#shitty jokes central over here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angel-of-the-moons · 6 months

Text

Blood Moon

Marc Spector/Moon Knight (Vengeance of Venom) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Pining, confusing emotions, slight nudity, sexual tension, Marc is an emotionally constipated idiot who hasn't been laid in probably almost ten years

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This chapter is short, mostly filler to establish some shit. But hey! Marc is trying at least!

Taglist: @badbishsblog

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Pt. 4

"You don't have to live in this rathole, you know." You say, cringing as you watched another rat scurry into a crack in the wall.

"It's served me well so far." Marc told you, raising a brow as he worked.

It had been two weeks since you were released and cleared medically for duty. With the help of Wakandan tech (and bribing Shuri with some snacks you can only find at one tiny bodega on Fisker Street) you were able to skip the month of physical therapy Doctor Ross said you'd need.

Of course, you were assigned to light duty.

And Marc was insistent on following that order. He'd been almost nice to you. Engaging in polite conversations, actually listening to you when you give him suggestions...

He'd even crack a smile when he thought you weren't looking when you said a stupid joke. Which you did often.

You sat cross legged on the ratty old couch in his "lair" as he sharpened his crescent darts with a special whetstone.

"Well yeah, but the smell sure hasn't. Sheesh!" You laugh, making an exaggerated wave of your hand in front of your face.

"Do you even notice it at all?"

"Not really." He shrugged, examining the sharpness of the blade.

"...Have you considered moving somewhere else? I'm sure SHIELD can hook you up." You snort, chin in your palm as you watched him boredly.

You blink, and your vision zones in on the blade, taking in every detail almost like a microscope.

"There's nicks in the blade. You should probably make new ones." You tell him, your tone still very much flat.

"What? No they're not, they're perfectly sharp." Marc blinks at you with a frown.

"I can watch a dog take a piss from across Central Park and you're doubting me when I tell you there's nicks? Yeah they're small and hardly noticeable but it's better to be safe than sorry." You frown back.

Marc turns the dart over in his hand once, twice.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

"...Fine." He concedes. "I'll put a requisition order in so I can get materials to make new ones."

"But seriously, why keep living in the sewer? The lack of sunlight isn't doing any favors for that complexion of yours."

"I don't know." He grunts, setting the dart down to sharpen a different one instead.

"It's just... been my home for so long. I'm used to it."

"Well, you can get used to somewhere else. Staying down here is gonna give you tetanus or like, encephalitis or something." You say, rolling your hand.

"Haven't caught it yet."

"Yet." You point out.

"And where do you suggest I do move to? A hotel? Some apartment on Fifth?" He said, giving you a "do I look stupid" look. "Move in with you?"

"Well I mean I have a two bedroom house with a basement. You can store all your crap there." You say casually.

Yeah. That gets his eyebrows to shoot up his forehead.

"What."

"Seriously, Marc. I have plenty of space--"

"No I mean what. How the fuck can you afford a house like that in New York fucking city when you don't have a day job?"

"Dude... I told you. SHIELD. Can't have an Avenger living in some shitty one room apartment in a rathole dump. They pay for everything." You grin.

Marc blinked.

"They hooked you up... With a whole house."

"Yeah."

"With a basement and everything."

"Uh-huh."

"And You're offering to let me stay."

"Yep."

He looked at you skeptically, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Other than helping with chores or cleaning up after yourself." You shrug.

"....You're serious."

"As a triple-bypass burger." You grin.

Marc turned from you and stared at the floor, gripping his whetstone in his hand as he thought.

Maybe it was time to bid the sewers farewell. At least there would be fewer rats...

"...All right. Fine."

You grin widely and hop to your feet.

"I'll tell Fury to get something to help move all your crap, then! We get to be roomies!"

Marc was already beginning to regret his decision.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Yeah. He definitely regretted it.

He regretted it after the first week.

Because apparently you'd forgotten Marc lived with you, waking up after only two hours of sleep, and walking downstairs.

It wasn't unusual for you to go ahead and walk into your kitchen first thing, to make a nice cup of coffee.

But it certainly was unusual for Marc.

And awkward.

Hilariously, horrendously awkward.

Because apparently you slept in nothing but your panties.

And thought nothing about walking into your kitchen for a cuppa, sans clothes.

That was, until you remembered one teeny, tiny detail.

Yeah, you didn't live alone anymore.

The shriek you let out was one worthy of a cartoon character, and Marc dropped the mug he was holding and it shattered on the floor, face as red as the apple he had half-eaten.

Poor Marc found his thoughts plagued with you. Your skin, how soft you must feel...

One night he'd fallen asleep at his worktable and caught himself dreaming that he was sprawled on the couch, the TV on in the background... And then you crawled into his lap, nice and slow.

When he jolted awake, he found a very urgent problem he needed to take care of.

He also needed a nice, ice cold shower...

But little did he know that you were plagued with dreams just as much as he was.

And they only got worse when you woke up in the middle of the night for a bottle of water and you bumped into him, skin wet, hair dripping and the only thing covering himself was a towel hanging low on his waist, showing the perfect v of muscles leading straight down to the short, dark curls of hair that led below his waistline.

And god, was there an outline of his...

You made a rather embarrassing squeak and rattled off an excuse about the water and ran downstairs to the kitchen, allowing Marc to go to his room and conceal his shame.

And for you to take care of yours.

This was going to take some getting used to...

Marc was getting increasingly frustrated, however. And not in the emotional sense.

Between your constant slip-ups of seeing each other almost naked, the light touches neither of you realized you were doing to one another, and the goddamn dreams...

Agreeing to this living arrangement was torture, pure and simple.

One of the things he hated to admit was that, yeah... You were attractive. You were funny, and kind, and sweet... He sometimes found himself bored or, hell, just lonely without you around. He missed you while you were laid up in recovery.

But fuck did you have an attitude problem.

And what was weirder was that he found that attractive, too. Your brattiness. It was uncomfortably endearing.

The worst was night though, when you two were on patrol together after the sun went down.

He wasn't sure what was worse to be plaguing his subconscious. Your topless form, or your body wrapped so tightly in that skin tight suit that you may as well have been naked in the first place.

Especially when you bent over to use your telescopic vision to sight down targets for him, or... He wasn't sure.

That night he'd looked at you to ask you something.

"Do you see anyth--what are you doing?!" He sputtered, watching, almost slack-jawed as you unzip the front of your suit just enough to let your uncomfortably sweaty tits breathe.

And he'd be lying if he said that the corset you were wearing didn't do wonders for them, pushing them up juuuust right...

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's hot. You might not understand because you don't have tits, Marc, but they get sweaty. And it's like, summer. Chill the hell out."

You barley mumbled the last part, but he heard it nonetheless, "You've actually seen me worse at this point."

Yeah. Let's just say he had different dreams later that night...

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Pt. 5: Link

#moon knight #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector

18 notes · View notes

transboysokka · 5 months

Text

@transuncletaylor made a post that really made me remember how easy it was to get lost back before we had smartphones and being home, it was just normal and they weren’t really essential, but TRAVELING omg…. When I would travel with my parents, no big deal at all. But traveling alone….

I used to live in Fuzhou, China, in like… 2018? In day-to-day life, smartphones were very much a thing by then- but without a VPN you couldn’t use pretty much any of the Big Western websites, including Google so now that I think about it, maps were much more difficult there. But that’s not my point right now.

Fuzhou’s kind of on the central coast, across the strait from Taiwan. On long weekends I would take the high-speed train about 4 hours to Hong Kong alone (most of my traveling is done alone) and BOY I never had ANY idea what was going on there. I wouldn’t bother with a SIM bc I would never be there for too long and there was free wifi in a lot of places (but, I’d find out, never in the places that mattered)

Anyway I would tend to just wander around Hong Kong without a real plan, hop on a ferry to some island I didn’t even know, wander around, get back on the ferry, go somewhere else to hike… It was fun! I have a good sense of direction so I was always able to end up back at my hostel when I needed

Another important thing to know… my Chinese bank account (and I ONLY had a Chinese bank account) for some reason wouldn’t let me use my debit card or any ATMs when I was in Hong Kong. So it was very much a cash only situation but I was always pretty good at bringing the right amount

Well

Here’s the situation. It’s December 23rd. I’d taken a couple days off work so I could do a long weekend for my birthday (the 20th) and experience Christmas (which was really not celebrated at all in Fuzhou) but I DO have to work the next day, the 24th and I can’t remember why but there was something really important happening that day that definitely couldn’t be missed.

The train to Fuzhou ran something like twice a day and my ticket was for the afternoon train. Security and immigration took unexpectedly WAYYYYY too long and for the first time in my life I missed my train.

So here I am, without any money to even buy another ticket if I want to, PAST immigration with no real way to reenter Hong Kong, with no phone signal or Wi-Fi, and HAVE to work the next day…

I go up to the help desk and explain what happened and they were like “Well, you gotta go somewhere so we’ll stick you on the next train to Shenzhen” which is right over the border but I’m thinking “great because at least I’ll be in China with a phone signal and it should be easy to get a train from there”

So I get to Shenzhen. Which is a HUGE city that I know nothing about and have never been to before. I find the ticket line at the station. Because I was a foreigner, I was required to buy tickets in person instead of from the machines? There were a lot of rules like that, I’m not really sure what was up with that. So I get in the line which takes FIVE HOURS to get to the front of. Not even joking. That’s also for some reason not completely unheard of there. By now it’s probably like 7pm? I tell the lady I need to get to Fuzhou TONIGHT and I’ll take a standing ticket if I have to and she says they JUST sold out but I can get an unreasonably expensive business class ticket for 7am the next day if I want.

I take it. At least I can afford it now bc I’m back in China

Then I gotta figure out where to stay. I get on the Chinese version of like booking.com or whatever people use nowadays and find a shitty hostel that accepts foreigners. Many hotels and hostels DIDN’T take foreigners bc they’re allowed to choose and you need a special license of something. So the closest place that had a bed and would take me was AN HOUR AWAY on the metro.

Okay good I finally get there and I’m exhausted.

I pass out and wake up at like 4 or 5am to make my morning train. I try to take a faster route back to the train station and somehow it’s WAY slower. I ALMOST MISS THAT TRAIN TOO. But I do get on and NOW IM STRESSED BECAUSE I HAVE TO WORK AT NOON and the train is gonna pull up in Fuzhou at like 11:30.

I get in and RUN to work, luggage and all, and make it but oof how exhausting, Merry Christmas…

Not nearly as dramatic as going missing in Seoul, but I do love this specific genre of story 😆

#text

9 notes · View notes

v-arbellanaris · 1 year

Note

Hi! As requested, some (very) random stuff. I am sorry you're having a bad day/week. February can go suck an egg in my humble opinion.

Meta: I was 0 days old when I found out that according to DA lore, there are no dwarven slaves in Tevinter. (because of the importance of the lyrium trade) I was refreshing my memory about Dwarven Ambasadoria and it says so on the wiki but without a source where that comes from. It seems unlikely to me, but ok.

Comic thing (Those who speak) that bothers me mighty: So, in the game, Isabela frees the slaves on the ship she is escorting. Because she agreed to do it without knowing that the cargo were living people. She lets them go. The guy is pissed mighty and that is why she agreed to steal the tome of Koslun in return for him. It's an entire plot! And in the comic... She kills the slaves. What the fuck Bioware.

Character: Varric's necklace has this running joke about Cock-ring necklace Ken. But as much as the makers of the doll didn't have a clue where that fashion came from, maybe Varric too wanted to be flashy! But ended up with a cock ring around his neck?

I was relistening DA2 banter and Varric has a dialogue with Choir boy about Bianca's cocking ring. And I kinda had a thought. What if the necklace is actually a spare part that he kept from the time Bianca made Bianca the crossbow?

Also, dunno why but everyone everywhere claims Varric is ENTP type, but when I sat down and checked it turns out he is very much an ENFP. It matters to me for some weird reason.

Also, Isabela/Varric banter is peak aromantic/asexual humor. I believe that Varric is the embodiment of (insert the no throw! dog meme) No sex! Only sexy!

In the comic (the one where they have a Fade trip) Varric in a dream sequence looks more like a human than a dwarf. (the way he is drawn) until he leaves the "vision" and looks like a dwarf again. Is this like? Intentional? Just a weird drawing thing when someone couldn't exactly figure out proportions?

The new comic (if we are speaking of comics and the way dwarfs are being drawn) has some dwarven ladies. People like the new Varric design. (good for them) I am crying over Dwarven ladies being done dirty.

