; she must not be used to the night shift. Wylan can sympathise with her on that. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have the poffertjes with apple syrup and a whiskey, please," Jesper says, shooting her a charming smile. It sparks jealousy in Wylan, even though Jesper isn't his to claim, and has talked to him as if he's a nuisance all night.

"I'll have the same," Wylan adds hurriedly. "And a tea, if that's alright."

She nods, scribbling down their order on her notepad. "Lovely. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

Once they're alone, Jesper turns his gaze onto Wylan. His focus tends to wander, to have all his attention focused on him makes him want to squirm in his seat. It takes all his restraint to sit still.

"So, tell me about yourself, Wylan Hendriks."

"What do you want to know?" Hopefully the questions are innocent enough for him to skirt around the truth without lying.

"I don't know. What's your favourite colour?"

He considers the question for a moment. It really depends on the day; as an artist, he knows how they all compliment each other, and are all beautiful in different circumstances. "Yellow," he answers, and then blushes furiously when he realises he picked the colour Jesper is wearing.

"Aw, that's such a happy colour. You really aren't from the Barrel, are you?"

Wylan shrugs. "What was I supposed to say? Blood red?"

"Mine's blue," Jesper says. "Brings out my eyes."

The waitress delivers their drinks and hurries off to one of the other tables.

"What do you like, then? What are you interested in?"

He feels a little like he's being interrogated, but that question is much easier to answer. "Music. Numbers. Equations. They're not like words. They... they don't get mixed up." He picks up the teapot and pours himself a cup, not daring to meet Jesper's eyes.

"If only you could talk to girls in equations," Jesper snorts.

There's a long silence, and then, eyes trained on his cup, Wylan says, "Just girls?"

Jesper's grin stretches so far it could split his face in half. "No. Not just girls."

Wylan ducks his head. His face feels like it's on fire. Luckily, the waitress saves him from further embarrassment by placing two identical plates on the table and promptly disappearing again.

Suddenly, he can't remember the last time he ate. He's had the little fried balls of batter before, of course — poffertjes are a Kerch staple — but never with syrup and neatly sliced chunks of apple before. Jesper was right, too; they pancake balls are slathered in a generous amount of butter, and they've sprinkled cinnamon on the top for good measure.

"Oh, wow," Wylan breathes, and his stomach growls as he carefully impales on on his fork and brings it to his watering mouth.

"I know, right? They look almost as fantastic as me." Jesper winks, and then adds, "And they taste just as good, too."

Wylan chokes. He has to thump his chest a few times to dislodge the unchewed lump of apple stuck in his throat, while Jesper laughs at his reaction.

They spend the rest of the dinner like that, every sentence bordering on flirting. Wylan busies himself with eating his heavenly food, and Jesper takes great pleasure in making him blush.

Once they're finished and the waitress returns with their bill, Jesper slaps down enough kruge to cover both their meals. "This one's on me," he insists with another wink, and Wylan feels the last of his resolve crumble into ash.

"Let me walk you home," Jesper offers as they leave the cafe.

He doesn't need to see how strapped Wylan really is. "You paid for dinner. I should be walking you home."

Jesper playfully waggles his eyebrows and grabs his hand. "In that case, escort me back to bed, sunshine."

He can't hide his grin at the nickname. They walk hand in hand for a while, Jesper swinging their arms back and forth as he explains all the best and worst places to eat in Ketterdam.

"And that's why you should never, ever eat at Sten's Stockpot," he finishes.

Wylan laughs. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, look!" Most of the street vendors have packed up their stalls by now, but there's one still standing on the corner with a basket of stroopwafels held close to his chest.

"I haven't had a stroopwafel in years," Jesper says.

He tugs them over to the vendor and reluctantly releases Jesper's hand so he can pull the kruge Kaz gave him out of his pocket. "How much for two?"

"Can't you read the sign?" The vendor complains. "One for one kruge, six for five."

