#oceanic doberman if you will

[arktic-blocks]

Hey y'all remember these guys?

Well I decided to update their textures and animations :3c

⁽ᵃˡˢᵒ ᴵ ᶠᶦᵍᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ʰᵒʷ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵍᶦᶠˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ⁶ ᶠʳᵃᵐᵉˢ ᶦⁿ ᵗᵒᵗᵃˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜʳᵘⁿᶜʰʸ ᵃˢ ʰᵉˡˡ ʲᶠᶜ⁾

#Also for those who've been here for a long time: merfolk mod isn't really gonna happen anymore boowomp #I still wanna make mods/a modpack that would INCLUDE merfolk but it's not gonna be like a standalone mod anymore... #anyways raghrhgaghrhga I wanted steve to be shiny like diamonds and I wanted alex to be a shark bc yes #Alex being a shark just fits to me I cant explain it... like... sleek and predatorial but also just kinda like water dog.... #oceanic doberman if you will #Also steve's fin shapes are supposed to mimic a diamond pickaxe :3c #// #minecraft #minecraft steve #minecraft alex #modded minecraft #merfolk

[currentfications]

Ocean Eyes | Part 4

Pairing: Bada Lee x Producer!Reader

Synopsis: At the dinner date with Bada, you discover an unpleasant truth.

Warning: Swearing, flirting, no angst (I know how the synopsis sounds but I can’t bring myself to write angst, at least not in this economy >_< let me know if y’all actually want something heart breaking and I’ll see if I can do some one shots for those of you who just want to see the world burn??¿)

AN: Thank you for reading >////<

Previous | Next

You’ve always been a safe rider when it comes to motorcycles, but this may be the safest you’ve ever drove in your whole life. Hands clenched, eyes straight ahead - you glided through the night streets of Seoul.

Bada throughly enjoyed the joy ride, sailing though the city with you like a raven. She was a little bashful at first, holding onto you from behind - but perhaps the adrenaline coursing through her help eased the anxiousness, as she soon settled into a comfort position to secure herself onto you like a backpack.

When you finally pulled into the destination, you finally relaxed your tense shoulder from all the concentration. It was then you realised just how tightly the dancer is clinging onto you - her thighs pressed against yours for warmth, her fingers laced together around your waist. You silently thanked Latrice for her service, before remembering why Bada was here in the first place.

When the dancer peeled herself off you, you missed the warm embrace as a gust of chilly wind brushed past you. Dismounting from the vehicle, you quickly unzipped your leather jacket and tossed it over her shoulder.

“It’s okay I don’t-” Bada was about to politely decline your offer, before the warmth engulfing her is so cozy she swallowed the rest of her sentence. Noticing the tank top you had underneath hugging your figure, she’s definitely not complaining about you losing your jacket at all.

“Sorry about this,” you gestured towards the bike, “didn’t plan for a date.” If only Latrice could’ve given you more than a couple hours to organise, you would have tried to get a more reasonable transportation; but still, she got you a dinner with the famous Bada Lee, so you couldn’t really get mad at her either.

“A date?” Bada chuckled, slowly getting used to your bluntness. It didn’t stop her cheeks from warming up though. “Okay then, what’s the occasion?”

You pulled out the keys to your recording studio, absolutely delighted. “I start work tomorrow!” You chirped excitedly, “they just finished setting it up this morning.”

“God! who gets this excited to work?” The blonde scoffed jokingly. Something about the way you get excited reminded her of a Doberman wagging it’s tail. She unconsciously reached over to ruffle your hair, immediately stopping herself when she realised what she’d done. “U-uh should we go in?”

You hummed and nodded at the suggestion, heart fluttering from the little touch.

Bada nodded approvingly at your choice of venue, “Oh this place is nice, you’ve been here before?”

You shook your head no, “Found it online. I took off running from my local guide, remember?”

Bada laughed and navigated you inside, “Now that you’ve stopped running, I can finally have the honour of showing you around. This place is a good find.” She handed you a menu and you slid the little sheet back to her.

“What does the local guide recommend?” You asked cheekily, noticing an opportunity to discover her preferences. The blonde smiled, thrilled to show you a few signature dishes.

While you waited for your food to arrive, Bada proceeded to list off a few more dining and event venues. You made a few mental notes to check these places out in the following weeks while admiring just how personable and adorable this famous dancer is.

Pulling out your phone, you snapped multiple photos of the dishes when they finally arrived, “Latrice missed out. Food looks amazing.” If Bada ever considers an alternative career path, she should really become a food blogger.

“Just the food?” Bada teased back.

You turned the camera towards her and snapped a few pictures as well. Of course she looked amazing as always, beaming a squint eyed smile at your camera.

Bada is right - the food is delicious. “I think I need to take you out for dinner more often,” you wondered out loud, nodding at your own ingenuity. The dancer raised you a thumbs up, delighted by your willingness to try out almost everything. Bada felt extremely accomplished as a guide for the night.

“Thank you for dinner,” the blonde looked up at you, and you noticed a tiny bit of sauce on the corner of her mouth. You hummed and gestured her forward.

Bada instinctively reacted to your two finger ‘come here’ gesture and leaned forward; her eyes widen when you gently tipped her chin upwards, wiping away the mark with a serviette. The blonde had to took a few sips of her cold drinks to regulate her breathing again after that. Not used to being the flustered one, Bada is determined to up her game on this date. “Careful there, or I’m gonna start thinking that you’re flirting with me.”

You tilted you head slightly in confusion, a slight pout taking shape on your lips. “I am flirting with you, for a while actually.”

Y/N: 1, Bada: 0. The blonde sighed and hung her head in defeat.

You smiled at the sulky choreographer, patting the top of head back. “Thank you for coming out tonight, lovely.”

Bada raised her head gloomily, sighing dramatically. “We have Latrice to thank,” she pondered for a moment as you hummed and nodded. “And probably Redlic.”

Your gaze hardened as you heard the last word. “What did you say?”

The tall dancer was confused at your sudden change in vibes, as there’s now something dangerous about the tone you’re taking, reminding her of the first night she met you. “Redlic, why?”

“What did that bitch do this time?” You tried to maintain your composure and keep your tone neutral, but no amount of self control can hide the poison dripping from your words.

Still confused by your change in demeanour, and frankly, offended by the word choice you’ve used on her colleague, Bada raised an eyebrow at you bemusedly. “What exactly is your problem with her?”

Knowing that the dancer in front of you is just collateral damage to your despise for the Mannequeen member, you took a deep breath and composed yourself. “She made Latrice cry, didn’t she?”

Bada’s expression immediately soften upon understanding your animosity against Redlic. “Ah that,” she sighed, running her hand over her hat, “yeah you right about that, she was a real bitch for that.”

You hummed and nodded, patiently waiting for Bada to continue dragging her name through the filth.

“Wait-” Bada suddenly perked up with realisation, looking at you with hesitation. “You… didn’t know?”

Your brows furrowed as it became your turn to get utterly confused. “What do I not know?”

Bada’s hand clasped over her mouth as she thought - fuck, “Latrice hasn’t… told you they’re dating, has she?” Bada trailed off, knowing that you probably should’ve heard this from Latrice yourself, but at the same time figured that it’s probably better for her to rip the Band-Aid off sooner rather than later. The silence was deafening as she mouthed a ‘sorry’ at you.

You shook your head at the blonde, understanding the predicament you’ve unintentionally placed her in. “It’s not you,” you sighed, rubbing your temple in frustration. “Latrice have a track record for going after assholes.”

“Is that where you learned how to beat up a-holes so efficiently?” Bada smirked.

You nodded in defeat, sighing once again. “Do you know any good remote places? Preferably one with little to no people and very soft soil. I may have to hide evidences of a crime after tonight.”

“Your local guide does not support criminal activities, unfortunately. Can I try to convince you to rethink your stance on Redlic?” Bada pressed timidly.

You rolled you eyes at her jokingly, “Thread lightly.”

“She fucked up, I’ll admit. We all gave her hell for it after filming actually, Harimu almost walked her like a dog. But-” she paused for a moment, tentatively sizing you up to make sure she hasn’t broken through that thin, thin ice into freezing water. You remained unreadable as a glacier. “But that’s just how she is, constantly blabbering first before considering her words, she has no ill intention.”

“That’s the best you could do? She’s not a cunt, just a twat?” You huffed and rolled your eyes, plopping your head onto the table. No wonder Latrice avoided talking about her date all day.

Bada shrugged in resignation, “How about ‘I don’t like prison food so you can’t commit crimes against Redlic?’”

You nodded, that’s a common ground you can agree on. “Yet. Second offence and I’m taking her for a swim with cinder blocks.”

The blonde chuckled at your fierce protectiveness, your guardian angel energy matching that to a hen shielding its chicks’. She’s heard people throwing around that phrase before, but it was then she realised what people meant by ‘mother is mothering.’

Tag list: @bada-lee-ily @lil-elliesgf @rubywonu @wiselight

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #fanfic #swf2 #swf2 x reader

[gamersansblog]

A new world

Yeager pilot male reader x Call of duty mw2

♡♡♡♡♡

Summary: m/n a Yeager pilot who had faced hard ships of life and fighting beasts that keep coming from the deep of the pacific ocean and must help a British team to work a yeager

Warning: cursing,mention of gore, gore, killing and mention of killing, smut, male reader (yes he's a Warning), death, some angst

Featuring:

Simon 'ghost' Riley

The man who has daddy issues 💀

Captian John price

A old man who smokes big cigars 🚬

John Soap mactavish

Has a secret stash of bombs somewhere 🧨

Alejandro vargas

The big ass forhead 👀

König

A focking giant mate 🧍🏻‍♂️

Laswell

The always disappointed mom

Kyle Gaz

The only black boy in the group 🙋🏿‍♂️

Male name

Badass Yeager pilot

Raul

Man with no quote yet- 🥲

Doberman

A aggressive dog man 🐶

+more characters coming soon

(If you want your oc or a cod and pacific rim character to be in this let me know <3)

Chapter's

Chapter 1: How it began

Chapter 2: The fallen brother (Currently in the making)

Taglist

@atlas-king1 , @badblondebisexualboy , @54ndy-b01 , @sad1st1c-wh0re , @neon-lights-27 , @cultofskulls , @scoobstarr , @scoobstarr , @aspedns , @avonleya , @froganon , @enzonaa , @imcoughing , @keeganscockring , @sugar-p0p , @koakintrz , @animeismyreligionbitches , @aphroditeslovr , @elizadj08

Comment if you want to be in the taglist

A thank you!

Thank you @public-slaughterhouse for letting me use your oc!

Thank you @xxazura-leexx for letting me use your oc!

#pacific rim #pacific rim x reader #male reader #my au #call of duty x you #call of duty modern warfare #male reader insert #cod ghost #cod soap #price #mw2 fanfic #cod alejandro #cod x reader #cod x male reader #cod modern warfare #no smut

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Spring, 2020 - San Diego, California

Chapter 7 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: After your inquiry, you've been feeling oddly adrift. It feels weird, being back in your house, in your life like you belong in it. Things feel different. A chance encounter with your soulmate on the beach has you falling into something which seems incredibly close to love.

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish.

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 3880

A/N: You all remember how I teased you with slow burn a year ago, right? We're finally starting to feel the burn now. I know it's taken me nearly a year to get here, but now is when we're going to have some sweet fluff for Tink and Rooster!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

You’ve found yourself retreating to the ocean more often since the day of the inquiry. The crashing waves help you process everything that has happened over the past few months. You've been struck with so much pain, sorrow, and guilt; at times, it feels like you were barely living at all. You’re not sure if you actually lived through those horrible months or if a robot took control of your body. Some of the same feelings came back to you when you walked into your hangar on base the day after the trial.

The work is the same. Your team is the same. Yet, you can’t help feeling like everything has inexplicably changed. Your team has flourished under Commander Greyson's steady, quiet leadership. In your darkest moments, you wonder if they wouldn't be better off without you at the helm. You can't deny that Commander Greyson is brilliant at what he does. There would be so much your team can learn from him - so much you can learn from him. Even the drone project for Admiral Cain is completed with so much detail it makes your head spin. It feels odd, being back on the North Island Naval Base as notorious as you are. It leaves you with a prickling, itching sensation of being seen.

Jake and Javy had dogged you relentlessly that first day, spending all their time off hops draped over the worn sofa in the AMDO hangar in turn like a pair of eager, hungry, sweet Dobermans. They never hesitated to growl at the gossip floating around, even before your inquiry. But you chased them away after the first day, knowing you needed to stand by yourself. Being back home, in your actual house, helps too. The familiar sights and smells wrap you in a warm hug. So does being able to tinker with your cars and motorcycles.

But what you've missed the most when staying with Jake and Javy was having the sea nearby. The crashing of the waves, the salt in the air, the way the sand is rough under your feet. Every night, you had taken to languidly strolling at the tide line, relishing in the prickle of small seashells against the pads of your feet in the wet sand. The rush of water soothes the roar of your thoughts and grounds you. If only it could soothe your unconscious mind as well as the sea soothes your conscious thoughts. 

Of course, nothing can soothe your thoughts, not even the rush of the ocean in the distance as Bradley opens the passenger side door for you in front of a gorgeous off-white stucco house. The long, shaded drive is packed with cars, and you can feel your nerves with every footstep you take. You willingly take hold of a couple of the many tote bags full of alcohol Penny had given Bradley because you may not be sure what you’re doing here. You're still not sure why you accepted his invitation to celebrate his dad. Still, at least you can cart alcohol into the colossal house.

When the door opens, it's to a wall of pure sound. You're shell-shocked by it but more so by the slight man with dark hair and green eyes standing at the threshold.

“A-admiral Mitchell!” With your arms encumbered by the bags, you can’t salute, though a part of you wishes you could.

“At ease, Lieutenant Commander.” His grin is mischievous, and his voice is sardonic. “Come on in. I'm glad Bradley finally got off of his ass and invited you out to meet us.”

