#and from rookie to rocket

[wisteriagoesvroom]

i just KNOW these ladies run a piastri wechat group like it’s the navy… LET ME IN!!

(how good are these details omg);

[x]

[silent-sentinels]

werefox girlboy cotton candy craver with the voice of peneIope scott

🌻 Yearning [he/she]

[zorciarkrildrush]

There's always a day coming around where you see people all but frothing at the mouth at the news you might die today

[holyblonded]

‘merica baby | stargirl

pairings: uswnt x teen!reader

summary: your first camp with the senior team

warnings: estrella and sonnet 😭

notes: estrella menacing on a different continent alert 🗣️🗣️

The sharp thud of your foot striking the ball echoes through the training ground, followed by the unmistakable snap of the net rippling as the ball rockets into the bottom corner.

“Again. Top left this time,” the assistant coach calls, tossing another ball into your path.

You barely break stride, your body moving on instinct. A sharp touch to control, a quick glance, and then, boom. Another strike, that lands right into the left corner of the goal.

From across the field, a group of veterans watches you closely.

“Damn,” Kelley mutters, arms crossed as she observes the drill. “She’s got a cannon on her.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, eyebrows raised slightly. “And she’s hitting those. Not just power, placement too.”

Megan lets out a low whistle. “Kid’s a sniper.”

“Didn’t she leave the Spanish youth team?” Sonnett asks, tilting her head. “Like, just dipped?”

“Yeah,” Alex nods. “There was some shady stuff going on with a coach, and she called them out. Said she’d never play for them again.”

That gets some approving nods from the group.

“Takes guts,” Megan says, watching as you send another shot flying into the top bins like it’s nothing. “Especially at her age. It’s admirable.”

“Wonder what she’s like?” Sonnett muses. “She’s been all business since she got here. Intense.”

Right on cue, Tobin and Christen stroll over, looking smug.

“Oh, she’s funny,” Tobin says casually.

The vets turn to them, eyebrows raised.

“You met her?” Alex asks.

Christen grins. “Yeah. We ran into her when she landed. Sweet kid. A bit mischievous.”

“Mischievous?” Kelley repeats, intrigued.

Tobin nods, smirking. “Cute too. We like her.”

With a shared glance, the veterans decide it’s time to introduce themselves properly.

As you line up another shot, you hear footsteps approaching. You glance up to see Megan, Alex, Kelley, and Sonnett standing nearby, watching you with amused expressions.

Megan gestures toward the goal. “You trying to break the net, or…?”

You wipe your face with the sleeve of your training top and shrug. “Just making sure it knows who’s in charge.”

Sonnett snickers. “I like her already.”

Alex steps forward, offering her hand. “We just wanted to come say hi. Welcome to the team, Y/n.”

You shake her hand, glancing at the others as they introduce themselves. “I go by Estrella.”

Megan grins. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Tobin and Christen said you’re funny,” Kelley says, nudging you playfully. “You hiding that from us?”

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for the perfect moment.”

Megan throws her head back laughing. “Oh, she’s good.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, clapping you on the shoulder. “I think you’re gonna fit in just fine, kid.”

“I’m fine, Ale. I promise to call you before I head to training tomorrow. Love you, bye.”

You set the phone down, hoping to catch some shut eye, but as soon as you flip over in your bed you are met with the eyes of Emily Sonnet. Instead of screaming you stare back oddly.

“Is this is what it’s going to be like in America?” You questioned allowed.

Emily laughed off your comment and held out a hand, as if she had just made the most normal entrance in the world. “Welcome to the USWNT, rookie. You’re mine now.”

You blinked. “I—what?”

Sonnett grinned. “We’re pranking the team. Right now. Get up.”

Before you could protest, she yanked you out of bed, shoving a roll of toilet paper into your hands. “We have about an hour before anyone starts waking up. Let’s make it count.”

And just like that, you were running down the hotel hallway with Emily, trying not to laugh too loudly as you worked your way through the rooms.

You both snuck into Kelley and Crystal’s room, careful not to wake them. Emily pulled out a Sharpie and drew an elegant mustache on Kelley’s face, while you gently placed a cup of water on the top of the slightly ajar bathroom door, ready to tip over as soon as someone went in.

Before leaving, you whispered to Emily, “Think they’ll murder us in the morning?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she whispered back.

The next on the list were Lindsey and Rose. The two were dead asleep, so you simply rearranged all their furniture to be slightly off. The lamp was upside down, their shoes were swapped, and Rose’s training gear was mysteriously replaced with an oversized hoodie labeled PROPERTY OF SONNET.

This time for the Mewis Sisters, you left a small Bluetooth speaker hidden under their bed, set to play an ominous whispering sound at random intervals.

You heard the sisters exclaims of confusion, making you and Emily snicker.

Finally, feeling victorious, you and Emily sprinted down the hall to your final target: Tobin and Christen’s room.

The plan was simple, flip their room inside out, maybe saran-wrap their door. But as soon as Emily reached for the handle, the door swung open on its own.

Tobin and Christen stood there, arms crossed.