"Must have missed it," Wylan says, forcing as much nonchalance into his tone as he can manage. He hands over five kruge and the man wraps up six stroopwafels in a brown paper bag. As they stroll away, Wylan takes one out and passes it to Jesper before biting into one of his own.

Jesper lets out a shameless moan. "Saints, they're still warm."

"Just as good as you remember?" Wylan asks.

"Gooey and delicious... and even better, because I had a cute boy buy me them."

He smiles. For the first time since he stepped foot in the Barrel, Wylan thinks he might actually be happy.

They walk the last two streets to the Slat in comfortable quiet as they eat. Every few bites, Jesper either lets out an inappropriate comment or noise, apparently unable to bear the silence for more than a minute at a time, and Wylan giggles at his jokes like a child.

When they reach the wonky building for the second time that evening, it's even louder than before. There's a mismatched group of men outside the front, clapping each other on the back and drinking out of hip flasks, so Jesper guides Wylan into the empty alleyway that runs parallel to the Slat.

Wylan's heart strikes against his ribs, creating an electrifying percussive rhythm. If Jesper had led him into a dark alley this morning, he would be terrified for a different reason, but looking up at him now, all he feels is excitement.

Jesper leans closer, their bodies inches away from each other. Wylan's back presses against the brick wall. All he can see are Jesper's plump lips, so close he can feel his breath on his cheek.

"Is this alright?" Jesper whispers.

Wylan answers the question by surging forwards to kiss him. It's an explosion; a bomb detonating in his heart. Jesper wastes no time in kissing him back, cupping his cheek with one hand and leaning the other against the wall so they both remain upright.

They break away after a few seconds to breathe, and the world narrows down to the two of them. Jesper's grinning like a fool, and Wylan's cheeks ache from matching his giddy ecstasy. He knows, in that moment, that he's wrecked. No man will ever invite fireworks into his heart quite like the sharpshooter in front of him.

"I think," Jesper says, panting for breath, "that we should take this inside."

Wylan has never agreed to anything faster in his life.

*****

Wylan's deal with Kaz was supposed to be a one time thing, but he was an idiot to ever believe that. His job at the tannery doesn't pay a living wage for apprentices like him, and busking with his flute in the evenings only brings in enough kruge to keep a (rather leaky) roof over his head. He's surprised he even lasted a month.

Kaz asked him when he last ate, and all he could think of was the poffertjes he'd shared with Jesper. He'd eaten since then, of course, but the loaves of stale bread and pickled herring aren't worthy of remembering.

More phosphorous bombs, and a package large enough to blow up a building. He didn't dare ask what he's planning to use it for.

At least he has a free place to sleep while he's on a job for Kaz. The workshop bed isn't as comfortable as his old one was, but it's akin to sleeping on a cloud compared to the stained, paper-thin mattress of the rooms he's been staying in. Besides, he finds the background noise of fizzing and bubbling relaxing.

Kaz left with the explosives an hour ago, so he's moved onto the phosphorous bombs. If the Darkling is sensitive to light, he change the equation to make them more powerful, just to be certain he isn't—

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Wylan glances up to find a man he thought he'd never see again standing on the stairs of his workshop.

"Oh. Hi." His fingers fumble and he nearly drops the vial of chemicals he's holding. "I—I wasn't expecting you." If he had been, he would have worn a jumper that isn't singed.

"And you are?" Jesper asks, drawing out the last syllable.

"We've..." No. It's probably best if he doesn't remember. "Uh, Wylan."

"No, I mean why did Kaz have us meet here?"

He places the vial down on the table, trying not to acknowledge his disappointment. Maybe Jesper truly doesn't remember, or maybe he's pretending to avoid any awkwardness. Either way, he won't be the one to bring up their dinner. "I guess, um, I'm your demolitions man."

"You?" Jesper raises an eyebrow, staring at Wylan incredulously. "You've got all your fingers."

"Well, maybe I'm careful."

Jesper leans closer, speaking slowly as though he thinks Wylan is an idiot. It's the same tone his father used to use with him, and he hates it. "Careful is something you learn from losing your fingers."