Your smile is nearly a grimace as you follow Admiral Mitchell into the kitchen and set the bags down on one of the counters. You turn and brush invisible dust off of your fingers. Admiral Mitchell's looking at you with a knowing smile on his face.

“I guess he didn't tell you he was bringing you here?”

You shake your head and let him take the bags out of your hands. “Well, you’re always welcome, kid. And please. Call me, Mav.”

The door swings open again, and this time, you’re hit with a waft of that sandalwood scent that you’re quickly coming to adore. It's Bradley, and you're not sure why, but he's easily holding all of the other bags, bulging with bottles of alcohol in his brawny arms.

“Hey, Baby Goose!” You grin at the naked affection in the other man’s words. “It took you long enough to get Tinkerbell to come here.”

“But, kiddo, you could’ve at least warned her what she was walking into!” 

Maverick Mitchell looks like he’s practically leaping for joy. You have to stifle your snicker as a blush crawls its way up Bradley’s neck.

“It was a spontaneous invitation, Dad.” Now, the endearment has you looking wide-eyed at Bradley.

“Go on, get all the drinks in the kitchen. Ice is out in the backyard, manning the grill. All of the others are out there, too. Grab whatever you’d like for yourselves, and get on out there!” Mav seems quite content to ignore the look on your face, skirting around you and Bradley in the hallway and disappearing through an arch at the end of the hallway when someone calls his name.

“Come on, Tink.” You follow his broad shoulders as he leads you through the house. The walls are covered with pictures, a lot of them depicting a tow-headed boy in various stages of growth. Of course, you realize they're Bradley when you see his graduation pictures right next to his Officer promotion pictures on the wall. When you walk through the same arch Mav disappeared through, you’re spellbound at the sight of the sun setting through the big picture windows. There are fairy lights strung through the trees and music playing. On an impromptu dance floor, you can see couples dancing.

There are a lot of people floating through the backyard. You recognize most of them from dossiers and others from reputations built on hearsay in the Navy, and all of a sudden, you're absolutely sure you shouldn't be here at all. The icing on the proverbial cake is when you see Mav kissing Iceman, yeah, that Iceman, tenderly on the lips.

“Yeah, Dad and Pops are soulmates.” You squeak just a little as those words hit.

“So you’re telling me your dad, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, and your Pops, Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, the COMPACFLT of the US Navy, are soulmates?”

You’re sure you can be excused for your tone. This is a whopper of a secret to find out. Bradley takes one look at your face and snickers like he can’t believe the expression on his face. You poke your elbow into his side gently, trying to make him let up on his teasing. You’re not serious about it, enjoying the light air between the two of you. But when Bradley wraps his arm around your waist, you have to sigh at the warmth his arms bring you. He stops moving when he’s wrapped around you, one hand securely holding his beer, the other curled around your front like it was made to be there.

His sandalwood scent wraps you up as securely as his arms do. Standing here, seeing the sun setting behind the party happening out in the yard, it almost feels like you can do this - be soulmates with Bradley Bradshaw. Obviously, there is a lot you still need to talk to him about. But, the warmth Mav has shown you as some of Bradley’s only family goes a long way.

“It’s beautiful here,” you hum as you sip from your icy cold cider bottle, relishing in the condensation dripping onto your sun-warmed skin.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” There’s something reverent in Bradley’s voice as he looks out over the yard with its sprawling green lawn.

“I’ve always wanted to have a life like Mav and Ice’s.” He smiles softly, his eyes sparkling in the golden light of the setting sun like amber shot through with motes of molten gold.

“My mom and dad have a house, you know?” You gasp and slide your fingers down until they’re laced with his across your stomach.

“It’s in Virginia. They got acres of land with the property. My mom’s parents gave it to my mom and dad when they got married. I can’t help but wonder if everything would have been different if I still had them both with me.”

“They loved you, Rooster. I don’t have to have met them to know that. They would have adored seeing the man you’ve become, Bradley.”

“I know they would have, Tinkerbell. I wish I could make that house a home, is all.”

“Who is to say you still can’t?”

“Who would want to build a life with me, anyhow?” There is sorrow in his voice, the same emotion streaking across his face in a flash.

“Well, I know I would be willing to try?” You’re not sure what prompts the words to spill out of your mouth. They feel so right on your tongue. The words also leave you feeling oddly vulnerable because they’re the vocalization of a dream you’ve been carrying yourself for a very long time. Bradley’s sweet intake of breath makes something light up in your chest.

“I’d like that,” he chuckles, “C’mon. Let me introduce you to everyone here. They’re the closest things to a family I’ve got. I want them to like you, but chances are, they’ll love you. They might not love me once they hear what happened, though.”

You slide your drink onto a table and slip your arms around his waist. His arms curl around you tenderly. His lips feather against the top of your head in a soft, barely there kiss.

“They’re your family, Roo. They’re going to love you no matter what.” 

He chuckles ruefully at your earnest words.

“They’re going to love you too, Tinkerbell.”

With those final words on the matter, you’re whisked out into the setting sun. A part of you can’t believe you’re out here rubbing elbows with US Navy elites. Every person Bradley introduces you to is another surprise. Before you can blink, you’ve chatted with Rear Admiral Kerner, who asks you to call him Slider, and laughed with Admiral Kazansky. You adore how this colossal cobbled-together family acts with each other. Every conversation is littered with inside jokes and teasing words. But more than how happy you are, it’s gratifying seeing how happy Bradley is. He seems to be in his element, laughing and reminiscing. There have been so many stories of Goose Bradshaw where you’ve seen him wiping away tears even while laughing that gloriously deep belly laugh.

People leave the party in pairs and trios, alcohol-soaked with colossal smiles curling their lips and laughter sneaking out as the ocean breeze brushes through the trees, salt-laden and wet as it smacks into your face. Before long, there are only a handful of the guests left in the garden. You’re not sure when he lit it, but Mav has started up a fire in the firepit, coals glowing red in the night air. You join the rest of the stragglers around the bonfire, settling in next to Bradley in one of the Adirondack chairs.

“So, Tinkerbell.” Your head snaps up so fast at the sound of her voice that it kind of hurts. It’s Sarah, The Iceman’s sister and Slider’s wife (how is this your life), who asks you, “How did you meet our Bradley?”

You swallow your sip of cider hurriedly - nearly choking on the fizzy liquid - caught on the spot as every face in the circle turns to you. Bradley grins as he lays an arm securely over your shoulders. That first night at The Hard Deck feels like it was a million years ago. A part of you can’t believe that it has only been a little over six months. It feels like you’re reliving that night over again when you recount it. You can taste the cocktails you’d been downing all night on your tongue. You half feel the sensations of Bradley’s hands on your skin as you recount the crush of people in the bar that night and the fear as you nearly get trampled. 

You unconsciously turn until you face Bradley, drinking in the sight of his face as he looks at you as you retell the first meeting of your fraught relationship. The electricity you’d felt that night is swarming through your veins again as you finish your retelling. You don’t mention a thing about the words you’d shared with him before leaving the Hard Deck and how you’d cried your eyes out in your bed at home, jet lag and exhaustion working in concert to make the words hit harder than they ever should have.

“That’s such a sweet story!” Sarah has a dreamy look on her face as she reaches for Slider’s hands with her own. They look so happy with each other, true soulmates if you’ve ever seen them. But you’re not one to ask. Since you were a little girl, you’ve had it drilled into your head to never ask someone what their soulmate marks are or even if their partner is their soulmate. It’s considered incredibly rude to do so when you’re not immediate family members or intimate friends. There are still people who do it, but they are rare and mostly do it to be rude. “I’m sure the two of you are going to be very happy together.”

You smile a little stiltedly, not sure how to answer that because while things are good between you and Bradley right now, far better than that first night anyhow, they’re far from where you could believe you’ve reached your happily ever after. Bradley seems just as discomfited as you are by his aunt’s well-meaning words. He joins the next conversation topic with aplomb, energy radiating out with him until it seems like everyone is wrapped up in the fun as the music plays low and quiet out of the speaker system. A few minutes later, he tugs you up out of your Adirondack and pulls you down towards the bottom of the garden.

“They love you, sweetheart.” You grin, wild and unabashed, as his words make you light up. Your heart is soaring, but your brain’s still unsure of this sudden need to have him at arm's reach, always touching you, always close. It feels too easy after all the pain you’ve been through.

“I’m glad, Bradley.”

“You don’t sound glad, Tink.” You’ve been trying to keep your emotions from your face, and now, more than ever, you’re sure you haven’t succeeded.  The bond between the two of you must be acting up as well because Bradley’s got this knowing look on his face. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the thought.

“I am.” He snorts and slides his Hawaiian shirt across your shoulders. It leaves him in just a white singlet. The top clings to his muscles and almost shines under the golden lights. Unbidden, the words spill out of you. 

“I promise I am, Bradley. It doesn’t feel like I deserve this, you know? Being this close to you? Seeing you happy.”

“So what do you want to do?” You fall in love the moment those words leave your soulmate’s mouth. There are no half-hidden attempts to over-explain what you’re feeling or urges to comfort you for something that isn’t a physical struggle. “How can I make it better?”

You shrug, burrowing into the thin fabric of the shirt as the cool ocean breeze wafts across the backyard.

“Would it be weird if we took things kind of slow for the next while?”

“How slow are you thinking?”

“Not too slow.” You’re quick to reassure your soulmate as you wrap an arm around his waist. Even now, there’s an ache burrowing under your skin at not feeling him pressed up against you. “I think we should date each other and get to actually know one another.”

When he doesn’t say anything for several long moments, you start to worry. It has you babbling, “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to?”

His hands gently slide over your cheeks and tip your face up until you can see the soft look in Bradley’s whiskey eyes. 

“It sounds like a good idea.” He chuckles as his lips press against your forehead. “We’ve moved in extremes since we’ve met. We need to get to know each other, care about each other, more than just the feeling of this bond linking us together.”

You feel like you can barely breathe at the look in your soulmate's eyes as he leans in close enough that you can feel his mustache on your lips.

“What do you say about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

You hum in thought, aching to press your lips to his. His body is a line of heat pressed up against yours, and you want more.

“I’d love to.”

His exhale of joy brushes damply across your lips, and at that moment, you can’t resist pressing upwards. His lips are petal soft and gentle as they slide over yours. It’s a sensation in direct counterpoint to the rough bristles of his mustache. Your arms slide around his thick neck, fingers catching at the furrowed scars on the smooth skin. Bradley’s breath catches as you trace lightly across the slightly raised skin. If he’s this responsive to your touch, what would he do if you were tracing your lips and tongue down his throat?

When he pulls away, you whimper, actually honest-to-god whimper, at the feeling of his skin leaving yours.

“Slow, sweetheart.” He chuckles as he pulls away, a tender smile curving his lips. “We said we’d go slow, right?”

“Fine,” you huff, licking your lips in a futile urge to taste more of your soulmate on your skin. If it’s any consolation, Bradley seems to be just as affected by that slow, languid, blood-boilingly hot kiss as you are.

“Tell me more about your dads.” It’s a plea closer to a demand than it should be. But you have to control yourself. If you look at him any longer, you’ll jump him. You can’t do that to him, not when you’ve just decided to go slow.

“What about them?”

You grin. “How’d they meet?”

“At Top Gun.” He’s got a faraway look in his eyes. “When Goose and Mav came to North Island in ‘86, one of their first stops was the O-Club. It was one of the only places catering to mostly Navy personnel and was quite famous. That’s where they ran into Uncle Ron and Pops.”

“Did they like each other at first sight?”

“I don’t think so, sweets.” You chuckle and shiver as another breeze makes the lights sway over your heads.

“Were they better or worse than we were when we met?”

Bradley grins and opens his arms to you. You melt into his arms and sigh in pleasure at the warmth of him in your arms. His voice rumbles comfortingly in his chest as he continues, “I think they were worse, sweets. Much worse.” 

He sounds sardonic and sarcastic, something drier than the desert in his tone.

“So you’re telling me there is worse than calling me “a little thing who just got her position in the Navy on her knees”?” Your tone doesn’t hold any heat because you know while he said something first, you continued it. You’ve definitely given as good as he dished out.

“Shit.” 

You giggle at his hushed exhale because as angry and hurt as you were when you heard him say those words, you’ve forgiven him long ago.

“That was a bad night for me, Tink.” He pulls his hands away from you only to tangle them into his curls as anguish and shame twist his features. Half hidden against his chest, you tug him in closer, soothing his pain with your presence as much as you can.

“You have no idea what you looked like that night, did you? Fuck, you looked so beautiful, it took my breath away. I was hanging on to your every word. From the first thing you said to me, I was seconds away from ripping that little sundress off. All I wanted was to lay you out on my bed and never let you go.”

When you inhale, it feels like the ocean-laden breeze burns. If he felt like this on that first day, how come he didn’t act on his feelings? 

“Then that fight broke out. All I wanted to do then was protect you. So I grabbed your waist and got you to that bar stool, holding you there with my back to that room so nobody could hurt you. It would’ve been too soon to kiss you then, no matter how much I wanted to, with the heat of your skin imprinted on my fingertips. Too much, too soon. So, after the fight was broken up, I grabbed my drink and tried to look nonchalant. At least, I did until I heard Hangman calling for you. He sounded so worried like he cared so much for you. I assumed then and there, he was your soulmate. So I backed off.”

“I was in a completely shitty mood the rest of the night. I’d never been so close to someone who I thought could be mine. I wanted you, only you. But I managed to convince myself that you weren’t mine, that you would never be mine. I got drunk. So drunk I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. I let my anger fester, and when it boiled to a fever pitch, I spat those words out when I saw you walk by, at a volume at which I knew you could hear.”

“I’m sorry, Tink.” Bradley’s voice is a growl, a pained one, as he apologizes to you again. “I’d understand if you couldn’t forgive me.”

There’s so much pain on his face you can’t help reaching up until you’re cupping his face in your hands.

“I forgave you a long time ago.”

It feels like an absolution saying those words into the night air. The disbelief on his face cements your decision even more. You forgive Bradley Bradshaw for all of his past sins, and you hope someday he can forgive all of yours, too. You press a kiss to his upturned jaw just because you can.