You froze mid-step. Emily, to her credit, at least tried to play it cool. “Oh, hey, guys! Crazy seeing you here.”

Tobin raised an eyebrow. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Uh…” You glanced at Emily. She was no help, suddenly very invested in the carpet pattern.

Christen sighed. “Emily, go back to your room.”

Emily grinned, clapped you on the shoulder, and whispered, “Good luck, kid,” before disappearing down the hall.

You gulped. Tobin turned to you, shaking her head. “You’re coming with us.”

You frowned. “Where exactly am I—”

“You’re sleeping in Alex’s room tonight,” Christen interrupted, already texting. “You clearly need better supervision. I don’t even know how you and Emily got paired together.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious? It was Emily’s idea!”

Tobin smirked. “And you went along with it.”

Minutes later, you found yourself standing in Alex Morgan’s room, rubbing the back of your neck as she tried to look stern—but you could tell she was holding back a smile.

“So,” Alex sighed, arms crossed. “You and Sonnett decided to prank half the team on your first night?”

You shrugged, a smirk growing on your face. “Technically, she decided. I just… assisted.”

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose but finally chuckled. “Alright, troublemaker, go to bed. I expect you bright and early at breakfast.”

“You know, you remind me of my mami. Your names are similar and you have the same disappointed looks on your face.”

You crawled into the spare bed, grinning slightly. Sure, you got caught and you got sentenced to Alex’s Supervision Jail, but it was better than your youth team days.

You should’ve known that waking up to Emily Sonnett looming over you at six in the morning meant trouble.

“Rise and shine, partner in crime,” she whispered, grinning like a madwoman.

You groaned and rolled over, burying your face in your pillow. “Sonnett, it’s six. In the morning.”

“Exactly. Prime time for pranking. Now get up, we’re going big at breakfast.”

Your eyes snapped open in interest as you squinted at her. “Define big.”

Emily’s grin widened. “I’m talking Hall of Fame-level pranking. Something they’ll talk about for years.”

You sat up, now fully intrigued. “I’m listening.”

She held up a small bag of sugar packets. Or what should have been sugar packets.

“That’s salt,” you deadpanned.

Emily nodded proudly. “Indeed, it is.”

It was then that you knew today was going to be amazing.

The team had barely started rolling into the dining hall when you and Emily made your move. Some players were still half-asleep—Lindsey had bedhead, Sam was blinking blearily at her cereal, and Rose was sitting next to her, dead-eyed, barely functioning.

Perfect. You took a deep breath, then dramatically launched yourself onto the floor like you’d just been hit by a freight train.

“MY LEG!” you howled, clutching your shin like you’d been mortally wounded.

Chaos. Immediate chaos.

Crystal Dunn jumped up so fast she nearly flipped her chair. “Oh my God, are you okay?!”

Kelley almost choked on her coffee.

Rose, still groggy, blinked at you in confusion. “Did… did you just fall on your own?”

Meanwhile, behind the distraction, Emily was working her magic.

She snuck behind the food counter, swapping out all the sugar in the coffee station with salt. Then, she grabbed the last plate of pancakes, lifted the top one, and doused the bottom layer with extra-spicy hot sauce before neatly stacking them back.

Her final masterpiece? Swiping Megan Rapinoe’s phone and changing the autocorrect settings so that every time she typed yes, it autocorrected to I love Sonnett and Estrella.

Crystal was now kneeling beside you, a hand on your shin. “Where does it hurt?” You blinked. Sat up. Stretched your leg.

“Never mind,” you said brightly. “I’m good.”

The room fell into silence.

Crystal blinked at you.

Kelley groaned. “This is what happens when we let Sonnett befriend the rookies.”

The first victim: Lindsey Horan.

She took a long sip of her coffee, expecting sweet, comforting caffeine. Instead…

“WHAT THE—” She spat it back into her cup so aggressively that it splashed onto her sleeve.

“WHO DID THIS? WHO REPLACED THE SUGAR WITH SALT?!”

Emily and you kept your heads down, shoveling food into your mouths like innocent angels.

Then Megan Rapinoe took a bite of her pancakes and immediately contorted her face.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL F—”

She lunged for her water, chugging it in record time while frantically fanning her mouth.

“WHO DID THIS?!” she wheezed.

Emily covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. You could barely hold it together.

Then came Kelley O’Hara. She picked up her phone, started typing, then frowned.

“…I love Sonnett and Estrella?” she read out loud, confused.

Her head snapped up.

Emily lost it. She was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair. Now, the entire room was onto you.

Tobin stood with her arms crossed. “You two are menaces.”

Christen sighed, rubbing her temples. “We should’ve kept her in our room last night.”

Alex, ever the responsible adult, stood up. “Alright, you know the rule. If you pull off this big of a prank, you pay for it.”

Emily elbowed you. “This is where she makes us run.”

Kelley, still trying to fix her phone, smirked. “Oh, you bet they’re running.”

And that’s how you and Emily found yourselves running endless laps around the training pitch while the entire team enjoyed their breakfast.

Some of the devils even cheered when you passed.

“Was it worth it?” Emily huffed beside you.