Dark secret: I am low-key planning to ignore Dragon Age 4. People are hyped. I am like? Annoyed? I have my own canon, whole-ass Inquisition re-write. I don't care.

Also, I never played any dragon age game. I pirated it sure. I managed to create a few characters in a creator but never played further than the opening sequence. My laptop would burn to a crisp. It's really that shitty. I literary watched so many yt walkthroughs and read through the wiki. I often forget that is a weird and not-normal way to enjoy video games.

Another secret: I made a Cadash OC, I had them for so many years. And they are central to the plot of my entire personal Dragon Age Universe. The entire plot of Origins. Appear in DA2 events briefly. Then entire Inquisition. It's an overkill how important I made that character. But it's too late now! I wish I had enough willpower to record it somewhere (drawings, writing) just for the sake of it. Yet I am afraid of how weird it is. Funny, no?

Hope you feel a little bit better sometime soon.

I have no puns. I have a funny video in this trying time I sometimes watch to feel better: https://www.tumblr.com/titkoks/644666319075229696/obsessed-with-the-line-if-i-can-continue-to-be-a?source=share

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER!!!! february does suck!!! march is not looking that much better atm but here's to hoping....

seriously?! i mean i suppose that makes sense but it also doesn't make sense considering y'know. the casteless? wait. what if they (the dwarves from other castes) wouldn't consider that enslavement of their people... that would be really fucked up but on brand for orzammar social politics huh

i mean, having isabela - a black woman - be a slaver in the worst place is already an extremely questionable writing decision. i also think it was a shit writing decision but the trail of logic seems to be along the lines of like: isabela gets in debt with the felicisima armada -> gets involved in slave trafficking -> gets cornered by the orlesians in the venefication sea -> slaves were killed (to allow the ship to maneuver since it's implied the ship was slow because the cargo holds were too packed) -> isabela vows never to traffic slaves again -> presumably the next time she's asked to do it anyway, she sets the slaves free? which is still not great. bioware's sliding scale of when slavery is or isnt acceptable is really... hm.

this is making me UNWELL. for so many reasons.

YEAH WHY DO THEY LOOK LIKE THAT??? what did they do to evka and harding?!?!?!

Dark secret: I am low-key planning to ignore Dragon Age 4. People are hyped. I am like? Annoyed? I have my own canon, whole-ass Inquisition re-write. I don't care.

yeah i'm checking it out for the vibes but im still digging around in origins and da2 for content so i hope that tells you where MY mind is at

EXCUSE ME MGDFKGJDKSGJKDFGJ this is SO funny you are the ONLY VALID person in the entire fandom and i love you

#asks #IM WHEEZING yes king don't give bw any money MDKJF love that for you actually

2 notes · View notes

decepti-geek · 2 years

Note

I might be old fashioned (or the rarepair thing might be true, I can't remember if my first ever ship was a rare pair but the way I engaged with ships was Hecking Weird in a way I recognized as strange so I didn't get upset when other people weren't on my boat with me) but when did people start not thinking it's rude to insult a ship in the ship tags? This is the second time I've seen that recently did people forget it's rude as shit?

(sending you an ask rather than reblogging that post because, aside from being rude, it's also historically likely to put a target on your back and I don't want to accidentally contribute to harassing someone for making a somewhat ill-mannered joke)

It's funny cause, I very much suspect that the whole Anti Bullshit had something to do with this. But I can't rightly speculate whether it's likely to be down to, idk, after what it was like to have antis in your ship tag, the bar is on the floor in terms of social expectations in fandom. Or if it's more some kind of... I mean, people DID still used to be rude about ships in tags before the anti thing gained the traction it did. But BA (Before Antis) it was rarely a concerted effort on the part of multiple people, it was usually just Some Asshole who might whinge if you told them to fuck off, but crucially, you knew you had the ability to tell them to fuck off and it was likely to meet with some success, as long as it was a situation of you and your buddies just vibing and them being shitty by choice.

But then the antis kind of like... collectivised ship hate, so if you had ship hate in your tag then it wasn't a matter of telling That One Asshole to fuck off, it was at its worst like, trying and likely failing to fend off a goddamn harassment campaign. I know that BA, there were also like, shipwars/flamewars. But my impression of those was really that, y'know, everyone had a pretty equal stake in the fight? One side liked one thing and hated the other, the other side liked and hated the opposite. But antis didn't have the same skin in the game in that way, because a lot of the time even if things began as a way of prioritising a different ship, over time it did become about PURELY hating someone else's ship. So that changed the dynamic, made it uneven, and made it harder to fight off people who had less of a reason to back off, because hating a thing had become so central to their fandom experience that they had less space to kind of, retreat and go do something they loved instead.

ANYWAY point being, I think the fandom perception might have shifted from 'oh here's an asshole just tell them to fuck off' to, Post-Antis, still having that kind of, lingering sense that telling someone to fuck off isn't worth it because you don't know what you might bring down on your head. Like, the way antis did/do fandom has changed what's seen as acceptable within fandom even if now the consensus has shifted further towards 'why would you harass someone over something like that oh my god please stop.' But it's not in the same place it was BA, so I think that kind of stuff is still seen as like, more okay, and less needlessly rude, than it once was.

(If you would like to PM me off anon to talk further I am also all ears, and obviously I'm not gonna reveal who you are if you do. But you seem like this has been bothering you a bit so if you have further stuff about fandom you wanna rant about to someone I am absolutely willing to be that person).

#anonymous #fandom

2 notes · View notes

metaphoricgibberish · 3 months

Note

Honestly any tips you have on the Bay I’ll take. Thank you so much for the bookstore and restaurant recs! I just moved here from Austin so Im feeling a bit like a fish out of water.

well welcome! happy to have you here!

basic bay tips i’m sure you’ve heard a thousand times over already, but:

- always carry a jacket, especially in the city. despite us being in California, the bay can be temperamental weather wise. we’re famous for our microclimates. one minute it’s sunny and 65, next minute it’s windy, foggy, misty and the coldest fucking night you’ll experience in a city that hasn’t seen snow since ‘76. Mark Twain once said “the coldest winter i ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” he wasn’t lying. the marine layer is brutal. it may say it’s only 54 outside, but the cold here is different. i’ve had people from the east coast say that it feels colder here in the summer than it does back there when it’s snowing in the winter.

- there’s a lot of houseless people here, but most of them are harmless. don’t be alarmed walking past them, but do be aware of your surroundings. don’t be buried in your phone, keep your purse or bag close. most of the time it isn’t the houseless people taking your shit, but the areas where there are a lot of them tend to attract thieves. Republicans and conservatives love to say that the bay is dangerous, it’s really not in comparison to other major U.S. cities. we don’t have gun issues for the most part, and most of our crimes are targeted (and unfortunately gang related) so most of the time you have nothing to worry about. just be aware.

- however, car theft and break-ins are absolutely NO JOKE. never leave anything in your car. and i mean nothing. i once got my car broken into because i had a bag of dirty laundry in it. i also got my car fucking stolen (keep in mind i drive a shitty ‘96 jeep cherokee) in a really nice neighborhood.

- take advantage of the bay’s multicultural neighborhoods. this place has the best Asian food, the best central and South American food, incredible African food and places and festivals to celebrate a ton of different places and cultures.

- we’re also one of the gayest places in America (and probably the world). pride is a bay wide celebration. tons of great gay and lesbian bars too!

- there’s so much nature in the bay worth exploring. point reyes, Muir Woods, the Santa Cruz mountains, Golden Gate Park, fort mason, mt. Tam, big basin. this is huge area for hiking, even though we’re often just seen as a metropolis.

- we have a huge literary and music scene. there are shows and readings basically every day somewhere in the bay. highly recommend checking out local venues.

- outside lands is amazing, but super expensive, I recommend checking out the free bluegrass festival, Hardly Strictly, in Golden Gate Park every October. tons of cool local artists and big names too!

i’m sure i could go on and on but my brain is turning to mush at this point in the night. i’ll add more in the comments later!

#san francisco #bay area

0 notes

his-name-is-stewart · 6 months

Text

4 | Hook, Line, and Sinker

It was hard not to think of Gotham as home. A real shitty home, sure, plenty of bad memories - but they’d grown up here. Teenage years spent exploring the city meant they knew it like the back of their hand, even if it had been six years since they’d last been here.

God - six years. Life had changed a lot since then, but being back… it was almost as if they’d never left. Almost.

Coming back to Gotham wasn’t something they’d wanted to do. It was one thing when the memories were all fond and nostalgic, which they were, but it was another entirely when those fond memories had all been tainted by the dark, horrible parts of the city, which was most of it.

They looked across the skyline as they drove over the bridge into the city, and felt a familiar twinge of guilt as they did so. They tried not to think too much about the dilapidated bridge they knew was right down the river from the one they were driving across.

People always joked that you could never get away from Gotham.

Despite all of their vows to never return to the city, they had been drawn back in by a job offer they couldn’t refuse: Wayne-Powers needed a new Chemical Operations Manager, and they couldn't see any better place to put their new degree to good use. It was the kind of job that they’d always thought they’d end up having, so it just made sense. Why they hadn’t waited for an open position in Metropolis or somewhere else, they weren’t sure. Maybe it was true- maybe you really couldn’t get away from Gotham.

They tapped their fingers against the top of their steering wheel, waiting for the mid-day traffic to begin moving again. The time the traffic was giving them to think was definitely not needed; they sighed and reached to turn on the radio. Of course, they were met with nothing but static, having not changed the station since leaving the countryside. None of the small town stations they usually had their car tuned to worked in the city. With a small frown they glanced up to make sure that traffic wasn’t moving - it wasn’t - and set to adjusting their frequency. Eventually, they settled on a channel that was playing some bad pop music with some discussion of local news interspersed. Not the greatest thing to listen to, but if it kept their mind off of their rather depressing thoughts, they supposed it was alright.

By that point, traffic had begun creeping forward, and they continued moving with it, feeling very lucky that they would be able to merge down to lower and less crowded skyway levels soon.

Their new apartment was near Central Gotham, an older building. It had been kept pretty up to date with the newest technologies as they were developed: voice-activated elevator systems, key card locks, and even additional levels as demand for apartments grew over the years, but despite the parking garage being fully automated, it was still in its original location beneath the apartment complex.

It had its advantages, though. Getting to the parking spots meant driving on the old, ground level city streets, and while the maintenance on those roads was never fantastic, there was also hardly ever any traffic, which meant getting home a little bit faster. They hadn’t actually considered this until their first time making their way through the city to their apartment building, but they were grateful for it nonetheless.

They also found themself grateful that the elevators continued down through the levels of the parking garage so they didn’t have to carry their boxes up through the cold cement stairwell. The elevator may have been just as cold, but not carrying boxes up steps made it ten times better regardless.

The apartment was pretty high up, with a nice view of Gotham’s crisscrossing skyways from the small balcony off of the living room. They decided to leave the balcony door open for some “fresh” air while they began to unpack. Their moving company had dropped most of their stuff off a few days ago; they had brought the rest with them in their car. While it was nice not to have to worry about getting all of their stuff up from the parking garage to their apartment, it also meant that everything was a disorganized mess.

The first order of business was getting their computer desk set up. Luckily, their computer had been one of the things they’d elected to bring themself, so they wouldn’t need to hunt for which boxes the various parts were in.

They were very ready to not have to type out their responses to the dozens of emails they'd been getting on their phone - and there had been dozens. After a rather embarrassing one-person theft of a multitude of dangerous chemicals, Wayne-Powers was in the midst of some rather frantic damage control, which had created an ever growing list of responsibilities for the position they hadn’t even started yet.

Sighing as they scrolled through the page worth of emails they’d received in the past day, they clicked off the monitor and decided that Wayne-Powers could wait for a few hours while they took their sweet time unpacking some more boxes. After all, the company couldn’t force them to respond when they weren’t even officially on payroll yet.

#In Your Eyes #stewart carter winthrop iii #jokerz ghoul #batman beyond ghoul #ghoul batman beyond #my writing

1 note · View note

mrstsung · 2 years

Text

The problem with mk anymore is they keep writing themselves into a corner and writing it as if it was the last game ever.

And sometimes thats not a good thing.

I doubt mk12 is gonna be good because you cant really move forward well without another retcon. And people are genuinely tired of that.

And they are appeasing to the crowd that doesn't even play the games or know the lore and knows how much nrs and to an extent boon as fucked up the whole thing.

