#IT DOESN'T RAIN ENOUGH IN CALIFORNIA | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

explosionshark · 1 month

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hyped that you're writing again!

Fuffy (Faith/Buffy) + scrape, rain, dame

(maybe a noir vibe?)

okay lmao i know you've been wanting this for a minute, I hope it satisfies

Faith's never seen rain like this, not in the entire time she's been in California. And she might be a recent transplant but she's not stupid — this is no regular summer storm. No, this has to be something else. Driving winds, great freezing wet gouts of water gushing from midnight black clouds, like God himself opened a vein. An arterial baptism for the City of Angels, a place so choked in sin that the blood of lamb wasn't cutting it anymore and the Father, despairing, had no choice but to offer his own.

That or Buffy was right and there's a powerful coven at work and they're running out of time to stop them.

Speaking of Buffy—

She's got her hand clamped tight— bruising tight— around Faith's wrist, heels that couldn't be worse for this weather for if they were trying splashing noisily through filthy puddles in the sidewalk as she ran ahead, tugging Faith along behind her.

“Come on, Faith, come on,” Buffy's saying and Faith wonders, dazedly, why she sounds so scared until she feels herself falter on the slippery pavement, shoots a hand out to steady herself on a glass storefront beside her and sees, even through the dark and dim, the bright red streak of blood her palms leave behind.

Oh, yeah. She's shot.

It's a struggle to tear her mind free of the gauzy haze that surrounds it, but when Faith's ears pick up the distant sound of a motor getting less distant by the second, she manages it.

“They're coming back around,” she wheezes, sure that her voice is too pained and weak for Buffy to hear over the weather.

But she does, judging by the quiet curse she lets out, the way she squeezes Faith's hand. “Okay, okay. I know a place. Hang on, okay? Just a little farther.”

Faith would be the first to admit, if anyone would bother to stop and ask her, that in her current circumstances she is probably not the person best qualified to judge her condition. She's biased, in her own way, and being down a few pints of blood is probably not helping. But she's a detective, or at least Buffy has asked her to play the part, so she can do what detectives seem to do in those dime novels she reads from time to time: look at the evidence, draw a conclusion.

Faith + shot + the goons in that old beater coming back around to take another shot at putting the chill on her and it all adds up to one thing: she doesn't have much of a choice about whether to trust Buffy or not or if she wants to keep running after her through all these dark, filthy allies.

All her life, Faith has been sure that she'd kick off this way someday: running. Running a con, or from the cops or after some dame with a face too sweet and a mouth too pink and inviting for Faith’s own good. Faith knows enough to know she doesn't know exactly what kind of scheme she's let herself get drawn into, but she figures whatever it is, her chances are still better with Buffy than with those hoods and their irons.

So she goes.

And within a few minutes, Buffy is tugging her to a stop in front of a nondescript door in the alleyway of some big brick building Faith doesn't recognize, someplace downtown. Faith, no stranger to running for her life, is a little disappointed that she'd failed to memorize how they'd ended up here, but she figures she can afford to cut herself a little slack tonight, given the circumstances.

She sags, exhausted, knees shaking, against Buffy, no doubt getting blood all over that smart dove gray coat she'd shown up wearing, that Faith had, a few happier hours ago, fantasized about peeling off her. Ruined now, no doubt.

“Sorry,” Faith mumbles, or tries to, because what comes out of her mouth is more like “Shrrrgghh.”

“Shh, it's okay, hang on,” Buffy says, voice a little too frantic to be comforting. She pounds on the door again, again until she finally lets loose an aggrieved sigh and puts her shoulder through it. She makes it look effortless but Faith hears the wood splinter, sees the metal of the steel lock bend like putty.

Everything else happens in a blur. Buffy hauls her through the doorway, down a dark hall until a man… a green man? With little red horns? Intercepts them. He's wearing a plush royal blue smoking jacket and a look of perfect terror but he does as Buffy bids him and ushers them into a sparsely furnished room with a mattress on a metal frame and not much else.

Buffy settles Faith down on the bed, saying over her shoulder to the man, “Sorry about the blood. And your door.”

He waves her off and rushes back out of the room, returning moments later with what looks like a doctor's bag.

“Now, let's see the damage,” he says, sounding far too cheerful for a man peeling her bloodstained shirt up from her skin. “Sorry, darling,” he at least has the good grace to say. “I know this is terribly ungentlemanly of me, but please bear with me now.”

At this Buffy stumbles back knocking into a dresser and toppling a small mirror onto the floor, where it shatters into bits. As if we needed any more bad luck, Faith thinks.

Aloud, she says, “Where y’goin’?”

Buffy shakes her head, voice quavering. “I'm squeamish. I can't watch.”

And then trips her way out of the room, falling all over herself to leave.

“She'll be okay,” the man says, kindly, warm hands easing her back onto the bed. He produces a bottle, something home brewed but strong that he urges her to sip. “So will you. I'm Lorne, by the way. I promise you're in good hands.”

Faith doesn't doubt him. Life has seen fit to instill in Faith certain skills for survival, one of these being discerning quickly and with good accuracy how much a man with intent to touch her wants to cause pain. There's nothing in Lorne’s hands that reads malice or danger.

No, that thrum of simple minded fear, that prey animal feeling pulsing through Faith's body isn't because of Lorne at all.

It lingers as she watches the door Buffy disappeared from with all the intensity of a rabbit struck still in the brush, waiting for the hawk to pass.

To distract from the pain in her side as Lorne goes to work with his tweezers and alcohol and gauze, Faith recalls Buffy's face. They've had their moments in the weeks since Buffy approached her, asked for her help. Long hot glances and lingering touches, loaded silences and innuendo both. Nothing has come of it, but one of Faith’s other survival skills, honed over the years, has been learning how to tell when a broad wants what she has to offer. And she’s felt that want from Buffy, choked as it is by what Faith had assumed this whole time was an abundance of caution. Maybe she had a secret beau, maybe she’d been burned before, maybe she just didn’t think Faith was worth the risk. But Faith had felt the want in her, before.

And that was nothing compared to the hunger she saw in Buffy tonight, when they’d finally stopped running and Lorne had exposed the sick oozing wound in her side and she had lurched forward, helpless as a drunk. Oh, she’d caught herself right away, pulled back, a little too far, but Faith had seen it. Had seen the way her mouth went slack before she tightened it to a pained grimace, had seen her nostrils flare, her hands shake, the way her pupils had gone big and black, like a gowed-up dope fiend.

Faith had seen. And so now, she thinks about it like a detective, lining up the evidence. How they always met at night, how Buffy had knocked that door in like it was nothing, the way she was able to lug Faith around like she was made of cotton and air.

By the time Lorne is finished, Faith is exhausted, and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep. She wakes up in the daylight, for Lorne to change her bandages.

“Buffy had to go home,” Lorne lies as easily as he stitches her up. “She’ll be back in the evening.”

They talk a little, before she falls back asleep. “Weren’t you green last night?” she asks.

“Guilty,” he says and explains.

“Demon was my second guess,” Faith says amicably, squinting and tilting her head to try to see past the glamour. No such luck, it's solid work. “First was that I was hallucinating from blood loss.”

She drinks some broth, has a few more nips of whisky, and falls back asleep.

It is indeed evening when Buffy comes back. She’s cleaned up, looking sober and genuinely concerned as she hovers in the doorway.

Faith wonders, for one terrifying moment, how much she still smells like blood. If she’s in danger from Buffy losing it.

Then she thinks, if all Buffy wanted out of her was a quick meal, she could have had it weeks ago.

“You might as well come on in,” Faith offers, eventually, sick of the silent staring. “You’re lettin’ in a draft.”

Hesitantly, Buffy steps into the room. She shuts the door behind her and pauses until Faith gestures to the chair at her bedside.

Settling down, Buffy asks, “How are you feeling? Lorne says the wound looks good. He doesn’t think it’ll get infected.”

Faith shrugs, regretting it immediately but hoping the pain doesn’t show on her face. “S’alright. Basically a scrape.”

“The bullet went all the way through you and out the other side.”

“A deep scrape,” Faith amends.

Buffy shakes her head and Faith, goddamn her, feels her breath catch in her throat, despite everything.

“Where you been?” Faith asks, trying to sound casual. “Catching up with the mugs that tried to give me lead poisoning?”

“No. I couldn’t find any sign of them when I left here last night.”

“Grabbing a bite?” Faith tries, watching carefully for—

Buffy freezes.

Faith waits.

“Yes,” Buffy answers slowly. “I had something to eat.”

“I could tell,” Faith says. “You look steadier than last night.”

She waits another beat while Buffy looks at the floor.

“So, who was he?” Faith asks.

There it is. Buffy’s gaze snaps up to meet hers. “The man who tried to shoot you? I told you I didn’t find any trace of him.”

“Not him.” Faith says, then, despite the pain, she leans forward, holding catching Buffy’s eye and holding it. “Who’d you eat?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Buffy says in a rush. “On the square. I didn’t.”

“C’mon, drop the veil,” Faith says. “I know what you are. A vamp, in both senses of the word.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Buffy insists.

Faith frowns. “So, what? Thralls? Heard about a guy back east who paid hookers for it. That your bag?”

“I… There’s this butcher shop—”

Faith rolls her eyes, “Don’t give me that—”

“I mean it!” Buffy practically shouts. “I don’t feed from humans. I swear.”

Faith wants to believe it. She wants it so badly she’s not sure she trusts the feeling.

“If you don’t, you’re the first bloodsucker I’ve ever met who doesn’t hunt.” Faith says. “So, what’s different about you?”

“I have a soul.” Faith rolls her eyes and Buffy, affronted, cuts her off before she can speak. “I do. Look, it’s a long story and I’ll tell it to you later, but for right now I need you to trust me. This shouldn’t change anything about our deal. You keep helping me, I’ll pay you what you’re owed, and together we save this city from a whole heap of trouble.”

“You expect me to trust you?” Faiths asks, head aching, wound aching, heart aching, and a special new kind of exhausted she's never been before. She wishes she knew how to stop the way her heart still speeds up when Buffy looked at her just like this — big eyed and sincere. “After lying to me?”

“No.” Buffy reaches out, tentatively and lays her hand over Faith’s. “I expect you to trust me after saving your life last night.”

Warmth flows up Faith’s body, from her belly all the way to the roots of her hair. Just like that.

Dizzy over a dame, she thinks, exasperated. A vampire dame. Ain’t I the world’s biggest chump.

“You said it was a long story,” Faith says, finally. “You ending up with a soul…”

“Yes.”

“Well,” leaning back into bed, Faith is careful to let her hand continue to rest under Buffy’s grip. She jerks her chin down toward the patched wound in her side. “As you can see, I got nothing but time.”

Buffy waits a beat, then nods. “Okay. It all started with a man. His name was Angel…”

#replies #juanabaloo #btvs #fuffy #tbf i haven't read a lot of hardboiled detective stuff in a minute so i'm probably not very in the style #this is really just me throwing noir slang at the wall lmao #still! it was fun to mess with #not sure how in character it is but yknow

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happybird16 · 1 year

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gojo x reader, sfw

You wake with a snort, dazedly blinking into the darkness of the bedroom. It's pure, pitch blackness, thick with midnight's strength. “Wha-”

The quiet surrounds you, the city's distant hubbub tempered by the soft pitter-patter of light rain. Raising your head from the pillow, you catch sight of the darkness outside. Dark grey clouds drift lazily in front of the crescent moon, not a star in sight. Sometimes you miss living out in the country, miss seeing the stars twinkle across the sky.