“There will never be anything but forgiveness between us, darling.”

“But how?” His voice is disbelieving. “How can we get past this?”

“The way we always have been meant to. Together.” Your eyes are soft as you tug on his hands until they wrap around you again. “And maybe, Roo, you should open that mouth and ask me if Jake Seresin is my soulmate next time.”

When he starts to snicker, you laugh, too. He pulls you in closer until he can press his lips to your forehead. You have many questions about your soulmate. For now, standing here at the bottom of the garden at his parent’s house is enough. You have the rest of your life in which to chat with Bradley. It’s a chance you’re not going to give up.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN ON TUMBLR, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@roosters-girl @infamous-reindeer @caitsymichelle13 @mattyskies @cosmic-psychickitty @mygyn @julesclues @greenbaby12 @bubblegumbeautyqueen @briseisgone @soulmates8 @meganlpie @captain-fandomwriter58 @caidi-paris @mazzbarnes @super-btstrash-posts @eli2447 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @abaker74 @marvelouslyme96 @faithiegirl01 @shanimallina87 @harrysgothicbitch @zombicupcake3 @djs8891 @bellaireland1981 @tsumudoll @scoliobean @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #you are my soulmate #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #soulmate!au #miscommunication

[lanaevyssmoved]

OC + Random Associations

tagged by @cetra , @sleepsvessel & @bootheminiaturegiantspacehamster thank you ^_^

Animal

Afhiri sea slugs, isopods (dairy cow and zebra), geckos and other various reptiles, cats, small birds, musteloids (particularly raccoons and red pandas), viverrids, japanese raccoon dogs, opossums Candor lions, various eagles (wedge-tailed, golden, crowned), hawks, swans and geese, bighorn rams, crocodillians, sea turtles, elephants, animals that use sun compass orientation Cirok corvids (raven, crow), dogs (rottweiler, doberman, pinscher, greyhound), venomous black snakes, scorpions, spiders (particularly trapdoor spiders and sicarius), bats, black caiman, sharks

Colors

Afhiri pastels! pink, yellow, orange, green, blue, white, black Candor changes depending on form but in general purple, blue, red, yellow, orange, gold, brown, white, black Cirok black, grey, white - absolutely no Colour (thanks to booboo i now think of like toxic waste green when i think of cirok too)

Month

Afhiri September Candor August Cirok November

Songs

Afhiri tapi tapi - tempura kidz fear. moe shop and fun - sir sly. sir sly's vibe is way off for afhiri but the lyrics were written for her Candor a sun coloured shaker - yndi halda and (spring) this was your place - sunlight ascending Cirok jouska - evenS (probably favourite song of all time btw) and i come with knives - IAMX

Number

Afhiri two/2 Candor three/3 Cirok four/4

Plants

Afhiri celandine, sunflower, pink tulip, daisy Candor bay tree, gladiolus, heliotrope, rose Cirok chives, anemone, begonia, deadly nightshade

Scents

Afhiri fresh morning, grass, dirt, cotton candy, bubblegum Candor cedar, musk, sandalwood, the ocean, burning  Cirok decay, death, rot, overwhelmingly of resin

Gemstone

Afhiri tugtupite Candor meliphanite Cirok magnetite

Time of day

Afhiri sunrise Candor midday Cirok night

Season

Afhiri summer Candor summer Cirok winter

Places

Afhiri taverns, meadows, by rivers and lakes Candor monasteries, temples, places of worship Cirok the dank, cold and forgotten, the forbidden

Food

Afhiri sweet things, nothing good for you Candor warm meals Cirok raw meat

Drinks

Afhiri sugary sweet drinks, energy drinks Candor various teas (green, oolong, herbal, black) Cirok piping hot black coffee

Element

Afhiri air Candor fire Cirok water

Seasonings

Afhiri garlic, ginger, cinnamon Candor paprika, turmeric, bay leaves Cirok dried chives, cloves, saffron

Sky

Afhiri the most beautiful sunny cloudless summer sky Candor a colourful golden orange, red, and purple with light cloud cover Cirok stratus clouds, grey, calm and quiet

Weather

Afhiri warm day with lots of sun and a gentle breeze Candor blazing hot summers day with minimal to no wind Cirok cold winters day with fog and light snow

Magical power

Afhiri manipulative magic that makes someone act against their own will, anything that makes them laugh or dance. also the magical power of Insults Candor holy smites, blinding lights and divine energy Cirok phasing into the realm of the dead to walk partly as a ghost

Weapons

Afhiri shortsword and dagger combo, dual hand crossbows Candor mace and shield, longbow, floating/flying greatsword Cirok dual daggers, throwing knives, poisons and venoms

Candy/Sweets

Afhiri cotton candy, bubblegum, and i designed her with fruit salad in mind! Candor spicy roasted pecans, maple roasted sweet potatoes, sea salt dark chocolate Cirok liquorice, black jack, toxic waste

Method of long distance travel

Afhiri roadtrip in a classic volkswagen camper van Candor flying Cirok underground trains

Artstyle

Afhiri impressionism, abstract expressionism, street art, dadaism, CoBrA and fauvism Candor baroque and classicism Cirok optical art and minimalism

Fear

Afhiri of the self, of emotional pain, of returning home Candor of imperfection, of failure, of not being worthy Cirok of being seen, of death, of vulnerability

Mythological creature

Afhiri azeban, mujina, nymph Candor chalkydri, phoenix, psychopomp Cirok tsuchigumo, black dog, gargoyle

Piece of stationery

Afhiri a childs box of crayons, dairy Candor fountain pen, ruler Cirok ink, letter opener

Three Emojis

Afhiri 🤡🍀🪈 Candor ☄️🎇🪽 Cirok 🕷️♟️🔪

Celestial body

Afhiri the moon Candor the sun Cirok black dwarf

THIS TOOK ME FOREVER GUYS... TWO DAYS. I WORKED ON IT FOR HOURS. i hope........ its worth it <3

tagging @cetra @dekariosgale @courierseis @euryalex @hibernationsuit @jerichoes @vanoefucks @captaintiny @gwynbleidd @arduath @rcpunzel @avallachs @fuckitwebhaal @hexdruid @sovereign-spaw @galesgrandad @thefathersbride @dandeyrain @doggybone @swanfey @voerman @full---ofstarlight @chaos-storm @covenscribe @raphaelsboudoir @simtalics @kymal @graynstairs @neonbutchery @hungryblackbird @moxley @thlix @isayashai @darlinghowl @astarionsfordf150 @moon-jun @lovaboy @ratscrap @picklepals @crazy-lazy-elder-sims @rigaudon @neosunbrella @sternenstaub28 @centipisde @kirkwall @lusus--naturae

#fray.txt #oc afhiri #oc candor #oc cirok #this was so rough man. #also candor and cirok dont eat or drink so. #lots of VIBES #and lots of trying to limit myself #as u can see i failed at limiting myself in multiple places ^_^ #IM SO HAPPY IM DONE MAN #i know its long on ur dash but im not read moreing the entire thing it took me too long. U WILL LOOK

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #32 - Cozy]

“When you and Jungkook have a cozy night in.”

Genre: married life!AU, domestic Fluff

Warnings: Kookie being a cute dork & the best husband, they’re goals :(

Wordcount: 2.3k

a/n: I love them 3000 😔 also yes, you will be getting multiple ogc drabbles a week, you can’t stop me 😏 enjoy besties 🧡

There is a subtle knock on the door, ripping you out of the trance you had previously been in. You remove your eyes from the shower wall and finally begin moving the showerhead over your body again.

"Yeah?" you call out.

"Hey babe, it’s me", Jungkook says.

"Hey love, what's up?" 

"Can I come inside?" 

"Why?" 

"Don't know, I just thought that maybe we could talk a little." 

You chuckle, "you do know that I'm currently titties out, coochie free in the shower, right?" 

"Uuh yeah? Duh?"

The doorknob moves, but the door doesn’t open. Obviously, because you locked it.

"My boobie babie can I come in?" he whines behind the door. 

"No?" you laugh, "not when you’re giving me that voice." 

"What voice?" 

"The horny voice." 

Silence for a second then, "I'm not giving you the horny voice. Hey babe, what's the difference between me and the shower head?"

"I'll regret asking, but what?"

"The shower head can see your boobies." 

You roll your eyes. 

"Not it", you say despite chuckling to yourself. 

"Babe please, can I come in?" Jungkook tries again, most definitely pouting. 

"Not today, alright? Gotta really wash my crack." 

A faint chuckle. 

"Can I have that? I need me some good ol' alone time tonight", you tell him.

"Yeah totally, get that", Jungkook says, "I'll be upstairs then."

"Yes, it won’t be long anymore." 

"Take your time, love. Hey babe?" 

"Yes Koo?" you ask him, stepping out of the shower. 

"I took a shit before and it smelled so bad."

He cracks you up, "thanks for that information. I hope you left the window open." 

"I did", Jungkook sounds smug, "okay bye, Imma shower upstairs. Gotta wash that crack too. I wiped thoroughly though, just fyi." 

"Never doubted you, love."

"Okay good. Byeee", he coos. 

"Goodbye", you say, chuckling to yourself.

Jungkook leaves for good afterwards and you spend the rest of your nighttime routine smiling to yourself because of him. He is so childishly silly sometimes. It never gets old.

You make yourself a nice cup of chamomile tea before leaving for the bedroom. It seems that Jungkook went on a whole cleaning rampage before going upstairs. The kitchen, as well as the living room, are sparkling clean as you wander through them. He also loaded and then started the dishwasher and remembered to close the windows for the night. Thankfully, because you would have totally forgotten.

Smiling to yourself, because you have the best husband ever, you make your way upstairs to your shared bedroom.

It was the best room of the house. Located on the second floor and with east facing windows, it overlooked the ocean with its sandy beaches and distant seagulls. It was an entire front of windows, reaching from floor to ceiling and with a sliding door leading to the spacious balcony outside. You installed a series of planting pots along the railing and Jungkook set up your beloved cuddle nest. A canopied beach chair with a comfy mattress, soft pillows and fairy lights along the edge of the canopy. You and Jungkook spent many evenings snuggled up there and watching the sun set. As of recently, you also spend an unhealthy amount of time cuddled up in there and playing with your newest addition to your family. A little Doberman puppy called Bam. Jungkook chose the name, explaining to you that he wanted a word related to his roots and that Bam in Korean means both chestnut and night and that it is the perfect name for the dog. "It's because his fur is coloured like a chestnut, but he's also dark and mysterious like the night. Also chestnut sounds so cute, our little chestnut", he told you and because you had nothing to argue against the cute explanation, you decided to call your puppy Bam.

Said puppy is currently making your husband giggle happily as it wiggles his little body on his chest.

“Yeah scratchies”, Jungkook coos, scratching behind Bam’s ears, “yeah you like being scratched there? Ohoh yeah scrwatchies, yeah bwig scrawtchies.”

“Shouldn’t he already be in his crate?” you ask him, watching him with fond eyes.

Jungkook looks over at you. 

“Yeah I know, but look at him”, he cups Bam’s little face, turning it to you, “he’s so cute, I just wanna squish him.”

Bam barks softly, alerting Jungkook’s attention, who ends up giggle and then pressing a big smooch on the puppy’s forehead.

“God I wuv you so much”, he babytalks, smooching him a second time, “my Bamie. My cutie bwaby Bamie.”

"You're so cute", you tell him and finally claim your comfy spot on top of the bed. You set the mug of hot tea on your lap and sigh contently.

Jungkook releases Bam’s head and sits up, letting the puppy lie down in the little nook between his thighs. He leans over until he can rest his cheek on your shoulder.

"Wat'cha drinking?" he asks, sneaking a glance into the mug.

"Chamomile tea, it’s really good. Wanna try?"

"No thanks, I’m good. I already brushed my teeth. Hey babe?" Jungkook lies down beside you in a way so that his head is facing the side of your thigh.

Bam crawls up his dad’s stomach, sniffing at Jungkook’s neck curiously while the latter runs his fingers up and down his little back.

"Yes baby?" you ask him.

"I'm thinking about getting another tattoo again. What do you think?" 

"I think that if it makes you happy then go for it. The only question is where and what?" 

"I'm thinking inner left arm? There", Jungkook shows you the empty spot on his upper arm, "something related to Bam." 

"Get a chestnut or his puppy paw print."

Jungkook cranes his neck, gawking at you with big eyes. 

"That's so cute and genius!" he exclaims, "the paw print would be adorable." 

"Right? It would look really good on the spot too." 

Jungkook nods his head, reaching above himself to run the back of his hand up and down your leg.

"Thank you my darling, I knew you'd have awesome ideas", he says.

“Always happy to help.”

Bam now makes it his goal to lick Jungkook’s chin, making him laugh.

“No Bam, don’t lick my face. I already put my skincare on”, he whines, lifting the tiny puppy up so he couldn’t reach him anymore.

Bam kicks his little feet in the air as if he was sprinting, barking rather loudly.

“God Kook, you’re making him all hyper again. You know he’s not gonna be able to fall asleep if you do that.”

“Yeah, yeah I know”, Jungkook whines and sits up, pecking your cheek, “don’t worry, I’m already putting him in the crate. Do you wanna give him his goodnight kissy?” he says, holding him in front of your face.

“Goodnight Bamie”, you coo, giving your little baby a big kiss on the forehead. Bam gives you a kiss back, licking your left cheek until Jungkook pulls him away and rolls out of bed to place Bam in his crate. 

It was still way too big for him, but you both decided that it would be way more financially clever to already buy a big crate for when he grows up and in the meantime fill the space with lots of pillows and stuffed animals. Bam loves it, he especially loves cuddling with his pet giraffe. Tonight is no different. After Jungkook gave him his goodnight kiss and patted his head, Bam finds his sleeping spot cuddled up with the giraffe.

Jungkook hurries back to the bed after closing the crate and rolls onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. He rests his chin on his hands, squishing his cheeks together in the process. Then he grins, eyes crinkling cutely. 

"What?" you ask him.