And it saddens me that we had the greatest talents working with them in mk11. So its a waste to not have them come back. Which as crappy as mk12 i predict will be. At least we'd have them reprise the roles.

But i doubt that because they are legit getting rid of everything. And that makes me both angry and sad.

Because im sick of them retconning everything. And im sick of wb sticking its dc comic dick in everything.

MORTAL KOMBAT IS NOT INJUSTICE GAMES WITH VIOLENCE. ITS ITS OWN FUCKING GAME AND LORE AND HAS BEEN AROUND LONG BEFORE YOU FUCKERS EVEN WE'RE A THOUGHT! AND IM SICK OF NRS TREATING IT WITH DISRESPECT AND WB BEING THE JACKASS COMPANY WHO DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN MONEY.

And im tired of people pretending its ok. When its not.

Mortal kombats story is so fucked up anymore the only thing good about it now is to beat up your friends over local or online and thats fucking sad.

The story is so bad. You can put it on mute and it would be more entertaining. The only thing good about mk11 was shang tsung. And tagawa coming back. But i doubt they are ballsy enough to do that again. Especially since well....you know. In the story. They kinda fucked shang over. At least on lius ending. And the only way to fix that is say both endings (shang and lius) are both canon. But i doubt that since they still wanna suck protag dick. (Sorry i love liu but yeah.)

Not to mention these crappy new movies. The only good ones are the animated ones. But even then they have their problems.

The live action one (2021) is god awful. And the sequel is more likely just as awful if not worse. Because again they are appeasing dc comicbook fans not mortal kombat fans. Which is fucking stupid. Because nobody wants to see those. So what makes you think sticking it in where it doesn't belong will work? WE DONT WANT SUPERHERO MOVIES ANYMORE YOU DUMBASSES! god wb is just as bad as marvel studios.

But thats for another rant.

This is not how a game especially a legend like mortal kombat should be.

Especially us fans who have been here. Played all the games. And now we are being treated like jokes. Especially from what was built up in 9. Which isn't a great game but they had and idea. I was cool with it. Then they threw it in the toilet.

Which isn't surprising since legit i feel like they dont wanna do half the shit they did in mk11. And not to mention the amount of hours put into the game. And even then its not complete.

Again mk12 im just gonna watch streaming of. Until im 100000000000% sure that i wanna buy it. Because mk11 is gonna be my last mortal kombat game if its shitty.

Which not to be a downer but again realistically i doubt mk12 is gonna be good. Because what more can you do to actually fix the shithole you wrote yourselves into?! Like the only way is to make both endings canon. Because otherwise you're not gonna have many fans be happy you legit killed off a huge roster. Icons. And are now left with no offense. Mediocre characters with no good antagonists. One dimensional shitty dcu/mcu writing relying on "funny quips" instead of actual personality development. Tropes(bad ones) instead of something worth getting invested in.

Like mk hasn't been the most kosher. Lemme be honest. But this could have been a chance to expand and explore already established lore and add i dunno ACTUAL FUCKING EASTERN CULTURES! and asian cinema references and not stupid American centralized/eurocentric bullshit. No offense but yeah. Im tired of fucking greek mythos being shoehorned into everything. Greek mythos aint that fucking special or great sorry to those that love it.

We have many other fucking mythos n cultures and if anything. Mortal kombat should be asian and eastern culturally centered. Period.

Im just sick and tired of the bullshit.

Im just disappointed more than anything. Mk11 could have been so much more. But nope. Corporate greed. Its a helluva drug for these dudes in NRS.

#mortal kombat #mk discourse #im sorry im just sad that mk12 is more likely gonna be a complete reboot and it makes me worry for the future of the game and its integrity #admin is sad #im calling it mk11 will be the last decent mk game #and even then mk11 isn't the greatest #its a better game than 9 but not as good as 10 but only better as in certain features thats it #in fact its a polished down version of what it could be #shang tsung and tagawa saved it broke his back and honestly i feel his talent is even then as much as i love him in the game is wasted #still love mk11 but its not above heavy fucking criticism as a fan

0 notes

aurallyaddison · 3 years

Text

me: playing stardew valley, in which i am about to propose to my boyfriend

also me: MARY-KATE AND ASHLEY I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT ILUVYOUALOTANIWANNAUHGBEYUOURMAN-

#aurally andy #shitty jokes central over here #i just found it kinda funny i was about to propose to him while singing about stalking the olsen twins #tally hall #stardew valley #sdv #everyone gets to see this bullshit i guess

19 notes · View notes

punkcherries · 4 years

Text

hm. thought: opposing nazis is the bare minimum when it comes 2 opposing antisemitism and especially whn it comes to supporting jewish ppl

#shut up sombre #idont usually ask ppl not to rb posts but itd be epic if yall idnt rb this one specifically imparanoid #delete later maybe #idk if this is a controversial opinion lol but.#saying 'punch nazis!!` doesnt get u a get outta jail free card 2 support media tht furthers their ideology ya feel #i ont jew post™ a lot i think but . i have thoughts™ a lot of th time #mostly dont post a lot abt it bcus iont think im the most knowledgeabl abt my own g-dtdamb heritage whcih is. :( . but ykno #but like..... still. dont go preachin abt being an ally ot jewish ppl and then turn around n make holocaust jokes n shit .#easy to put a big red x over a swastika n call it a day but u gotta oppose all kinds of antisemitism even 'small` kinds #this doesnt mean u gotta drop EVERY piece of media w smth antisemitic in it like. i love stardew and it has mildly antisemitic stuff in it #the antisemitism isnt part of the overarching like. main focus of the game tho. n its really only in things tht could easily b edited #like the henchman dude or the fact there r enemies called golems u can jus change the sprite and the name n its cool #bt when the antisemitism is like. central to a certain undivorceable aspect of the media like attack on shitan where its The Plot #thts when u gotta put ur own desire to consume media thoughtlessly to the side n lsiten to jewish ppl n drop it ykno???#this goes fr all kinds of oppression i think. one (1) crossdressing gag is kinda shitty n transphobic bt if its just the one n doesnt like #come up a bunch of times or isnt the main type of humor thn its cool to continue to enjoy the media jus be critical of it ykno???#imrambling a lot here lmaooo idek if i kno wht im talkin abt im in my head too much #while i have ur attention how do yal feel abt spicy doritos? ive only tried a couple kinds bt they kinda tasted the same to me iirc #id like to eat more spicy things bcus i like spicy food even tho my sinuses r ridiculously sensitive n i get sniffly easy lolll

6 notes · View notes

userpoe · 2 years

Note

*clears throat* can I cheat and ask for 45 for poe except it's on the tattoo that we both know is right NEAR his hip bone?

clocks in at a nice 2.6k, no pronouns used, and while there's no explicit sexual content, still very much rated mature. (read on ao3)

“You’re not allowed to worry,'' was Leia’s singular command. “You’re on vacation. Three days, make it count Dameron. And you’d better not get into any trouble while you’re gone like you did last time.”

‘Last time’ apparently involved a trip to Pheryon that almost compromised the security of the Resistance base, flying a stormsailer through the planet’s treacherous stormsea, and nearly being captured by the First Order.

Given that your destination is Poe’s family ranch on Yavin IV, far away from the growing threat of the First Order and far enough away from the central hub of Wetyin’s Colony that it is nearly but not quite isolated from everything else, you’re confident that the chances of running into trouble are slim.

But unsurprisingly, Poe isn’t able to fully obey Leia’s command. He’s uncharacteristically quiet during the trip through hyperspace (you aren’t even able to coax him into a round of dejarik), and as the shuttle’s ramp disembarks with a hiss of steam and extends out shakily to the ground a dozen feet away from the main house, Poe still seems a hundred lightyears away.

But he takes your hand with a smile as he leads you inside for the grand tour, and there’s enough enthusiasm saturating his voice that you know it isn’t that he’s back home that’s bothering him, though his eyes softens and shines at times as he points out particular locations that had been Kes or Shara’s favorite haunts.

It isn’t even that Poe is being distant - he’s involved in every conversation, cracks the occasional joke at his own expense about how dusty the house is (he hasn’t been back in over a year, not since before he’d been stationed on Mirrin Prime) - it’s just that you catch him drifting further and further away when he thinks you aren’t paying attention only to come back quickly whenever he realizes he’s been caught, and gives you one of those disarming smiles of his to assure you that ‘everything’s fine.’

You indulge him the rest of the day, let him pretend nothing is bothering him all through dinner and then through a shitty holovid you both make sarcastic commentary during, but you resolve to ask him as he takes you to his bedroom.

(His childhood bedroom, because he hadn’t had the heart to take his parents’ room, though it’s obvious he changed his room during one of his last visits to make it more accessible now that he is grown because the bed is big enough for the two of you to lay comfortably beside each other.)

You study his profile for a long moment as he drifts further away from you. He hasn’t been as dedicated to his morning routine in the last few days, which means the curve of his jaw is darker than what it normally is - just another indicator that his anxiety is worse than usual.

You wish that just being here in a comfortable bed with not just the morning off from your duties, but a whole three days, would be enough to get him to relax. But of course, neither of you are always successful in leaving behind thoughts of the upcoming war whenever you climb into bed together on D’Qar either.

But this is Yavin IV and concerns about the First Order are so discordant to the suspended peace of Poe’s childhood bedroom, that it almost feels sacrilegious.

(And you really hate to see him worry.)

You shift onto your side, placing your hand over his heart. That touch alone seems to ground him, because Poe immediately returns to the here and now. You can’t help but tease a little, to remove some of the sting, as you ask, “Do you ever follow orders?”

Poe looks genuinely puzzled for a moment. “I haven’t gotten us into trouble yet.”

“No, but you’ve been worrying ever since we left D’Qar.” You trace meaningless patterns against his chest as you search his face, which clouds with guilt. You’re quick to dismiss this by adding, “I just want to know what’s bothering you.”

The shaky exhale he releases as he takes your hand breaks your heart. “It’s too quiet.”

“Yavin IV?”

Poe shakes his head empathetically. “The First Order. Ever since that fueling mission, they’ve been quiet. There’s a lull between missions and I know I should be happy about a reprieve but...it just makes me think something big is on its way.”

You frown. It’s true that Black Squadron hadn’t been out on many assignments in the past few weeks, but that had been something of a relief given their own recent loss in L’ulo L’ampar, but now that Poe has voiced his fear, you can’t help but share it because the First Order wouldn’t have gone dark if they aren’t planning something.

“If there is, we’ll face it together. There’s nothing we can’t beat if we’re united.” You slide your hand up to cradle his cheek, running your thumb soothingly along his chin. “But for now flyboy, you need to take a minute. General’s orders, remember? Unless you want to be grounded again.”

Poe laughs. “She ordered me to go on vacation, I think I’ve already been grounded.”

“She ordered you to relax, and I know just how to help with that.” You emphasize this by letting your other hand drift lower down his chest, until you’re able to ruck up the hem of his shirt and splay your palm against his stomach, which dips sharply as Poe sucks in a breath. “If that’s something you want.”

“I always want you,” Poe says and he’s so damn sincere that you forget to breathe for a moment, because you know Poe, and he’s never kept his desire for you a secret in all the time you’ve been together. You know he thinks of you when he’s away on missions, knows he thinks about you during hyperspace trips, but there’s still something about hearing him say those words aloud - because they’re refreshingly honest and because you know he doesn’t just mean sex.

He means he always wants you, no matter the context. He wants the messy parts of both of your lives together, he wants to hold your hand and cuddle with you longer than either of you really have time for in the mornings. He wants you to steal waffles off his plate every day and wants to hear you gripe about the obscene amount of syrup he puts on them. He wants to listen to you rant because he loves you and he loves the fire that blazes in your eyes when you really go off about something.

“You’ve always got me,” you remind him as you lean down to kiss him sweetly, massaging the apple of his cheek with your thumb as your lips slide against his. Poe melts into it, his palm curving around your waist, and you’re purposefully moving slow, intent on slowly unraveling him.

The tension in his body dissolves more and more each time you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and he makes a pleased hum when you sooth it with your tongue after a sharper nip when Poe surprises you by letting his hand fall to the bend of your knee, and you know he’s already toying with the idea of pulling you on top of him.

It’s something you’ve been wanting to do since you climbed into bed with him, but he was too wound up then. When you break for air and catch sight of that dazed look of want on his face - how dark his eyes are as they skid over your face, down your neck, to the shirt of his you’d stolen back on D’Qar the first night you’d slept together, and then back up - you know he’s now wound up in a different, more pleasant way and your decision is made.