There's no sign of the noise that had startled you awake, and already the sound seems distant to your mind. Sleep beckons you back, making your limbs heavy. Just as your head falls back into your pillow, the sound breaks the silence yet again.

“Eheh- eheehe-”

“What-” your head rises again, and you're suddenly wide awake, twisting to look at the man by your side. Satoru is stretched out flat on his back, head tilted heavily into his pillow. Even in the low light, you can see that he's smiling in his sleep, oddly enough, and then- there's that noise again.

“Ehehehe-”

“Toru,” you mumble tiredly, flipping onto your stomach to press your face into your pillow. “You're laughing in your sleep again.”

Eyes still closed, his lips stretch wide as yet another low giggle escapes, “Ehehe-”

“Hey!” you shout, still half-quiet, slapping an arm blindly across the bedspread. You don't know why he has a giant California king bed; he always tucks you up right against him. Your hand lands lightly on his cheek, one of your fingertips prodding a nostril, resulting in a snort. You slap his cheek again. “Toru, wake up! You're laughing in your sleep again!”

Finally, Satoru inhales sharply, letting loose an odd, confused sound. “Ngg-huh?” His eyes flutter open, illuminating the room with their crystalline baby blue glow. Even half-asleep, his fingers instinctively tug you closer, digging into your shoulder and hip, impossibly warm and large. “Babe? Why are ya’ awake? Couldn't get enough a’ me?”

His voice is rough from sleep, deep in a way that makes goosebumps bloom along the back of your neck. With his eyes open just a sliver, their light illuminates his features in their soft blue glow—the sharpness of his cheekbones, the thickness of his eyelashes, even the way his hair flops adorably against the pillow.

You frown, lip jutting out. Despite your exhaustion, heat simmers and prickles along your skin. You know he can see you perfectly clear, even in the room's remaining darkness, so you scoot forward to bury your face in his chest. “You were giggling again..”

“Oh!” Satoru laughs, his chest seizing beneath your head. The warm puff of his breath bathes the top of your head, and the hand along your back pats your shoulder softly. “Sorry about that, sweetheart. I was dreamin’.”

Satoru is so warm and comfortable, his chest rising and falling beneath yours, that your eyes already feel heavy yet again. The brightness of his eyes gleams across all the shiny surfaces in the bedroom- picture frames, hardwood, the television- lighting the room up with tiny blue little spots. You may miss the stars occasionally, but this feels more or less the same. Little bright lights, sparks of some power you can't really understand. It's like Satoru is a star himself, having drawn you into his glowing orbit.

“Dreamin’ bout what?” you murmur into his bare chest.

“Nothin’,” He laughs yet again, “Just rememberin’ a fight.”

You get the impression that he's not completely telling the truth, but the way his fingers are slowly dragging soft circles into your spine has you too sleepy to really care. “Go back to sleep. No laughin’.”

“Kay,” you can hear the laughter in his voice, but the sound doesn't escape his lips. Lips press into the top of your head, and you can definitely feel the curve of a wide smile. “You're so cute when you're sleepy. My little moon.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you

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familyvideostevie · 1 year

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october fifteenth

day fifteen: bradley "rooster" bradshaw after a hookup, you and bradley spend an unexpected night together | friends to lovers, only one bed, 18+, mdni, fem!reader, sex, porn WITH plot | 3.7k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, rooster jacks off in the shower, dirty talk, mentioned oral (m receiving, f receiving, doesn't happen on the page), fingering, p in v sex)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be much easier.

A full day of driving: San Diego to Napa in 10 hours, if you’re lucky. But Bradley is a good driver and it was cheaper than flying this time of year if you split gas and you really thought it would be fine. That’s what you told yourself.

“Fucking Nat,” you mutter, inaudible over the pounding of the rain on the windshield. Of course she had to have her fucking birthday party — which is really just a party with the other aviators and you — in Napa, of all places. Of course she’d suggest you and Bradley drive together.

Of fucking course.

“I think we’re going to have to call it,” Bradley says. He’s white knuckling the wheel, which can’t be a good sign considering he flies million dollar jets for a living. “This isn’t going to get any better and I’m worried we’ll get stranded if we wait too long to pull off.”

It really is pouring. It started a half hour ago and hasn’t let up since. And now it’s dark and you can barely see in front of you with the headlights on.

“Yeah, okay.”

He pulls off at the next exit — you think you’re somewhere south of San Francisco, maybe near Carmel? You look for a motel on your phone as the car crawls down the empty exit ramp.

“There’s a Days Inn in .5 miles if you turn…right?” you tell him. “That work?” Bradley doesn’t look at you, eyes focused on the road. His jaw is tense.

“Is that okay for you?” You’re not sure what he’s implying. At this point, you don’t really care where you stop as long as you do.

“Cheap is fine,” you say. “I just want to sleep.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up for just a second. “Me too. Maybe we can order food, or something. I’m starved.” He’s always hungry.

“Okay.”

Rooster is a good guy. You know it, everyone knows it. Nat knows you have a bit of a thing for him, which is why you’re in this car. What she doesn’t know is that you and Bradley…got drunk at the last Hard Deck theme night and made out in the bathroom. You had his tongue in your mouth and your legs around his waist and his hand on your breast and you felt him through your thin shorts and. Well. What Nat doesn’t know is you remember all of it in excruciating detail, the sounds he made, the way he groaned your name, his hands on your skin, and Bradley, it seems, remembers none of it. He has not called you or brought it up since.

Is that bad? Not really. Maybe he doesn’t remember. You were both pretty drunk, though you distinctly remember him asking you Are you sure? as he hoisted you onto the bathroom counter. But whatever. Maybe he regrets it and is saving face because you’re all friends and it would make things awkward, especially before Nat’s big weekend. Maybe he doesn’t like you at all and he’s embarrassed. You’re not about to ask him and find out when you still have hours on the road together.

The Days Inn is a typical California motel — doors on the outside, mercifully covered by an overhang. Rooster parks as close to the reception office as he can. “I’ll go get rooms and then park wherever they are,” he tells you. “Stay here?”

“Not going anywhere.” Neither of you have raincoats so he just takes a deep breath and then shoves the door open and makes a run for it. You sigh.

God damn. He really was a good kisser. Sitting next to him for the last few hours hasn’t been awkward, not really, but you’ve had to stop yourself from staring. At his chorded forearms, the tan expanse of his neck. His hands, the memory of them pressing into your hips hard enough to bruise, his thumb rubbing your nipple through your shirt that night —

Fuck. He’s been nothing but nice to you, which somehow makes it worse. He ghosted you, maybe without knowing, and all you want to do is touch him. It’s driving you insane.

The car door opens and you jump a little, eyes flying open. You hadn’t realized you’d closed them.

“Sorry,” Bradley says. “Good news and bad news.” He turns in his seat so he’s facing you as much as he can. He shivers a little. He must be cold. “They have…a room,” he says slowly. “And it’s, uh, only one bed. A queen.”

“Oh,” you say. You can’t think of a single other word.

“Yeah,” he continues. He runs a hand through his wet hair. “She said that everyone is booked up because of the storm. I got the room, but I can tell her we don’t want it and we can keep driving if you want, find somewhere else around here. Or I can just sleep on the floor, obviously, but I don’t want you to —”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt. “Bradley, it’s fine. No big deal. We can share the room and the bed.” He blinks and you look anywhere but his face. “It isn’t safe to keep driving and we’re both tired and need something to eat.” The bed, though…you’re not sure what to think of your offer but it’s too late to take it back now.

He nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. A drop of water runs down his nose. “Okay.” He drives around to the back of the hotel and parks in front of what you assume is your room. “Ready?”

You grab your bags from the back seat and throw open the door, hopping out and running the few feet until you’re under the overhang. Only a few seconds and you still feel like you’re soaked.

Bradley unlocks the door with an rusty key on a blue tag and gestures for you to go in. “There’s a local pizza place that’ll deliver in this,” he says, locking the door behind you. “At least the reception lady thinks so. I have their number and I can call them?”

You keep talking to each other in questions, like you’re both unsure of yourselves. It’s…strange. You put your stuff down on the — yep, one — bed and sit, toeing off your wet shoes.

“Whatever you want is fine.” You shiver. “I’m cold so I’m going to, uh, take a shower. Unless you want to?” A question again.

Bradley shakes his head. “No, you go. Get warm. I’ll go after.”

You grab the first comfortable and dry thing from your bag you can find and bring it into the bathroom with you. Fuck. How are you going to do this?

The shower does wonders to warm you up but you can hear Bradley’s voice through the wall, low and steady as he talks to the pizza place. Your hand drifts down your stomach, ghosts between your legs before you yank it away. No. Get it together. You’re friends.

Enough of that. You towel off and put on your clothes only to find that you…didn’t bring your shorts into the bathroom with you. You stare at your underwear and t-shirt hopelessly as if it’ll make them appear. “Are you fucking kidding me,” you say. You could use your hair towel and wear it like a skirt but your hair is wet and your t-shirt is white and the only other towel in here is for Bradley. “This cannot be real,” you tell your reflection.

Nothing to be done, it seems. You’re going to have to go out there in only a t-shirt that barely hangs past your ass.

So you do. Bradley clears his throat. You glance at him and he shifts in the chair he’s in at the tiny table. “Pizza should be here soon,” he says, gruffly. His eyes don’t seem to know where to land. “I’m going to shower.”

He’s up and through the door before you can say anything. “Okay, then,” you mutter. You dig in your bag for your sleep shorts and…can’t find any. Great. You’re going to share a bed with him in only a t-shirt.

Someone rings the doorbell and you abandon all pretense and take the towel from your head and wrap it around your waist. The peephole reveals it to be the pizza, so you open the door and a teenager hands it to you without a word and runs back to his car.

“Thanks!” you call. You set it on the table and hear the shower still running. “Pizza’s here!” you yell through the wall.

Bradley makes a noise that sounds like a curse. “Go ahead!” he shouts back.

“Fine,” you say to the empty room. “Don’t mind if I do.” You crack open the box and see that he’s gotten all the stuff you like. You have no idea how he knows that.

You’ve had two pieces by the time he comes out. It’s like a fucking porno the way the door opens and steam rushes out to reveal Bradley, shirtless and damp, a towel wrapped around his waist. The temperature of the room seems to shoot up exponentially.

You fist one hand in the towel you’ve draped across your lap and don’t even try to look away. “Forgot my clothes out here,” he mutters. You don’t say anything. You watch the muscles of his back flex, watch the water drip down his shoulder blades. You can see the v of his hips, the hair that disappears under the towel.

You wonder how big his dick is.

Good god. Cut it out.

He rifles through his own bag and you watch that, too. You swallow and press a palm to your cheek. God, you’re flustered. There’s no way you can sleep next to him like this. You have to face it head on.

“Bradley,” you say. Your voice is lower than you’d expected.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Do you remember that night at the Hard Deck?”

He stills for just a second, so quick that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t staring at him.

“Which one? We’re there a lot.”

Okay, that’s it. You stand, leaving the towel on the chair as you walk across the scratchy carpet to stand right behind him.

“C’mon,” you say, serious now. “You know that I’m talking about.”

He turns around and seems a little startled to see you so close. His eyes rake down your form and linger on your bare legs before snapping up to your face.

“Do you remember it?” he asks. His hands are fists at his sides.

You are getting frustrated. “Well, I’m asking, aren’t I? Why haven’t we talked about it?”

“You were drunk!” he says, exasperated. He runs his hands through his hair, biceps flexing in a way that makes you press your thighs together even tighter. “I took advantage of you!”

