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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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#// okay but listen. what if i make a yee haw verse for briggs and terrorize yee haw land.#◇ . ya YEET . ooc

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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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#// lower row is def briggs tbh #// i love my boy #○ . not all saints are sinners (not all sinners are saints) . briggs

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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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brandedutton‌:

“Maybe a bit of both.”

Hazels are warm as they brushed up to look to Briggs, heart a little lighter each time the two met for coffee. It’d been chance the two had met under the circumstances, a mere accidental run in and they’d started chatting for a few hours–becoming fast friends. Kayce had taken…a liking to Briggs in a way that he wasn’t sure the other would reciprocate.

But, judging how he was calling him pretty? Kayce wasn’t so sure that Briggs didn’t feel the same.

Fingers plucked idly at the muffin before stealing a piece, lips quirking as he consumed the piece of baked good. They were acting like and old married couple, truly. Chatting away a good few hours and sharing food.

“Oh? You think I’m pretty do you?”

maybe, he almost admits. maybe kayce was shy because he was pretty or maybe he was pretty cause of how shy he was smiling, looking away for some kind of answer. either way briggs feels a quiet sort of ache when those eyes meet his own again. i’m sorry, he almost says. then his verbal blunder is forgotten in a blink, and it’s as if nothing bad happened. air fills his lungs and he laughs it out just as easy.

“you? pretty?” oh how delicate this was getting, one wrong word could send months of habit spiraling into disaster. briggs doesn’t know how to keep it friendly at first, words caught in his throat along the lines of; no you’re gorgeous and have you looked in the mirror lately? but they’re his sister’s voice acting as some kind of flirting conscience. briggs is -- well, he isn’t sure. so he goes with his gut.

“it’s the hair.”

sipping his coffee, that easy smile remains, touching the corners of his eyes as he watches kayce. “brings out those eyes,” he teases softly.

#brandedutton

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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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hittcr‌:

one hell of an icebreaker indeed. eliot appreciated the lack of prying though. that was good at least. at least he wasn’t trying to peer into the depths of eliot’s very guarded soul. eliot chuckled. it was something to spring for small talk. it was another to plunge them deep into philosophical conversation. it kept things interesting. and brigg’s response to the question being turned on him had eliot chuckling around the mouth of his beer. that was definitely something to be afraid of. “’m tellin’ yah man, wasn’t my fault.” he took a long swig of his beer and made himself much more comfortable in his chair. “and ‘m sorry. about that. won’t happen again.” eliot said it wouldn’t happen. he hoped he meant it too. eliot imagined himself with his own dirty boots wandering in to get help now and again. it wasn’t a pretty picture, but it was one that he felt like would probably happen. that’s the kind of person he was. eliot knew him now. and eliot preferred to know the people stitching him up after a bad day at the office. eliot took another long swig of his beer, nearly choking on the damn thing at the suggestion that he was only cooking with mres. he set the beer down on the table and shook his hand out before fixing briggs with the most affronted look he’d ever managed to muster. “you’re not serious, right?” of course he wasn’t. briggs had that teasing smile on his lips like he was making a joke. which. that was nice. eliot’s lips twitched up into a small smile. with another chuckle eliot shook his head. hard. “won’t be long enough ‘f i never hafta taste one’a those again. why’d you think i got into cookin’ in th’ first place? that shit… man ‘m thinkin’ my intestines are still all messed up an’ ‘ve been outta th’ service for a while.” try ten years. at least. he faux shuddered. “tell me what you like an’ ‘ll tell you ‘f i can make it.” only eliot was pretty sure he could make just about anything that briggs conjured up.

“oh i believe you eliot.”

it isn’t hard to say, faith came easy when instinct backed it up. after cleaning the mess up, well, who could he not come to trust the other man. more than training and more than seeing it first-hand, it was the earnest way eliot had of saying things that made you want to believe him. like touching an exposed wire and knowing that one moment too long could eventually get you killed. something about eliot rang with the same truth and briggs knew his hands were forced to hold on, he could only ride it out to see where this friendship took them.

maybe it would get him killed, but hell if it wouldn’t be a thrill.

the danger is worth the moments now, where his mind still struggles to see the hardened soldier he’d met in the halls with the easy going man at his side choking on beer. briggs hides his smile but knows its been seen by the way eliot’s lips crook up in answer. “don’t know, they weren’t that bad.” of course the taste wasn’t one that stuck with him and parts of his memory was still less than a little clear. a moot point really for the sake of riling up eliot with a culinary fury so righteous he was certain gordon ramsey was quaking in his boots somewhere across the world.

“alright,” he relents, folding his hands on the bar in front of him. oh, there is one challenge he knows with absolute certainty that even a man as talented as eliot can never hope to surpass. a wicked sort of gleam alights in his eyes. oh how terribly fun it was to see eliot come alive over something so woefully domestic as cooking.