You throw one leg over his hip and settle above him and finally, finally, you let your hand skim up from his stomach up his soft, warm chest. You tap the front of his shirt with your other hand as you bend down to kiss along his jawline, smiling when a heavier breath falls from his lips when you meet his earlobe. “Can I take this off?”

Poe’s voice is broken in the best way possible when he answers. “Honey, you can take whatever you want off.”

“Anything huh?” You tease, peppering kisses down the cord of his neck. You take him for his word, removing your hand from under his shirt to begin unbuttoning it - you fumble with the buttons, not willing to sacrifice the little noises he keeps making as you intermittently suck at his skin, but eventually you manage to get it all the way unbuttoned.

Poe leans forward so you can push it off his shoulders. His hips press against yours at the movement and you falter, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a familiar warmth floods through your body and he takes the opportunity to lean forward, kissing the hollow of your throat in a way that nearly snaps your patience - especially when he nips lightly at the spot where your neck meets your collarbone, enough to bruise.

“So we match,” he murmurs. When he pulls away, he’s got that self-assured lopsided grin you love on his face and his eyes are soft and crinkled at the corners. It’s the same kind of look he gives you in the morning when you’re still grumbling about having to be up so early while he hands you your first cup of caf, or whenever he listens enraptured to one of your rambles and it -

It makes your stomach flip, it really does, the way he can look at you with so much unguarded love and reverence in a moment like this - where you’re both flirting with the idea of grinding against each other for some relief - as he can any other odd moment in your chaotic lives.

And somehow that is what restores your patience. You push him back down, Poe’s elbows giving out from under him and his expression slackens, and you can’t help but grin as you cover his body with your own. You stop a hair's breadth away from his mouth, which has parted in anticipation. “I love it when you’re like this.”

Poe cocks an eyebrow. “Entirely at your mercy?”

“I like that too, but no,” you card your fingers through his hair thoughtfully, letting your fingernails scrape lightly against his scalp in the way you know he likes. Indeed, he sighs happily underneath you, triggering a smile from you. “When you’re this...content.”

“Being kissed by my favorite person in the galaxy will do that.”

“I think you’re just saying that because I’m on top of you -” you mouth at that one spot between his jawline and ear again and this time succeed in drawing the noise out of him that you’ve been hoping for: a plaintive groan that’s music to your ears. You move further down and Poe automatically tilts his head to allow you more access and you grant him his wish for a while before crawling further down his body - “and you love it when that happens.”

The most of a response you get from him is a blissful little ‘mhm’, as he squirms slightly underneath you.

By now, you know Poe’s body as well as your own. The first time he’d taken his shirt off around you, you’d been surprised by the amount of scars he’s already collected. In the time since, he’s told you the stories behind most of them, and these are the ones you pay the most attention to as you work your way down: pressing your lips carefully to each and every one, sometimes more than once, motivated by the tiny gasps he keeps making.

There are some scars that Poe’s never shared the history of. That first night, your hand trailed to a less prominent one on his side and he’d caught your wrist to whisper hoarsely, “Not that one, please.” And you’ve been sure to avoid it ever since, along with some others he’d pointed out when you asked him which ones he didn’t like to be reminded of.

Finally, finally, you reach the spot that’s secretly your favorite. It’s near his hip bone, where Poe has a small starbird tattoo. He got it, apparently, after he graduated from the flight academy in celebration and as tribute to his parents. You vividly remember the first time you saw it: it was before you ever entertained the idea of getting together.

The two of you had been bickering over dinner on whether or not the Widow Maker move could ever be used in the Five Sabers Competition according to its rules - but neither of you won because you each couldn’t remember all the rules. So when you woke early the next morning, you looked it up.

Triumphant that you’d been correct (no it couldn’t), you’d dashed to Poe’s quarters and pounded on his door until he opened up and oh, did you begin to entertain the idea because Poe was handsome on a normal day, but having just rolled out of bed? With his curls more tousled than usual, a pair of gray sweats hanging low around his waist, giving you a perfect view of his chest and - maker help you - a tattoo right near his hip?

It was almost enough for you to forget he’d been wrong - nearly, you’d recovered quickly enough to rub his nose in the fact that ‘I told you so!’ and Poe just...chuckled and he conceded. Then he offered to make a pot of caf while you explained to him the rule that made it so the Widow Maker was an illegal move and...you’d been a goner for your best friend ever since.

And when you kiss that same spot, the slight pinch of your teeth is enough to draw out a desperate whine from Poe, the kind that tells you it might just be his favorite spot too, especially when his hips roll forward on instinct.

He reaches down, clumsily grasping at your shirt to haul you back up so you’re both eye-level again and - he’s a wreck, a beautiful wreck that you want to lose yourself in. His hair tousled and framing his face just right from where you’d run your hands through it earlier, his cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling in the low glow from the bedside lamp. You feel a rush of pride, knowing it’s you he trusts enough to make him come undone.

“You’ve had your fun,” Poe’s hand slides up your neck, stopping to sweep his thumb over the bruise he left earlier, and you can see the precise moment his attitude shifts until he’s practically bursting with giddy anticipation, just before he flips you underneath him.

The effortless way he manages to pin you beneath him knocks a gasp from you, one he quickly swallows, pressing his tongue into your mouth and you're quite certain you’re seeing stars. His hand roams along the curves of your body, until he stops at the crook of your knee. He hitches your leg up so he can fit between your thighs, his body moving slowly against yours. until all you can feel is him, him, him. It’s like a second heartbeat, thrumming through your body, and all you know begins and ends with this madly infuriating flyboy who -

Has the fucking audactiy to pull his head back abruptly, ending the searing kiss just as his hands slide under the hem of your shirt to grin down at you, braced over you with his elbow so he can finish his sentence. “Now it’s time for mine.”

You tug him back down by his necklace, playfully indignant. “Always so competitive.”

(Not that you’re really complaining.)

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #ask box #acedameron #myfic #you really went for my throat with this prompt rachel

175 notes · View notes

regina-del-cielo · 3 years

Text

I was thinking about Copley’s Murder Conspirancy Board (mostly to deal with the absolute rage that the scene with Andy Copley and Booker gives me because ‘UGH THESE MEN ARE SO S T U P I D’), and... I may have a Theory about it - which mostly delves into how much Booker and Copley were in actual contact with each other before the events of the movie.

TL;DR: the Murder Conspirancy Board was built with a contribution of Booker’s information, and Copley was Very Confused on the workings of the Guard’s immortality

(the Essay(TM) is under the cut)

This excellent post expounds on how these two Grieving Dumbasses Definitely Did Not Think Their Plan Through, but still what little they did plan was not done in two days. And I would like to think that Booker would have required more than One (1) Persuasive Speech to get him to potentially get his family outed and put in danger for the (tiny) chance of getting a cure for their immortality.

So they’d been in contact for a while, possibly for almost the whole ‘break year’. Copley has lost his wife two years before the movie, so when he and Booker met again he’s one year into mourning. If Andy needed a break from their jobs, I can’t imagine in what mental state Booker must have been.

Copley probably started looking into the Guard because man, that Surabaya mission was a masterpiece, and how come these guys aren’t mercenary superstars? But they’re like ghosts, and the IDs don’t really match their supposed ages... and dealing with his wife’s death made him go into a Nerd Spiral. And then he finds Booker.

So this is how I think it went: they meet again. They talk. Copley is a grieving widower, Booker goes ‘man don’t I relate’. Booker is probably drunk a lot of the time (maybe so is Copley, misery loves company and all that). They enter a positive feedback loop of sharing grief over lost loved ones. Copley probably spills that he knows something, that they’ve done great things and they have a gift obviously. Booker probably answers along the lines of ‘fuck the gift, it sucks. Didn’t save my children when they needed it’. Copley goes ‘well, medicine is much better today. What if you could do it now?’ And the rest is history.

A) Booker ‘helped’ with the Murder Conspirancy Board

We know for a fact that the Conspirancy Board contains information about the Guard ‘from the last 150 years’ which is, approximately, the time photography’s been around. And it makes sense - photos are pretty easily accessible, and Copley knows their faces. He probably scanned them from one of those fake IDs and then used a facial recognition software to find them in historical photographic archives. But we know (and by the end of the movie so does he) that the last 150 years is a nothing in their lifespan. And while going backwards Copley may have found Booker’s original birth and/or marriage records, nothing of the sort would exist for Joe, Nicky and Andy.

Despite how much we joke about the Guard’s faces being Everywhere in museums and art galleries around the world, we can assume that they wouldn’t leave so many traces of them behind. The two known art pieces representing Andy in an obviously recognizable manner, her portrait with Achilles and the Rodin, are in the cave in Val d’Argent. I don’t believe Nicky and Joe wouldn’t have similar storage places, especially for Joe’s own art. Without photographic evidence and before newspapers, trying to pinpoint the three of them across history would be harder than finding a specific needle in a haystack of needles... unless someone tells you where to look.

When Andy enters Copley’s living room, he calls her ‘Andromache the Scythian, the eternal warrior’. But how could Copley have known that Andy’s “real” name was Andromache? It’s not on her IDs, and it’s not the top choice for a full name that has Andy as a nickname. It’s a literary name, of course it would appear through history in poems or plays or novels. And how could he have associated Nicky and Joe precisely to the Crusades with what he knows of them from the last 150 years alone? For all he knew, they could have been as old as the Punic Wars, or as young as the Battle of Lepanto. Assuming he’d actually caught on on them being together together.

Well, I think Booker told him. Maybe just a thing here or there, while Commiserating on How It Sucks being an Immortal, like ‘Andy’s been around for so long she doesn’t even remember her true age, that’s exhausting’ or ‘Joe and Nicky are ridiculous for two people whose first meeting consisted of killing each other during the fucking Crusades’. And Copley fell into another Nerd Spiral that brought him to understand that holy shit these people are much older than I thought what the fuck.

B) Copley is Very Confused on How Immortality Actually Works

Copley talks to Andy by calling her ‘eternal warrior’ and talking of her immortality as if it was some kind of gift that can somehow be transferred from one body to another (debatable, but... ok). But he’s also flabbergasted by her not healing from Booker’s shot, and later with Nile he says ‘but then why would the immortality leave?’, which is... well, it makes it sound like he thinks the immortals are some sort of Chosen Ones.

Which means that Copley knows nothing about Lykon. He had no idea that at some point the Guard will stop healing.

But why would he not know, since I just conjectured that Booker told him enough about immortality for him to pinpoint the origins of the eldest members of the Guard? Why would Booker not have told him such a central detail of their “power”? (Booker obviously knows about Lykon. We see Andy telling Nile, and you can bet that ‘is this thing permanent?’ is probably the third question Booker ever asked when he met the others. He can’t not know)

I think it’s because despite having bonded over their grief, they are approaching this ‘discovering what the fuck is up with immortality’ from two extremely different sides.

Copley wants to know if there is some biological aspect to their immortality that may be ‘transferred’ or ‘activated’ in any random human being. He’s gotten into his head that their regenerative powers can end all diseases. Which. I could probably write another entire separate post on how this is far-fetched at best. Point being, Copley never thought his endeavour as taking the immortality from the Guard to give it to someone else. He thinks Andy and the others are going to live forever and ever.

Booker knows their immortality is not forever and ever, theoretically. He knows that at some point, in the future, he’s going to stop healing and die. But he Wants to Talk to the Manager about it, damn it. He wants his death to be a certainty he can quantify, not something that may happen in another five thousand years based on the data he’s got at his disposal. He wants to have the choice to end it tomorrow or in fifty years - if discovering what causes his immortality saves other people, well that’s an undeniable bonus, but it’s not the focus of his motivation.

Just like Booker and Copley didn’t cover all the potential ways in which Their Plan Could Go Wrong (and honestly, has Booker not learned yet just how fast they revive on average? He tells Nile that ‘big wounds take longer’, and still he revived from the grenade in three/four minutes!), I think they also didn’t Delve into their motivations for seeking that knowledge. Booker probably thought that Copley knowing of their immortality being relative was irrelevant, because of course the doctors will find something (the thing that makes them stop healing), and then he’ll die anyway, so who cares?

And Copley... Copley was probably Convinced that the Guard was a group of superheroes that just needed to be suggested a new investment plan for using their powers, because saving individuals during wars and natural disasters is very noble and good, but come on, it’s inefficient as hell, they can do much better!