The laugh that comes out of you is like a bark. “You did not,” you say. “You didn’t, Bradley, I remember it all and I wanted it all.” It’s true. You were drunk, but if anything it gave you the courage to rub your ass against him on the dance floor, to take his hand and drag him to the bathrooms, to read his blown pupils for desire.

He looks stressed. “Nat said you were throwing up like, twenty minutes later!”

You wince. Yeah, that did happen, but that was on you. “That was an ill-timed shot and too many chicken wings,” you admit.

Bradley tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, sighing your name. You want to lick the vein in his neck.

You reach out and put your palm on his bare abdomen. His muscles contract and you feel it as well as see it. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “If you want to forget it, just tell me,” you say softly. “If it was a mistake or your embarrassed to have done it with me—”

His hand circles your wrist. “No,” he says firmly. “No.” Softer this time. “I don’t regret it. It wasn’t…I—” He takes a breath that you feel. “I just thought I fucked it all up.”

“Fucked what all up?” The air in the room is still hot but it’s like time has stopped. Like nothing apart from you two matters.

“My chance with you,” he says softly. Bradley looks at you, pupils blown but with such a raw expression it takes your breath away. This man is so much more than he appears.

“Oh,” you breathe. “No, I don’t think you did.” He couldn’t. You don’t know what it would feel like to not want him.

He releases your wrist and reaches for your face, his wide palms settling on your jaw. You close your eyes and wait for him to commit, wait for him to finish what he started, and he does. His lips are light on yours at first but once you press back it turns into something firmer. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands move, one sliding under your shirt to grab your bare hip and the other winding in your hair.

The kiss turns messy, tongues and teeth until his lips trail down your neck. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since that night,” he pants, nipping and soothing with his tongue.

“I’ve wanted more than that,” you gasp. You grasp his biceps for dear life.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers brush the bottom of your breast. “If it’s a competition, I’m winning,” he rasps in your ear. “I had to jack off in the shower just now after you came out here in a t-shirt.”

You groan. You actually groan at his words. You slide one hand down his damp skin until you find the edge of the towel still around his waist. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he hisses. You tug on it and it gives, falling to the ground at your feet. You look down and find his cock already hard, ruddy and weeping, demanding your attention.

“See how badly I want you?” Bradley backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you sit down suddenly. And there he is, naked head to toe, chest flushed and heaving and all you’ve done is kiss. You get an eye full — he’s big, no surprise there — as he takes himself in hand and strokes, eyes fluttering shut. Your clench around nothing. He’s going to ruin you.

“Let me do that,” you say. Maybe he’ll let you suck him off. You can imagine his weight on your tongue, his hands in your hair as you gag around him.

“Won’t last long,” he pants. “Next time.”

Next time. That sounds nice. You scoot back on the bed, shoving your bag to the floor, and pull off your shirt. It goes flying somewhere that doesn’t matter. Bradley groans, stroking himself slowly as he watches you. “Look at you,” he says. “Better than I imagined.”

He goes back to his bag to dig through it a bit desperately and you stretch out on the bed. It he doesn’t touch you soon you might die. You spread your legs wide and look down to find a wet spot on your panties. Fuck. He’s hardly touched you and you’re soaked.

Your fingers work their way under the damp material and you run them through your folds and sigh with pleasure, eyes fluttering. “What did you imagine?” you ask.

“All sorts of things,” he says. “I’m very creative.” He makes a triumphant noise and holds up a condom. His eyes narrow when he sees what you’re doing on the bed. “Fuck. I —” He swallows. His cock twitches. “Do you want to?”

“Oh, I want you to fuck me, Bradley.” His nostrils flare. “Like, right now.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. He saunters over to the bed looking better than your best wet dream. “You have no idea how goddamn good you look right now. Can you take those off for me, sweetheart?”

The pet name coincides with the pads of your fingers brushing your clit and you moan. Right now, you’re pretty sure you will do anything he asks of you. You pull your panties off and toss them.

“Spread for me,” he says. You do and he puts his hands on the insides of your thighs and just looks. It makes you a little shy but you also feel…powerful. There is hunger in his gaze, raw want and desire. He licks his lips and strokes your skin. “Here’s my plan,” he says.

You throw an arm over your eyes. Always a man with a plan.

“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers first,” he says. His fingertips trail up your thigh and you squirm. One of them brushes your clit ever so slightly. “And then I’ll fuck you properly until you scream.” His thumb presses down on it. You keen, high and long. Bradley ignores it. “And then we’ll eat more pizza and then I’ll have desert.”

His hands disappear and you whine. “Do I get some, too?” Bradley laughs and despite the situation, the filthy, filthy things he’s saying, it sounds genuine. You pull your arm away to look at him. He tosses the condom on the bedside table.

“You get whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He kneels on the bed, crawls up your body and kisses you deeply. You feel him hot and hard against your stomach. “Does that sound good?”

You nod. “Get to it, Lieutenant.”

He groans like you’ve touched him. Bradley kisses you firmly, his mustache scratchy in the most delicious way as he licks into your mouth. One of his hands pays attention your nipples and the other slips down your stomach to your folds.

“God,” he says against your jaw. “You’re so wet.” He circles your clit a few times before pressing one finger inside you. You know right away it’s not enough. You fist one hand in the sheets and the other in his hair. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. All for me.”

“More,” you groan. “More, please.” You think he might tease you but he obeys right away, giving you another one as he starts to fuck you with them. You’re so wet that it’s making filthy noises as you writhe under his touch.

If you had more presence of mind you’d try to make it good for him, too, jerk him or at least pay him some kind of attention, but you’re barely hanging on. He ruts against your thigh as your pleasure builds.

You grab for him desperately, bringing his face as close as you can get it. “Fuck me,” you say. “Please, Bradley.”

Your plea seems to undo him. “Yeah?”

You nod frantically. He pulls away and you try to catch your breath as he tears open the condom and rolls it on. You keep your legs spread and he settles back between them, hands on your thighs as he looks at you again. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

“That’s nice.” You arch your back. “Please fuck me now.”

He laughs again. His chest is flushed and damp, eyes bright and pupils blown. “Okay, sweetheart.”

He drags the head of his cock through your folds a few times before hitching one of your legs around his hip and pressing into you slowly, slowly, slowly.

“Talk to me,” he gasps.

He’s big, but you want him so badly that the stretch comes easy. It feels incredible. “Keep going, I—” It’s like you can feel every inch of him. Every vein, every ridge. You could lie here with his cock inside you forever. “God, how big are you?”

He laughs but it’s a rasp and a groan all in one. “Almost done, baby.”

“Baby,” you mock. You love it.

Bradley presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hush.”

Just when you’re starting to think that maybe you can’t take him, he bottoms out and you’re both panting.

He steadies himself over you and you hook your ankles behind his back and roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “This might not go as long as I’d hoped.”

“Fine with me so long as you get going.” He presses his forehead to yours and starts to move, his hips going slow and then faster when you urge. His cock drags along your walls as he gets impossibly deep with every thrust. One of his huge hands presses into your side hard enough to bruise and you hold on for dear life.

The rain is probably still pounding outside but you don’t hear it over the smacking of his balls against your skin, the sound of your slick, your combined moans.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants, breath hot on your face. “Taking all of me, so tight—” He kisses you but it’s more like a desperate press of his mouth to yours.

“Bradley,” you manage. “Bradley I—” All words seem too far away, so you settle for chanting his name, your nails digging into his back.

“C’mon, baby,” he says. “So close, so close, yeah? Lemme feel you.”

One of his hands rubs roughly at your clit, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter and you can only get out one last gasp of his name before it snaps and you jerk in his hold, back arching and cunt spasming around him, clenching over and over.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, just like that, oh shit —” And then he’s chanting your name in a punched out voice and his thrusts become erratic. You come down from your high just as he begins his, body stilling above you as he thrusts, once, twice, then shudders.

He pulls out of you and flops to your side. You’re both sweaty and panting.

Bradley’s hand reaches blindly until he finds yours and kisses the back of it.

“Can I take you out?” he says. “When we get back?”

He just fucked you within an inch of your life and he’s asking you on a date?

You laugh, exhausted and thrilled. “Sure, Bradley.”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

#fvspromptober23 #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw x fem!reader #rooster bradshaw x fem!reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick fanfiction

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purelyfiction · 11 months

Text

the name of someone i no longer know

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,406 words

Summary: it's stick season what can i say? also maybe this is whump-tober coded who knows

Content Warning: alcohol use/abuse, maybe alcoholism, dui mention, police interaction, drunk jake, a little aggression, heartbreak and all around sad

Author Note: what the summary said

Jake had loved California for the reasons that it never seemed to rain. It was flooded with lots of sunshine, beaches and bars. Good music, good friends, good girls and bad decisions to be made.

Until he was sent back to the thick of it - sent to Annapolis to be shipped off for some form of deployment, only to be delayed due to concerns for the ship. Instead of sending him back to California, they'd kept him in Maryland.

Maryland was his personal Hell on Earth.

Flooded with memories of the cooler months, pumpkin patches filled with your laugh, dive bars he'd lost himself in like corn mazes he'd held onto you in. This place haunted him. Especially when it rained and God, did it rain in this damned state.

Another Friday of work slips away from him, until he's at the old bar whose name had been a weapon in the fallout. Jake sits peeling labels of a local beer - they were out of Bud. The jukebox plays a song he doesn't recognize and a couple laughs in the corner of the bar top.

That corner had housed the two of you all those years ago. Conversations about drunken college nights, holidays spent with friends instead of family while deployed, promises made that he'd broken only months later.

His collection of beer bottle caps is turning into a small mountain in front of him. Until the bartender is tapping the wood in front of him. "Last one, pal."

Green eyes groggily flip up to meet his, brows furrowing. "Huh?"

"You've had enough for the night, man." The bartender slides his receipt toward him, the pen alongside it rolling off and onto the floor. The blonde sits up with annoyance.

"I'm fine, first off," Jake slides from the barstool to retrieve the pen off the floor - only to crack his head on the underside of the bar when he stands up, "fuck!"

The man from the corner comes to his side, "Are you alright? That looked like it hurt." When the stranger grabs his arm, Jake rights himself and shoves him back into a barstool.

"Don't touch me." He spits. The stranger holds up his hands to show he's backing off.

"You need a ride." The bartender is pulling his phone from his pocket, Jake shakes his head.

"No, no I'm-" a hiccup breaks his train of thought. The sum of the bill catches his eye and he groans, dropping his initials onto the paper.

"I'll just order you an Uber, where you going?"

"I said no, I can drive." The barkeep nearly gives Jake the stink eye now. As the blonde fumbles his way to the front door, he nearly eats it at the front stoop. He manages to find his way to his truck - a rental no less - he pauses at the sight of an old Jeep Liberty.

The last time he was in Annapolis, he'd bought a cheap one exactly like it off of Facebook Marketplace. He'd needed a way to get around, and considering how often he bounced around, there was no need to buy anything worthwhile.

That same Jeep that you'd refused to get into the passenger seat of one night. You were leaving a friend's Thanksgiving. He'd had too much to drink. You begged him to let you drive, seeing that you were sober - he wouldn't have any of it.

He'd left you in the driveway of your friend's place along the water, snow and all. Annapolis police had him in their custody not even twenty minutes later. Jake had friends in the navy ranks in Maryland, that had helped him avoid a dishonorable discharge at the time - he no longer had those friends.

He also no longer had you.

Jake makes sure his rental is locked before he starts down the road in the direction of the naval base.

His steps are uneasy, a bit sporadic as he walks aimlessly in one direction. A film reel serves as his entertainment for his walk back. Scenes from two years of love, a whole six months of downward spiral toward heartbreak. Total, gut-wrenching and life wrecking heartache. Self-inflicted he now realizes.