The door clangs and Kaz strides down the stairs, his expression even more terrifying than earlier.

"So, this novice is telling me that he's our new demo man. Raske is better. Or even Pim!"

Kaz glares at him, clearly not in the mood. "And yet Wylan is the one I hired."

"Shouldn't you be graduating university and, I don't know, starting a desk job?"

That has never been a possibility for Wylan. But, just as he opens his mouth to refute Jesper's condescension, the door opens again and Inej and another woman join them.

"You're here," Kaz says. Wylan recognises the look on his face; it's the same way he felt in that alleyway with Jesper, when the whole world narrows down to one person.

"With our new Heartrender," she says, and then they're launching into the plan and he doesn't have time to mourn his not-quite relationship.

*****

Pairing Wylan with Jesper is a choice born of practicality, but he can't help but suspect Kaz knows more than he's letting on. He tries to focus on the task at hand, his eyes flicking between Pekka's driver and their horses.

Jesper sticks his head through the gap, intent on distracting him.

Wylan goes on the offensive. "A rat-catcher carriage?" he says slowly, dragging out each word. "I thought you said you got this from a friend?"

"Friend-ish," Jesper corrects. "She did manage to remove the rats, so there's that." He pauses, and Wylan can feel his breath on his neck. "How do you know Kaz?"

So much for trying to steer the conversation away from this."I can't honestly say that I know Kaz. He asked me to make a few phosphorus bombs for him. I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Because Wylan didn't want to become a criminal. Because he wanted to use his skills for good, not to wage war on the leader of the Second Army or the king of the Barrel. Because he didn't want to draw any attention to himself.

"Because I knew he'd use them for something like this," he says instead. It's still true.

That being said... "Did it work?" he asks, glancing back at Jesper. The only thing worse than a reluctant demolitions man is a reluctant demolitions man whose bombs don't work.

"Oh, it worked." He sounds genuinely impressed. "Not many people can go up against General Kirigan and live to tell about it. Where'd he find you?"

Wylan refrains from rolling his eyes. "I was apprenticing at the tannery, so I guess he knew that I was good with chemicals."

Jesper frowns. "Tannery? That sounds familiar... have we met before?"

This time, he does roll his eyes. Before he can jog Jesper's memory, they land on two officers dressed in a purple uniform. "Stadwatch," he warns. Jesper ducks inside the carriage and Wylan waits until the two men are out of sight before telling him the coast is clear.

Jesper pokes his head back through the hatch, grinning, and Wylan sighs. What is he doing here? Why is he allowing Jesper to forget him?

"Thank you," Jesper says, a little quieter than before.

He takes a deep breath. "I know that you're not thrilled about being paired with me, but you should know that... you can trust me."

"To be clear, I trust you 'cause Kaz trusts you."

He tries not to take that as rejection. "And you trust Kaz?"

"Listen," Jesper says, sounding mildly offended. "I'm not about to dissect my long-standing working relationship with Kaz Brekker with a total stranger."

Wylan turns a full 180 degrees to check whether he's serious. Ghezen, he really doesn't remember, does he? He can count the number of people who have seen him naked on one hand, but Jesper can't even recognise a man he had a dinner date with.

"Eyes on Pekka's driver," Jesper says.

He turns back to the street, the realisation stinging more than it should. They were never destined to be more than a one-night stand and he's a fool for thinking otherwise. It's a good thing he left before Jesper woke up.

Pekka's driver takes a sharp left turn and Wylan forces himself to focus on the task at hand rather than his depressing love life. "He's rounding the corner."

"Follow him."

They turn onto the same street, but Pekka's driver is gone. Wylan tugs on the horses' reigns, bringing them to an abrupt stop.

"He's... he's gone." It's as if the carriage disappeared into the mist. He looks back at Jesper, searching his face for answers and trying not to panic. "He's gone."

"This isn't right," Jesper says, as if that isn't obvious.

Then, the shooting starts.