(It absolutely sends me that Copley saw the kind of accomplishments reached by the people that the Guard saved, or by their direct descendants, and STILL it didn’t occur to him that there was a pretty decent chance that sometime in the future they would save someone that would find the cure for ALS and/or other shitty diseases! HE’S LITERALLY HINDERING THEM!!!)

#the old guard #my ponderings #james copley #sebastien le livre #my favourite Depressed French Boi #James 'Dumb of Ass' Copley #Copley is an Absolute Imbecile and I will Die on this Hill #I hope this rant makes sense I changed the order of the paragraphs a hundred times I'm sorry #just to be clear Booker didn't Completely Spill the Beans about the family to Copley otherwise the man would know about Quynh too #Copley most likely scraped at any small detail he could glean from their conversations and add it to the Nerd Spiral #Copley is a Nerd that also somehow forgot how to extrapolate results from given data #for the Guard's sake I hope his skills were hindered by his grief and he goes back to Full Operativeness once he gets some Therapy #THEY NEED SO MUCH THERAPY OMG

145 notes · View notes

inkblotsandpapertrails · 3 years

Text

Heart of Stone {R.H} [Pt 7]

Warnings: None

Pairing: Racetrack Higgins x reader

Description: You didn’t agree with your brothers much. You didn’t like how they treated people or handled emotions and etcetera. But you could all agree that the Delancey’s were a proud family. A strong family. You didn’t get close to people, you didn’t show emotion, you didn’t let anyone have power over you, no matter what, because that made you weak. Except for the pretty newsboy with the foghorn voice and smart jokes, apparently.

A/N: i know it's been a while with no update but you must understand: i didn't feel like it

You still weren’t used to admitting it out loud, but you liked being with Race.

Not just – being with Race, although you did enjoy that. But being with Race... Romantically. Yes, admitting it still made you cringe a bit, the voice in your head scoffing at how pathetically gone you were for this boy, but in the end, you would always tell that voice to fuck off. You liked Race. You liked kissing him, and holding his hand, and holding him in general. Which is why waking up with him was... Exciting, to say the least. You hadn’t shared a bed with someone in... A long time.

When you and your brothers were on the street, you had to stay huddled together, out of necessity if nothing else. Even Oscar’s tough-guy attitude, shaped and sharpened by the broken bottles and razor blades he slept on, would be wavered by the cold. When you were in the Refuge, you had to fight tooth and nail against the other kids to have a bed for just the three of you; you’d sleep in the middle, being the youngest out of the three, with Morris sleeping precariously on the edge of the mattress, and Oscar sitting against the wall, staring down anyone who dared edge too close. When your uncle had come to take you in, it wasn’t uncommon for one of you to slip into the other’s pallet while they pretended to be asleep. You never hugged or held each other, on the street, in the Refuge, or at Weisel’s, but you’d still comfort each other; linking an ankle over yours, sleeping with your backs pressed protectively against each other, etcetera. Anything that implied “I’m here” without saying it outright. Still, it only took a few judgemental glares from Weisel, and the occasional muttering about “not raising any pansies in his house”, for your brothers to start kicking you out of their pallets with a warning growl.

So, yes. Waking up with Race was... An enjoyable experience. He was clinging to you like the koala’s you’d see at the Central Park Zoo, his face buried against your chest like a child with a blanket. His hair had grown even fluffier in the night, enough so that it tickled your nose, and his feet were tangled stubbornly with yours to ward off any of the night’s coldness. It was warm, and soft, and perfect, and you wanted to lie there forever, with this most impossible boy, entangled and safe and happier than you’d ever felt.

So when the knocking started – the irritating tap-tap-tapon your window that grew into incessant pounding – you groaned. You didn’t wantto leave your comfy Race-bubble, you wanted to stay in your little pocket of warmth and count his freckles and press your cheek against his hair. But the knocking was growing louder by the second, and you didn’t want Race to wake up just yet – he deserved a lie in. You managed to pull yourself away from his tight grip, earning you a sleepy grumble of protest that made you absolutely melt, before he settled for hugging a pillow instead.

You threw open the window, ready to tell whoever was bothering you to fuck right off, when-

Ah.

“So.” Jack Kelly said awkwardly. “Is, um. Is Race-?”

“No.”

You slammed the window shut and flung the curtains closed behind you.

“Hey, hey, c’mon!” Jack called, muffled behind the glass, but still loud enough to make Race stir. Shit. You ripped open the curtains and made a hurried shushing motion before rushing back to Race.

“Who’sit?” He mumbled sleepily.

“No one.” You murmured as you gently pet his hair. He hummed, pleased, against the pillow he clung to. “Just Miss Medda, she needs some help with the sets. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Mm.” Race mumbled. He looked disappointed, positively pouting against his pillow, but was far too tired to argue. “Be back soon?”

“’Course.” You shot an anxious look to where Jack hovered on the fire escape. He was watching you intently, eyes narrowed and suspicious. You steeled yourself and placed a soft kiss on Race’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

Race nodded and mumbled a string of words that barely counted as a sentence, before snuggling back into bed. If you weren’t being watched, you’d take a moment to clutch your chest and ‘aww’, but no. Stupid Jack Kelly had to ruin your lovely morning.

You pulled the window open as quietly as you could, and clambered onto the fire escape.

“Talk.” You glared. “Now.”

“I don’t got nothin’ to say to you.” Jack growled. “I wanna talk to Race.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, he told you that? Or are you decidin’ for him?”

You clenched your fists tight, digging your nails into your palm.

“I know he won’t want to speak to you after what you pulled at the rally.”

Jack clenched his jaw, like a bulldog preparing to bite.

“You don’t know him, y’know.” He said bitterly. “You don’t get to make his decisions.”

Your stomach burns, white hot.

“Oh, I see.” You snarl through gritted teeth. “And because you know him so well, that gives you the right to betray him and leave him to clear up your mess with no warning?”

Jack recoiled, as if he’d been slapped. It was a petty thing to say, you knew that, but. But fuck him, alright? It wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to leave Race a blubbering mess only to come in and tell you that youwere doing something wrong. He didn’t get to have a point, he didn’t deserveto be the one in the right, not after what he did. Not after what he did to Race.

“I want to talk to Race.” He said firmly.

“Well, you’re not going to.”

“Why not?!”

“Because-!”

Because I said so!, Oscar bellowed. Because Oscar made all your decisions for you. Because you’d spent your whole life listening to Oscar and Morris and Weisel, listening to them say they knew what was best for you, that they had to protect you because you were just a kid who didn’t know any better. You listened to their ‘protection’, their great advice that kept you safe, and you felt smart because of it. Until their protection became imprisonment. Until their safety became shackles around your neck. Until you hated them for all the stupid advice they let you believe.

You bit your tongue. Your eyes burned, but you refused to cry in front of Jack.

You took a deep breath.

“Because.” You said slowly, carefully. “Because Race... Is tired. You did a really shitty thing, and it sent him somewhere...”

Somewhere dangerous. Somewhere where he was alone. Somewhere where he was terrified and desperate, somewhere where you had no idea what he might do.

“Bad.” You settled on. “So you’re going to go downstairs. And you’re going to let him sleep, and wait patiently until he wakes up. And then he’ll decide if he wants to talk to you or not. And if he says no, then that’s it. You leave him alone, and you don’t come back.”

Jack exhaled heavily through his nose, and raked a hand through his messy hair.

“This...” He said shakily. “Look, I know I fucked up, but this is important-“

“And so is Race.” You said, loud and firm. “Now go downstairs, and wait.”

Jack paused. Clenched his fists. Unclenched.

“Fine.” He said quietly, the tension in his shoulders going along with the word. “Fine, yeah. You’re right, he...”

He sighed and pressed the heels of his palms hard against his eyes.

“Fuck.” He muttered. “Is he... Is he okay?”

“No.” You said bluntly. “But he will be... I think.”

Jack nodded, repeating the movement a little more than he should.

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay. I’ll, um...” He gestured to the ladder.

“Good.” You nodded. “I’ll see you when he wakes up.”

You lifted up the window and swung your leg back into your room.

“Wait.”

You paused, halfway through. Jack hovered awkwardly over the ladder, averting his gaze.

“You’re, um.” He said quietly. “Thanks. For taking care of him. Doin’ what’s best. That’s, um... You’re good for him, I think.”

You offered him a ginger half smile. As angry as you were – as badly as you wanted to hate him – he did seem to care about Race.

“Thank you. Now...” You made a shooing motion with your hand. “Go.”

And go Jack did.

Race stirred as you settled back down into bed.

“Who?” He mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Just me.”

“No, I knows’it you.” He batted his pillow away so he could pull you close once more, smiling like a cat who’d gotten the cream as he snuggled against you. “Heard someone else, though.”

“Just Medda.” You said quietly. “She’s real worried about you, so you’d better get some rest, okay?”

Race hummed in agreement, slipping back into his deep sleep almost immediately. You couldn’t help but smile and run a hand through his hair.

“The things you put me through...” You muttered as you fell asleep, not meaning a word of it.

---

The talk with Jack went about as well as you’d expected. Race had spent about ten minutes pacing a hole in your bedroom floor before deciding that he’d go down and talk to Jack, then spent another ten minutes staring at the door, messing with his hair, making the bed, until you practically shoved him out the door yourself.

“You’ll – uh.” Race stammered, before you could close the door on him. “Are you coming with me?”

You bit your lip and sighed through your nose. Race’s puppy dog eyes were enough to make anyone waver, but for you, they made you want to scoop him up and protect him from everything.

“No.” You forced yourself to say. “I’m sorry. I want to! I just... This is a conversation you need to have. Just you.”

Race nodded sheepishly.

“But you’ll still be up here... Right?”

“Of course.” You said firmly. “I’ll be right here. If you need to come back up, do it. You don’t have to say a word to Jack, or to me, you can just march back up here and I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

Race laughed – it caught in his throat and made a warbly sound, like a bubble being popped, but you pretended not to hear it.

“Okay.” He said quietly, and then, a little more firmly, “Okay,” and marched down the stairs.

You tried not to eavesdrop, you really did, but when you heard the sound of yelling vibrating through the floorboards, even you hit your limit. You pressed your ear against the floor and tried your best to make out the noises; you could only catch a few words – damn those newsies and their thick accents – but then their voices began to rise, louder and louder.

“I was alone!” You could hear Race scream, and your heart battered against your ribcage, as if it were trying to break out and run to him. “I was alone, with a hundred kids lookin’ at me for advice, and I didn’t have a fucking clue!”

You were about to grin, to cheer quietly at Race for standing his ground when-

“And how do you think I feel every fucking day, Racer?!”

Ah.

It appeared you may have been a little too hard on Jack Kelly. Because as much as you wanted to hate him, as much as what he did, to Race, to Davey, to all the newsies, burned you straight down to the core... You couldn’t stop thinking about Race’s face. Covered in tears, in panic, his whole body trembling, his whole being lashing out at anyone and everyone in an attempt to get out. How many times had Jack felt that way? How many times had he been left alone, paralyzed by responsibilities no child should have to take?

At least Race had had someone to hold him when it got difficult. Jack had spent years with only himself to rely on.

The room below you went silent for a moment. A murmur. A small, choked laugh. And soon, almost too quickly, they were back, talking steadily, a rhythmic to and fro of conversation. You wondered what things would be like, if you and your brothers could communicate so easily. If you could fight, regret, apologize and reunite as easily as Jack and Race had, rather than just yell and scream until one of you gave up.

You should’ve felt bitter about it. Only a few weeks ago, if you’d seen a brotherhood like Jack and Race’s, you would’ve felt bitter about it. But now... You were happy. Race deserved a brother he could rely on. Maybe you didn’t have that, but... You had something close to it, now. You could be happy about what you did have, rather than focusing on what you didn’t. And you could be happy for Race, for having what he so desperately needed.

You pulled yourself up from the floor. This was their conversation; you shouldn’t eavesdrop. Race deserved his privacy.

He deserved to be with his brother.

---

About an hour or two later, the door to your room swung open. Race stood at the threshold – not crying, or as broken as he had been last night – but smiling. That wicked, familiar smile that’d sent you falling head over heels the first day you’d met him.

“Hey.” Race said, that familiar, wicked grin on his face. “You wanna screw over Pulitzer?”

And you knew, right then, that there was no need to ask if he was ok. Race didn’t need to be held or protected anymore. He would at some point, of course, and when he needed you, you’d be waiting; but for now, you leapt off the bed with lightning crackling through your veins.

“Last one to The World’s a sucker.”

“You’re on, Delancey!” ---

and all that's left is the Epilogue!