"Nothing, you're just so pretty."

You reach out, caressing his chin.

“You too, my prettiest.”

“Yeah? You really think I’m the prettiest?” Jungkook asks, fluttering his lashes at you. 

You run your thumb over his lips and the slope of his nose. 

“The prettiest”, you whisper. 

Jungkook grins, kissing your palm before sitting up and stealing a kiss from you. He hums in content, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your cheek. 

“You smell good, baby”, he says, before flopping on his back with his head nestled in the pillow. His fingers are stretched on his tummy, tapping a random rhythm his mind is coming up with on the spot. 

And while Jungkook enjoys the soundtrack of the night, consisting of cicadas and slow waves, you enjoy your chamomile tea, thinking of nothing in particular. 

"Darling I was thinking", Jungkook breaks the silence, "maybe I won’t work out tomorrow morning, but instead go for a run with Bam instead?" 

"Sounds good, Bam would get his movement too. Did the trainer say that we can let him go out so young?"

"I don't know, maybe we should ask him actually before I mess up his training or something."

"Yeah totally, I think that’s clever." 

"Fine then, I’ll work out tomorrow and then play with Bam in the garden later", Jungkook decides with a nod of his head, "do you think he'll poop on the terrace again?"

"I hope not. You’re cleaning it if he does", you say, nudging his chest. 

"You're so lazy, I swear to god", Jungkook pouts. 

"Sorry baby, I promise next time I'm in the garden with him, I’ll  clean it." 

"Obviously, That's a given", he says, eliciting a light laugh from you. 

"Fair point", you say, finishing the tea with a content sigh, "well that was yummy", you say, getting out of bed. 

"Where you going?" 

"Brushing my teeth, I’m not going to bed without clean teeth", you say, disappearing inside the en suite bathroom afterwards. 

You keep the door open so that Jungkook can continue chatting with you.

"I'm feeling so snacky for melon. I think I’ll pop down to Hobi's place and get a fresh one tomorrow."

"Sounds lovely." 

"Nice, I like that we're on the same page with this. Hey baby?" 

"Yes Kook?"

"Do you think we can feed Bam watermelon?" 

"I don't know. Did you check the booklet the trainer gave us?"

"I'm currently doing it", a short pause as he reads then, "good news. We can. But only a little amount and with all the seeds removed. That’s dope, we can give watermelon to Bamie tomorrow."

"Sounds awesome."

"God sorry, I feel like all I'm talking about lately is Bam", Jungkook says, making you smile. 

He is right. Jungkook has been nonstop talking about your little puppy ever since you got him. He sends you pictures of him, shows you all the videos he took, tells you all the things he thinks are cute about him, is inhumanely excited for your shared training sessions with him. One time he cried after Bam managed to do "sit" on the first try. Another time he cried because Bam fell asleep in his lap and he felt bad because he really needed to get up and pee. And another time he talked your ears off about how he will build Bam his own sidecar so he can go on your family adventures once he is older.

So to keep it short, Jungkook is so completely happy and obsessed with this dog that some people may call it insanity. You call it yet another reason why you love him so much. You are so happy about getting Bam and knowing that your husband is just as happy about it, fills you with so much joy. 

You leave the bathroom, turning off the lights behind you. 

"Don't stop, I love that you keep talking about him", you tell him, crawling back under the blanket. You rest your head in the pillow, rolling to your side so you are facing him.

Jungkook does the same. 

"I'm really happy lately", he says, "and you?"

"I'm really happy too." 

"Okay good, that’s good to hear. I just thought I'd ask because I haven’t done that in so long." 

"What? Ask me if I'm happy?" 

"Yeah or just asked you how you’re feeling in general", Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, "we're always so comfortable in our conversations that I sometimes forget to check up on you from time to time." 

You reach out, intertwining your hand with his'.

"I love you, you know?" you say.

"I love you too", Jungkook answers you, squeezing your hand gently. 

You love that even after all those years together, his eyes still seem to race between yours with such awe and adoration. He pulls your hand closer so he can nuzzle his nose into you.

"So how you doing, sweetheart? Any complaints?"

"None", you say, melting like ice cream. 

"Yeah none? How’s the sex front holding up?" 

"Oh that? Mhhm well, I don’t know", you shrug your shoulders.

"Scuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Oh well you know, I can’t really complain. I've had worse."

"___", Jungkook whines, "what the hell? I suck?"

“I’m just messing with you”, you say, cackling mischievously, “you’re amazing.”

“Yah, don’t do that”, he complains with a pout, reaching out to nudge your chest, “I almost started crying right now.”

“Aww I’m sorry baby, gosh come here”, you say, pulling him into a kiss.

One he tries to wiggle out of, “no”, he says, “don’t kiss me, you traitor.”

“Com’ere baby give me kissy”, you coo, smooching his cheek.

Jungkook lets it happen before flipping you on your back and pinning your hands above your head. He smooches your lips, darting his tongue out to lick your nostril afterwards.

“Ew Kook that’s so disgusting”, you whine, trying and failing to wiggle out of his grasp.

Jungkook cackles boyishly, “it’s what you get for telling me that my stroke game is weak.”

You roll your eyes fondly, “fine, I’ll take it.”

Jungkook grins and rests his head on your shoulder afterwards. You close your arm around him, playing with his hair.

“So comfy”, he says, closing his eyes.

“Yeh”, you say and kiss his hair, closing your own eyes afterwards.

You will fall asleep in this position and you will do so happily.​

#jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook scenario #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #bts oneshot #bts x reader #bts x you #bangtan fluff #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan scenario #bangtan oneshot #bangtan x reader #bangtan x you #fanfic: orange ginger chai

[redhead-writes]

Another day to survive

Starting this year off with some angstier stuff and also me making Bradley as asshole again as @pollyna says. Was inspired by the dagger squads first meeting in the Hard Deck.

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd had a front seat in lovers or ex lovers tiff in Hard Deck bar. He put his money on the second one. Both men had absolute disregard for each other's feelings. They wanted to hurt the other as deeply as possible. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw had hit the nerve and so Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin backed away, and slipped out.

Hangman hasn’t been kindest to him just a few minutes ago but if this is what the pilot is carrying around. Well, this could end badly for all of them in the sky. Also Bob could relate to Hangman. His break up with ex wasn’t the cleanest. He still carried reminders of it and nightmares that plagued his sleeping hours. Maybe helping Hangman could help him. With that thought in mind he ordered whiskey on rocks for Hangman, that seemed to sooth Wolfman’s nerves. Possibly it will work on this Texas boy, too.

Robert found Jake sitting on the beach, looking into the dark ocean. Hangman looked up when Bob came to stand up next to him, stretching out hand with glass in it to the sitting man. “That seemed rough and I think you need this to soothe your nerves,” said Bob, offering the glass. Jake looked at him in distrust. “I didn’t poison it, if you are afraid of that. It seems to help one Texas man I know, so I thought it would help you, too.”

“Sorry! Not used to people being kind to me.” Jake told Bob, taking the glass gratefully. He took a sip from glass and felt the whiskey warmth spreading through his body, soothing his frazzled nerves. Bradshaw really did get him good this time. Jake really was puzzled how he loved this man once. “Thanks for the drink! You should not have done it.”

“Nahh…I really should have. No one should be dealing with an arsehole ex alone. Even if you yourself are a piece of work.”

“How did….How did you know?” quietly asked Jake, taking another sip. Bob plopped down next to Hangman

“I believe our whole squad knows. Simply, I have my own ugly break up and I would not want to work with my ex. Not that he will be allowed to work for a long time. Still you need more people in your corner than only Coyote.”

“Thank you again! Still this won’t change the way I act when the others are around.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way, Hangman. But be ready to get back as good as you give.”

“You are on, Bob.” answered Jake, using his huge megawatt smile on Robert.

Then came a shout of two older men's voices: “BOBBY!” They sounded happy to have spotted the man. Then this huge doberman pinscher attacked Robert, licking his face like there is no tomorrow.

“Bono! Stop, Bono.” Bobby tried to get through his laughs. “Yes, I missed you too, buddy.” Doberman seemed to turn his attention to Jake as did the two older men that were coming closer to them.

“Jake, this is my dog Bono. He is an ex-K9 but generally he is the sweetest boy ever.” said Bob, petting the dog who has sat down in front of  Robert. “Those two loud shouters are commanders Leonard ‘Wolfman’ Wolfe - Neven and Rick ‘Hollywood’ Neven - Wolfe. I am living in their house because…”

“Because we are protective bastards of our favorite WSO. Happy to see you have made friends already, Bobby.” Wolfman finished Bob’s sentence, coming into the light that was coming from the bar with Hollywood's arm over his shoulders. Hangman could gap as fish out of the water.

“Happy to still have that effect on younger pilots.” said Hollywood who chuckled at the blonde pilot whose eyes were shining. “I thought everyone had forgotten about our class of Top Gun.”

“Holly here likes to be praised constantly. But what is your name, boy?”

It made the pilot jump up from his sitting position and salute two men. These were legends in front of him. Robert was slower to get up and Bono also now had gotten on all four.

“Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, sirs.”

“Ahhh…can I hear the Texan there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bobby, I see your taste in men has gotten better. Knew that living with us would rub off on you.” chuckled Rick. That got both Leonard and Bob punching him in the shoulders. Bono just barked at him. “No one appreciates my jokes. I feel betrayed.” Hollywood said, acting hurt by these events. No surprise about his callsign really. Rick took one look at Robert and softened. The younger man still hadn’t fully recovered from the break up. “Let’s get to the car, Robert. Allow Texan men to chat for some time.”

Wolfman looked the younger man up and down. Calculating if he could ask this favor from this man in front of him. He for sure would not ask Bradley because the boy had cut ties with all of them. Robert was too fragile to be trusted in the hands of a man who needs therapy for the last 20 years. Bobby seemed to trust this man but the lieutenant in front of him had cocky energy about himself.

“Can I ask something from you, Lieutenant Seresin?” asked Leonard, taking a gamble here. He wasn’t like Maverick but this time he will need to trust his gut and Robert’s judgment.

“Of course, Sir!”

“Keep an eye on Bobby for me and Rick. We can’t be there for him while he is training. I don’t know how much he has talked about his break up with you.”

“Only that it was a nasty one. I myself am going through one.” That made Wolfman look at the younger man again, finding similarities with Bobby.

“Hmmm…let me guess Bradshaw?”

“Are you all like psychics?”

“No, simply we are good at reading people. Comes in handy when you work with young pilots who think hiding stuff from you will get them further. So will you keep an eye on Robert for us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here will be my card. There is also adresse of our house. If you need someone to talk with, we are here for that, too. We have enough life experience.”

With that Wolfman turned around, going back to his family. He was happy that someone would keep an eye on Bobby while in training. Now Leonard understood Pete better than he did before.

It has been a tiring training session as all of them seemed to be. Jake had spent an extra 30 minutes under the hot running water. Those 30 minutes was exactly what he needed. He came into the dressing room to face someone's back that was covered in two long scars. They looked perfectly straight, making Hangman’s stomach churn. They still looked so fresh. All things he was carrying tumbled out of his arms, cluttering loudly in the silence of the dressing room. Other man turned out to reveal his identity. It was Robert who had pressed his back to the locker, trying to blend in with it.

“Bobby?” choked out Jake. After their conversation on the beach, Jake had been an avid visitor of the Wolfe-Neven household. Wolfman made mean ribs like back at home. Also Leonard gave him one of his cowboy hats from the collection because how there can be Texan without a hat here. Robert and Bono also seemed to be warming up to Jake. Bono allowed Jake to play with him while Bob laughed in the background when Jake lost to Bono in the tug war. Hangman had found a place to call home away from home. Now he knew why Wolfman wanted him to keep an eye on this man. Some pieces clicked in Hangman’s mind. “Did…did your ex do that to you?” The other man just nodded, still acting as wallpaper to the locker.

“Will you tell everyone?”

“No, oh God, no. Bobby, you have to know me better than this now. But I would like to know what happened? I have to know who to keep an eye for.”

“I know you, Jake, I do. Fear sometimes is too much.”

“Then let’s get you to safety. Will get dressed and call Leonard to have your fave food on the ready.” 

Bono was by the passenger door when they got to the house. Jake helped Robert out of the car. Bob still was weak from the anxiety attack he had in the locker room. Jake had wrapped him in a blanket even if it was summer outside. He hasn’t told anyone except Wolfman, Hollywood and navy police about what happened. Wolfman had talked with Admiral Kazansky so this accident wouldn’t cause trouble for his career. Next thing Bob knew he was assigned to this mission at Top Gun. He was grateful for two older men. He had to keep paying for his grandma's old people's home.

“We shall eat first and then we can talk.” said Hangman, helping Bob inside the house. Bono close by, not leaving his owner's side. 

Jake and Leonard got Bobby to eat and drink some gatorade. Bob has ended trembling from shock. Bono and Robert led Jake to the deck that went out to the lovely garden. Leonard made himself scarce. He had to go to Icemavs house for their annual dinner. Hollywood is going to meet him here. Now he trusted Jake. The boy has proved to be a good addition to their weird trio and also helping Bobby to be more calm. 

Robert and Jake sat down in lounge chairs. Bono laid down between both chairs to support both men. Bob sighed and started talking: “My ex-boyfriend was my pilot. Dustin, some admiral's son that never faced consequences from his actions. Daddy saving his arse every time. He was not the first pilot I flew with but the first one I clicked with. I know you don’t know that feeling because you are too individualistic. Hollywood was the one who pushed for us to be put together. Wolfman was more cautious, something bothering him but then we proved to be an amazing team in the air. So he backed up, that is what I thought but he ain’t called Wolfman for nothing. After a few months of dancing around each other we started to date. I thought he was in love with me, I really did Jake. Holly and Wolf knew about us.” Jake turned in his chair to look at Robert. The younger man looked so tortured right now that it made the blonde man reach out and squeeze Robert’s hand.. Hangman opened mouth to say something but Bob continued on with his story. “So Bono came into my life after a month of relationship with Dustin. Leo gifted me this ex-K9 dog that didn’t allow my boyfriend to get close to me. Bono had to live outside the house when Dustin was around which started making me suspicious. So one day Dustin left my housing and I let Bono in the house. He straight up went to the closet used by Dustin and scraped at the doors.”