The breakup was sharp. His things were packed up. Put into the Liberty. You'd taken your key back, deleted your number from his phone and told him to forget you even lived on the same continent. He'd promised you'd never hear from him.

Jake looks up after a cold round drop plops onto his head. Followed by another. His feet stop walking as he stares up at the rain beginning to fall, the street lamps serving as a backdrop as the downpour begins. He stands there. Watching the rain. His head drops to meet the river running under him, the bridge he stands on giving a viewing point as the speed picks up.

A car slows to a stop just behind him. The headlights make him squint, slowly moving a hand up to block the LEDs that blind him.

"It's a bit wet out here, don't you think?" A voice calls from the side of the vehicle, the door shutting in tandem to another on the symmetrical side of the car.

"Rain'll do that." He snidely retorts, leaning into the jersey barrier along the bridge.

"You think you might wanna find a dry place to settle in? It's getting late, afterall." A second voice consoles him, and Jake realizes why the lights are so damn bright. He'd recognize the striping of the Anapolis police anywhere.

"Ah, I'm-" Another hiccup, "I'm trying to." An older male comes in the rain, graying facial hair, a well trimmed beard as he approaches.

"You look a little lost there, boy."

If only this damn officer knew the half of it.

Neither of them mention his slow reaction times. Or reveal that they'd received a tip from a rather concerned bartender. Instead, they carefully guide him to the backseat of the cruiser. No handcuffs are involved, no harsh words spoken, not a single arrest made.

That doesn't stop Jake from reciting your name, your address and phone number.

Anapolis' police station is dated. The linoleum is scuffed and worn - a creamier brown than he remembers.

"You.. wanna call somebody to come get you, son?"

"I've got- I'll just call her. She'll come." When he pulls his phone from his pocket it's either too cold, too wet, or too dead - or some combination of the three.

The officer with the mustache that matched that of an old friend's hands him two dollars in change, pointing him in the direction of the payphones.

Nine digits. He's got them memorized, though he swore he would forget them.

One ring. Two rings. Four.

Finally- "Hello?"

Your name leaves his lips like a prayer.

The end tone sounds like a gunshot.

Another pair of quarters.

Dial tone. Ring three. Ring four. Voicemail.

Two dollars gone.

"Alright, kid, lets get you sat down for a minute." Jake firms up like an oak tree when the officer grabs his shoulder.

"Hold on, just- I need a charger. Something- she'll call. You've got more change? Just a quarter-" He turns to a nearby woman, desperately leaning toward her, his balance wavering enough that the cop comes to his shoulder again to keep him upright.

"Have you had much to drink tonight, son?"

"I- Didn't- she's gonna call." He mumbles as the officer slowly guides him to a seat. Green eyes look up at the older man and then to the tinted window at the end of the corridor.

"Hate to tell you this... but I don't think she will."

Jake shoots up again, almost falling on his ass.

"She will- I- let me call her again- just one more time-"

The officer resists Jake and his sluggish effort to move back to the phones, finally gripping onto the pilot.

"Sit. I'm gonna get you some water and we-"

"Fuck that. Sir. I just need to get her on the phone- she's not far she-" His words begin on a carousel. Coming back again and again, repeating in the same pattern.

The plastic cup of water in his hands grows warm as he sits in the station. Two officers talk among themselves as they keep an eye on him, mentioning your name. Your address.

The phone number you refuse to use if he is on the other end of the line.

And he waits.

#top gun maverick #top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman fanfiction #hangman fanfic #hangman #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake “hangman” seresin x reader

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year

Text

This is the classiest hacienda style mansion I've ever seen. It's in Los Angeles, California and if you can spare $15.5M it can be yours. Built in 1924, 7bds, 7.5ba, 1.04 acres of land.

The entrance hall. That molding isn't wood, it's like a sculpted plaster.

This sitting room is stunning. Look at the artwork on the beams. Beautiful windows and doors let just enough sunlight in, and that fireplace matches the molding. This home is quality.

This wood doorway matches the ceiling beams. The details in this home are amazing.

Absolutely delightful sunroom that they have set up as a cool office. Love the Mediterranean light fixture.

Beautiful wood walled library. Look at the gold ceiling and that light fixture.

The dining room has a beautiful ceiling, wainscoting, and big windows to the garden. You can see the fountain in the smaller window.

The everyday dining room opens to the patio and look at the built-in planter.

Light, airy kitchen. The lighting choices in this house are superb.

Gracefully curving stairs in a rounded stairwell with lovely stained glass windows.

What a pretty color scheme in the primary bedroom. It's certainly a huge room.

Sitting area opens to a patio.

What a fabulous vintage bath. The tile is so beautiful. Everything looks original.

Large secondary bedroom has doors that open to a balcony.

And, look at this marble bath. Just incredible.

If wasn't for the sofas this would look like a real theater.

Sunken bar open to the pool. I know it doesn't rain much in California, but gee, if it does, that banquette is going to get wet and everything.

This is magnificent.

What a property.

The Mexican tiles are amazing. I bet they're handmade.

Fabulous pond.

The grounds alone are stunning.

Plus, there's a modern studio/library.

Nice sauna, too.

Such attention to detail- look at the clay flower pots going up the stairs.

Outdoor space similar to the glass-enclosed sunroom. Look at the light posts.

Gated entrance with earns lining the wall.

#hacienda style mansion #mediterranean mansion #mansions #houses #house tours #home tour

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madlovesbyler · 5 months

Text

Mike's Bassment Beats

Hi guys :)

This is an analysis of the Spotify Official Playlist of Mike to prove to you that Byler definitely has a chance of happening and being endgame in Season 5. (Just a notice: I will skip the songs without lyrics / the songs that are about the Upside Down or smth like that)

You can also read the analysis here:

Mike's Bassment Beats

Smalltown boy

So... Do I have to say anything more? This is the first song on his playlist. Suspicous, isn't it?

I mean if they wanted to put this song on a playlist, why not on Will's for example? I mean Will was 1. bullied for being gay, 2. moved out of his town to California and 3. is a canonly gay character. Why did they put it on Mike's playlist, when we only know for sure that he was bullied?

Always Something There to Remind Me

This could be foreshadowing a Mileven breakup in season 5 - it could also be interpreted as Mike thinking about Will after the rain fight in season 3.

She Blinded Me With Science

We can say that this song is about Mike's and El's relationship, mostly being about Mike feeling not as worthy as Eleven because of her superpowers and her being a "superhero".

I think it is supposed to show us Mike's true feelings about being with Eleven: He feels unworthy of being with her, which to me is not a healthy mindset to have when being in a relationship. On the other hand with Will he never feels unworthy. Instead he can be himself without having to be scared of judgement or feeling not good enough.

I Ran (So Far Away)

I know, I know. The Mileven shippers will probably say this is about Mike not saying "I love you" to Eleven and blah blah blah. Honestly I don't believe in that. Did we have Mike run away from his "feelings" towards Eleven like ever? In season 1 he was the person to initiate their first kiss. That doesn't seem like "running away from your feelings for someone" to me. To be honest I think it's clear that the "attractive woman" is Will to Mike.

A Real Hero

So since this song is called "A real hero" I think it is kind of obvious who it is refering to in Mike's life. Mike has called Eleven multiple times a "superhero", which I think is kind of cute but also a bit unsensitive of him since El doesn't like to only be reduced to her powers, which he does by only praising her powers and no other good qualities of her.

Still Haunting Me

Another breakup song

When Love Breaks Down

Oh what a surprise... A breakup song

Love Is a Stranger

This song is basically about a really deep love and obsession with a person.

I want to comment on these lyrics here ^ though, because to me this song is about Mike and Will and not about Mike and El. The lyrics say "love is a danger of a different kind.... and love is a dangerous drug". When was El and Mike's love a danger to themselves? The only love in the series that is actually dangerous for the person is Will's love for Mike / Robin's love for Vickie. (homosexual love). In the 80s people were killed for being openly gay - they almost didn't have any rights.

Don't you want me

I've read an article where a person talks about the way this story isn't about love - it's about a guy who finds a woman and helps her (because of his savior complex) becoming a star (El becoming a superhero etc.) and later their love goes bad and he's still obsessed with her and her success. This is so Mileven coded I can't.

Teenage Kicks

This song is basically about a boy pining over this one girl and desiring her etc. I think this "girl" once again is Will in Mike's situation, since Mike never really got to "pine after" Eleven (since they got together after one week of knowing each other).

Running in the Night

This is literally about Mileven in season 4, I can't

I found another interpretation, where the protagnist battles desperate and desolate times filled with heartbreak and desire, which shows us that Mike does have inner battles he fights (mostly in season 2 and 4).

Destination Unknown

Okay, so this song and Smalltown Boy really make me fantasize about Will and Mike running off together at the end of season 5 lol.

But I think this song also describes very well how Mike lives (or atleast tries to live) in season 1-3. He doesn't really know what he's doing and he just tries to get through life as well as possible, which is the reason for him being together with Eleven as well. He chooses to take the easier path - the path where he doesn't have to think about his feelings for his best friend and he doesn't have to admit to himself that he might like boys.

Something About You

"...A love... Fashioned by fate could suffer so hard"

Okay so we know (from the series) that Mike doesn't see his and Eleven's relationship as "fate". He thinks it's simple dumb luck, which makes me personally think that this song is again about Byler (since Mike said in s2 to Will that asking him to be his best friend was the best thing he ever did -> it was fate that they met)

"But making mistakes is a part of life's imperfection"

Mike and Will made some mistakes. They fought in season 3 and season 4 -simply because they have so much unsaid between them, which obviously lead to some tension. They also both made the mistake to try to hide their feelings away, which they shouldn't do, even though it's difficult to express them (and dangerous at the time they're living in)

"Is it wrong to be human after all?"

This is such a deep line to be honest. The narrator asks themselves if it's wrong to be human and have feelings for this one person, which oviously you can't control. I think it can be interpreted as asking yourself if it's wrong to have feelings for someone who has the same gender as you, since you're human and the feelings you have are human too.

"And it's not so wrong we're only human after all"

This line is again about realising (which I hope Mike and Will do in season 5!!!) that having feelings isn't wrong / a crime because they are just humans!!! (I can't do this anymore I need to hold Mike and Will's faces and tell them it's okay to feel what they feel.)

"These changing years, they add to your confusion"

My interpretation is that this line is about the way that the older Mike grows, the more he is confused about his feelings for El and Will (just remember the end of season 3).

"Oh and you need to hear the time that told the truth"

They both (Mike and Will) just need to realize the truth at this point, I'm so sick of them bro.

Are 'Friends' Electric

My honest reaction when I read this title:

But now that I have googled the lyrics and meaning of the song it's not that promising (even though I found some lines that might be byler related). So this song is basically about a really lonely man living in a world of robots. I think it's about Mike feeling really left alone with his struggles and worries. (especially in season 2, where he has (confirmed) a depressive episode)

"It's the friend that I'd left in the hallway" meaning Will, which Mike kind of neglected in s3 & s4

"You know I hate to ask, but are 'friends' electric?" This might just be so byler related like???

So Mike hates to ask himself the question if the way he feels with Will is just the way you feel around your friend or if Will's more than a friend to Mike. I think Mike is still in denial, where he tries to fight these feelings and thoughts, but there's still this question buzzing in his head: "Why do I feel so 'electric' with Will?"

I also find it interesting that Dustin literally describes love in season 2 as this feeling of "electricity" between two people. Coincidence? I'm not so sure anymore.