(tag list: @annabethgranger123 @farfromjustordinary @yxseminx @oswin05 @theater-geek76 @wnygirl2012 @fayepummeluff @enbyalbert @inconspicuousasparagus @newtisverymuchalive )

#newsies x reader #racetrack higgins x reader #newsies #race x reader #heart of stone

66 notes · View notes

gwoongi · 3 years

Text

wordless pt.4

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: hitman (john wick au), sugar daddy au, angst, crack, fluff rating: mature words: 3.5k warnings: toxic relationships, non graphic sex a/n: u guys asked and i delivered...tag yourself i’m me saying dancer in the dark was coming first....i was wrong...this is also very sweet considering part 5 will not be :D enjoy while u can!

Sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send Jeongguk over the edge if he hears them again.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

(31) Pulling a chair out for them to sit down at the table.

Jeongguk’s not a gentleman.

Everybody knows it, and he’s not ashamed of admitting it. Half of the time, he thinks that it’s what makes him unique, at least. If you (or anybody else, even though since you walked out on him that one time, he’s been seeing all the others less and less) were going to be with somebody, then you might as well just make it different. Spice it up a little bit.

“It will be nice.” Jeongguk, because he’s not a gentleman, is not really listening to you. He sits behind the steering wheel and tightens his hand against the wheel, the other is on the clutch.

“Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Jeongguk replies. He turns the corner, and the car slightly leans you to the right.

A sigh fills the car as he pauses as a set of traffic lights further down the street.

This red light drags forever, and Jeongguk sighs instead and looks at you pointedly, “What, then?”

It takes reluctance to pull your gaze away from the pigeons near the bins on the side of the road, but you do, and you look at Jeongguk. “I just think it will be really nice to grab dinner together.”

“We do that all the time,” Jeongguk says.

“Yeah, but I don’t mean us, or just us,” you affirm, “I mean, like all of us. Family, I guess.”

Jeongguk bristles. “Family? We don’t have any family, baby.”

“We do,” you moan. “I mean. Not family-family, but family. The kind of family we get to choose. Taehyung, and Eunji and whoever.”

Jeongguk nods sarcastically, “Oh. Wrong F word, Y/N, those people are called friends.”

“Oh, whatever then,” you huff, turning back towards the window. “Forget I said anything, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk wants to forget, but he doesn’t. Something about that line, about the way that it stuck with him: The kind of family we get to choose. He thought about it all night, groaned, and then swore and called Taehyung. Alright motherfucker, we’re going to dinner with Y/N so you better shut the fuck up, get a suit, and meet us at that fancy Gangnam restaurant.

So, it’s a Friday evening, and it feels like a Disney Channel crossover episode. Eunji definitely feels out of place in this restaurant, and Jeongguk acts uncomfortable about the way Taehyung sits opposite you, gauging your every move and word with overacted enthusiasm. Actually, all Jeongguk is thinking about is the moment that they got here.

“Here, honey, let me get that for you,” had appeared to be Taehyung’s favourite sentence to say to you; he used it when he opened the door for you, and again with the chair to the table. Jeongguk sat seething, almost red like a ruby. Eunji sips nervously from her glass as Taehyung laughs again at something you said.

Dinner went great, he would have to admit that.

“Oh, we booked the patio for desserts,” Taehyung says. One of Jeongguk’s other friends, Seokjin (who honestly came to observe rather than to fill in for the surprising lack of family at this family dinner) looks left and right to each person on the table and follows the crowd as they leave for the patio once the main courses are done.

Taehyung once again reaches for the door and lets you walk outside. As Jeongguk passes Taehyung at the door, he glares at Taehyung with eyes that could murder. Taehyung doesn’t waver but he does get the hint, even more so as you stroll towards the table. Before Taehyung can even move towards the table, Jeongguk curves in front and puts his hand on the back of your chair.

“Here you go, baby, let me sit next to you,” Jeongguk says, dragging it out for you to sit. You watch him with one raised eyebrow but say nothing. Taehyung says nothing for a few minutes but decides to get right back to it as the desserts begin. It pisses off Jeongguk to the point where his hand leaves fingerprints in your thigh, but you can’t find it in you to be mad about it.

(32) Wrapping a blanket around them when they are sitting on the couch and watching a show.

“You gotta stop letting yourself in here, it scares the shit out of me.”

“I own this dump.”

You gape over your shoulder, “Fucker, you own this dump that you call a dump but you gave me this dump, it’s my dump, don’t call it a dump.”

“Say dump one more time,” Jeongguk warns, shrugging off his jacket and ruffling his hair. It’s wet thanks to the torrential rain outside. His socks squelch across the floor because he left his slippers back at his place, and he’s not here often enough to have his own pair at your apartment.

The apartment is toasty and warm, the heating on high. Except the living room is chilly and dark, dark blue almost.

“What are you watching?”

Jeongguk moves towards your bedroom but can still hear you as he moves.

“Just this show I found,” you reply, watching the screen. “Dead To Me.”

“Never heard of it,” he yawns, and emerges from the room. He’s holding a heavy blanket in his arms, moving to the living room to sit next to you. He plops next to you and glances at the screen, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, over your head like a cocoon.

You laugh softly, shifting it off your head and leaning up against him. “It’s American. It’s got Velma in it.”

“Linda Cardellini?” Jeongguk asks, settling back. “She’s hot as fuck.”

“I know, that’s why I thought I’d watch it, I love her,” you say.

Jeongguk wraps an arm around your shoulder and smushes closer towards you.

“Good day?” you ask quietly.

He takes a few seconds, like he’s truly trying to think about whether he wants to answer or not.

“Okay,” he admits. “Don’t care, it’s over, I’m here, don’t wanna think about work.”

You don’t push him to talk, and instead, let him sit next to you. He likes the darkness because there’s no way you can see his discomfort, his pain, the blood under his fingernails.

(33) Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

Jeongguk travels for work a lot, and it’s no secret to anybody he knows. It was midday when he got a call, just a few words over the phone, and then he was moving out of the shower and into the bedroom to get ready.

He had told you to stay, stay until he got back. Unfinished business, he said, that would need dealing with when he got home. So you did, you stayed and he left, and that was that.

Jeongguk sighs and shuts the car door. Until next time, he thinks to himself as he watches the car pull away. Frowning, he straightens his blazer and walks up the steps to the complex he lives at and enters. When he gets to his apartment, he kicks his shoes off right away and as he steps inside, he notices that the apartment is unusually silent.

Normally at his home, his big mansion that he loves up in the hills, there’s some sort of noise. Maybe it’s the sound of the TV on in the kitchen, or the bubbles in the hot tub, or the sound of Elio prowling around the bedroom. This apartment is in central Seoul, closer to work and closer to school. He hates how silent it is, how empty it feels.

“Y/N?”

There is no instant reply. He moves across the apartment, searching silently.

“Babe, you here?”

Worry bubbles in his stomach and he moves in search of you. After searching everywhere, Jeongguk scoffs like it’s a sick joke that you’re not here, until he hears a noise, a croak and a cough from the spare bedroom.

“Y/N?” calls Jeongguk. He moves to the door and twists the handle, and is a few shuffles inside when a grottal, gross noise emerges from the darkness.

“What?” he asks.

“I said don’t come in here,” you croak out in reply, because it’s you, and who else would it be in his apartment?

Jeongguk enters and reaches for the light, pausing when you grunt in his direction. He can see you in the dim light of the spare bedroom, the sun outside the curtains, and he suppresses a smile.

“What happened? I said we had unfinished business.”

“I know,” you rasp. “But one of the kids in my class came to the lab with a sore throat, I thought I’d be fine. But, ta-da.” He can see in the light that there’s a plethora of tissues around your body, like a barrier. So many, snotty and probably damp and scrunched into balls. “Guess he had a cold.”

He grimaces, shuffling into the bedroom despite you telling him otherwise. It’s unsurprisingly stuffy in the room, a given since the room is closed off from the sunlight that bleeds behind the curtains. Like you requested, he doesn’t turn on the lights, keeping you safe in the darkness.

“Shitty kids,” Jeongguk grunts. Finding a lack of interest in the germs that breed in the tissues scrunched into balls, he moves them from the covers and tosses them towards the small bin next to the bedside cabinet. You sniffle, snotty and stuffed, and peer from over the duvet at him.

Jeongguk looks tired, as he always does when he gets back from work. He sports a brand new cut on his lip, one that will probably scar when it’s done showing crimson. There is blood on his shirt, and you know that it’s probably not his. That doesn’t make you feel better.

“How long you had it?” Jeongguk asks.

“Two or three days,” you estimate. He’s been gone almost a week, the seventh day being tomorrow. “Should go soon, don’t worry.”

He smiles, “Not worried. Did you get medicine, or something?”

You sniff once, the air hot in your nostrils. “Nope. I haven’t managed to leave since I came down with it. I only went to the door to collect soup and then I went back to bed in here.” Another sniff and Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise with amusement, “Didn’t want to infect your bedroom, so I came here instead. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, it’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll find something for you, I’ve got a bunch of shit that might help.”

“Really?”

Jeongguk nods, “Yeah. Stay put, buttercup, B-R-B.”

(34) Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

“Who even takes the subway anymore?”

In reply, Jeongguk gets an appalled scoff. “I’m sorry, not all of us are rich enough to have fucking chauffeurs taking us places.”

“What’re you talking about, you’re rich,” Jeongguk says, his voice kind of muffled due to the sewing needle between his teeth. He sits on the edge of his sofa, your skirt spread over his lap like a napkin at dinner. Down the leg, the seam is torn, showing what could have been an erotic amount of leg. Unfortunately, he’d only got a glimpse of your skin when you shuffled into his home.

As the CEO of ripping his clothes, Jeongguk became familiar with sewing over the years, figuring it was less expensive to sew than it was to replace. So, of course, when your skirt got torn on the subway home, Jeongguk tested his principles and dug out the sewing needle.

“No thanks to you,” you sigh. “You didn’t need to, by the way.”

“Need to what, pay you?” Jeongguk laughs, sewing the seam. “Come on, Y/N, it’s overdue.”

“True, but I don’t really need your money that much anymore.”

“Funny, since you needed it when you didn’t have it,” he sighs dramatically. “Anyway, it’s barely a dent out of my bank account, I wanna spoil you. You’re welcome.”

You frown, shuffling to the couch and throwing yourself over the back so that your head is by his legs. Jeongguk spares you a glance from the skirt and smiles, returning back to the work.

“Thanks,” you mumble. Nothing is said, but he appreciates it, even if he did it out of guilt.

(35) Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“What the fuck?”

Jeongguk shoots up from bed into a sitting position, his eyes blown wide as he stares at you. Whenever Jeongguk invites you to stay at his apartment, he always keeps a light on in the evening. His apartment is in a somewhat busier area compared to his house, which is stationed in a private neighbourhood only touched by the wealthiest of the wealthy. His apartment was supposed to be for ease, for if he had to do dirty work in the city and didn’t want to tie his name to a hotel. It wasn’t often that you stayed the night here.

In the light of the dim lamp on your side of the bed, Jeongguk can make out your face. You’re still lying down, staring up at the ceiling. After he stares long enough, you look over at him.

“Why the fuck would you say that,” he breathes, like it’s an insult.

“Wow, would it really be so bad?” you ask, curious now.

He blinks like an owl. “Obviously, dipshit.”

Sigh. “And here I was thinking it would be like the movies and you’d love me.”

“Even if I loved you, do you think I wanna have kids?” Jeongguk questions rhetorically, because he’s actually already talked to you about this. Jeongguk never wants to have children. His life is constantly on the line. There is no way he’d bring a child into the world, just for them to either be used as bait, or grow up in a world without their father. He knows how that feels.

“Fair,” you reply. “Still.”

Jeongguk shudders, it’s cold in here. “Wait, are you for real?” He shifts, the covers make a disruptive noise in the night, “what makes you think that you’re...you know…”

“I keep getting weird cravings,” you explain, like it’s the craziest science that he won’t understand. As soon as you say it, he feels almost instantly better. It’s not like cravings are the most reliable symptom of a pregnancy. Besides, you’re on the pill, and when you’re not, he’s safe. He’s not an idiot, he’s not about to accidentally ruin both of your lives with a few squirts.

“Like what?”

You shrug, “Really craving the Fairway to Heaven ice-cream.”

Jeongguk scoffs. Actually, it’s almost a tch under his breath. “Yeah, of course, you’re craving the most expensive icecream. Predictable. Cute, almost.” He pats your leg over the covers, “We all know Phish Food’s the better flavour, by the way.”