You glanced at the dining hall window, where Megan was still chugging water, Lindsey was glaring at her salty coffee, and Kelley was angrily texting while her phone kept auto-correcting.

You grinned. “No doubt, man.”

[astars-things]

Y/n hughes x Lando norris

based on the quadrant video (Lando Norris vs Rookie driver)

Lando leaned into the camera, his usual mischievous grin on his face as he got ready to speak.

“We don’t encourage driving without a license. We’re in a controlled environment, and yeah, please don’t try this at home. Enjoy the video!” he added, sending a wink at the camera before turning back to us.

This wasn’t Lando’s first time doing one of these driving challenges—he’d done a similar video before—but fans had been requesting we, the Hughes family, give it a go. And with the F1 and NHL seasons barely overlapping, we had exactly one week to film. The perfect timing to get some chaotic content.

The location? An empty car park, with a set of cones forming a makeshift mini track. The vibe was set for a lot of laughs and even more laughs at my expense.

“Alright, boys and girls, welcome back to another Quadrant video!” Lando said, pointing at each of us in turn. “Today we’ve got something a little different: the Hughes family versus me, the F1 driver, in a driving challenge.”

Quinn adjusted his hat, already analyzing the track like it was game tape. "What are we driving?"

"A very high-tech, high-performance machine," Lando deadpanned before stepping aside to reveal four identical small rental cars. They looked like something you’d find in a driving school. "And by that, I mean…these."

Jack burst out laughing. "These things? Oh, this is gonna be too easy."

“So,” Lando turned to me, trying to hold back a laugh, “Y/N here has never driven before. Like, at all.”

Jack scoffed. “Which is insane, by the way.”

Luke didn’t hold back. “You literally work for McLaren, you’re dating an F1 driver, and you still don’t know how to drive? I’m younger than you, and I have my license.”

Quinn was the worst. He just looked at me, deadpan. “That’s embarrassing.”

I rolled my eyes. "You guys always drove me everywhere. And then I started dating you, and you have, like, twenty cars, so…"

Next, the video cut to me in the driver’s seat of a tiny orange car, with Lando sitting beside me, and my brothers standing off to the side, ready to watch my inevitable fail.

“Alright,” Lando began, pointing to the pedals. “This is the gas, this is the brake. You only need one foot.”

I shifted awkwardly in my seat. “Wait, you get two pedals, but I only get to use one foot?”

Luke groaned. “Oh, come on.”

Jack had his hand over his face. “This is gonna be painful.”

Lando just chuckled, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Ignore them. You’re fine.” He adjusted my hands on the wheel. “Ten and two.”

“I feel like a grandma,” I muttered, already regretting my life choices.

Quinn grinned. “You look like one.”

Lando stifled a laugh, his voice turning patient again. “Alright, now, just press the gas lightly.”

I followed his instructions, and the car jerked forward like a rocket. I yelped, slamming my foot on the brake. The car came to a screeching halt.

Luke collapsed into a heap on the floor, laughing like he’d just seen the funniest thing in the world. Jack clapped his hands together, bent over in laughter. Quinn had his phone out, recording every single second.

“Y/N,” Lando said, barely keeping it together himself. “Maybe not that lightly.”

After a few more attempts—and more teasing from my brothers—I slowly started to get the hang of it. Lando was patient with me, guiding my every move, even letting me go a little faster once I looked like I wasn’t going to crash into the cones.

“I’m actually driving,” I said, my voice filled with surprise.

Lando grinned, his hand on mine. “Told you you’d get it.”

From the sidelines, Jack shouted, “You’re still going to finish last in this race.”

“Shut up, Jack!” I snapped.

Lando chuckled, giving my hand a squeeze. “You got this, love.”

[sagelasters]

scenario ideas for your fame dr(s) - requested <3

✶ you're a new runway model who was regarded as a rookie monster for your unique walk, standing out from the crowd of models, and high end brands instantly wants to hire you.

✶ you were casted as a character in a movie adaption of a famous book. people adore you because you embodied the character from looks to personality. your acting career sky rockets from here

✶ just chilling one day before you blow up on on social media because you're pretty as hell.

✶ you're a socialite known for your brutal, unfiltered opinions on social media (non-problematic). people love you.

✶ being a member of the royal family, already famous for your cleverness and beauty, but went viral because you were caught partying. ironically this made you an icon among the younger generation.

✶ you bought back the old victoria's secret but less bigotry and anorexia, more talents!

✶ aspired clothes designer and highly ambitious, your artwork were widely praised and loved, both for runway and casual wears. your brand turned high end in a short time.

✶ you're a lawyer brutally winning the court and went viral for serving face while doing it.

✶ getting to go on tours around the world for your new music album after the title song keeps hitting top 1 on weekly charts. private jet and luxurious hotels.

[octuscle]

From tutor to rookie of the year

Hi, my name is Jake. My company has hired me to tutor a few students with poor grades. That's not necessarily the reason why I started working at the auditing company. But first of all, I'm new here and I'm not going to refuse right at the beginning of my career. And secondly, becoming a teacher had actually been an option for me. Maybe it's fate now or something.