“my nana’s lasagna surprise. only my aunt makes it half as good as she did.” leaning back in his chair, his amusement finally touches his lips turning them up slowly. “guess you’ll have to survive dinner at the o’hara residence. fair warning, in all my years i’ve never seen more people retreat in terror than at dinner time.”

#hittcr #//look its less novel sized okay #// let me liVE

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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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hittcr‌:

eliot barely flinches as the man starts to fix him up, eyes trained on his face intently like he’s hoping that just staring at him with that look will make him want to help, or at the very least let eliot help. his shoulders are tense and he waits until briggs has finished the makeshift splint. it hurt. of course it did. popping bones back into place never felt good. eliot had yet to recall a time that it was actually something less than painful. he wanted to flex his fingers. it was habit. but he didn’t. not because he couldn’t, but because he wasn’t too keen on undoing all of his work. nor was he particularly fond of the idea of making his current situation worse. at least it wasn’t his dominant hand. this guy was good. eliot supposed he was lucky he got picked up by a field medic instead of someone who’d probably be completely useless in a situation like this. a smile quirked at the corners of his lips. and eliot used to think that luck was just a myth. he tested the makeshift splint, and it held despite eliot’s finger flexing. “i dunno half’a what you said,” but he was inclined to believe him. given the fact that his hand was throbbing against the paint sticks. and the fact that eliot himself wasn’t a nurse. and doing battlefield medicine when one’s not trained is completely different than what what had happened here. “but– - yeah.” he was going to shut up and listen. because this guy actually deserved his attention. the first question, eliot was going to address first. after the broken broom found it’s way into briggs’ hand. a wide smile crossed eliot’s lips. that was definitely more like it. as much as he hated dragging other people into their shit, he was sort of glad it was someone who actually knew what he was doing. he licked his lips. “his name’s chris neppit. he’s been apart’a an experimental drug trial. kid’s ten. trial’s goin’ well, but some other company’s hellbent on makin’ sure they get it out first. which means securin’ th’ kid. people’ll kill for money, man. they don’t like me stickin’ my nose int’ other people’s business.” eliot gestured towards the door. “we just gotta make sure th’ kid stays here. here’s where he needs t’ be. that other company gets a hold’a him– - they’re gonna be chargin’ way more’n necessary. kids are gonna die.”

“big words scare people into listening,” comes the quiet reply, briggs’ focus slipping to pay attention to little noises he was unfamiliar with in the hospital. old habits died hard, even if it felt like a lifetime ago there was a part of him that remembered what to do in an emergency. at least this guy is smart enough to listen to him when he makes demands and smarter than most in actually trusting him. something about brothers in arms comes to mind.

the bare details stick as he tests the heft of the broom in his hands. seemed like his guest (and surprise patient) had the same idea that he did when it came to the intruders; knock them cold first and ask questions once they weren’t armed with semi-automatic rifles. “yeah i know him,” C. NEPPIT had been moved to his wing just last week with a file that read like a black ops mission. briggs only remembers the name for the large fuss eleanor made when trying to access what treatments the kid had gone prior to admission.

a weak laugh slips free and he shakes his head, “your friends out there won’t find him on this floor, he was moved to observation this morning.” pointing up towards the ceiling he manages a small smile of his own. “three floors up exactly where they aren’t looking.” briggs remembers himself in that moment, makeshift weapon foregone in favor of looking for something to help his unlikely ally with the pain.

unfortunately, only one of them was combat ready even with a broken hand.

“come here.” all the warning given before a patch of skin is sterilized and a shot given. “for the pain,” briggs explains simply, disposing the syringe in a nearby biohazard bin as he looks around. picking up a field kit from the shelves and slinging it over his shoulders, he pushes the makeshift weapon of a broom into the other man’s hands. “something tells me that even with a busted up hand you’re a more competent fighter than me right now so if you really mean to protect that kid i’ll do what i can to keep you on your feet.”

pop. ratta-pop. pop-pop.

cold ice settles in his stomach, it is familiar and threatening hearing gunfire so close and muffled screams as his co-workers try to do their best to escape. briggs can only hope they make it to safety as he glances at the other man, brows furrowed. it makes sense now and for a moment it feels like they’re two cornered dogs sniffing the air cautiously, briggs could laugh that he didn’t notice until he actually looked.

“army, right? black ops?” now he manages a smile, small and brief as he pulls his key card back out and takes point at the door. amusement ebbs into his voice as he murmurs, “you know there was a ops team in tehran that called in a dustoff back when i was active.” it feels dangerous how easy it is to slip back into the roll of a soldier and forget the memory of gunfire and white hot pain. swallowing a moment, there is a hand offered.

“briggs. i lead, you cover?”

#// i don't know why im incapable of writing you anything less than a fukkin novel #// but here you go a ceNTURY LATER. r i p #// i love briggs on adventures tbh. he's the best/worst support #hittcr

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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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#// 2019 is the year of OCs for me tbh. so definitely expect briggs' hiatus (and my smol one) to be over #◇ . ya YEET . ooc

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saintbrigantia-blog · 5 years

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@thcenemy