“Tell that to the cravings, sir,” you reply. You frown, then, “I’ll pick some up tomorrow. Maybe I’ll dream the cravings away…”

“As if,” Jeongguk barks, knowing you better. If he knows you at all (which he confidently does), you’ll press about this for the rest of the night until you fall asleep bored of trying. So, Jeongguk enjoys the last few seconds inside a warm bed before climbing out, switching on the light so it burns your eyes as the room fills with it.

“Ouch, too bright!”

“Pussy,” he smirks. “Bro, get your coat, we’re going out.”

“Oh yeah, at midnight?” you ask sarcastically, sitting up. “Where’re we going?”

“Ice cream,” he replies, like it’s obvious. To him it is. “That store down the road sells it and it closes at 2, so get your big coat and let’s get moving!”

“Are we seriously going to get ice cream at midnight?” you laugh, doing as he says.

“We both know you’re not gonna shut up about it if we don’t.”

Jeongguk grabs his own coat and zips it up. Nobody’s gonna care that he’s wearing PJ’s, and even if you’re sleepy and grumpy on the way there, it’s better than keeping you at the apartment alone. He’d have to be crazy to leave you here than he is going out for ice cream at midnight.

(36) Helping brush their hair after a shower.

You’re the best he’s had, really.

Jeongguk knows this, because he’s not stupid or blind or oblivious. Compared to the other girls he’s had, and the ones he left not too long ago, he knows how lucky he is to have someone like you. Someone who doesn’t just want him for the sex and the money. Although scary, it’s reassuring.

Jeongguk comes out from the kitchen to the bedroom where you’re sitting, hunched over a laptop watching a YouTube video that bores you to sleep. Your hair is damp and matted, left to dry as you watch. Fourty minutes into an hour video. Jeongguk narrows his eyebrows, wondering if he’d ever have the patience to watch something like that. Probably not. He barely has the patience when he works, and he has a job that demands it 99% of the time. When he can be hasty he is, but when his job is to kill and protect, patience is a must.

As you watch, Jeongguk moves to sit behind you and he sets his chin on your shoulder, boredly looking at the screen. Your eyes are glossed over, possibly not even watching at all. Regardless, he stays there and slowly rakes his fingers through your hair, straightening out the curls that are close to knots.

He still blames the video for you falling asleep, although it’s probably his fingers. He won’t admit it.

(37) Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap.

It’s not just that. Jeongguk enjoys being gentle, but only when nobody can see him doing it. When you fall asleep, slouched over like a zombie, he smiles and gently closes the screen of your laptop. Whatever garbage your Uni have you watching can be watched tomorrow.

Until then, you must sleep. He moves the laptop away to the cabinet across the room and comes back, collecting you in his arms and moving you into the bed. Once the covers are draped across your body, he takes extra care to be quiet leaving the room and shutting the door. There’s some food leftover in the kitchen from dinner that he’ll eat before joining you, and you don’t wake up, not even when the bed dips as he climbs into it.

(38) Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

Despite his work often demanding him to be around people, Jeongguk isn’t really a big fan of crowds. If he can get out of going out in public, he will jump at the opportunity. He just can’t see why you’re so miffed about not being with the crowds of people on the Hangang Bridge waiting for the fireworks- he’s got a balcony that looks out over the city and the river, so what’s the big deal?

“It’s all about the vibe,” you say with a slight sigh. Your arms are draped over the balcony banister, legs slowly vibrating in the bitter winter air. “As a broody killing machine, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“That stings,” Jeongguk replies, closing the door behind him as he wanders back towards you with a blanket. His eyes glaze over your face as he arrives and Jeongguk rolls his eyes, “Hold your face that way and it’ll stick.”

“Heard it all before from my Mom,” you reply boredly. A quiet thanks is spoken as you take the blanket shield and snuggle closer to his chest, staring expectantly at the black sky. “What time will they start?”

Jeongguk presses his cheek to your hair. “Considering three minutes ago it was only ten to midnight, I can safely assure you that it is not time yet.”

“I’m bored.”

“Why are you so hard to please today?” Jeongguk groans. He wriggles around, “And don’t try me with that ‘I think I’m pregnant’ bullshit. Spare me the moody bitch performance for today, please?”

You pug to yourself. “Sorry. Sorry, you’re right. And I shouldn’t be so...I don’t know. I’m sorry. Thank you for tonight.”

Jeongguk shakes his head slightly. He may never understand women.

“You really that mad over the bridge?” he asks quietly, his mouth against your head. It’s hot, and you lean back towards his minimal body warmth. “I’m sorry I didn’t pass your vibe check for tonight, but I thought it might be romantic or something for us to be up here.”

You almost laugh. “It is romantic. You’re right.”

Jeongguk brushes it off. Lately something has shifted, a comfort in the air that grants you permission to be in his life as someone more important than a ‘sugar baby’. Dare he say it, but Jeongguk actually considers you a friend. Now, you’re at the point where neither of you give much of a shit about the sugar clause you wrote yourselves into quite some time ago. An unspoken thing hangs there like Christmas mistletoe, seen but prayed away.

Distant laughter and a bang grows near the direction of Hangang bridge, and Jeongguk feels you perk in his arms. As a small warmth bursts across his chest, Jeongguk hisses in the cold and stuffs his hands up your shirt, where they curve around your body to cheekily hold both of your boobs. You jump, because his hands are freezing.

“You’re cold!” you whine. “What are you doing?”

Jeongguk shrugs, “My hands are freezing. I’m keeping them warm.”

You briefly glance down at his knuckles outlined by your jumper. “Oh yeah, because I’m sure that’s the reason why you’re literally groping my tits right now.”

“They feel warmer already,” he continues.

(39) Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favourite.

On the rare occasion that guilt consumes Jeon Jeongguk, he allows his guilt to control his feet. Usually, they end up on a pathway to the bedroom, or in the car where he drives you somewhere nice, or perhaps he picks you up from school instead of cruelly leaving you to take the subway. Now that things have shifted slightly in your dynamic, Jeongguk isn’t sure what flies as romantic anymore. He doesn’t want to leave you with the wrong impression. You’ve had the talk together, the one that touched upon what the future looked like and how quite definitely it looked as though you wouldn’t be with each other, but surely, dinner overlooking the sea in Busan isn’t too fancy or romantic, right?

“Here is your patbingsu.” The waiter circles around the table and gently lays a dish in front of you. Jeongguk carefully watches over his glass of wine as the waiter also announces his own dessert, the exact same. His eyes move down to the display set before him.

He’s never really been keen on dessert, but Jeongguk is the type of person who doesn’t enjoy the idea of one person eating when the other isn’t. So he had just ordered the same thing as you had, nice and simple, without giving it much thought.

“I love this,” you sigh happily, fiddling the metal spoon in your hand and peering up at him, “This is sick. Thank you.”

“I didn’t make it,” he replies.

You roll your eyes, spooning out some of the dessert, “you know what I mean.”

Something in the beach-fronted restaurant shifts as the sun sinks deeper into the ocean, and Jeongguk twirls his spoon anxiously whilst observing the patbingsu. He’s never been a huge fan of bingsu in general, and he looks with slight distaste at the green blob on top of what looks like cornflakes. He doesn’t get Korean desserts. Why can’t Korea be satisfied with an ice-cream sundae?

He dips his spoon into the dessert, taking a polite amount and very quickly taking a bite. For around twenty seconds, he thinks it’s okay, but the aftertaste makes his whole body shudder. Fucking hell, he really hates desserts.

After a few minutes, you finally move your attention away from the scraped clean dessert dish and take a glance over at Jeongguk, who is already watching you with a lack of interest for his own dessert.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, subtly wiping around your mouth just in case. You take in the sight of his unfinished treat, “not hungry?”

Jeongguk shrugs awkwardly, “I don’t really like bingsu.”

“Then why’d you order?” you question quietly.

“I panicked,” he replies, “you ordered it and I don’t like desserts but I didn’t want you to be eating alone.”

You pause, eyebrows quirked: “I don’t mind.”

He sighs. Of course. “Well…” He twirls the dessert dish and pushes it in your direction, “Since it’s your favourite, or whatever, you can have it.”

Your eyes light up, “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” you squeal, happily taking it from him. “Thank you~”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes playfully and sits back in his chair. Whatever he didn’t eat from the dessert he instead eats up in the sight of you.

(40) Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

You don’t quite know how you ended up at Jeongguk’s work, but here you are. You could probably trace it back to Taehyung swinging by to get you from school since Jeongguk felt bad he couldn’t, and to be honest, you had been confused when Taehyung drove past the turning to your apartment and kept going further into the city.

Jeongguk’s workplace is pretty big, but still significantly hidden inconspicuously to avoid attention. As you slowly wander around the hallways, you begin to daydream about where Jeongguk’s office may be, what he might be doing and what he might think if he sees you.

Quietly passing through what appears to be a recreation room, filled with tired faces who blink curiously as you brush by, you finally step out into a web of hallways that connect to small rooms walled in glass. Each is empty, besides one at the very end that bustles with tense conversation, and you’re drawn to the sound of Jeongguk’s voice as it carries through the silent hallways.

You push forward, stopping not too close to the doorway so that if somebody who isn’t him happens to see you, you can make a hasty escape.

The room is filled with strange faces, strange men in tight suits and briefcases next to their feet. A man stands up beside Jeongguk at the head of the table, his hands animated as he presses on about something you’re not well read on. Hell if you know a single thing about gun models and firing ranges. You can just about tell apart Fortnite weapons and that’s only because they’ve got colours.

Jeongguk, however, is a sight that captures your gaze. For a while, he sits with his back turned to the man standing, his eyes observing each individual around the table, of who squirm under his watch. He eventually looks back at the man, his jawline sharp and his hair styled so that it only slightly falls into his eyebrows. God damn it, he looks sexy as hell; his shirt is black, cuffed, unbuttoned at the top revealing his skinny collarbones. He’s probably wearing the tight trousers too, the ones that make his ass look good.

A thought strikes you: how would he feel if he saw you outside? While it shouldn’t, the thought fills you with adrenaline. The idea of not him but somebody else seeing you, a girl dressed in white jeans and a red shirt, your coat discarded somewhere on an office chair. Would he be mad? Would he be turned on?

Would you die?

Deciding that the worse case scenario only involved you being yelled at, you decide to dip your toes into the water and tease the sharks; you wonder how long you can hold this silly face for until he finally notices you out there.

It seems like a long shot, and you’re quite close to giving up when finally Jeongguk returns his attention to the table. Heads begin to move in conversation, and Jeongguk’s gaze passes from gentleman to gentleman until they pause abruptly, locking onto you behind the glass. For a moment, he does nothing besides stare. Perhaps he doesn’t care. Then, his eyes widen, like he’s confused and alarmed and slightly impressed. Before his disturbed posture is noticed, you laugh to yourself and run away, back in the direction you tiptoed through.

(Later, Jeongguk finds you in Taehyung’s office sitting on an uncomfortable and torn armchair, a Rubix cube moving back and forwards in your hands. You’re not matching any colours. It’s going nowhere. He smiles.

“Field trip?” he questions, making your head snap up suddenly. He slides next to you on the free chair, “I’ll skin that prick alive, you know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know, but I’m here against my will!” you promise, putting the cube down. “I really wanted to go home. Dead To Me episodes don’t watch themselves, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “I gotta go to a meeting again, then I’ll drive us home, okay?”

You nod. “I’m sorry I distracted you, by the way. I realise now I’m actually very lucky that it was you who saw me and nobody else.”

Jeongguk laughs, kissing your forehead as he rises to leave. “Yeah, well, I’m the most dangerous guy in there, so consider yourself very lucky.”)

#almost over #jungkook scenario #bts scenario #jeongguk scenario #bts #bangtan #bts imagine #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x reader #jjk #jeon jeongguk #bts jungkook #bts mafia #bts sugar daddy #wordless

325 notes · View notes

guiltgoreglory · 3 years

Text

Heat Waves (Chapter 2: An Ego Check)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi. (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2626 words)

Chapter 1

Tagging: @abitofpablo @kimburgss @ceyruh

You watched as the dust clouds trailed behind the buggy. The rest of the trip you all sat in silence, taking in the events that had just occurred. When you saw the base from a distance you decided it was safe to holster your weapons. You wiped the sweat of your palms on your thighs as you willed your heart to slow down, and so it did. The second you felt back at equilibrium, Rone took a quick turn into the base. To no surprise, it was the most conspicuous looking place you could have imagined. You expected better from the CIA. Several armed American guards stood at the gate which was surrounded by obvious cameras. You rolled your eyes knowing that if anyone wanted to target us, it wouldn’t be hard. One guy even wore a New York Yankee’s cap. It’s like they didn’t even try.