"And now I've no one to love" This might be about Mike thinking he's lost Will after season 3 and in the beginning of season 4.

If You Leave

Do I have to say anything more? It's too obvious I'm sorry

I also wanted to add that this song is from the movie "Pretty In Pink", which is about a girl called Andie falling in love with a popular guy at her school, while her best friend Duckie falls for her. At the end of the movie, when this song starts playing, there's a scene where they are at a ball and it was originally planned for Andie to end up with Duckie, but the audience didn't like this ending, so they changed it to Andie ending up with the popular guy. Does this whole thing seem familiar? Well, then think about the Snowball in Stranger Things season 2 :)

You Spin Me Round

Lol I think most of you know this song. Mike is such a silly, lovesick idiot, I love him 😭

So obviously this song is about a guy being madly in love - and I found someone saying that people theorize that this song is about two guys. So I googled the band members and found out that the lead singer Pete Burns identified as gay so I think this theory isn't so far stretched.

Cars

This song lyrics are mostly interpreted as someone isolating themselves. Mike my babyboy :((

You Really Got Me

A love song about lust. Not going to dive deeper into that because I find it gross since Mike's still a child.

It's my life

We win every single day (Byler endgame guys).

So this song is basically about a guy realising he's in love with a person, who he actually just saw as a friend, as the lyrics say "Funny how I find myself in love with you".

Space Age Love Song

This song is about having an intime moment with another person where you lock eyes with them and fall in love. Bro's really down bad, I see.

A Victory of Love

So Mike's waiting for Will to 'return' to him because he thought he has lost him. He's also hoping for a change (for Will to become his boyfriend ofc :D)

Mad World

I'm sorry but I can't exist right now. This is so sad that I'm not sure if I can include this I don't want to depress y'all.

What Is Love?

Let's move on to something a bit lighter:

Okay, so this song is about Mike being in love with someone who doesn't return the feelings... Did we ever see El not returning Mike's feelings??? I don't think so.

So who does Mike think doesn't return his feelings? Will Byers (especially in season 4). El writes in a letter to Mike that she thinks Will has a crush on someone (implying in California) because he paints a lot. Mike thinks that the painting Will made was for some girl he likes (which later turned out to be for Mike ofc). There and the whole time before that Mike believes that Will doesn't feel the same way for him, which obviously he actually does.

Spirit of the Night

This song is about a woman with a beautiful dress on dancing in the Night and the narrator completely admiring her. I think the line "I wear a plastic crown" is a metaphor for the way that he feels next to her. He doesn't think he's good enough for her.

Telephone Operator

A song about the narrator calling his love interest and wondering why he can't see them.

This could be about Mike calling El in season 3 OR it could be about Mike calling Will in season 4. The second option makes more sense to me, since Mike tried to call Will (we know that, because Dustin said Mike is whining about not being able to call the Byers, because Joyce is always on the phone because of her new job; we also know that he didn't try to call El, because he simply wasn't allowed to, since it would have been to dangerous)

Hand On The Gun

This song is about battling your own moral beliefs, that you have based on your religion (on the bible). This seems really funny to me, for the reason that Mike never really had to do that, right? The only two kids in this show who have killed/ hurt people are El and Will. He never had to do such things. So what is he battling inside?

Could he be battling his homosexuality, which is a sin in the bible? We know that his household is pretty conversative. (-> Ted making some implied homophobic comments and Karen talking about Margaret Thatcher (who was a conversative prime minister) on the phone with someone)

I know this sounds far reached, but when you think about it... What else could he be battling, that goes against his own moral standards?

Blue Monday

The lyrics of this song are pretty obviously about an unhealthy relationship where she tells him how he should feel, because he doesn't know what to feel anymore.

These lines are also pretty telling. I think Mike finds it really hard to admit to himself and to other people that he is gay and in love with his best friend. He kind of uses El to show him how he should feel , because he doesn't want to go down the path inside of him where these feelings for Will are hidden.

Too Shy

The lyrics are a about a really cute, shy, tender relationship between two people. I don't think you can describe Mileven as these adjectives, because Mike wasn't really shy when he kissed El after knowing her for one week only, while with Will he's always been kind of tender (the Will voice) and they had a lot of cute heart to hearts (which Mileven didn't really have or atleast not as many as Byler)

No Other Way

I couldn't find any interpretations from other people so I got to stick to my own.

"Where is your sense of adventure, where are your aims?" Maybe that's about Mike not wanting to have changes in his life (which there would be if he just admitted to himself that he's gay lmao)

"I know you stick to your guns as it's hard to change" Mike sticks to Eleven, because he doesn't want things to change.

"Just for a moment imagine another way" Mike please just imagine how your life could be if you'd just be honest to yourself and other people.

Everyday Is Halloween

This song is about Mike's bullying and him feeling like an outsider most of the time. He's also asking himself why he can't live for himself instead of doing everything to live up to other people's expectations (being "straight"). He asks himself why the people can't see that he's just like them just because he's gay. He isn't the one who's absurd - he's just a normal person. But he tries to act 'normal' by wearing a mask that hides his true feelings everyday.

"Hurt feelings best to stop feeling hurt" I'm not too sure about this line, but it could mean that the best way to stop feeling hurt is to hurt other people (which might be a parallel to Mike saying "It's not my fault you don't like girls" to Will)

This song is so obviously queercoded.

Run Away

These are the only lyrics, which are repeated troughout the whole song. I guess it could be about Mike trying to figure out the truth about his feelings?

Be Afraid

This song is about Mike hearing voices (me, and all the other byler shippers, who he can hear talking from another universe) that are telling him he's gay and in love with his best friend.

*******************************

Okay so this is it basically. I really hope you enjoyed my analysis of the obviously really straight Mike Wheeler. No but seriously, I do know that the people who made this playlist might not have put these weirdly queercoded songs on purpose on, but Smalltown Boy? Really? I mean this song is known for being gay.

Not to forget that there are a lot of breakup songs on this playlist? It's too suspicous for it to not be intentional.

So the end of story is:

#byler #stranger things #mike's bassment beats #byler nation #byler endgame #byler tumblr #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things s5 #mike wheeler is gay #mike x will #Spotify

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mister-eames · 8 months

Note

do you think the first and probably the only time arthur cried for mal or the general shitty situation with cobb was when he phoned eames? and even if they were in their bitter breakup era?

You know, oddly enough, this sort of addresses a little fic I had sitting in my drafts for this third prompt - this is one of the ways I think it happened, at least.

It's funny, how quickly a house can no longer feel like home anymore.

Eames supposes he should be used to it. After all, they made their home into a house of mourning just a week ago, and the veil hasn't lifted since.

Mal's death had blindsided them both.

The last time he'd spoken to Mal she'd seemed... off. Not her best self. Nothing overt, he'd chalked it up to being short on sleep, having too much on her hands with two young kids.

Eames truly didn't see it coming. And the loss felt all the more blunt for it.

There was a glorious morning a week ago. Arthur had burned both coffee and eggs and he was still in his post-morning sex haze, lazy and loose-limbed and beautiful. Eames was cooking their second breakfast and he'd embraced Eames from behind, long arms draped around his neck, playfully tapping his hands against Eames chest to some beat only he could hear. Arthur had leaned in close to say something; whispered, baby, guess what ---

--- then there was a phone call and Eames never got to hear the rest of it.

Arthur had answered. He'd put Cobb on speaker, smiled at Eames as he reached into the cabinets for plates, only to place them back very, very carefully. He'd looked at Eames then, horrified, as Cobb's muffled crying filling in their kitchen.

Eames burned the second round of eggs.

It was a strange thing, in a way, because his grief was double-edged. On one hand he had his own sadness for Mal, carried profound sense of loss like a weight attached to his neck always dragging him downwards. On the other was the grief burdening Arthur and not knowing how to comfort him and how doubly helpless it made Eames feel. Because Eames doesn't know where to start with Arthur. He'd never seen him like this, before. So.... so... -- and Mal was... she was...

Eames was going to ---

He can't forget the way Arthur stilled when he heard the news and how the air left the room.

--- there was a funeral.

Neither of them could attend. Between them and California was too much intercontinental paperwork and not enough time. Eames was saddened but Arthur was --

Arthur was functioning perfectly normal. Eating, sleeping, reading the news. He made bread and finished crosswords. Not a flaw in sight. This was the worst part because Eames knew there was something very wrong with him -- this was Arthur's version of grieving. Arthur was good and bad at all of those things, but he was never perfect at their execution like he was in the days leading up to ---

Arthur takes a phone call the day after the funeral. He sequesters himself away in his office and Eames smokes through half a pack of cigarettes on their balcony watching lightning dance across the sky before Arthur comes back out.

It's starting to sprinkle rain when Arthur sits beside him. He takes a cigarette from the pack and holds it between his fingers without moving to light it.

"That was Cobb."

"Oh really?" Eames asks, half-heartedly fiddling with the ashtray. "I couldn't tell. All I could hear you say was 'Dom, Dom...' over and over again. He been locked up yet?"

"He fled the country."

Eames stills.

The silence that follows is heavy. Out of the corner of his eye Arthur looks wrecked and Eames knows then.

Dread pulls his eyes closed and sinks down to his gut like an anchor. When he blinks them open its to witness lightning splintering across the sky in brilliant streaks of purple.

The rain has picked up.

"Come on," Eames stands, grabbing Arthur by the elbow. "Inside."

In their bathroom Eames towels Arthur dry. It's unnecessary as he's barely damp, but Arthur lets him and it gives his shaking hands something to do, and if he's towelling Arthur's hair, then he doesn't need to see the unhappy tremble of his lower lip, or the resolve in his eyes, and its one more thing before he fucking loses his temper.

Eames isn't sure whats worse -- seeing Arthur in pain, or knowing deep down what Arthur is going to do, which is what Arthur has always done, which is to bury his own grief and break his own heart so he doesn't have to think about the ways it was already done for him. Eames already knows. Fucking christ, he always does this, he doesn't know how to let himself fucking process a single --

The towel drops to the floor.

"Eames."

"Shh."

A wet sniffle. "I'm --- I'll need to. The kids ---"

"Go on, go sit on the bed, there's a lad."

Arthur goes, compliant. Following, Eames kneels before him and presses a kiss to Arthur's forehead.

Something wet falls to his clavicle and soaks into the fabric of his shirt.

"Eames," Arthur says again, voice cracking. "I need to ---"

"I know," Eames says, feeling sick and sorry for the both of them. He wishes he could shake Arthur and tell him to stop. He wishes he could reverse time and shake Mal too. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was going to ---

Eames collar is soaked when they disentangle.

Something cracks inside of him too. He thinks it's been a long time coming.

---

In the morning Eames leaves first, unable to bear the alternative.

#inception #arthur x eames #dreamhusbands #this is a vastly unedited lil draft but your ask made me think of it!!#here's one i prepared earlier

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luvwich · 9 months

Text

OC Interview: Vania

[camera template] ❧ tagged by @tarmac-rat — thanks choom! see the adorable interview with their Riley here

Name?

V: Vania Perez. Tiny Mike: Yo. Mike Kowalski. Interviewer: We've run a profile on you already, Tiny. Just getting to know Vania, here. Mike: Well it'll have to be a twofer, because I'm takin' her to dinner in an hour and I ain't just gonna putz around Kabuki the whole time like a fuckin' delivery drone. Interviewer (to V): We'll run this by you before it's published. V: Whatever.

Nickname?

V: Started going by "V" at Arasaka, but I'm looser about it these days. I like my given name. If someone wants to give me a different nickname, they are free to do so. Mike: You tell 'em, hotshot.

Gender?