The first lesson gets off to a very promising start. I almost have to tear myself apart to leave your office and get to school on time. But when I arrive, there is a yawning emptiness in the classroom. Only after fifteen minutes I hear noise in the corridor and a couple of football jocks barge in the door. A few still in football gear. And all obviously unshowered after training. Phew, it stinks. And as I look into the handsome, square-cut faces of the boys spraying with testosterone, I'm suddenly back at school. The small, clever but shy boy who, at best, the stars of the football team overlook and, at worst, stuff into the toilet. I clear my throat and say that I'm not here for fun either and that I'm asking for some attention. The boys barely react. Damn it, it's not my problem. I explain a few linear algebra problems on the blackboard and ignore the paper airplanes. I have my school-leaving certificate. I have my master's degree. And my bonus doesn't depend on the grades of these idiots. At least I hope so.

After the debacle of the first tutoring session, my appetite for the second is very dampened. But it was already hard enough to get this internship. The firm is one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the city. And if my pro bono job as an intern is tutoring the idiots on the football team twice a week, I'll survive. Apart from the 60 hours a week in which I have to pore over balance sheets, that doesn't matter any more.

These days, the musclemen are even on time. And somehow nicer than last time. They even ask me reasonably sensible questions like whether you can predict the trajectories of footballs. I take this as an opportunity to tell them something about vector calculus. They collapse with laughter. "Bro, I was joking. And football isn't math. Football is strength and speed." I'm about to take a breath and say something about Newton and the relationship between force and speed. But instead of listening to me, the jocks start bragging to each other about their heroic stories on the field. And I can't help but listen to them spellbound. When the lesson is over, I look after them with fascination. I wish I could have been more like them at school.

Shit, because I'm the only nerd on the senior team who isn't a complete failure at sports, Coach made me give math tutoring to the football team. He thinks the Meatheads might have a little bit of respect for me. Shit! Them for me? I for them might be more correct! The thought of explaining math to my secret crush forms a wet spot in my Calvin Klein shorts.

I expected the boys to keep me waiting. If they were also punctual and disciplined off the pitch, they wouldn't need any help. And I don't want to tutor them any more than they want to be tutored. We reach a compromise. You listen to my math tutoring for half an hour. And then we'll go out onto the pitch for half an hour and play a bit of football. God knows I'm not unsportsmanlike. But soccer has somehow never been my sport. I'm more of a swimming pool or gym kind of guy. Team sports? Not really.

Shit, yeah, I'm no rocket scientist in math. But I have quite good grades in English and history. I'm not going to fail this year. Why the fuck do I have to go to tutoring with the other bros from the football team? I have no idea. But seriously, the tutor is a total loser. A beanpole in a stuffy shirt. The idiot even wears a tie. Seriously, who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear a tie, I'd change jobs. Or if I had to shower after training. Shit, these are just rules that can come from old fat men. Bros like me and my bros smell like test… Testo… Well that hormone stuff. Sweat, musk and Axe. If I didn't have to go straight to detention again, I'd let the loser smell my armpits… But I'm a sophomore on the team right now. Let the juniors and seniors do that.

"Jack, bro!" This is Chuck. The QB on the team. I can tell by his voice. And by his smell. And I'd also know it by the taste of his cheesy boner…. But he stays locked in his jockstrap cage right now. What a damn shame! "Bro, where were you in tutoring? The dean was there. You're in fucking trouble!" Shit, tutoring! I was at the gym. The other guys are all so pumped. I don't want to lag behind any longer. "Shit, dude, we said you were in the bathroom. The loser tutor didn't dare contradict us. But I think you have to let him suck you off so he doesn't tell on you." Hehehehehe, I like that idea. There are still 40 minutes until football practice… And I haven't cum yet today. "Is the loser still in the classroom?" I ask. Chuck nods. I fist bump him and say that I'll sort it out quickly.

If Chuck and Matt go to college next year, I have a good chance to be the QB. But until then I still have to build up a lot of mass. Those two are just in a whole different league. And I'm damn jealous of the hair on Matt's chest. You should see the bush under his arms. Dude, the man is going to be a fucking gorilla! Shit, I'm not half the man those two are. You can tell immediately by the size of the bulge in our compression shorts. Nevertheless, neither of them mind if I fuck them. But they like fucking me even more. Without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

We skipped tutoring again today. Coch covers for us while we're in the gym or doing our laps on the cinder track outside. Nevertheless, it's still up in the air whether Chuck and Matt will be at college next year. And whether I'll be a junior by then. But screw it, NFL pros don't need to know math.

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Mercs x gn reader who’s blind? They’re not a fighter or something but they help around keeping the base in check or something, they have really good hearing.

Can tell the guys apart from their footsteps, even catching Spy off guard when they noticed him sneaking about.

One thing they want to familiarize with the Mercs are their face shapes. They may not see them with their eyes but they picture them to match their voices. GN Reader adores being around these noisy men.

TF2 Mercs with a blind reader (Most notably Spy..)