Jake thought he had an idea what exactly Bono, ex-K9 dog could have found in the closet of Dustin’s but he had to allow Robert to tell it at his own pace without distractions. He only gave a squeeze to Bob’s hand, knowing that the hardest part is coming. The part where Bobby got the scars from his ex-boyfriend. Bradley had left scars on his heart but remembering what Robert said when they sat on the beach.It seemed like a kids game.

“So I found these bags and bags of pills in my housing closet. I knew that Bono’s reaction said those were some kind of drugs. I called Wolfman when bedroom doors opened and Dustin walked in. He stuck Bono in the bathroom. There was nothing left of the man I loved and only then I realized it. I tried to talk him into going to therapy and telling Wolfman himself. He just laughed in my face. I knew it was no use so I tried to run but he caught me, pinning me to the floor. He used the knife I gave him on our first anniversary to cut those lines. He said he wants to play tick tack toe on my back. When he finished the second line, Wolfman hit Dustin over the head with something heavy. That is what Hollywood told me. I didn’t ask for details. Hollywood sat with me in the hospital and they even allowed Bono in so I would feel safer because I didn’t believe anyone could keep Dustin in jail. Rick still feels so guilty over all this happening. I don’t blame him. Wolfman was the only one who saw through it all. Can you imagine he tried to frame me with him because pills were found in my housing? But whatever string Leonard pulled they gave me a restraining order, Dustin in jail at least for now and me away from Lemoore for now.”

“Do you think he will get out of jail soon enough?”

“Oh yeah, his dad will make sure of it. Here I am under Iceman so he or his father can’t touch me here. I know and have heard some of Wolf's convos they are digging under his dad and Cain. I believe this will end soon enough and I will finally feel safe.”

“I really hope you will, Bobby.”

After their talk, Jake did his own research to know his enemy better. It was his side quest in this mission. He promised to keep an eye on Bob and he can’t do that without knowing Dustin by face. Jake also had a talk with Leonard and Rick while Robert wasn’t at home not to worry him more. Hangman also got Javy to help him keeping an eye for Bobby. He knew his bestie would not ask too many questions for now. Jake promised to tell everything when time was right. Then both him and Robert had caught sight of Dustin in Hard Deck. It could have been someone similar to him, but Jake was not taking risks. Hangman had called Wolfman who had come with Bono and took Bobby away. Phoenix had this confused look on her face because when has her WSO become so close with Bagman. She will need to grill him. Then the day after the bird strike, he had seen Bradley talking with some man by his Bronco. This moment didn’t leave Jake’s mind. He wasn’t jealous anymore, he had gotten over Rooster along the way.

They had been back on land for two days. Robert’s grandma was going to visit Top Gun to see her grandson being awarded for successful suicide mission. Also the Mrs. Floyd wanted to meet this mysterious Hangman who had brought back her boys' laugh and smile. Hollywood was sent out to get Mrs. Floyd while Wolfman helped at the Top Gun. To be honest, Wolfman and Iceman were putting together the last bits of evidence against Dustin’s father and Cain but no one should know that for now.

The Dagger Squad was all present in Hard Deck, except Bob which had Jake ansty. He had talked with Robert and he was on his way. He had to be already here. Javy and Nat also were looking at the doors of the bar. Bob had told both pilots his story so Team Protect Bob had grown by two and Halo also could count in because what Phee knew, knew also Halo. Also Fanboy seemed to be close with Bob which meant both Mikey and Reuben kept eye on everyone's favorite WSO.

“Why are you all so worried about Bob? Probably he has a hot date. This dude had been asking around about him. I told him where to find Bob.” said Bradley and the rest of Dagger Squad's eyes turned to look at the taller man. Jake knew something was wrong about this statement. Wolf would call this Texan secret power and it was tingling right now in Hangman.

“What do you mean you gave a stranger Bob’s adresse, Rooster?” asked Phoenix and Halo at the same time, looking appalled by this disregard of their friends safety and privacy.

“He seemed to know Bob pretty well.”

Hangman pulled up a picture of Robert’s ex, putting phone in front of Rooster's face and asking through gritted teeth: “Did you tell this man Bob’s adresse?”

“Yeah, that is him. What about it, Hangman? Stalking Bob’s conquests. Reaching another low.”

“I could punch you right now, Rooster, but I don’t have time for that. If something fucking happens to Bobby because of you telling this sick bastard where he is, I will let Phoenix and Halo deal with you. You hear me, Rooster.” Jake told the taller man. Then he turned around and went to a bar where Penny was catering to bar patrons. One look at Jake made her reach for the phone.

“Call military police, Wolfman, Iceman, anyone, Penny. Tell them Dustin knows where Bob is. They will get it. I am going there. Also don’t let that chicken follow us. Call Maverick if you need to keep him here.”

“Jake, you are not going alone. We are still a team. You need all the reinforcement you can get. I read Dustin's file.” said Halo, keeping a steady hand on Hangman's biceps.

“Okay! You are driving because I don’t think me or Phoenix can right now.”

“I will get us all there as quickly as possible.”

When we stopped in front of the house, the gun going off made the air around them tremble. Then they heard a deep human howl of pain that didn’t sound like Bob at all. It got Jake in action, sprinting in the house to find Bobby on the floor with blood flowing from his shoulder. While Bono got his teeth in Dustin's arm where the gun had been. Jake got down near Bob’s injury and pushed on it with the hoodie he had worn today, keeping blood from leaving Bob's body. Hangman knew so much was going around them but Robert was his main priority right now.

“Hey, Bobby! Keep your eyes open for me. Only you would survive suicide mission and then get shot on land.”

Bob chuckled quietly but even that made his face scrunch in pain. Even though Bob was in pain, he reached with his good hand and put it on Hangman's cheek.

“From all the assholes I seem to fall in love with, you are the only one who hasn’t fucked up once.”

“Bobby, leave love confessions when you are not bleeding out on Hollywoods fancy carpet.”

“Wolfman will be happy that he finally can throw out this atrocity.”

“He will, he will but he would have been more happy if your blood wasn’t the reason for it. Also don’t forget you have to introduce me to your grandma and the rest of the squad.”

“Jake, the doctors are here.” shouted Javy who let the medics through. Jake was pushed away and helped by Payback to the kitchen where the man made him wash his hands from blood. Bobby was now in the hands of professionals and Dustin was arrested. Then it finally hit him, Bobby had proclaimed his love for him and feelings were mutual from Jake’s side. He didn’t know when it happened but along the way they had mended each other's hearts and fallen along the way. Right now was no time to think about it, right now Jake needed Bobby to survive today and all the days that follow.

#top gun maverick au #top gun maverick fic #robert bob floyd #jake hangman seresin #floydsin #leonard wolfman wolfe #rick hollywood neven #hollywolf #natasha phoenix trace #Callie Halo Bassett #callie halo shen #past hangster #bradley rooster bradshaw #mention of halix and icemav #original character #reuben payback fitch #mickey fanboy garcia #javy coyote machado #my precious

[wickedslip]

𝟑 - 𝟓  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫  𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝐜𝐚𝐧  𝐛𝐞  𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝  𝐛𝐲.

𝗶. 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 / 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀

Rage.

Betrayal.

Obsession.

Love.

Anxiety.

𝗶𝗶. 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿𝘀.

Violet purple.

Larkspur blue.

Silvered ivory.

Rose gold.

Obsidian black.

𝗶𝗶𝗶. 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀.

The musty, vintage library of Rosethorns.

The scented black dahlias a the bay window.

The stench of her Salem witch blood ancestry—accepting yet toxic, she reluctantly yields to it.

Luxe perfume:  floral-oriental fragrance with notes of orange, bergamot, rose, jasmine, patchouli, & vetiver. ( if you can name this perfume you have acquired me as your new best friend. it's real. )

The woods surrounding New Salem and the ocean bordering it.

𝗶𝘃. 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗼𝗻.

Slim fit high neck tanks tucked into fitted trousers paired with layered rose gold necklaces.

Skirt suits with thigh/knee highs and patent leather Mary Janes (verse!dep)

Sweater dresses and ankle boots on a crisp autumn day.

Relaxed jeans and fitted hoodies on weekends and while at Rosethorns.

Flowing skirts and crisp linen blouses, usually in darks.

𝘃. 𝗼𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘀.

The ages-old grimoire of her family, passed down before everything got culty.

Vintage noir velvet Saint Laurent d’orsay pumps purchased at an estate sale.

A rare 1966 milano maroon split-window corvette, mint condition.

One of the daggers of Megiddo, Thyatira to be exact,  from the church that had a false prophetess.

Art supplies scattered about each room of her Victorian—you never know when inspiration will take.

𝘃𝗶. 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲.

Full lashed, large and luminous eyes, usually with liner sharp enough to kill a man. At times narrowed, at times thoughtful and pensive.

Graceful gait, walking tall with chin held high, a mischievous grin at times, others at utmost innocence.

Stiletto nails thrumming quietly along a polished table.

Hip curved into the edge of doorframe, standing sultrily.

Biting of full lips, playing with the ends of her hair, wringing hands when anxious.

𝘃𝗶𝗶. 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀.

Overlooking her quiet residential street from her bay window, drapes fluttering, a crow in the nearby willows.

Lilith, a sweet Doberman puppy walks beside her, a robin’s egg Tiffany collar wrapped delicately around her thick throat. Two black kittens named Sadist and Masochist watching with narrowed eyes from that same bay window.

Applying nude lipstick in a heart shaped mirror.

The Abduction of Proserpina by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1621-1622 ).

Picking wildflowers and witchy herbs in the secret garden behind Rosethorns.

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 : stolen!

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 : I definitely wanna tag @he11follows / @painmon / @2dayze / @ripcreel / @scarednotscary / @lacedaether / @lilacfancy . Anyone else please feel free!

#「 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔. 🗝 ❛ speak like bones unlocking. ❜ 」 #「 𝒅𝒂𝒔𝒉 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔. 🗝 ❛ fragile like a flower ━ fragile like a bomb. ❜ 」

[kyros-tha-soldier]

Chapter 1089 SPOILERS!

so, the raws are out, translation too, let's go quickly through this one:

basically Imu fucked up, or maybe they intended to fuck up since destroying Lulusia ended up raising the sea level with 1 meter (may not seem like a big deal but that could cause LITERAL tsunamis!)

we see Woop Slap complaining like always, this time about the sea level and the news about Garp, he is seen in Makino's tavern with her baby. strangely enough when her baby looks at a poster of Luffy she goes and says something about "your brother luffy"... could it be that dragon is?????? eh?????

(he should check that out, for real)

anyways, we also see best girl ever, the queen of my heart, the beautifulest baddie of them all!

yaaaas my queenie is here! and she's worried about her baby boy Luffy and his gramps, stay strong bestie, they'll get back to you soon~

we see people from various countries and islands reacting (momo, iceberg, laboon...etc) Imu is there as well. we're then shown the impact of the "mother flame" on Lulusia, leaving a massive sinkhole in the ocean. whoa...

we're then shown Kizaru and saturn eating, Kizaru call Sentomaru (the big sumo guy in case you forgot about him) and tells him to surrender, Sentomaru says that Kizaru shouldn't kill Vegapunk since he was literally his partner in the pacifista experiment (i don't remember if they said partner tho) but Kizaru tells him that he's just doing orders since he's a "corporate slave". saturn reads the newspaper on which news about luffy holding a hostage were published by Morgan (the seagull) he says that he will spare bonney, considering that she's no longer of use to them.

we see the new vice admirals with Doll and Doberman. and York makes a call to Pangea's castle (where the other Gorosei stayed) and yells at them that they shouldn't kill her and that she can make more "mother flame weapons" under the condition of sparing her and the lab and making her a celestial dragon as well. Jupeter agrees and tells her he'll have that arranged, but before she finishes, she yells at him to save her from the strawhats (btw the whole call was intercepted by Kizaru and Saturn and they heard it all) York starts crying on the den den mushi, confusing Jupeter and the others, before we see that she's actually being held captive by the strawhats and forced to make the call, the strawhats with Bonney are eating, and vegapunk and lucci standing around and Zoro pointing his sword at her.

overall 9/10 chapter, i like the world buildup, and i'm sure after this one Oda will be cooking something real good, usually world building like this preceed important events as well! so let's keep our fingers crossed!

#one piece #monkey d luffy #rob lucci #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #usopp #nami #egghead spoilers #egghead #chapter 1089 #imu #gorosei #jewelry bonney #wano #wano kuni

[californiahq-archived]

✧.* 𝑵𝑬���� 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 ┛ . . . you're officially an angeleno now, cherry ! welcome to los angeles, where the ocean meets the city, brunch is a religion and even traffic jams have their own instagram accounts. before you shine bright, take a peek at our checklist and send your account within the next 24 hours.

esther yu as clover duan .

esther yu + she/her + ciswoman  –  have you seen clover duan around los angeles? the twenty six year old is usually jamming to unforgiven by le sserafim. word around the city is that they’re effervescent, yet, they can also be devious, but you didn’t hear that from me. they’re currently a professional figure skater and are typically seen walking the streets of los angeles with her doberman pinscher, rei. when i think of them, i think of fluffy selkie dresses, the scent of lemon & lavender, and mischievous giggles. let’s hope the city treats them good! ( cherry / 30 / she/her / est / clowns )

subplot #9, muse p.

#california.accepted

[bambimargera]

Frenemies Forever

Bam is out of town on a skate tour and his friends are left to their own devices. Novak and Ville love to pick on eachother, especially when they're alone.

word count: 1,130

“I think you owe me a kiss.”