V: I don't think this is an interesting question.

Star sign?

V: Taurus, though I'm not sure what it means. Mike: Far's I understand, it means she loves dick and gets croissant crumbs all over the bed.

Height?

V: 160cm. Mike: I dunno how to do the centimeters to feet an' inches, but she's definitely lying. Subtract four or ten or somethin'. [Interviewee's height was confirmed to be 159cm --ed.]

Orientation?

V: Big, strong arms and uncomplicated psyches. Mike: Aw, you like my arms?

Nationality/ethnicity?

V: Have a U.K. passport, as much as that's worth these days. My mother's parents were Puerto Rican, and I'm not sure where the sperm came from. Interviewer: You're not close with your father, I take it? V: No, I mean, my mum simply went to a sperm bank. She's old-fashioned like that. But I think she would have used that service that's just cloning plus gene editing if it were legal back then. (glancing at Mike) By the way, d'you know how much that costs? Interviewer: Uh, no.

Favorite fruit?

V: Mum used to acquire a pineapple for my birthday every year, but the last time I had one was at an Arasaka company party. Mike (looking up from a search for BEST PINEAPPLES NIGHT CITY): Wait, did you just say "acquire"? What is this, the Night City Literary Review? Interviewer: I'm from the Watson Weekly Mirror. Mike (muttering, returning to search results): Oh, those fuckin' hacks.

Favorite season?

V: Suppose it's autumn, but there don't seem to be seasons in Night City. Or else there are about forty of them and they are all slight variations on "filthy rain" and "heat stroke."

Favorite flower?

V: I don't think this is an interesting question. Mike: Answer it, sweetie. V: Jasmine, I suppose.

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

V: I like black tea with a bit of sugar and some cream. Mike: She likes a lot of cream. V: Are you writing down the things he says too? Interviewer: Yes. V: Do you accept bribes? Look, just give me a call before this runs, please. [Interviewee was unavailable for follow-up questions at the time this piece was published. --ed.]

Average hours of sleep?

V: Back when Arasaka was logging my biometrics and pumping me with all the good drugs, it was a consistent 6.25. I couldn't tell you now, though it's surely not enough. I haven't figured out how to use my new interface to start tracking it. Mike: Psh. Some "hacker." V: I'm trained in network security and combat quickhacking, love. That doesn't mean I know how to navigate neuralink menus or program your VCR.

Dog or cat person?

V: Mm, suppose I identify with cats more, but dogs and dog people are fascinating to me. Where do they find the energy to be like that? Mike: Damnit, gettin' hungry. Gonna run to the store for a snack. You need anything, babe? Tiancha? Locust jerky? Holobites? Foot rub? Anything?

Dream trip?

V: Okay, now that he's gone.. well, I really want to make it back home to London, but that's mostly to see my mother. I don't miss the town all that much. Been fucked for decades. But Mike's got this idea for a camping trip down the coast, and I have to admit I'm intrigued. I mean, it sounds dangerous and frankly a bit filthy, but I've never seen the rest of California, and I've heard it's still quite beautiful in parts.

Favorite fictional character?

V: So Jake, the protagonist of Bushido X, is really quite interesting because— Mike: I'm back. You talkin' bout those frickin' Bushido flicks again? God damn, when's this thing gonna wrap up?

Number of blankets you sleep with?

V: I don't think this is an interesting question and I'm starving.

Fun fact?

V: In physics, a "jiffy" is a unit of time measuring 3 × 10^−24 seconds. Also, we're late to dinner. Mike: Ciao.

[📸 by breezypunk]

tagging @another-corpo-rat @aggravateddurian @fly-amanitaa @leota-nexus if you wanna interview your blorbos (if you did this already and i missed it, drop a link! 💖)

#tag games #oc interviews #oc: vania perez #tiny mike #lw

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nightingaelic · 2 years

Note

Fallout 4 companions react to learning about Caesar's Legion (maybe from an ex-Legionary perspective who now realizes that he was used as a weapon by a ruthless fascist(

The sole survivor was in the corner of the Third Rail's bar, tilting their nearly-empty glass around in fascination as the man before them told his story. The tale itself was full of sand, blood, banners with a golden bull and a bottleneck in the Mojave where nations fell, and it was easy enough for the sole survivor's companion to slip in and listen while the stranger laid it out.

"Arizona," the sole survivor said in wonder when the man had finished. They downed the rest of their drink and pushed the glass forward for a refill. "And trying to recreate Rome... I was never really into ancient history, but it sounds like your Caesar didn't want the reality of that society, just the trappings of it. Am I right?"

The stranger inclined his head. "The change was quick, ruthless, but it brought stability where there once was none. You could even live well in the empire, if you kept your head down. But we lived in service to Caesar, not his Legion, and Caesar's thirst for conquest could not be quenched. It was his end, and thus the end of what he built. There was no empire without Caesar."

Cait: Cait's mouth had taken on an awful, bitter taste as soon as she realized that the man was describing a nation of slaves, and she swallowed the rest of her own drink to try to flood her senses. It didn't help much - the Third Rail's beer had its own bitterness. "Good riddance," she said instead, rubbing her neck. "Let men like him dry out in the desert, in unmarked graves."

"So he died in the Mojave?" the sole survivor pressed. "What killed him?"

"I don't know." The stranger pushed his hair back and glanced around the room. "There are stories, thick as bloodbugs after rain. Internal strife. Heart attack after the defeat at Hoover Dam. An old Legate, come back from the dead to exact revenge, or a newcomer with stars in their eyes and the city across the river at their back. Doesn't matter, I say."

"You're goddamned right it doesn't," Cait agreed. "What happened to his army? The people he took, to run his war?"

The man shrugged. "Scattered. Went home, or elsewhere if home was gone. Arizona roads fell apart again, raiders came back, but the old feuds were gone. Made it easier to band together, make something new."

"As long as it's not another slaving group." Cait huffed her dissatisfaction and slumped against the bar. "That's about the only good thing that comes out of wearing a collar. You find someone else who's worn one, you know them. Doesn't matter if they fought it, suffered alone or with others, tried to play it off like they were happier with one on, you just... know."

Codsworth: "I don't suppose this Legion was very popular, outside of the areas it occupied?" Codsworth asked anxiously. "I would hate to think that there were other nations like it, in what was once a great country."

"Popular or not, the fact that it grew into something big enough to occupy Arizona and beyond is enough to make you worry." The sole survivor sighed. "You fall asleep for 200 years and you wake up thinking that maybe things changed. But they didn't. I'd say I don't get it, but there's nothing left to get, I suppose. The world goes on."

The stranger nodded. "The Bull rose quickly, but it fell just as fast, aided by the Bear and the Colorado River itself."

"I say, bulls and bears?" Codsworth perked up. "What sort of creature are you talking about now?"

"The two-headed bear, the NCR." The stranger raised an eyebrow, sensing his audience was unfamiliar with the acronym. "The New California Republic. The image of the old world, born anew on the other coast, that arose to meet Caesar when he marched west?"

The sole survivor made a face. "New California Republic?"

"Image of the old world?" Codsworth repeated excitedly. "In, eh, in what way?"

"In every way. Progress, politics, destinies and dollars."

"Well that doesn't sound so bad." Codsworth turned to the sole survivor. "I should like to visit this republic someday, if that's alright with you?"

The sole survivor smiled. It wasn't unkind, but it had the ghosts of disappointment and resignation behind it. "Sure, Codsworth. Right after we're done in the Commonwealth."

Curie: "I do not understand," Curie said, furrowing her brow. "To rebuild L'Empire romain, or even to try to do so... this is a step backwards, no?"

The sole survivor and the stranger glanced at each other. Cure shook her head. "But why do this? Where is the sense?"

"Caesar saw strength in it," the stranger replied. "Rome endured, and he wanted the same for his Legion."

Curie looked supremely annoyed. "Strength comes in many, many forms, but ever since I set foot in the wasteland, the only strengths that seem to hold value are military might, and the length of time a thing may last. C'est incroyable. I am... I am sick of it! Adaptation, change, progress of knowledge and learning from past mistakes, where have these all gone?!?"

"You're telling me," the sole survivor agreed, passing her another Nuka-Cola Dark. "Imagine my surprise, leaving the vault after 200-some years."

"Hmph. Imagine mine!"

The stranger's eyes sparked. "If the past world was as well-off as you imply, it's a wonder it ended in fire."

"Oh no, don't put that on me." The sole survivor wagged their finger at him. "Curie here was built for a vault, so she didn't know the pre-war world much, but I spent long enough in it to know the majority of America was swept up in forces they couldn't understand, much less control. I didn't drop the bombs, some well-to-dos in suits did."

"An easy thing said aloud, by someone who escaped the destruction."

Curie frowned at the stranger on the sole survivor's behalf. "You escaped the Legion, Monsieur. Did you also escape the destruction it caused?"

"No."

"Well, then." Curie took a sip of the Nuka-Cola Dark. "If it is a debate of systemic failings you want, we are all more than prepared."

Paladin Danse: The Brotherhood Paladin that accompanied the sole survivor nodded along, recalling what he'd learned about the western chapters of his order and the trouble the Legion's rise had caused them. "I am glad to hear Caesar's government collapsed completely. From what I've heard, he was never sympathetic to the Brotherhood cause. His troops met ours in combat a few times."

"Indeed," the stranger said, in a tone of voice that suggested he might have done more than just hear about the clashes.

"How long ago were you in the Mojave?" Danse pressed. "Do you know if the Brotherhood chapter there is still active?"

"I am unaware of their current activities, but I believe the Knights brought their skills to Hoover Dam, when the time came."

"Outstanding." Danse smiled and sat back on his stool. "It's nice to know that there are people like us out there, wearing the same uniforms and carrying the same purpose - even if they're thousands of miles away."

"Uniforms, perhaps. Purpose?" The stranger shook his head. "The desert Knights vary, in belief and knowledge. Most struggle to hold onto their people, their way of life, as the NCR pours inland and the pull of New Vegas grows stronger. Some dream of things as they once were, speak ill of your Maxson and how he opened his gates to the wasteland. Some don't even know his name, or the name of the one he came from, their own forefather."

That stumped Danse. "They don't know the name of the first Elder? I thought the NCR named a state after him."

"The NCR has much to thank the Maxson line for, but in the end, time can only change a name into a common word. It will happen to their state, as it is happening to your brothers and sisters. They forget their sacred charge, carry out its motions without knowing the reasons, and they die out in their bunkers while history moves on. Like the Legion, their purpose contains a fatal flaw. A dead end, as Caesar used to say."

Danse glowered at him. The sole survivor cleared their throat. "Easy, Paladin. You weren't really expecting to find Brotherhood fans in Goodneighbor, were you?"

Deacon: From behind his sunglasses, Deacon eyed the stranger suspiciously. What he was saying rang of truth, given what he already knew about the Legion, but letting on the fact that he knew anything at all about Caesar or his failed attempt to build an empire might be the wrong move.

He shook his head when Whitechapel Charlie came over to refill their cups, watching the bot take his empty glass away with nonchalance. "Sounds like hell to travel through. Did you run into trouble, coming over to the East Coast?"

"None that you can't find elsewhere." The stranger studied him too, eyes dark and unreadable. He fiddled with the straps of the face mask he'd removed and set on the bar in order to drink. His hands were large, scarred from a lifetime of movement and pain. "Or here, if the things they say about the powers of the Commonwealth are true. Brotherhood, Minutemen, and more. Soldiers and spies... the same battles rage on, East or West."

The sole survivor seemed to have caught on to Deacon's hesitancy, and they drew the attention back to themselves. "Sure. Same shit, different bucket. You do something about it, or you learn to live with it. Like people under the Legion, I guess."