Warning: Brainless imbeciles

EDIT: I MISREAD THIS ASK IM SORRY THE BLIND READER IS A MERC AAAAAAA

Scout:

-He is wracked at first with the misinformation surrounding blindness. At first, he thinks your world is completely dark. Night-time type of darkness and you have no ways of seeing his shape whatsoever. Which might be half true for some of you, but imagine his awe when you look directly at him after being spoken to. You could hear this idiot nagging from a mile away.

- “Wait, so do you know i’m white?” “I’m blind, Scout. Not stupid.”

- He’s clearly been unsocialized to those with vision impairment. It shows in his borderline stupid behavior. Waves his bat in front of your face and then winces when you angrily grab it and yank it away from him. Thats when he discovers that blind people typically don’t enjoy that. Gee, you learn something new everyday!

- Runs really fast by you on the battlefield and your face follows the exact direction from where he came from to where he was going. He saw this for a split second and needless to say, he envies your heightened hearing. You had a mildly interested expression the entire time. As if trying to discern if that was an enemy scout or not. Hmm, no. It’s definitely your scout. Nobody else uses that pretentious ass expensive cologne from tuefort’s strip mall. You wanted to gag.

- You could hear him easier than any other merc. His footsteps were simply too evident and easy to identify due to the rhythmic fast-pace. Like an annoying fly buzzing past your ear. (In all honesty, you’re not too far off.) Scout gave himself away way too easily and it concerned you a bit.

——————————————————————-

Soldier:

- “LOOK ME IN THE EYES WHEN I’M SPEAKING TO YOU, ROOKIE!” Soldier says confidently. You glare and say “Well I’d do that if I could see where your fucking eyes are.” aaaaand cue soldier’s immediate realization and instant guilt. These men seriously just speak out of their ass impulsively like babies.

- Bumps into you on accident in the hallway a few times and you certainly don’t need vision to know he opens his mouth in protest before immediately closing it and apologizing profusely for not being mindful enough toward your position. In fact this is beginning to happen a lot more than the other mercs for some reason.. The other ones EASILY move out of your way or make space politely. Yes, even Spy and Medic.

- You approach him one day; and you ask him if he might consider he has vision problems as well. Soldier quietly ponders the thought before audibly shrugging. You shake your head and ask him if he has any blurry vision, blind spots and whatnot. He mentions the top half of his eyes are pretty much dark. You blink for a second, then reach out to touch his head. Feeling something hard and metal.. You pull it off his head and he’s like “HOLY MOLY MARY MOTHER OF ROCKET JUMPING CHRIST! YOU FIXED MY BLINDNESS, PRIVATE! YOU MUST BE A DESCENDANT OF THE GOOD LORD JESUS!” Yes, it was his oversized helmet.

- You rub the bridge of your nose for a moment, utterly fucking tired and it’s not even ten yet.

——————————————————————

Demoman:

- SAME HAT! Sort of. Demoman is missing an eye, and his blind spot is annoying. You’ve both sort of unintentionally bonded over your poor eyes and after memorizing where his blind spot was, you make sure to walk up behind him in that exact area to startle him. Which usually results in both of you howling in laughter.

- You nervously ask demoman to be your eyes on the battlefield one day while anxiety is quite intense. Demoman shakes his head in irritation. “Ye do know I have horrible depth perception, everybody and der mother is movin at mach 10!?” and you respond “Great! We’re fucked.” You were indeed not fucked. Both of you managed to tough it out by ears alone. You make a great team and demoman is blessed to have you. You protect each other expertly.

- If you happen to have a white cane by any chance, prepare to do childish pretend sword battles with him during dinner time. Don’t worry, he’s using a broom. God knows that eyelander would actually try to kill you and everyone else in the room. Miss pauling is very displeased by your guys’ table manners.

————————————————————————

Engineer:

- You inspire him a bit. He was always a bit secretly doubtful of his own abilities after losing his hand in battle. It gave him a nagging insecurity that he’d fuck up in some way, or was no longer qualified due to his disability. You completely destroyed that insecure side of him. The way you effortlessly kill and complete your missions has made him feel better.

- You’re in his workshop one night, and you’ve memorized pretty much the entire layout of the room as this point. Minus maybe a few annoying bolts on the ground here and there that you dance over. You approach him and put your hands on his shoulder. Which he responds to by rubbing your left hand. “So uh, are you making some weird contraption that’ll fix my eyesight or something?” You ask as a joke.

- Engineer sounds offended by such a thing. “You don’t feel broken, do you? I’m not doing that.” He says sternly. “You’re not broken, Y/N. If you want I can make somethin’ partner but there’s nothing wrong with you and I don’t want you to feel that way. You’re no toy to be fixed so that everyone else is somehow comfortable! If ‘em boys are bothering you why I oughta—“

- You sigh in slight exasperation from the random dad rant but in the inside you’re thankful for his words. You hug him tightly in gratitude to shut him up and then feel a cold metal touch your arm. You look down, unable to discern the shape of the object. But it’s undoubtedly robotic-feeling. “Whats that?” You ask. Engineer pauses. Realizing he had taken his glove off. He realizes now’s a good time to remind you he’s on your side. He strokes you with his metal hand to soothe you. “Let’s just say we aren’t too different in some respects, sugar.” And his words is what makes you realize what it is.