“The only thing I owe you is a slap upside the head.” Ville’s dark shadowed blue eyes rolled into the next century tracking Novak’s movements. “Don't you want it back?” The small sandy haired man teased, flipping up his skateboard to ready a quick get away. Novak loved to do anything to get under Ville’s skin, today's mission being stealing his cellphone. The pair had been nearly inseparable since kindergarten, the endless annoyance from both sides seemingly acting as a glue to the detrimental duo. Being nearly a foot shorter than his raven haired stick bodied victim and much more athletic, any observer would describe their encounters like a pomeranian duking it out with a doberman at the dog park.

“You’ll give it back eventually, you couldn't survive without texting me anyway.” Ville rose from the bench diverting his attention away from the blonde, signaling to him he wanted no part in any games today. “It’s getting late anyway, I should get going. ” His voice was flat as he flung his bag over his shoulder, setting off along the forested path. Novak stood slack jawed watching his best friend walk away from his playful tormenting, leaving him perplexed and phone in hand. The anxiety was too much not to chase him, and the confused hellian jumped on his board to catch up with his skyscraper counterpart.

“Hey! What’s up with you today?” Novak puffed out, placing his hand on Ville’s shoulder to steady the inertia of his quick ride. A heavy silence fell on the pair as the tall man simply brushed the hand off and kept walking. Novak began to realize something was really wrong, he didn't remember doing anything too gnarly, he wondered if he had overstepped some unspoken boundary.

“Dude answer me!” The blonde yelled out to the back of his friend's disappearing head. Ville stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face the calling voice. As he approached the smaller man the streetlamps between them came to life with each of the leisurely steps, illuminating the pair with their own spotlights. “I'm just so tired of doing this with you. Honestly, do you only exist to annoy me?” Villes face was as monotone as his words, so disarming for the typically smiley goth. The whimsical light in Novak’s ocean eyes vanished, evidently on the brink of emotional flooding. “You’re childish and I think we’ve grown apart. I really don’t think we should see eachother any more.” The raven haired dreamboat had the temperament of dry ice that burned holes into the blonde's sense of self. Ville outreached his black nailed palm awaiting the return of his device, as calm as a cucumber.

“You think I'm childish?” Novak croaked, still stunned by the words directed at him. “You’re the one ruining our friendship because you can’t take jokes!” He choked as the emotions erupted from his mouth, surprising even himself. The suppressed waterworks striked with vengeance, sending the man into borderline hysterics incapable of even meeting the other man's gaze.

Ville’s storm blue eyes widened into saucers, very alarmed by this sudden influx of extreme passion. Novak had never been into dramatics, he couldn't remember if he had ever seen him cry in all of the years they’ve known each other. Creating this kind of reaction made him feel like the childish one, he had never wanted to see the playful skateboarder like this. Ville reminded himself of all the things the pair had done together, and who Novak really was to him for all these years. The countless pranks, the movie nights, all the inside jokes they shared; all the memories flooded back and filled the stormy blue eyes with confliction. “I just can’t see you anymore, I'm sorry.” The heavy words hit the concrete and echoed in Novak’s ears.

Both men stared at each other in a battle of deep emotion.The silence was deafening, a whirlwind of confusion and anger begging to be released onto each other's opponent with unbreakable force.

“Tell me why! I think I deserve at least that!” Novak was the first to brake, instinctively shoving Ville backwards. Silence. “Tell me! We’ve been best friends for years and now I'm nothing to you?” His desperation showed itself in his pleas, expressing like a wild animal snapping at a trained hunter. He felt pathetic but it was far too late for him to care, he needed some kind of closure. The crushing silence manipulated Novak’s hand into a fist, sending it flying into Ville’s sculpted cheekbone and knocking him to the pavement like a leaf.

He stood over the wounded male stricken with anger and fear, hating himself for his split decision monkey brain way of thinking. The black haired man still said nothing, instead covering his face in preparation of receiving another blow. Novak’s spirit was mauled and his face burned with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry Ville..” He whispered almost to himself, delicate soft curls hanging down framing his breakdown in gold as he worked up the nerve to stare into the consequence of his actions.

“Shut up. I hate that I still love you even when you’re the biggest ass on the planet.” Ville mocked, gazing upward at the small man who was inconsolably dripping tears over him. Wincing, he wiped his face creating a cocktail of blood, eyeliner, and both men's teardrops. Novak was caught completely off guard, extending his arm to help the man up. “I.. I’m really sorry. Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” His voice was soft and concerned, searching for an answer in the stormy blue abyss. “I didn't want to ruin anything. You mean too much to me, if you rejected me I don’t think I could look at myself..” Ville reluctantly confessed, his expression cracking into a bright shade of pink.

Novak exploded with laughter, wiping the final fleet of tears escaping down his cheeks. “Yes, because I only ever think normal platonic thoughts about you. Are you stupid?” The man smiled, relieved he hadn’t done something to cause this riff between them. The streetlamps watched in admiration as their actors giggled like school girls, proud of the show they had just hosted. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, loser.” Novak teased, elbowing the thin man's shoulder. “Okay shorty, as long as you don’t punch me again.” Ville smiled, grabbing a delicate hold of the man's hand. He couldn’t hide the excitement in his face as he realized how extreme their size difference was, Ville felt as if he was holding the paw of a newborn puppy.

Noticing the examination of his digits, Novak shook the giant's hand away and flipped up his board to catch it. “No promises.”

#bam #novak #ville #ville valo #brandon novak #viva la bam #skater boys #one shot #blb #bam margera #cky #cky fluff #ville valo fluff

[currentfications]

Ocean Eyes | Part 2

Pairing: Bada Lee x Producer!Reader

Synopsis: A few days after your unsuccessful attempt to contact your South Korean coworker under Jam Republic Agency, you are called in for a work event.

Warning: Swearing, alcohol, flirting, unwanted advances, some violence involved

AN: Happy October 13th~ Hope y’all enjoy this chapter :)

Previous | Next

Halloween has always been your favourite event, and the Jam Republic Agency have decided to hold it’s company dinner a few weeks before the 31st. You’re not complaining, as Halloween should be a month long event anyways. You spotted Akanen across the room and made your way over, “Hey gorgeous, how’s it going?”

“Ah Y/N you’re here too!” She greeted you with a side hug as Yumeri waved at you. They must’ve been here for the Mnet countdown event later this month, and stopped by for the agency’s dinner on their way. “How are you finding South Korea? Has Bada gotten the chance to show you around with all these filming?”

Recalling the elevator encounter, you sighed, head hung in defeat. “No… I chickened out as soon as I saw them.”

Yumeri threw her head back in laughter and patted your shoulder. “How you look so intimidating but is actually a baby will never fail to astonish me,” she said as she recalled her first encounter with you along with Akanen. The latter nodded and hummed in agreement as they continued to poke fun at you. “You looked like a Doberman when we first met you, took us a second to realise that your actually such a kitten.”

You looked down to try to see what they were talking about - you’ve squeezed yourself into an ankle length black bodycon dress with a side split up your thigh, paired with your 7 inches Pleaser heels. You’ve kept your makeup relatively light tonight, and your split dyed blue hair sitting around your wait in loose waves. “Look at these impractical dresses I’m in, I look dainty as hell. Pretty as hell too,” not seeing what the duo was talking about ‘intimidating’, you argued. “I even wore the shorter heels tonight.”

The duo laughed at your aloof appearance, “Yes yes snow Queen, you look like you’re about to burst into Let It Go at any moment,” Akanen teased.

“More like Ursula,” a voice joined the group. You turned around to see Latrice behind you. “Hey mama, looking fierce. You ready to meet Bada today?”

You groaned as Latrice detailed the elevator incident with the other two dancers. “Stop it I’m gonna be embarrassed,” you complained to your friend.

“Oh come on it makes your more endearing, knowing that you’re all bark and no bite.” Latrice have always flaunted her ‘Scary Dog Privilege’ whenever she was with you, as you have the glare to thwart off unwanted suitors and salesperson alike.

“It’s true,” Akanen chimed in, “the contrast is real cute.” The Japanese dancer winked at you cheekily, you returning with a half-smirk. “Well compare to this scary face of you, Bada is a lot more approachable for sure. She may look look all swaggy and cool on screen, but she’s such a caring team leader with the other girls.”

“It’s not even that,” Latrice is on a roll of putting you on the spot, “I think she’s stunned because Bada smiled at her. She’s hopeless with girls, this one.” Knowing your past history of simping over girls in high school, your school friend tsk’ed at you.

“Damn girl you poker face is awfully good, just like Yumeri,” Akanen astonished. You nodded knowingly at Yumeri, a moment of understanding between sapphics.

You excused yourself to the bar to order a round of drinks for yourself and the girls, watching the dancers mingling and engaging in giddy chatters. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed a tall familiar looking blonde entering the establishment. Her long hair tied back in a low ponytail, wearing a cropped blazer and dress pants, accentuating her long legs. A few pieces of jewellery adorning her wrist drew your eyes to her long fingers and you found yourself gulping unconsciously; you were in a trance when the bartender called out your drinks. Taking a deep breath, you balanced the four cocktail glasses skilfully back to the group of girls.

Latrice took over a glass from you, sipping on the smooth foamy alcohol. “Guess who’s here?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

You take a big gulp of the Espresso Martini before nodding knowingly at your friend, “Yeah I am not so sure about the caffeine anymore, I am so nervous I might throw up.” Latrice snickered and waved at the tall blonde dancer.

Bada felt a little lost when she first arrived alone, as this Jam Republic Agency work meet up and the other members of BEBE were occupied elsewhere. Noticing Latrice and some familiar faces in the room, her feeling of unease melted away as her outgoing personality returned to take charge. The famous choreographer made her way to the high table surrounded by Akanen, Yumeri, and Latrice, and gave each of them a quick side hug. “I’ve missed you two since the show! It’s nice being able to catch up again.”

As the trio exchanged pleasantries, Latrice was eyeing you to say hello. You quickly chugged the remaining liquid in the glass and turned to your friend. “How do I look?”

“Eh, scary. Remember to smile - and do NOT glare. Oh and do not drool either.” She said with a cheeky smile, gently smacking your bottoms before pushing you in front. “Hey Bada, nice to see you outside of filming. This is Y/N-” she introduced as she continued to push you forward.

A familiar sweet scent caught Bada’s attention before she whipped around, a few feet away from you. Her eyes widen as she recognised the glaring gaze, the stranger from the other day.

“Hiya lovely,” you decided on, playing off the other day’s mishap with a wink.

The dancer smiled bashfully at your confident and flirtatious front. “Hello Y/N. Have we met?” She asked, knowing full well the answer to it.

You shot Latrice a warning look, but it was already too late. The Queenslander had tea ready to spill, and there’s nothing you can do to hold her back. “We sent her to you the other day, but Y/N saw you and got all flustered and ran off.” You raised a brow at Latrice.

Bada glanced at you, looking like a statue towering Latrice. She said you were flustered but judging (wrongfully) by your facial expressions, you seemed too stoic to be so bashful. “Well it’s good finally meeting you!” She smiled warmly at you. Despite Latrice’s warning, you couldn’t help but stare at the dancer’s pretty smile, the way her eyes lit up along with it. She’s so elegant and charming, you thought to yourself, completely understanding the hype surround this woman. JJ’s comment on wanting to bring an engagement ring to the dance show also suddenly made a lot more sense to you, as you made a mental note to yourself to always carry around one in case Bada is around again.

Latrice noticed the lingering gaze as you mentally undressed the tall dancer and pinched your arm. Recognising the dreamy look in your eyes, she pulled you aside. “Sorry about her, she’s pretty much hopeless when it comes to small talks. She’s super personable once you get used to her,” Latrice paused as she noticed that you’re still checking out the fine specimen in front of you. “God what is wrong with you girl?” She sighed and pulled you aside.

Bada was still curious about you but Latrice has yanked you away, schooling you about not heeding her advice and blatantly ogling the choreographer. “What did I tell you about staring?”

“You said to not glare. I was just checking her out.” You said defiantly.

Your friend couldn’t help but to roll her eyes at you, “Keep it in your pants, you’re scaring that poor girl.”

When the remainder of Jam Republic dance crew arrived, Bada was pleasantly surprised that everyone is so comfortable around you, despite your seemingly intimidating aura. After a few drinks, Ling guided the group towards the dance floor. “Go get her,” the Kiwi encouraged. You nodded, lifting a middle finger up at Latrice’s face as she made another jest on how you’ll scare the dancer.

Bada was sipping on her drinks when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Your familiar perfume alerted her of your presence before you opened your mouth. “May I?” You politely asked the choreographer.

“Of course,” the blonde beamed with excitement. She’s starting to see the ‘personable’ aspect the other girls were talking about - despite seeming incredibly aloof, you’re very direct and gentle with your approaches. “So, what’s the deal with them saying that you’re flustered?” Bada asked bemusedly as you two started swaying to the bar music.

“I had a huge crush on you when the show was first aired,” you explained matter-of-factly, “but you’re even prettier in person and I freaked out.” You shrugged. Bada couldn’t help letting out a soft gasp at the bluntness.

“Had?” Bada composed herself and teased. She’s starting to realise why Latrice is so hell bent on teasing you all the time; a faint blush would paint your cheeks slightly rosy when you’re flustered, and she finds it incredibly endearing.

You tilted you head and pretended to ponder, “Have. Not much has changed in the past few days.”

Bada felt her heart skip a beat at your unambiguous advances, her face slowly turning a shade of red. You heart, on the other hand, have been beating faster than usual (you blamed it on the Espresso Martinis) as you watched her grooving to the swinging music. Every now and then she’d habitually bite her lower lips while nodding to the beats, looking absolutely impeccable.

After a few songs, you offered to get her a drink. She gladly accepted and requested for a lemon drop. While you waited for the drinks to be made, you noticed someone approaching the line dancer from behind. Picking up the two drinks, you slowly made your way back to Bada, carefully analysing the situation. You’re usually the protective mom friend in a friend group during outings - and this is no different. Something about the man made you feel uneasy, and your feelings are solidified when you got closer. The usually warm dancer’s brows are furrowed, her lips tightly forming a half smile - the smile that all girls know too often, the politely-declining-unwanted-advances-without-inciting-violence smile. You sped up your pace to close the distance.