Deacon winced internally, but their careless statement had done the trick. The stranger turned his head on them, lacing his words with ire. "And what is living? The definition changes, if you ask an emperor or a slave. How much choice goes into the act of it? To tread the line of life and survival, to say what must be said to still draw breath, sate hunger, shelter through a storm... sometimes all one can do to resist a force like the Legion is exist, and existence is not enough."

The sole survivor smiled. "No. It isn't. But existence, endurance, in spite of something that wants you in chains or dead is still the first step."

They took a long drink from their glass, sighed, and ran a hand over their face. Deacon knew what they were going to ask, even before they opened their mouth. "Do you know what a synth is?"

Dogmeat: The sole survivor's hand dropped to Dogmeat's head, scratching behind his ear. Dogmeat whuffed softly and leaned into the attention.

"I'm sorry," the sole survivor said to the stranger who smelled of fire and sand, anger and regret.

The stranger closed his eyes for a moment. "There is nothing to apologize for. All of it belongs to history, now."

"Trust me, I know." The sole survivor finished patting Dogmeat and accepted a new drink from Whitechapel Charlie. "Everything that I used to be is history now, and ancient history at that. But I'm living proof the pain's still there. Known or unknown. So I'm sorry about what happened to you, and everyone else the Legion took."

It was a long time before the stranger answered them. The two sat there drinking in silence, staring at the bottles behind the counter and listening to Magnolia's song. It was a sad one, some Buddy Holly cover about rain and the misery of a broken heart, and it seemed both appropriate and wildly unmatched for the two figures grieving destroyed futures at the bar.

"Thank you," the stranger said, when the song was finished.

The sole survivor stood. Dogmeat rose immediately and looked up at them, ready to go.

"I'm glad I met you," the sole survivor said, extending a hand to their drinking companion. "If you ever want to stop looking for what you lost, come visit Sanctuary. I'm there now, most days."

Mayor John Hancock: "Damn shame." Hancock threw back one of the shots that Whitechapel Charlie had just delivered. "Then again, he sounds like some of the people I murdered in order to become the mayor. Either way, we drink."

The sole survivor raised their own shot, but the stranger declined. "Slower," he said, by way of explanation.

"Sure, sure, take it easy." Hancock winked at him. "Got all the time in the world, now that you're not fighting for some asshole who wants to dress up as a historical figure. Who does something like that?"

The sole survivor broke down laughing, and Hancock threw an arm around them and joined in. The hint of a smile played around the stranger's lips, but he remained silent and observant.

"So." Hancock slammed his shot glass onto the bar again. "Why are you here, now? Joining the Brotherhood, the Minutemen? Or just looking for work? You're welcome to use the VIP room, if you're lining up customers as a hired gun... or maybe something else?"

The stranger ignored his suggestive eyebrow waggle. "Walking roads not yet traveled."

"Taking in the sights, or something more specific?"

"Both. Neither. The journey is the destination."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, a poet." Hancock rolled his eyes. "You must be pretty good with that rifle on your back, if you can wander wherever you like and write songs about it, to boot."

"Not songs." The stranger's eyes gleamed. "Histories."

"Histories. My bad." The mayor of Goodneighbor grinned. "Enough about the Legion. How's New Vegas doing, these days? I've heard some wild stories from pre-war friends."

Robert Joseph MacCready: MacCready had gone rather pale as the stranger told his story, and the sole survivor turned to him in concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said, a little too quickly. "Er. Yeah. I'm okay."

"You're not."

"Uhh..." MacCready glanced at the stranger, then at the sole survivor. "It's just... it reminds me a little too much of the Capital Wasteland."

"I thought they'd stamped out slavery in the Capital Wasteland," the sole survivor said in alarm.

"Yeah, for the most part, but that's not what I mean." MacCready swallowed another gulp of his beer. "It's... the Brotherhood. I know, they're not trying to be Rome or whatever, but everything revolves around them, even if you've got nothing to do with the Citadel or Adams. They take what they want, and they use it to make themselves stronger."

"Slavery to a cause, a banner, without the collars." The stranger nodded. "No need for collars, if they write the histories themselves. No room for what might have been, what still might be... and the bull charges on."

"Gears," MacCready corrected him. "And swords."

"Putting a bull on their power armor might be a bit too on the nose," the sole survivor mused. "Then again, gears and swords aren't particularly subtle, either."

"Is that what brought you to the cradle of liberty?" the stranger asked MacCready. "Running from your own bull, mercenary? Or maybe some other bull, a greener one, that leaves skulls in its wake?"

MacCready wouldn't meet his burning eyes. "Let's change the subject," he said.

Nick Valentine: Nick Valentine sighed heavily. "'To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire, and where they make a desert, they call it peace.' Though I guess the desert was there already."

The stranger inclined his head. "And it remains."

"How'd you get out?" Nick asked. "By your own will, or circumstance?"

The man at the bar thought for a moment. "Both. Neither. Fortune and finesse often have ways of intertwining."

"Don't I know it." Nick accepted the new beer that Whitechapel Charlie had brought him and raised it up. "Here's to you and anyone else lucky enough to get out of that situation with their lives. From one runaway to another."

The stranger and the sole survivor raised their drinks in kind, and all three drank deeply.

Piper Wright: "This is gold." Piper was already a few pages deep in her ever-present notepad, scribbling furiously. "We rarely get visitors from the West Coast, traveling through all that territory in between... well you know, you made the trip."

The stranger eyed her notes with an unmistakable expression of mistrust. Piper chuckled nervously and tapped her pencil against the notepad's spiral. "Sorry. Force of habit. Is... is it okay if I log this? Just for my newspaper's files. I'm not going to write an article about you, or anything. Unless you want me to."

The sole survivor chuckled and shook their head. "She's harmless," they reassured the stranger. "Unless she thinks you're dangerous."

The stranger half-turned on his stool. His eyes swept across the room, lingering on the usual figures of Triggermen, mercenaries, wasteland wanderers and midnight revelers, all bearing scars from old battles. All armed to the teeth. Piper caught his meaning and smiled. "Dangerous beyond the norm," she clarified.

"Have to do better than that." The stranger shook his head. "Caesar and his Legion were dangerous, if you talked to the NCR... the raiders... the slaves. But ask the trade caravans who walked its roads, and they'd sing songs of praise. Ask the men who rose in its ranks, who carried its flag to Hoover Dam, of the glory they found. They'd tell you that the danger Caesar spread was merely the threat of change, on the horizon of the Bear's empire. Danger to some, but not to all."

"Yep, same thing the Brotherhood says if you ask them politely not to take your tato crop." Piper screwed up her mouth in thought, before nodding decisively. "I'd like to interview you. Properly. Feel like visiting my office in Diamond City?"

Rather than answer, the stranger finished his drink. He stood, adjusted the strap of his rifle, and let his braids fall in his face as he headed for the exit. Piper scrambled after him, and the sole survivor could make out her excited questions echoing all the way up the subway's stairwell.

Preston Garvey: Preston sighed and removed his hat. "I suppose Rome was around for a long time, but still... not the period of history I would have started trying to rebuild."

"Nah." The sole survivor nudged his arm playfully. "You're more of an American Revolutionary War buff."

Preston blushed a little and put his hat back on. "Seemed more useful, I guess. I didn't come up with it."

"But you kept it going." The sole survivor smiled at him, then turned back to the stranger. "Ever heard of the Minutemen?"

The man across from them inclined his head. "Heard of their strength, and how it waned. Heard of the fort's fall, of a massacre, of a march to Sanctuary."

The sole survivor and Preston glanced at each other. "So you've been in the Commonwealth before?" Preston asked. "I didn't think all of that was common knowledge, outside of the Boston ruins."

"Used to seek the uncommon out," the stranger offered.

"Uh-huh." The sole survivor took a deep breath and blew it out fast, mildly suspicious. "You never said what your job was, in the Legion. Intelligence, I'm guessing?"

The stranger's response was dull, the words heavy on his tongue. "Action. Movement. Shaping roads in darkness, for armies in the sun."

Both Preston and the sole survivor had their hackles up, now. Preston's hand twitched, and his eyes flickered between the man at the bar and the Minutemen general.

The sole survivor's next question was in a lower voice, under the music and bustle of the bar. "So what brought you here?"

The stranger considered his drink. When he finally answered, it was with a longing that Preston felt with his entire being, an emptiness that he sometimes found in himself, after Quincy. "Searching for a new nation. Looking for the sun."

Strong: "Not strong," Strong pronounced the men who had failed to coalesce after Caesar's death.

"Sounds like they were strong enough to cause trouble for a while, though," the sole survivor pointed out.

Strong shook his head. "Super mutant leaders strong in two ways. First way, strong."

He raised his arm suddenly and curled it, causing a few of the Third Rail customers nearby to flinch. The stranger didn't flinch, but he eyed the super mutant with wary interest.

"No strong, no leader." Strong flexed his bicep a few times before nodding. He let his arm fall again, and slapped the center of his chest decisively. "Second way, strong. No strong, no leader."

The sole survivor's gaze turned back to the stranger. "Does that about cover it? No one with the muscles or the heart to take charge, after Caesar died?"

"More to it than that."

Strong snorted. "Boring. Strong or not strong. Nothing else."

Slowly, the stranger nodded. A peculiar look came over his face. "Nothing else."

X6-88: X6-88 took the new information in silently, watching the stranger. The sole survivor had a penchant for approaching the most dangerous person in the room and attempting to befriend them, and more often than not, X6-88 felt nothing beyond mild annoyance at what second-rate raiders passed for menacing in the wasteland. But this man was different. Each new observation the Courser made was raising alarm bells. Scars over scars, jagged lightning across the man's muscled arms. The hard line of his mouth, which was only revealed from behind a breathing mask after purchasing a drink. The worn marks on the weapons he carried openly, indicating practice and familiarity. The weapons he was hiding, inside his long coat, boots, belt. The measured movements of his hands. The impassive light in his eyes.

Indeed, throughout his discussion with the sole survivor, the stranger kept looking the Courser over in turn, perhaps calculating what sort of threat he might pose. X6-88 hoped that his outfit, general demeanor, and refusal to participate in the discussion were enough to dissuade the stranger from any plans that might harm the one he protected.

By now, the sole survivor had tried to draw X6-88 into the conversation a few times, and was increasingly vexed each time he gave a one-word answer. "He's not going to shoot me at the bar," they said finally, gesturing at the man they had singled out. "He'd never make it out of here."

"I would," the stranger corrected them, without missing a beat.

X6-88 put his hand on his laser rifle. "You wouldn't."

And of course, the sole survivor set about scolding both of them for getting riled up over nothing, but over their protestations the two men continued to stare each other down. X6-88 was the only one who saw the stranger give him the slightest of nods. It could have been either a challenge or an indication of respect.

X6-88 did not return the nod.

BONUS!

Ada: "The western caravan companies must be in disarray," Ada surmised, shifting the weight of her protectron frame in a robotic show of interest. "Regime collapse tends to stall trade."

"No more than war," the sole survivor guessed.

"War can be good for trade," Ada corrected them. "Demand goes up for weapons, ammunition, supplies to feed armies..."

"Armies that are willing to pay." The stranger looked the robot over with mild interest. "Caesar took what he wished, if he was able."

"There must have been things he couldn't seize through conquest," Ada replied politely. "The last time I was in the Mojave, his movement had stalled at Hoover Dam. If he didn't control the dam, he must have been in need of electricity, which requires parts and manpower to generate and maintain."