- You drag the metal hand to your cheek and feel the cool claws against your skin. The thumb of the machinery rubs your chin.

————————————————————————-

Heavy:

- He figures out you’re blind right away and he genuinely doesn’t give a shit. He finds everybody equally annoying, like I said beforehand. You’ll notice as aforementioned he moves out of your way in the hallway however and aids you around the building whenever you ask him. He seems to care.

- He asks you how big he is from your perspective. You can answer that pretty confidently. The truth of the matter is that he’s the most recognizable due to his large body, rumbling voice, and massive footsteps. He nods and slightly smiles with reassurance. Good. Even those with eyesight problems know he’s dangerous. excellent. Just the way he likes it.

- Heavy fully trusts in your abilities and makes no attempts to help you in battle unless you ask. He’s seen you bash heads in one too many times without much thought and it’s safe to say they made a great call hiring you. Clearly you don’t let being blind affect your work whatsoever. In a weird sort of way, he feels oddly proud of you but won’t ever voice it outloud.

- You save him from a Spy and this causes a distant, disheveled look in his eyes as you run off and he stops whirling his gun. It isn’t often his kindness is rewarded like this. (Also now he’s wondering if he should ask Medic to give him supersonic hearing.)

———————————————————————-

Pyro:

- Pyro doesn’t realize you’re blind at all at first. It’s just not something they think much about when accessing new friends. His mind isn’t on scoping out their inherent “flaws” but rather scoping out how well you treat the others around you. Which is an odd thing for Pyro considering they’re quite content on vandalizing shit, disregarding people’s worldly positions and their feelings on it, and overall being an unforgiving nutcase who’d 100% bite off all the heads of their animal crackers and put them back in the box.

- Once they figure out you’re actually not here to cause damage, they seem to warm up fast. Pun intended. I think the moment they realize something’s wrong is when they silently point out a sniper around the corner with their pointer finger and you don’t even flinch. In their stead, Soldier audibly reminds you. This causes pyro to re-think how you might perceive some stuff.

- They begin to psychoanalyze you more out of habit. You seem to disregard a lot of certain visual stimuli in favor of sound. Without even asking you they figure out after a while that you’re blind and quickly adjust their behavior to better accommodate you. Instead of pointing at danger for example, they grab your hand and make you point at it… Which works, I mean. But he could just speak, y’know? It’s not like you can’t hear them better than anyone else over that gas mask.

- Pyro figures out how to convey signals to you without having to do the hard task of speaking. Two taps on your shoulder meant spy, one tap meant sentry around corner, and so on. Not only did this hide his intentions from the enemy team but helped you team up with them quickly.

————————————————————————

Sniper:

- Ugh.. Sniper is much like Scout in the sense that he has no clue how to respond to a blind person. He quickly assumes you’re inept at first and begins prioritizing your position on the battlefield more than anyone else. Shooting down key targets that get too close to you; or get in a quarrel with you. It’s flattering really but you can hold your own in a fight just fine. This is affecting your performance.

- You admittedly lose your mind and yell at him. But to be honest he had it coming with his stupid assumptions. Sniper doesn’t even complain nor move a muscle as you shout at him and storm off. He immediately feels regretful and tips his hat forward. Once again he’s lost another potential friend to his own behavior. “I was only trying to keep you alive.” He mutters to himself as he turns away. Unbeknownst to him, you heard it.

- Convinced, you sigh and walk back to him and run down the fact that you’re independent, and that you appreciated it but it’s important you complete things by yourself. Then you bitterly apologize for yelling at him. You could have swore you heard a soft “Sorry too…”

- This unexpected softness from a hard rough and tough guy like Sniper is what makes you reconsider him. He’s willing to fess up and apologize for having a bias. He just sucks at it. You forgive him hesitantly and you learn to not regret that later. Because he soon learns that you’re simply equal to all the other mercs and treats you as such.

———————————————————————-

Medic:

- Come on now, really? He already has his hands on your medical history the moment you walk through the door. He doesn’t skip a beat whenever idly scanning for things he should keep note of. Medic never even asks you if you’re blind. He simply acts as though he’s always known. Opening doors for you, directing you if you truly need it. Aggressively shoving the other mercs out of the way to make way for you so he doesn’t need to tend to BOTH your wounds.

- At first you suspected him to go crazy over time and check your eyesight curiously like a wet specimen in a jar. But his indifference is.. Slightly unnerving. You decide to enter his office and hesitantly remind him that you’re blind. Because you genuinely don’t know at this rate.

- “So..?” He asks. Rather rudely at that. You want to exhale loudly in anger so badly. Why was everyone in this fuckin’ place so mean?? Medic takes his glasses off and readjusts the position of his desk papers. “Should I act upon this more and enforce more adjustments?”