“She said she’s not interested,” you said coldly, noticing the stranger’s hand around Bada’s wrist as she tried to pry herself free. Your tone would’ve sent chills down the dancer’s spines if it were under any other context, but in this instance she felt a strong sense of security engulfing her.

The man turned to you, his grip loosened. The blonde managed to get out of his grasp and took a step closer to you. “Oh come on I was just being friendly!” The man pleaded, his tone insincere. You shot the drunk a warning glance and ushered the dancer away from the situation. As soon as you turned around you glimpsed his hand reaching out to the blonde - an unfortunate sixth sense you retained - you swiftly turned around and caught the wandering hand. The man grinned menacingly and tried to make a pass at you.

Still holding onto his wrist, you kicked your oversized platform into the shin of the off putting drunk, tripping the man over. You let go of the clammy hand and allowed the man to stumble onto the floor. Before he had a chance to get up, you squatted down and ‘accidentally’ slammed your knee into his half raised face. His howling finally drawing attention to the scene. You straightened yourself upwards, feigning a tone of concern. “I think someone hurt themself.”

As bystanders begun to flood to the scene, you motioned the dancer towards the exit.

“You okay?” You tentatively asked. She nodded and flashed you a grin. You gave her a tender smile back as you ruffled her silky soft hair. She looked up at you and exchanged a look, before bursted into nervous chuckles.

“I think someone hurt themself,” the dancer mimicked, trying to contain her laughter. “You’re way too smooth with that one. How often do you get into bar fights anyways?”

“Only once or twice a week,” you deadpanned.

“What?!” The dancer paused in her track, only to realised you were just messing with her. “Oh ha ha very funny Ms. Club Woman Fighter.” She rolled her eyes and leaned her back onto the brick wall, closing her eyes for a little. “Seriously though, thanks.”

You shook your head and slip out a ‘don’t worry’, after all it was a fucked up situation that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. The dancer looked up at you - her brown eyes gleaming under the street lights, her cheeks and lips flushed from the alcohol. You had to look away to make sure you don’t gawk, Bada did that little lip bite thing she does again when you turned your head.

Your phone buzzed and it was Latrice, looking for the both of you after the commotion.

Latrice: R u ok?

Latrice: Where are u?

Latrice: Is she w u?

You turned your screen towards Bada, letting her know that Latrice is probably forming a search party as they hid out here.

Y/N: We good i whooped ass and ran

Y/N: She’s here dw

You turned on the front camera to snap a quick selfie of the two of you, sending it to Latrice.

Y/N: [Image Attached] Proof of life

Bada chuckled at the caption and requested for the picture. “Strange way to give me your number, but okay.” You taunted as you handed her your phone. She cackled and put her contact information into your phone, snapping another quick selfie for the contact photo. She handed your phone back to you and you noticed that she’d saved her number under “Lovely 🩵”

“Your turn,” the blonde demanded, offering up her phone. You saved your number with a photo under “Fighter 🖤” The contact name made her grin, and you snapped a picture of her sheepish squint.

#bada lee x reader #bada lee #swf2 x reader #swf2 #fanfic

[the-anxiety-academy]

New oc: Bianca Sykes

Amino Wiki: BS

Full Name: Bianca Sykes

Gender: Female

Born: 16 June 2003, Isle of the Lost

Age: 12

Height: 5'2

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Brunette

Species: Human

Other Physical Features: Scarred Claw Mark on Cheek

Family:

Bill Sykes (father)

Cruella De Vil (mother)

Best Friend: Stella

Friends:

Dizzy Tremaine

Regina Ratigan

CJ Hook

Celia Facilier

Enemies:

Fagin

Oliver

Shan Sia

Jane Foulfellow

Likes: Sports, Money, Running, P.E, Horror Movies, Roscoe, DeSoto, Sharks, Dogs, Doberman, The Forest, Taking Roscoe & DeSoto on walks, Stealing her fathers Brandy

Dislikes: Auradon, Class, Singing, Dancing, Cats, Street Dogs, Ocean, Trains

Favourite Colour: Black

Favourite Drink: Syke's Brandy

Favorite Food: Steak

Favourite Animal: Doberman

               ¤°°PlayList°°¤

Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz

Cult of Personality - Living Colour

Let There Be Rock - AC/DC

Come As You Are - Nirvana

Rock N Roll Train - AC/DC

#bianca sykes #my ocs #oc #disney villains #bill sykes #descendants #descendants oc #disney

[a-typical]

I want tell you the story of Perrito. He was my dog. He was part Doberman, part Labrador. He was the best dog. He was my best friend. He spoke Spanish and English. Sometimes, when Ms. Laverne asks us to write in class, it’s hard for me. The words don’t want to come. I see you guys all writing and writing and I want to do that too. But the words I write want to come out in Spanish, not English. And people are always saying, ‘Speak English! Speak English!’ Not you guys! When you see me and Esteban talking in Spanish, you just say, ‘Teach me.’ You don’t say mean things. Once when me and my mom were walking down the block speaking in Spanish, this guy yelled at us, ‘This is America! Speak English!’ But I’m from Puerto Rico, and Puerto Rico is part of the United States of America too, so Spanish should be American, right?

We all agreed. Amari was drawing but he kept nodding with the rest of us. Tiago’s quiet was beginning to make sense to us.

But me and my mom didn’t say anything, Tiago said. Because that guy was big and he looked mad. If Perrito had been with us, I bet that guy wouldn’t have said anything. Perrito was big too. And the Doberman part of him was mad protective of us. When me and my mom got to the next block, we started talking again, but my mom was whispering and I was sad that that guy with his red angry face made my mom quieter.

The four of you guys—he pointed to me, Ashton, Holly and Amari—you guys only speak English, and I’m not saying there’s something wrong with that—

But, dude, Amari said, Puerto Rico’s a part of this country and you speak English too.

Yeah, I know, Tiago said. But I only speak in Spanish with my family. And in PR, even though we had to speak English and Spanish in school, I still liked speaking in Spanish better. His voice dropped and he looked down at his hands. And because I came from Puerto Rico, I’m safe. I don’t have to worry. Not for myself and my family. Just for my friends.

He stared at the voice recorder for a long time.

My mom, when she’s at home, she loves to sing in Spanish. She talks in Spanish. She cooks in Spanish. It feels like she even laughs in Spanish, because her smile gets so, so big. But when she goes outside now, she is very quiet, because she’s afraid another person like that guy will look inside her mouth and see Puerto Rico there. Not the beach or the sparkling blue ocean. Not the awesome pastelillos or the quenepas that are so sweet, you can’t stop eating them. She thinks they’ll see her small town of Isabela, where her dad raised chickens and on holidays her abuela made arroz the old way, on a fire outside, and everybody begged for the pegao—the crispy rice that stuck to the bottom of the pot. She thinks people here will say, ‘Go back to your country.’ Even though this is her country.

And it hurts her. It makes her sad and ashamed. Because if somebody keeps saying and saying something to you, you start believing it, you know. My mom has the past dreams of Puerto Rico and the future dream of this place. And this place acts like it doesn’t have any future dreams of us.

Harbor Me, Jacqueline Woodson

#long post #Harbor Me #Jacqueline Woodson #2018 #black history month #black lives matter #black history matters #black authors #history #blm #black voices #bipoc #currently reading #atypicalreads #bookblr #booklr #fiction #quotes #reading #bibliophile #bookworm

[lsleofthelost]

random rotten four headcanons:

�� none of them have any texting etiquette so they routinely leave each other and the gc on read. and they don’t see anything wrong with that

• the only person allowed to have the aux when it’s the four of them is Evie. Both Mal and Jay put their punk/rock songs way too loud aka “how they’re supposed to be listened to, Eves!” and they can’t hear each other

• Carlos is not allowed to have the aux ever because he’s such a wild card with the music that it gives everyone whiplash. they’ll have abrasive hyperpop followed by an acoustic song and not see anything wrong with that

• Evie actually has a specific playlist for when they’re all together. It’s soft music that can be played in the background without being boring (i’m thinking HER, Brent Faiyaz, Frank Ocean, The Marías, etc)

• they have so many hair products in their bathroom. special products for Carlos’s curly hair, all the different shampoos and conditioners and balms that Evie rotates through, shampoos that maintain fairy magical colours for Mal, three different mint shampoos that Jay insists are distinct, so many heat protectors and brushes (Evie has at least 5, and they all serve a purpose)

• skincare is right there too. just tonnes of stuff. worst offender is Evie, of course, who buys a mask/cream/emulsion/literally anything every time she walks into a shop that carries skincare. plus she brews her own stuff. but there are also at least 3 sun screens (Mal, she’s pale as hell and burns really easily), a pound in clay masks (Carlos, he finds it super relaxing+it’s something they can do together) and a lot of scrubs and moisturisers (Jay, he’s out training and playing under the sun all the time, his skin would be like a turtle’s if he didn’t take care of it)

• Evie doesn’t know how to drive. she doesn’t see a point in learning because she can always make one of the three drive her places (it’s usually Jay)

• Carlos loves playing video games together, he’s up for literally anything but when it’s all four of them they usually default to something like Mario Kart

• Soon they remember that Mal can not play competitive ones because Carlos always wins and when she’s like “how tf do u do that u wizard” he just says “you should simply get better idk what to tell you”

• but she loves watching him game. he’ll just be playing some single player on his PC and she’ll come in, lay in bed and watch him play. she genuinely finds it so entertaining

• Jay is really good with detail work, tiny stuff like sequins and such so he always helps Evie out in the studio with that

• he also fucks around with scraps and extra beads and stuff and makes like bracelets or keychains to hang on others’ backpacks/bags

• when Jay has an away game, he leaves post it notes with stupid jokes/pick up lines or just some sweet nothings around the apartment for the others to gradually find

• they have 3 pets: Dude, a chocolate doberman named Asmodeus, or Modee, and Mal’s tarantula Meg, short of Megaera

• when it’s time for any documents or taxes of stuff like that Jay and Mal simply leave the room. they know that they can fuck it up by simply being too close

• Mal is not allowed in the kitchen after the incident where she tried to be romantic and make them breakfast and set the place on fire

• when they first move to their apartment, they get two queen sized beds and just move them together but that resulted in whoever was in the middle sometimes falling and getting stuck in the tiny space between the beds

• eventually, they get an alaskan king and it’s heaven. Evie convinced them to splurge on supper fluffy blankets and pillows and the whole experience is like sleeping in a cloud

#Evie’s playlist is named ‘<3’ #they end up having to build new shelves in the bathroom to fit all of their stuff #Asmodeus was in honour of Beelzebub Carlos’s cat #Megaera is in honour of on of the greek furies #mal and jay the accidental tax evaders #i have more but that’s enough for today i think #descendants #descendants headcanons #carlos #maleficent morgana #evie #jahid ibn jafar #rotten four #laila.txt #genevieve grimhilde #carlos oscar de vil #mal #jay

[cricketchaology]

the bile of the beast

this fic includes discussion of the symptoms of PTSD, especially as it relates to eliot's past with violence (including allusions to sexual violence). if these topics are triggering for you, please proceed with caution.

READ ON AO3

it's san lorenzo (again, but different than it used to be) , and it's sweeter this time. it's fake blood on sophie's dress and damien's smirk melting off his face, a president's hands on nate's lapel. it's righting a wrong, but it's also a burning warehouse a country or so away, cops called and infiltrating, and they won't find who did it because eliot is a professional, always has been. they'll find a room full of messy corpses, turning in the evening sun, each as nameless as the last. moreau likes his men to be nothing (outside of him).

it's something eliot knows intimately: the way moreau can sink his teeth in so slowly you don't release you are nothing but a chew toy. and it's an odd thought when you are the dog, that your hide is flea-ridden and blank. that you are the soft toy he humps in the yard, not the doberman across the street that bears its teeth behind the screen door of close-cropped control. that, sometimes, you aren't even the weapon. sometimes you are the display: the show dog, heeling at the hand that no longer bears a treat. that your ribs are the home of boot-toes, breaking you down to the red dust you thought you escaped when you took up the mantle of a flag all those years ago.

so he holds the bottleneck. he clinks the right glasses, smiles appropriately in a way he prays reaches his eyes because sophie will notice if it doesn't and he can't. he's not feeling the happiness he knows is supposed to rise in his stomach at revenge because this isn't, the shapes are all pulled too long, too neat. it's moreau, it's messy by nature, it’s bloodied hands and broken chairs and little bits being removed from base-spine with even tweezers, folding on the floor like christ in the tomb, listening the tut-tut-tut of a man who doesn't love, but he loves you , or you think he does. eliot's grip tightens at the notion.

cause he knows moreau. he knows moreau like the back of his hand. knows how many times each knuckle's been busted and finger broken, constellation tracing each freckle. he knows moreau like a typewriter knows the author's touch, pounding away till the letters are worn. he knows moreau, which he means he knows it's not over, which means he can't stop running because he never, ever could, and it's why he's here now, with a team that knows him too much for him to stay. who will act like tomorrow is a new day, a free one. like with the italian off their backs, nothing is hanging over their heads.

tomorrow is day one of post-post moreau. it's not the first time he's escaped, and it won't be the last. it is a fact he knows the team won't understand- not when they got off easy, this time. last time it was by the skin of eliot's teeth, shoulder bullet-lodged and airplanes unnamed as he crossed ocean after ocean just to put enough distance between him and the hammer so that he could avoid being the next nail. he wasn't free then. wasn't free a day after moreau, wasn't even free before, because when moreau wants something, he gets it. and he wanted eliot spencer less then than he wants him now. the thought makes his skin crawl, remembering the heat of the brand as it grew closer to his inner thigh, kissing the hairs near his groin before drawing away. because moreau doesn't even need to lay claim to own you, just has to say he did. just has to release that wolf-grin and hold your collar like its always been his.

eliot's spent years clawing at that loop, the necklace that bites too tight around his skin even when no one else knows. he cooks, and he smiles, but it's always there, always weighing on the nape like a hand, skin pinching. he's spent years scratching and howling, enough that the red ring is more evident than the too-tight collar itself. enough that he knows it doesn't come off. to know even a moreau locked in a hole in san lorenzo is still the one he remembers, even if the shape is different.

so when nate offers up a glass of whiskey, raised high by an unshaking hand, it takes everything in eliot to smile, lift his beer bottle, and cheer.