"Lines from Kingman," the man answered, with a faraway look in his eye. "Poles marching north from solar panels, 80 miles along the 93. Salvage purchased or taken from the Mojave itself, dragged south by caravans and slaves. The Legates nailed an NCR captive to every other pole. Left them in the sun to dry. Said they would connect them to the dam itself, then New Vegas, until the line held every NCR soldier from Arizona to the sea."

He fell silent, and so did Ada and the sole survivor. While the latter started in on their drink with relish, Ada shook her assaultron head. "Shall we change the subject?"

Porter Gage: "Sounds like a few I've followed, over the years," Gage admitted. "No plan for what's next, when your number comes up. Course, most don't make it far enough to plan in the first place."

He raised his glass to the sole survivor and smirked. "Do better, Overboss. Watch your back."

The sole survivor rolled their eyes, but they drank as well. The stranger's glass remained untouched, his features hard and unreadable.

"So what brings you east?" Gage probed. "Looking for a new flag to follow? Or are you done with all that, going it alone? Could always use new guns at Nuka-World, if you're looking for work."

The stranger shook his head, and his braids swayed gently. "Not sure what I'm looking for, now, but I won't find it at Nuka-World."

"Come on, won't know until you come through."

This earned the old raider a look so cold that he forgot what sorts of attractions he'd been meaning to highlight at the old theme park. The sole survivor caught Gage's tongue-tied state and chuckled. "Leave off. He's got places to be that aren't covered in tonic residue and nukalurks."

Old Longfellow: Old Longfellow grunted his distaste for the subject matter. "Just another one."

The sole survivor and the stranger eyed him curiously. "Another what?" the sole survivor asked.

"Another man in costume, saying he's got answers." Longfellow shook his head and reached for the bottle of liquor that Whitechapel Charlie had left him. "And none to be found. Fog, sand, Atom or Rome... all the same."

He swallowed a gulp that was a little larger than he'd meant to and fell to coughing. The sole survivor slapped him on the back until he quieted, but Longfellow heard their sigh under his hacking outburst. Sorrow, maybe. Exasperation, more like.

The stranger, for his part, seemed like he was considering the old man's words. Longfellow didn't know if the Children of Atom had any churches in the Mojave, but if it meant that someone else thought harder before joining that radiation-worshipping cult, all the better.

Elder Arthur Maxson: "And Caesar's empire will not be missed." Maxson nodded decisively. "Its disruption of communities and widespread cruelty were renowned across the western deserts, even beyond Arizona and the Mojave."

"Cruelty. Hm." The stranger soberly studied the Elder. "There was no shortage of cruelty in the Legion, but their cruelty was only one tool in their arsenal. There are other ways to break a nation... break any hope of a future. To grasp at power. Isolation. Rhetoric. To put oneself on a pedestal."

Maxson caught the man's drift and glared over the rim of his drink. "Say what you wish to, traveler. Plainly, if you can."

"Easy," the sole survivor warned. "If Hancock has to throw us out again, he might-"

The stranger rose to the challenge, but unlike the Elder, his eyes weren't sparkling with the thrill of it. He looked just as tired as he had when he'd first entered the bar. "An ideal. Lost to time, most can see, but others refuse to let go of. Not a road the Legion is alone on, in this wasteland."

"You would equate my order with a kingdom of slaves?" Maxson slammed his glass down on the bar and pulled himself up to his full height. "The average wastelander might not grasp your veiled insults-"

The sole survivor rolled their eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"-but I know full well when someone is trying to-"

"Oi!" Whitechapel Charlie floated over, managing to make every one of his three eyes look cross. "Put a cork in it, or I'll call Ham down here for housekeeping. I don't care if you're the queen herself."

Desdemona: Desdemona's eyes narrowed. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't."

"My mistake, then." Desdemona smiled slowly, as if she'd plucked her answer from the stranger's very gaze. The two shadowy figures sized each other up, while the sole survivor looked between them with growing unease.

The stranger spoke first. "Heard tell of trains that run the length of the East Coast, bringing passengers by the handful out of one darkness and into another. Slaves of many flags walking the tracks, taking their chances elsewhere."

"We've all heard the stories," Desdemona agreed, sitting back in her chair. "I even heard some about a courier that came looking for those trains, and how he wanted to pull some passengers back into the nightmares they were running from. A courier with a flag of his own."

"I'm not following," the sole survivor muttered.

"I heard his flag changed, even before the bull was slain." The stranger seized his drink and stared into it.

Desdemona crossed her arms. "I heard otherwise."

"There may be truth there." The stranger took a long swallow from his glass and looked away, over the bar toward the neon signs that Whitechapel Charlie hadn't dusted in some time. "The flag, the uniform, even the skin may change, but who knows if the man beneath them has? He may not even know, himself."

"And that's his own business." Desdemona shook her head. "The rest of the world can't afford to assume good intentions anymore."

The sole survivor pushed their stool back and stood. "Okay, my head hurts. I'll be in the VIP room begging Hancock for Mentats if you need me."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fallout 4 #fo4 #sole survivor #companions react #caesar's legion #surprise #it's also ulysses content #lonesome road #12 days of ficmas

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running-with-the-feels · 9 months

Text

fuck it, I'm doing it, here's to @lunaria1 for enabling me!

Dogbird by Madds Buckley broken down lyric by lyric into Subscorp content

I think the entire song would be from Kuai Liang's perspective, with this being his internal monologue towards Hanzo.

"Sorry that I'm scared of thunder like a dog, I know that you love rain, but I cry when something shakes the walls"

Kuai Liang's entire life has been one emotional connection after another being ripped away from him in very painful ways, so for him, connecting with another person and trusting them is very hard and he can't always tell the difference between someone caring about him and someone wanting to hurt him. So while, for Hanzo, their relationship is joyful and good, Kuai Liang is struggling to understand it (Hanzo sees rain but Kuai Liang sees a storm)

"Tail between my legs, I scratch while you relax, ruffling feathers, watching storm clouds pass"

Ties into the same themes as the verse above but specifically I wanna talk about "Tail between my legs" bc we know that Kuai Liang is a very powerful warrior, but he's also been made to bow to others his entire life and that's not a habit that breaks easily. He's so used to being used that he can't really conceive of someone not wanting to do that. And if its Hanzo using him, someone he trusts and cares about, well....why not? He'll be kinder about it than any of the others and that's how you're supposed to love people anyways, right? (it isn't)

"Hoping I'll make you hate the thunder too, digging in my claws to make you hate me too"

I think both Kuai Liang and Hanzo are self destructive in a lot of ways, but where Hanzo tends to go for anger and destroying himself by destroying others, I think Kuai Liang would push ppl away. Kuai Liang would keep trying to sabotage the relationship thinking it would lead to nothing but pain for them both (except it won't) but Hanzo just won't let him, probably doesn't even realize that Kuai Liang is trying to push him away, and assumes he's just adjusting.

Now we get to the chorus.

"I can't stand you in my bed, you're too gentle. I need you to hurt me back instead"

Kuai Liang has been used and abused his whole life, I do not think he knows the difference between people loving him and people hurting him. He's starting to figure it out now that he's free, but it is a struggle. And all Hanzo wants is to love Kuai Liang and love him softly. At his core, Hanzo is a very gentle man, despite the damage he has done, he is very soft. So he keeps treating Kuai Liang gently and being kind and tender and Kuai Liang doesn't know how to make sense of it bc as far as he knows, love is supposed to hurt and this doesn't. He probs tries to goad Hanzo into hurting him during sparring too, and can only really relax after he's got some bruises to ground him.

"I wish I could take you back to California, where you'd never heard of creatures like me. Little bird won't you fly away, Little bird won't you fly away?"

He thinks Hanzo would be happier with Harumi, if she had lived, and wishes with everything he had that he could make that happen for Hanzo. Its not an entirely unfair assumption on Kuai Liang's part, nor is it malicious or angry, he just thinks that he's not good enough for anyone, much less able to measure up to the great love of Hanzo's life. He also keeps expecting Hanzo to leave him, to walk out the door and never come back and is always surprised when Hanzo doesn't

"And sorry that I roll over to my folks, it's not that I'm ashamed but they keep me on the leash to choke"

Lin Kuei Trauma! They fucked Kuai Liang up so much! I think that even though they are dead and he's disavowed so many of their teachings which he refuses to pass on, Kuai Liang still struggles to let go of them in his own life. So he keeps his relationship with Hanzo a secret and hides it from the rest of the defenders even tho neither of them really wants that, bc every time he thinks of telling someone and admitting that he cares about Hanzo as much as he does, he just gets terrified bc if the old Lin Kuei were still alive, they'd kill him for this (he's seen them do it to others) and that's a hard fear to get past.

"I'm a hunting breed, if they sniff you out, they gnash their teeth"

Kuai Liang thinks he's only good for killing, he genuinely does not believe that he is worth anything else. He's also Lin Kuei, and as much as he hates the old Lin Kuei and what they were, he was trained by them and a member, he can't always remember what it is that sets him apart from them. So I think in some ways he's also afraid that he'll hurt Hanzo just by being what he is, and he doesn't want to risk that.

"I'm a coward scared of living outside, even if it means I crush you at my side"

Now, I don't think any of us would describe Kuai Liang as a coward but he thinks of himself as one when it comes to love. Bc as much as he tries to push Hanzo away, to hide their relationship, to try and avoid pain by keeping them both apart, he can't make himself let go. He feels selfish for wanting to keep Hanzo, but he wants that more than anything, even if having it means destroying himself. He knows that Hanzo doesn't really want to hide their relationship but he does it anyways bc he can't bring himself to let Hanzo go, even if it means making them both miserable (which they aren't, they just have a lot to talk about and work through together)

Chorus repeats and then

"When the bell rings my mouth waters, I'm a habit that won't alter, I'm an instinct, don't you fear me? Hunting songbirds in my sleep"

Again, Kuai Liang still thinks of himself as Lin Kuei in the old way as much as he tries to distance himself from them and become something better (which he is), and he's so used to being put in life threatening situations where he can't trust anyone that he can't see things another way very easily. So, I think he lashes out when Hanzo's gentleness confuses him too much and he reverts back to the behavior he had adopted in the Lin Kuei to survive, even if he doesn't mean too. He always regrets it, but he can't stop it either.

"Sorry that I don't treat you like I should. I only lick my wounds, teeth bared and snap, 'you're all that's good'"

I think this would be Kuai Liang trying to apologize to Hanzo for pushing him away so much, but when Hanzo tries to push a little bit and figure out what is going on so they can resolve it, Kuai Liang lashes out again. He calls Hanzo "All that's good" as almost an accusation, in the sense of "You're too good for me, and you're too good to me and it scares me" and Hanzo doesn't know how to convince him otherwise, that Kuai Liang is safe and Hanzo doesn't want to hurt him or use him, only love him.

"If I chase you away, I'm back to chasing tail, running circles after what was real. And maybe one day, I'll catch it, and I'll cry, wishing that little songbird was still mine."

I think that what Kuai Liang fears more than anything is losing Hanzo, and he's terrified that Hanzo will finally give up and abandon him like Kuai Liang has been pushing him to do all this time, leaving Kuai Liang with nothing but the memories of someone who treated him gently with no ulterior motive. Hanzo never will, of course, he's going to drag Kuai Liang towards self esteem and mental stability if it is the last thing he ever does, kicking and screaming if need be.

#Kuai Liang is my babygirl and I will make him face the horrors #he's so traumatized and broken and I will put him through the emotional wringer #he gets a boyfriend out of it tho so its fine #kuai liang #hanzo hasashi #subscorp #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x #mortal kombat 11

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