- “No—“ You say slowly. “I didn’t know you even knew. Normally you’d go crazy with curiosity whenever someone is even mildly different than you in an attempt to understand them.” You tell him. This causes him to sort of put his fist to his lips and snort. Holding back a laugh. “What? You think I haven’t met a blind person before? You’re forgetting i’m a doctor. Plus that just means we’re safer with you around. I’d rather not be backstabbed a thousand times each round anymore.”

- Agh.. That explains it. That yellow folder on the table with the blurry photo of your image also explains it.

—————————————————————————-

Spy:

- FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- His poor pride is in pieces on the ground whenever you’re nearby. The other mercs can visibly see his fists clench into a ball and swear they see his eye twitch. Scout especially wonders if you’re going to be the one who finally blows his lid. Why? JUST WHY? Why can you hear him when nobody else can? He’s like a magician the way he disappears into the shadows. So why does it not affect you?

- He’s superior in every way and he knows it. So why is it whenever he’s lightly walking along the hallway to have a smoke break that you turn around and greet him? Truly, nobody else walks as gently and lightly as he does. His footwork to your ears is like a tiptoeing predator in the bushes the way he walks so slowly to achieve stealth. He freezes in place and grits his teeth everytime you do this… Then suppresses his own unholy wrath and stumbles away.

- .. You’re making him needlessly paranoid. He can’t work under these conditions. If you can sense him, then surely eventually the other team will? Congratulations on singlehandedly causing this old man work related silent panic attacks. His hair is falling out more than usual and he’s staring at himself in the mirror, with a dead gone expression. Staring into the void. He’s dissociating now.

- Tries to outsmart your own heightened senses in any way he can. The closest he’s gotten is maybe sneaking into your room while you were asleep to check your drawer and you woke up due to the sound of the drawer opening. After rolling around to face him, his cat-like eyes in the darkness disappeared as fast as they came in. WHOOOOSHHHhh went his cloak. You could even hear him tapping his watch in the process. Really, you didn’t understand how he was such a huge threat to the other team.

[lila-lou]

✨Rookie - 1/3✨

Summary: You took the job for the paycheck—not expecting your colleague with wild hair and too many piercings to be this charming. Turns out, behind the sarcasm and mustard doodles, he’s kind of impossible not to fall for.

-requested-

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 3000

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Your hands gripped the straps of your backpack as you stood outside the small, quirky sandwich shop. A neon sign flickered above the door, casting a soft glow onto the sidewalk. The scent of fresh bread and sizzling bacon wafted through the air, mixing with the salty breeze from the nearby ocean.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open, the bell above it jingling to announce your arrival. The shop was cozy but chaotic—walls covered in bizarre decorations, a chalkboard menu filled with sarcastic commentary, and a few customers scattered around, laughing over their meals.

"Newbie alert!", a voice called out from behind the counter.

Your eyes landed on a guy with wild, spiky hair dyed in different shades of blue and green, multiple piercings, and a smirk that practically screamed trouble. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, sizing you up like you were the most interesting thing to walk in that day.

"You must be the fresh meat", he added, tilting his head.

"Uh… yeah. I’m (Y/N). Here for the job?". You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that everyone in the shop was watching this interaction.

The guy grinned wider. "Well, well, welcome to our little slice of chaos. Name’s Priestly". He stuck out a hand, and when you hesitated, he wiggled his fingers impatiently. "C’mon, I don’t bite… unless you forget to restock the pickles".

You shook his hand, his grip firm but warm. Before you could say anything else, a woman in an apron emerged from the back, clapping her hands together.

"Alright, enough hazing the newbie, Priestly", she said with a smirk. "I’m Jen, the owner. You’re on register and prep today. Think you can handle it?".

You nodded quickly, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

"Good. Priestly, show them the ropes", Jen instructed before disappearing into the kitchen.

Priestly turned to you, his smirk never fading. "Alright, rookie. Rule number one: Don't mess up my sandwiches. Rule number two: If a customer gives you attitude, give it right back. And rule number three…". He paused dramatically. "Actually, I make up rule three as I go. Let’s see if you survive your first day before we get to that".

You couldn't help but laugh, already sensing that working here was going to be anything but boring.

You followed Priestly behind the counter, trying your best to focus on what he was saying instead of how distractingly cute he looked. It wasn’t just the wild hair or the piercings—it was the way his smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the way his eyes lit up when he teased you. He had that kind of effortless confidence that made it impossible to ignore him.

"Alright, rookie", he said, tossing an apron at you. "Let’s start with something simple before I throw you into the deep end. You ever make a sandwich before?".

You raised a brow. "Of course. It’s not rocket science".

Priestly gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Blasphemy. A sandwich is an art form, my dear (Y/N). A masterpiece of balance and flavor, crafted with love and a tiny bit of spite". He winked before pointing to the ingredients in front of you. "Now, let’s see if you have what it takes".

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile as you reached for the bread. You started assembling a basic turkey and cheese sandwich, trying to ignore how closely Priestly was watching you. He leaned in, chin resting on his hand, observing every move you made.

"Not bad", he mused. "But you forgot the most important ingredient".

You frowned, scanning the sandwich. "What? What did I miss?".