*****

Before Wylan moved to the Barrel, he never had to pay much attention to keeping himself alive. Beyond meeting his basic needs, the biggest threat he faced was choking or tripping down the stairs.

That has changed drastically over the past few weeks.

Pekka's driver led them straight into a trap, which means the others are in as much danger as they are. But even though he's terrified and could be only a few seconds away from a gruesome death, all he can think of is the way Jesper is lying on top of him.

Once again, his brain feels like it's on fire. Chemical reactions pop and fizz at the close contact and he can't tell whether his heart is pounding from terror or attraction.

Jesper looks down at him, their noses brushing against each other, and for the first time he really sees Wylan. "Wait, we have met before, haven't we?"

"Yes, but—" He's interrupted by another spay of bullets which has him clamping his eyes shut and leaning closer to Jesper.

"You brought me stroopwafels!" Jesper says, grinning the same way he did the night they met.

Wylan stares at him, wondering whether one or both of them have lost their minds. "You remember that now?"

And then Jesper is saving him, and he falls all over again.

*****

By the time they near Black Veil, some of the adrenaline is wearing off.

"You left those stroopwafels behind," Jesper says, as if it's much more important than them both nearly dying.

"I know," Wylan says. Leaving early is a coward's choice, but picturing the smile on Jesper's face when he saw he left him breakfast eased his pain slightly. "You would enjoy them more than me."

Jesper smirks. "You're adorable, you know that?"

Wylan blushes. "I might need you to tell me again."

Maybe their relationship isn't doomed after all.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows #wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #sab spoilers #spoilers #shadow and bone spoilers #fluff #first meeting #ao3 #my writing #mmb writes #lina lore #meet-cute

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whoiwanttoday · 1 year

Photo

It has always disturbed me that the fact they keep trying to sell us water is not seen as perhaps the most dystopian thing in our lives. Then I realize I am lucky and I live in this magical utopia where I walk into the kitchen and turn a knob and water flows freely from a tap for basically no money at all. It's insane, it just pours right out and I don't even have to throw anything out afterwards because I can wash the cup I used and use it again later. It's like the future they promised us minus the flying cars. Anyway, I bring that up because almost everyone i know who consumes bottled water gets incredibly defensive when I point this out. They are defensive because they know, at their core, there is no excuse other than they are really lazy and perhaps easily swayed idiots who think the tap water that was placed in that bottle is magically better than the tap water in their kitchen, even though flavorless is one of the most important characteristics of water. Of the excuses I hear when I mention we live in a country with amazing, drinkable tap water, the most common are, "Well, I drive a lot so I need something for the car," (Lazy bullshit, you can use something other than prepackaged bottled water to carry water in a car), "What about Flint Michigan?" (You are a terrible person because you do not live in Flint, Michigan. You are just a horrible rich person pretending to be concerned about that as a way to win an argument that actually drinking bottled water is a good thing), "Good Luck getting my teenagers to use a glass instead of bottled water. It's generational" (I mean, lazy and bad parenting? They're your shitty kids, you are the one who raised them to drink bottled water instead of actually grabbing a glass and filling it). I am not really here to rail on bottled water, there are greater sins but it's one that always bothered me because it's such an easy thing to not participate in and it has no real benefit to society that you are consuming it for fun, so know I am judging you if I go to your house and you offer me water and then you open the fridge and pull out bottled water. You're lazy and you have too much money if I am being honest. This is all a long lead up to the fact that Hailee Steinfeld was in an add for some sort of water. It's called core and there's a lot of work out stuff so I'd imagine this water is extra good at drinking for working out, which sounds like a 100% real thing and not horseshit and boy I can't wait for the people who will feel the need to tell me it is special or why they drink bottled water from this post. She looked good though so I am posting her. And judging her slightly. Today I want to fuck Hailee Steinfeld.