///

he does not remember much of the first day post-post moreau, which is something that scares him. he's not sure how it passed him by; he remembers waking up in the hotel, turning in sunbeams as they scrape past the window screen. he remembers the panic of nate not answering the door when he knocked, and he remembers slamming his body into it until he saw nate alive and well, but he doesn't remember the conversation that followed. he doesn't remember what comes between the elevator and the airport, or what movie hardison played on the flight, or how many seats were unfilled. they're the kind of lapses that could get him- get all of them, he amends, wondering how he could forget- killed. because what eliot lacks in computer skills or acting ability he makes up for in counting hats, mapping exits. he pays his stay in blood.

except he doesn't now, or he's not supposed to. the thought haunts him the rest of the flight. he's barely conscious when they arrive back in boston, his head swimming between the then and the now, post and post-post. he doesn't even realize they've landed till the seatbelt light flickers off, and his hands go to help sophie carry all the luggage she packed in place of the carryon he didn't need.

because eliot never travels with a suitcase. when he arrives, the clothes will be laid out on the bed that’s been paid off for the next few nights. the most that ever belongs to him are the shoes, but even that is a danger- particulates are easily traced, so the red dirt is disposed of every other week, burying the people he isn't supposed to say he's been. disoriented as he is, he winds up picking up a stranger's briefcase before he realizes it's the weight of paperwork-filled folders and not a sniper rifle nestled intimately inside.

he drops it like the handle burns. the movement is abrupt enough that his elbow nudges nate's side. his furrowed brows say we need to talk.

eliot wants to meet his eyes but can't. instead, he grounds himself, taking enough of the team's bags that the straps start to wear into his skin, pulling him from the nothing that's begun to spread from post to post-post. he's silent on the drive home, oddly unperturbed by the fact that parker insists on driving (something about how airplanes don't feel fast, and she wants to feel fast, and everyone being too tired to argue) . he doesn't so much as grumble as he makes a roundabout the vehicle, jabbing each tire with the tip of his toe. he stares at the license plate for a moment too long, trying to remember why he's in boston before nate shouts something along the lines of "come on, let's get home."

it's raining; something eliot doesn't register till they've arrived at the office and are piling out of the car. his arms are loaded with bags by the time he hears someone say, "we'll worry about the luggage later," which they surely said before he loaded up. by the time he makes it inside, his hair is curling at the ends in a way it never did in the before- cropped too short then for even damien to find much comfort in running fingers through, though he'd do it anyway. petting more than soothing, and the difference was something eliot learned to sense before the hand was even laid down, the way a knee aches before a storm.

the thought must show on his face, or maybe his disheveled appearance is enough to earn the concern coloring his team as they stare at him, dripping in the doorway with their luggage draped across his body all pack-mule-like. he's shivering, though he isn't exactly sure why, by the time they pull the bags from him, ushering him upstairs as the bar staff eyes them no more curiously but perhaps more timidly than usual. the soles of his shoes squeak against the vinyl, and he flinches, thinking about all the ways a wrong sound could get him killed. moreau is tut-tut-tutting in his ear again, like before, in the during .

the whole team is talking, mumbling mercies and platitudes, and his heart is racing in his chest, pounding like heels on rooftops and down staircases in foreign countries. the rain beats down on the window like fists, like prisoners you knew before they were prisoners and allies you used to trust, and he's not really breathing; the air in the crawlspace is too thin. his hands are shaking, and his CO is saying “steady, steady,” whispering it like a mother to her babe, and the shot rings out with that familiar flashbang of lighting.

"stop," he mutters, and it feels like too much noise, too much noise (surely, they're going to catch him this time). "please, stop. stop."

the air falls quiet, like new york news as the death of osama bin laden is broadcast, like hushed last phone calls on the plane going down, army basecamps right before the armada. it's quiet like death is- like two lovers who don't know each other yet. like hair coiling, blackening, burning in the heat. his breath hitches like he can remember it.

"...eliot?" parker asks, because she's parker, crazy by design, but even now, she isn't touching him, though her hands are outstretched like she wants to. hardison looks at her like she has horns, like she's breaking a vault while the sirens scream, and she is, in every conceivable way. it makes eliot ache in a way he didn't know he could still feel. it makes him want to be the person she thinks him to be.

he meets parker's gaze like he's staring down the business end of a gun. like being the fish in the barrel.  he averts her gaze, transfixed on the city skyline behind her, peering through beating rain. he's scanning for men laying belly-down on balconies, sniper's trained and at the ready. he struggles to make out the horizon through obscuring strands of hair he doesn't remember growing out. he swallows, fingers flexing with a familiar hunger for hurt.

before he's aware of it, he's being lead to the couch, his soaking jacket somehow shed without his knowledge (he was too busy counting hats, mapping exits. moreau wants to know how many hats). the sofa is soft beneath him, swallowing him in warmth better than his standard-issue sleeping bag, and he's helpless against the hands on his shoulders pushing him purposefully deeper. the nails are enough for him to know it's sophie, even though he can't fully see her in front of him. the hair is tucked behind his ear with a tenderness he didn't know still existed. that he doesn't think he can deserve.

he isn't sure how long he sits there, his hands shaking in his lap. he isn't sure how long the silence permeates till it's replaced with the sound of knife striking board, and he comes to understand that Chopped reruns have been playing on the screens ahead, and it's sweet because they think he'd like it, not because he does. his boots have been unlaced, pulled from his feet (now bare, like christ folding on the floor in front of the disciples, moreau saying "wash my feet, eliot") and set gently near the end of the sofa. the thermostat has been turned to a temperature he lovingly calls "oklahoma august," which the rest of the team always whines is too hot, and the smell of thai food from his favorite food truck seeps into the air. he hangs on the scent like a cartoon character to fresh pie on the window.

it's too much like post , rather than post-post, the way they smile at him shambling to the island. the ache of the fights from the past weeks are starting to catch up to him; without a fresh neck in his hands, it's easier to remember the skin peeled from his knees. seeing him, nate holds out a steaming plate of his favorite and eliot takes it slowly. he stares down at it, enchanted by the authenticity of it even after it's pulled from a takeout box.

but you don't eat things you didn't see prepared; it's a lesson he learned after being poisoned in some hole in south america, and that he risked with every hors d'oeuvre moreau would hold to his lips, saying taste this, meaning die for me, like the sound of vultures overhead. something must change in his eyes because nate isn't smiling anymore. because nate is reaching out, taking the plate back, and it's clear that he doesn't understand what he's done wrong, no one does, not even sophie, if the way her gaze fluctuating between eliot and nate is to say anything.

"i'm not supposed to eat anything i didn't cook," he instinctively explains (this must be a test), wanting the sad look to leave hardison's eyes. "you either. i'm not supposed to let you eat anything i didn't prepare- that i didn't taste."

a beat of silence follows, heavy like the snow piling on slates, like soot on a seven-year-old brow. nate breaks it hesitantly.

"eliot-"

"let me taste your food," eliot says, all too much like the during and unlike post or post-post; it's too soft and ungrowled, too eliot and not enough spencer .

the look sophie shares with nate is deadly- like hiroshima at ground zero or kitum cave circa 1980. there's a silent battle wagging there, one eliot can't find the energy to care about because, without even a second of hesitation, parker hands him her plate of too-sweet noodles. she smiles at him, strange in that way parker always is, like a rat taking trap-bound cheese.

eliot takes care, inspecting the color, the smell, and though all of it is wrong, it's parker's, and it smells like how parker likes pad woon sen, which a post , but not post-post, eliot would have the energy to despise tenderly. but that's not who he is now, twirling noodles up on the fork, chewing garishly until he can gulp them down with confidence, like swallowing a key and knowing they can't beat it out of you. like downing the rations before the taste of them reaches your brain. he hands the plate back, feeling lighter, and hardison must be able to tell because he offers his dish up next. he watches as eliot inspects it thoroughly like a jeweler counting carats. the process doesn't take long, and, after a few minutes, each takeout box has been combed through for error, and eliot has determined they are safe enough to settle at the bar for the meal.

he doesn't sit down though, isn't supposed to. he goes to check exits, to stand by the door. he thinks about meetings in moreau's office, thinks about clubs and bars and women in bikinis that moreau never wanted to touch. because women were shows- because if moreau wanted something, he got it, and eliot knows this, so he knows moreau didn't want the women. he knows that moreau hungered for something different- not younger, but meaner. harder. he thinks about moreau in the sauna, beckoning eliot over, saying dismiss your post and meaning drop to your knees, folding before him like christ, like washing feet, like intimacy anew. he thinks about hardison, tied to the chair, and about chapman and his gun and moreau towel-drying sweat from his skin. he thinks about the kick, the move he invented, and hardison sucking air from the pneumatic, thinks about sucking air and-

///

"pause the show," sophie says, right before eliot goes from nervously checking the locks for the dozenth time to crumpling to the floor, his fingers digging claw-like into the edge of the doorframe. his breaths are too quick, huffing in and out, in and out, fast as chopper blades overhead screaming against wind. his whole body is vibrating by the time ted's voice is cut off, hand closing over the cloche in slow motion.

parker is the first to him, light on her feet and perching in front. she observes him like a cat might a dead bird; curiosity and hunger, unfamiliar yet innate. but then that hunger fades, is sated, and she's tucking her knees beneath her body and folding herself by eliot, kneeling. she surrounds him, skin heavy like a blanket, and eliot melts into her like one fades into the air after jumping from a plane- the way the heat melds to your back as an explosion follows you out the door.

with only slightly more hesitance, hardison joins them on the floor, his long arms enveloping them. eliot's hair tickles his nose, hardison's soft breaths blowing them away, then pulling them back like the ebb and flow of waves lapping a shoreline. he closes his eyes for a long moment, batting away the thought of water filling his lungs, and reopens them to find nate staring down awestruckenly.

sophie smiles softly in a way that means she knows something no one else does, cracking the mark open like a pistachio shell. hardison squints, searching for an answer, but she gives none. instead, she pulls nate away by his wrist, casting a look across the room before quietly trailing up the staircase, leaving eliot, parker, and hardison tucked tightly into the corner.

///

the seconds evade him while he sits there, sobbing on the floor. it feels like a weakness, something he should be hiding- he hasn't cried like this since the night his momma died (not in his pristine funeral suit. his father has pulled his tie-tight and said, "now don't you embarrass me," and he didn't then- made sure he never did again.) he hadn't cried like that the entire time during , or post , but now it was post-post and here he was, broken to bits on the wooden floor of a dingy bars' loft in boston.

not for the first time, he finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up here. how he escaped the during , how he made it to post-post. because, really, he's seen greater men die on their first tour. he's been in the hellholes they strung soldiers up in, purple heart wearers bleeding nothing but red, red, red- and he's been that man, russian roulette spun and against the odds making it a baker's dozen rounds before the tortures tired of threats and moved onto toenails. even then, he didn't cry like this- if he did cry, well, that was sweat in his eyes. that was him praying to a lord he stopped believing in at 18, saying, "if you get me out of this one alive, i'll get better" and it never, ever being true.

he isn't aware that parker and hardison have been whispering a mantra of "it's okay, it's okay, eliot, you are here, you are ours" until they pause for breath until parker's voice is addressing hardison, asking, "hey- hey, if it's too much, it's okay. you can take a break."

it's then that he realizes he isn't the only one praying then; they all are, the shoulders of his shirt on either side soaked through, not by the unrelenting rain but by the two closest things he has to family. that hardison's voice has gone from soft and strong to shaky: a leaf resisting those oklahoma winds rising from 40 to 50, from cold fronts and warm one crashing and crushing everything in their path as they war with one another. that parker's body has cooled as she gifted her warmth to eliot's still rain-frozen form.

it's then that he realizes he's lucky. that san lorenzo is sweeter because parker dashed it with maple syrup when he wasn't looking- that hardison replaced the whiskey sours with sodas. that post-post doesn't fit any of the characters sophie has taught him to play, and that he doesn't need to count the hats because nate already has; he knows each shape and each color, the brand names printed on the bill.

the next breath is a little deeper as hardison whispers, "i'm good, i'm good," across him to parker, and eliot feels the rattle of her head against his neck more than he sees it. the way they draw in a little closer, the way parker subconsciously syncs their breathing like sophie's taught her to do with marks, but it's different because eliot isn't a mark- because it isn't post-post, it's something different entirely.

it's the scent of his favorite thai food crusted in the corners of an unwiped mouth. it's his closet being reorganized by color, his go-bag packed with money he didn't put there. it's in-jokes and damnits and distinctive sounds. it's not explaining because they won't make him.

when his breathing is finally stable, he feels them pull back- not entirely, but enough that there's an instant ache in eliot's gut for them to come back to him. hardison's brows are knit, all the anger of the week prior washed away and replaced with nothing but care. parker is smiling gently with that even present lilt to her eye- like she's stolen his watch and is waiting for him to notice.

with slowly re-steadying hands, eliot brushes the last remnants of tears from his face, feeling his cheeks flush slightly when his father's voice tries to rise from somewhere within him. as though feeling the demon climbing up, hardison places a hand on the outskirts of eliot's bicep, holding him gently- grounding him.

"you good?" hardison asks simply, but the question makes all the raw things in eliot sore again in the way a second-day sunburn feels; not quite painful, but omnipresent. warm.

"yeah," he finds himself saying, and it's not something a post eliot would mean, but maybe a post-post eliot does. maybe a post-post eliot can. he finds himself smiling at the notion.

"yeah, i am."

#long post #leverage fanfiction #eliot spencer #thats all im gonna tag lmao i hate posting fic on tumblr #anyway hi everyone #im so tired #tw rape #tw ptsd #tw abuse #also i didnt care to mess with some of the formatting that was lost in translation sorryyyyy #no italics for u tumblr