“Check the new rides. Gaddafi had a going-out-of-business sale on armored vehicles…” Rone gestured towards the Mercedes amongst several other high-end vehicles. He whistled. Leave it to Rone to keep the tone light. “Max-leveled armored, man. We got a great deal… We stole ‘em.” Rone stared down Jack with the biggest smirk plastered on his face. He seemed extremely proud of himself for that one. You watched as a similar smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s lips. You behaved similarly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a shitty joke.

You gathered your things as the car came to a stop. Rone hopped out, throwing the keys to another man wearing a vest, “Sat unattended at the airport.” His stride paused as he watched someone from afar. You followed his gaze until you saw the Chief. This was definitely going to be something, you didn’t know what, but you could feel the subordination getting ready to bubble out of Rone. “Hey, Chief,” Rone called, nonchalantly, almost mockingly. The Chief looked like any middle-aged man who worked in business. Blue blazer, khaki pants, glasses, the whole shebang. His posture screamed superiority complex, you knew from the get-go you wouldn’t get along, not like it mattered anyway.

“I don’t want to hear it, Tyrone.” He called back, shuffling his way back into the building. Rone strutted towards him, duffel in hand.

“No, no, I understand.” He turned his head for a moment, keeping out of the way of a car

driving past. “I see what you’re going for here,” he called, on the verge of yelling, “Secret spy base with fortified walls, gate cameras,” He fumbled to get his id badge in hand. “and blue-eyed Westerners! walking in and out of this place all day long.” He did a lovely spin for emphasis, pointing towards all the obvious Americans walking around the base. You followed close behind, knowing you were going to need to speak with him as soon as Tyrone was done tearing into him. “But if you want to avoid..” His words were cut off by the Chief slamming the squeaky metal door in your face. His voice dropped a decibel and he spoke, mostly to himself, “That’s so rude”. He placed his phone into the tray mounted on the wall beside the door, before scanning in his card to gain entry. “Can’t believe he just did that to me.” Your heart started to pick up once again. Nothing made you more frustrated than a cocky man being too good to have a goddamn conversation.

The door let out a loud buzz before Rone pushed open the entrance. “Chief, if you want to avoid an international incident,” He continued to track in the Chief’s footsteps, “you send me my guys when I ask for them.” Many of the agents sitting at their computers peeked up to watch the drama unfold. Some took a look at you, the new face, before returning to watch the catfight.

Finally, the man turned to look at Tyrone, squinting in disapproval like a man reprimanding his toddler. “Local faces need to resolve local conflicts, Tyrone.” Aka, your life means little to nothing to me; the incident was just a wrinkle in my daily schedule. He flipped mindlessly through papers within a manilla folder. Wow he’s so important look how busy he is. “We’re guests in this country.” You and Jack came to stand a few feet behind Rone, trying to stay close without poking the bear.

“We’re unwanted guests, Bob.” Rone rebutted. He’s not wrong.

“We’re spies, you’re security guards.. Your job is to keep us out of trouble, not get into it yourselves.” God, he’s pretentious. Rone flipped through some files pinned onto a pillar, looking through some photos of notable people of the region.

“Well help me do my job and give me my guys.” He didn’t bother giving the Chief the privilege of his eye-line as he continued to search through the photos. You heard a buzz, and quickly turned to see the other members of the squad you were now a part of. Perfect timing. You made eye contact with one of them, Chris Paronto. Based on your prior research everybody called him Tanto, the mischievous one. Just then the Chief said some absolute bullshit.

“Here’s what you guys are good at: working out, eating five hot meals a day. What you’re not so good at is doing what you’re told.” God, he was so fucking proud of himself. Look at you little man, showing off your power in front of your team. You let a little of your annoyance slip out.

“Ironic considering without us, everyone’s a sitting duck.” You whispered softly. The men all turned their heads towards you. Well, I guess now is as good a time as ever to get this over with.

“Excuse me? And who are you? Some ex-army nobody who can’t let go of the glory of war?”

Alright, time to rip off the bandaid. You stood a little taller, stepping closer to the Chief, just beside Rone. “Honestly... I’m someone out of your security clearance.” You said assertively. Jack shared a hesitant look with Rone.

“Bullshit.” He turned away from you, readying to remove himself from the conversation.

“Alright, I think it’s best if we get a phone call over with now.” You dropped your duffel onto the tile, squatting down beside it. The armed men gripped their guns just a little bit tighter. The Chief stood, watching you confused. You unzipped the bag, reaching in to wrap your hands around a satellite phone. You zipped it back up but left it on the ground for now.

“I don’t have time for this.” The Chief began to walk towards his office as you stood, clicking a number on speed-dial.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The director doesn’t like waiting.” You held the phone to your head, keeping a straight face. That definitely made him pause. He turned back towards you, squinting his little face up.

“Director of what?” He sighed.

“Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.” You responded casually as if you were telling him the forecast for the next week. You waited as the phone continued to ring.

Everyone stood in silence except for one guy. Tanto leaned over to whisper in Boon’s ear. “Who the fuck is she?”

Finally, a voice came over the line. “Y/N.”

“Good morning, Sir. We have arrived at the location.” Everyone had their eyes on you, curiosity getting the best of them.

“Any incidents?”

“One en route to base. Resolved without violence. I’ll have a report to you within the hour.”

“Great.” He took a deep breath and you could hear him adjust in his chair. “I take it you’d like me to speak with Bob.”

“That would be appreciated, Sir.”

“Alright hand me over.” You took steady, calculated steps towards the Chief, holding the phone out for him to take. He gently took it from your hand. His eyes bore holes into the crevices of the tiled floor.

“Hello..” The Chief said tentatively. You stepped back, giving him some room. You crossed your arms across your chest, shrugging in Rone’s direction. You could tell he was living for this. “Yes, Sir…. I understand, Sir. Of course…. Goodbye.” He stood like a dog with his tail between his legs. He stepped back towards you, holding out the phone. You took it gladly with a polite smile. Pressing the phone back to your ear you concluded with a quick farewell before going back to put your phone into the duffel. As you squatted beside it, you looked up towards the Chief.

“Are we good?” You said. You no longer wanted to squabble and your tone reflected as such.

“Yes.” He said curtly, returning to his office. The second the door closed, the chatter of the room returned back to normal. You turned back to the men of the team looking at Rone expectantly.

“Alrighty then.” Rone turned to walk towards their lounge and the guys began to follow. Tanto sucked in his lips, trying to stifle a chuckle. The burly man next to him, Boon, jabbed him in the side before moving towards the room. You waited for Jack, giving him a genuine, small smile before trailing behind.

“Well, that was fun.” Mark Geist, also known by the team as “Oz”, stated monotonously, walking into the room as he disassembled his rifle.

“He gets his jollies pushing around alphas because he can.” John Tiegen. Called “Tig”. He’s the brains. The first one to be stationed here. You stood in the corner watching as he placed his things into his cubby.

“We had this commander back in ranger school, he was a real cockbag…” Creative insult. Tanto began to remove his vest as he narrated on. You figured you’d be here for a minute so you pulled the straps of your cello case off of your shoulders placing it onto the floor, along with your duffel. Now that you were within the compound you took off the hijab, throwing it on top of the luggage. You flipped your head forward shaking out the matted hair before you pulled it into a bun. It was a mess but it did the job.

“So on our last night, me and a buddy, we stole his beret.” He placed his vest down on the table before plopping down onto the worn couch. “Whole barracks chubbed it.”

“Chubbed it?” Boon replied, his tone made you think he really didn’t want to know, whipping out his knife to fidget with.

“Yeah, rubbed our dicks on it.” Tanto replied, the widest smile crossing his face. He looked like the Cheshire cat as he reached for the gaming controller. You coughed, stifling your laugh before your face turned quizzical. He turned back towards you, noticing your reaction before giving you a quick up and down and returning to his game. You sauntered over to Jack to join in the awkwardness of being new. You tuned into Tig as he was beginning to talk work to Rone. He leaned forward over a desk that Rone was sitting at.

“Leader was a former Gitmo detainee.” They scanned the rugged laptop, you presumed that they were looking for who you’d tangoed with this morning.

“Yeah, those guys usually don’t hold a grudge.” Rone said in his usual sarcastic tone.

“Hey guys,” Oz’s voice pulled you from your concentration as you turned to face him with a friendly smile. “Mark Geist, Oz.”

“Pleasure.” Jack went to shake his hand and you followed suit.

“Ah guys I’m sorry.” Rone spun on his office chair to face the rest of the crew. “Everybody, this is Jack Silva. It’s our third contract together so he knows the drill. We met training SEALs at Coronado.”

Tanto turned back for a second. “How do you get them to balance that beach ball on their nose?” A few chuckles could be heard from the guys.

“It’s tough.” Jack’s shoulders relaxed slightly, letting himself become more comfortable around his new team.

“And this” He gestured his hand towards you. “is Y/N. She’s uhh..” He paused for a split second, trying to find the right word to describe you. “black-ops and apparently has the government at her fingertips so she’ll probably be of use.” You smirked, nodding your head towards the guys. Rone rose from his spot, spreading his arms across the room. “So we got three ex-Marines here and one ex-Army retard who likes to rub his dick on things.” Tanto stood proudly facing you two.

“Kris Paronto. Call me Tanto.” You both shook his hand. You found Tanto’s demeanor amusing, and much to your dismay, his confidence was undeniably attractive. Despite the tall crowd, he still somehow towered above them. You shared eye contact for a brief moment before turning towards Tig. Although he felt easy to get along with, you hoped his casual demeanor didn’t affect his work. In your experience, the joker usually got people killed. Despite this, what you had researched, he seemed to be doing alright so far.

“Hey. I’m Tig.” He waved towards you two.

“Tig’s been here the longest, so he’ll get you up to speed on the area,” Rone said, stabbing a red pin into a map. Looking in more detail you noticed it was the location of your incident. “This is Boon. Scout Sniper, Zen Master, Holder of Tanto’s leash.” He pointed to the man sitting in the sturdy armchair.

He looked up from his lap. “Welcome to Club Med.”

“It hasn’t rained since June. It’s not gonna rain again until September.” He walked right up to you two strolling past slowly. “You two will be double-bunked. Not me, because I’m in charge. Gym sucks,” damn “food’s actually good.” Lose, win.

Tig walked to the center of the room, a few feet from the three of you. “Base Chief is kinda a tool, but who knows, maybe now that you’re here he’ll be moderately tolerable.”

You shrugged. “No promises but if he gets too snippy I’ll whip out the phone again.”

“Maybe he just needs a new hat” Jack quipped. Tanto looked up from the TV to point appreciatively at Jack.

“Don’t encourage him,” Rone said as if talking about his puppy.

“Come on. He’s just a guy with a job to do.”Oz said. Based on the dynamic he was the dad of the group. Honest, serious, tough-love type of guy. Makes sense given he’s the sniper. “He’s playing his string out, but if you talk to him, Bob did some shit back in the day.” You’d heard it a million times, some badass joins the CIA works his way up until he’s practically just a desk jockey with a power problem. Didn’t gain him any sympathy from you.

“Alright, Jack, Y/N, this is the whiteboard that’s gonna run your life for the next sixty days.” You looked over the various points of the board as Jack made his way towards the couch. Given the limited space you preferred standing just behind, leaning your hip against the back. “I want you to check it every hour cause last-minute moves pop up every minute, such as... where shotgunning it in three hours.” Everyone in the room except you, Jack, and Rone let out an audible groan of annoyance. Tanto slapped his controller onto his lap, looking up to the ceiling. Before concentrating back on the game, he looked at you. You took this opportunity to raise an eyebrow in his direction given his childlike reaction to the news. He responded with a strong but blank stare. You rolled your eyes slightly, breaking eye contact to pay attention to Rone. You were used to being dispatched on the drop of the hat, acclimating to the schedule here probably wouldn’t be too much of a pain.

“Three hours. I’ll let you know when I’m briefed.”

#Tanto x Reader #Tanto/Reader #Tanto x Y/N #13 hours #pablo schreiber #Kris Paronto #Kris Paronto x Reader #Kris Paronto/Reader

61 notes · View notes