#Hailee Steinfeld #brunette #Actress #whoiwanttofucktoday

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lichfucker · 1 month

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For the WIP folder game: Brain Damage in D Minor, and In Vera? 👀

ooh this is fun because these are both me taking the plot of a movie I like and then applying it to The Blorbos, but in completely opposite directions

brain damage in d minor is a black sails fic based on music and lyrics (2007) which is my favorite rom-com of all time. flint is a washed-up jaded has-been who was in a boy band in the '00s until he got outed and his boyfriend died and now he's 45 and he has no friends and no career and he can't write a new song to save his g-ddamn life. silver is the guy flint hires to water his plants and he just so happens to be an uncannily good lyricist.

it's silly, it's dumb, it's fun. "brain damage in d minor" is a placeholder title and I'm very afraid it will stick. I keep putting off working on this fic because I'm an insane person and I know that I'm going to want to actually write and record all the music.

I've only written two scenes—the opening and the morning after flint and silver hook up for the first time. last time this meme went around I posted like 3/4 of the opening scene lmao so here's a few lines from the other one:

"Here,” Flint says, offering Silver the mug. “I made you some coffee. Whole milk and four sugars, just how you like it.” The mug nearly scalds Silver’s skin when he takes it. Why is Flint kneeling so close? “I actually prefer it with three sugars,” Silver says, “but thank you. That’s—You didn’t have to.” “You order it with three sugars,” Flint says. “Then, when you think no one’s looking, you add a fourth. And I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” For all the talk of sugar, it’s Flint who’s sickly sweet right now: the sweet crinkle of his eyes, the sweet curl of his lip. Silver hides a nervous swallow beneath a mouthful of coffee—fucking hell, it tastes perfect. Flint shouldn’t know how to make Silver’s perfect cup of coffee. Gun to his head, Silver couldn’t make Flint’s perfect cup of tea; why the fuck does Flint know how to make Silver’s perfect cup of coffee?

in vera is the piece I am most actively working on right now! it's a fic for the fetch phillips archives series and it's based on in bruges (2008). there's a flashback in the first book in the series, wherein fetch has an uncomfortable incident with his mentor, then gets sent on a forced vacation to a city called vera so they can get away from each other for a little while. fetch then goes on a bender in vera, meets a general from an opposing army, and defects. shortly after fetch joins the army a big world-changing event happens and his former mentor dies.

this is a canon divergence au wherein fetch gets recaptured by his original organization after defecting to the army but before the world-changing event happens. he's sent on yet another forced vacation to vera, this time with his mentor, and. well. let's just say it's going very badly and will certainly get worse!

I'm working on chapter four right now but here's a little snippet from chapter one for you:

The streets spread out from the city center like a spiderweb, and Fetch is a helpless insect scuttling across the strands, trapped and unsafe. And Hendricks, for all his comfort and bravado, owning every cobblestone he steps on, may very well be the spider. As they meander toward the inn Hendricks booked, Fetch looks for any familiar landmarks from his first trip here. This is the corner where I puked up three glasses of burnt milkwood and half a turkey leg. This is the street where I nearly got run over by a newsboy on a bicycle. This is the bench where I fell asleep and got shat on by a bird. This is the shop where I spent twenty minutes trying to remember the Elvish word for “toilet” before I found out that it’s pronounced completely differently in the Veran dialect. Or was it over there? No, wait, it was a few blocks south. I don’t know. These buildings all look the fucking same. Most of the memories are obscured beneath a thick haze of stress and booze and grief. Primarily booze. They come back to Fetch in little flashes; they aren’t worth remembering once they do. Every façade of rough white rock broken by silvered doors like shards of mirror set into the stone: he keeps catching his reflection as he passes, and it always comes back warped. Stretched and bowed and grotesque. He doesn’t look Human anymore. Or maybe this hunched and hulking creature is the most Human he’s ever been. It’s not as though he can leave his humanity behind. It’s tattooed onto his fucking arm.

ty iz my beloved 💛💛💛💛💛💛

#quaxorascal #thanks iz #long post #bluh bluh #in vera tag #I do not have a tag for brain damage in d minor and I refuse to make one sdlfkjsdf

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