Priestly’s grin widened. "A little bit of flair". Before you could react, he grabbed a bottle of mustard and, with a dramatic flourish, drew a ridiculous smiley face right on top of the sandwich.

You blinked. Then, before you could stop yourself, you laughed. "That’s your big secret ingredient? Mustard doodles?".

"Hey, presentation matters", he said, tapping his temple like he just revealed the meaning of life. "Plus, it makes the customers smile. And happy customers leave better tips".

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. Priestly was ridiculous, but in a way that was kind of… charming. He pointed at you with the mustard bottle, narrowing his eyes playfully. "You’re not bad, rookie. Maybe I won’t scare you off after all".

You met his gaze, feeling a warmth in your chest you hadn’t expected. "Guess you’re stuck with me, then".

His smirk softened just a little, and for a split second, you swore you saw something else in his expression. Interest? Amusement? Maybe something more? But before you could figure it out, he straightened up, flipping a rag over his shoulder. "Alright, (Y/N)", he said. "Time for the real test. The lunch rush is coming, and you’re about to see just how crazy this place gets".

You took a deep breath and nodded, ready for whatever was next. Though, if you were being honest with yourself, you were more distracted by the fact that maybe this job wouldn’t just be about earning money for college. Maybe, just maybe, Priestly was about to make things a whole lot more interesting.

The past few weeks had been a blur of messy sandwiches, sarcastic banter, and way too many inside jokes with Priestly. Somewhere between the chaotic lunch rushes and late-night cleanup shifts, you had fallen into an easy rhythm with him. He teased you relentlessly, but you gave it right back, and somehow, that felt like the best part of your day.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you had started looking forward to your shifts—not just because of the paycheck, but because of him. The way he’d toss you a knowing smirk across the counter, the way he’d steal your fries when you took a break, the way he’d nudge your shoulder just a little too long when he walked past you.

And now, it was just the two of you, closing up for the night.

You wiped down the counter while Priestly counted the last of the register money, humming some song under his breath. The shop was quiet, the usual buzz of customers replaced by the distant sound of waves crashing outside.

"You know", Priestly said suddenly, snapping the register shut. "You didn’t turn out so bad".

You smirked. "Is that your way of saying you’d be lost without me?".

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. "Me? Lost? Never. But… I might be slightly less entertained if you weren’t around".

You rolled your eyes but felt warmth creeping up your neck. Lately, his teasing had felt different—less like a joke, more like a challenge. A dare.

Priestly leaned against the counter, watching you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, listen", he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was thinking… We’ve been working together for a while now. And since you haven’t run screaming yet, I’m gonna assume you don’t hate me".

You raised a brow. "I tolerate you at best".

"Right, right", he nodded. "So, theoretically, if I asked you out, you wouldn’t immediately throw a sandwich at my face?".

Your heart skipped. He was joking… right? You searched his face, expecting to see that same playful smirk, but there was something else there this time. A flicker of uncertainty. Like he actually cared about your answer.

You crossed your arms, pretending to think. "Depends. Would this be a real date or just an excuse to force me to try some weird sandwich combination you invented?".

Priestly grinned. "Oh, it’s definitely a real date. Though, now that you mention it, I could make you my experimental peanut butter and jalapeño masterpiece…".

You wrinkled your nose. "Absolutely not".

"Okay, okay, fine", he laughed. "No weird sandwiches. Just me, you, and some actually decent food. What do you say?".

You met his gaze, feeling the same warmth you’d been trying to ignore for weeks. Maybe you should’ve seen this coming. Maybe you had. Either way, there was only one answer. "Yeah, Priestly", you said, unable to fight your smile. "I’d like that".

His grin widened, and for once, he looked almost… nervous. "Cool. Uh, great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then?".

"Looking forward to it", you teased.

As you finished locking up and stepped out into the cool night air, Priestly nudged your shoulder like always—but this time, his fingers lingered just a little longer.

The next evening, just as the sun was setting, you heard a knock at your door. You smoothed down your outfit—casual but nice, nothing too fancy because, well, this was Priestly—and took a deep breath before opening it.

And there he was, standing on your doorstep, looking… well, different.

His hair was still its usual spiky mess, but he had toned down the wild colors a bit. No crazy sandwich shop apron, no sarcastic t-shirt with some ridiculous slogan. Instead, he wore a worn-in hoodie over a band tee, jeans that actually fit him well, and—shockingly—he wasn’t wearing his usual combat boots.

"You clean up nice", you teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Priestly scoffed. "Don’t get used to it, rookie. This is a one-time deal. Special occasions only". He wiggled his brows. "Speaking of special—are you ready for the best first date of your life?".

You crossed your arms. "That’s a bold claim".

"Oh, I deliver", he said, holding out a hand. "Come on, you’ll see".

Curious, you let him lead you outside, where his beat-up old car was parked. Instead of heading toward any restaurant or movie theater, he drove you out of town, past the usual busy streets, toward the beach. But not the main part—the crowded boardwalk or touristy spots. No, he took a detour, turning onto a barely visible dirt path that led to a secluded stretch of sand, hidden behind a few rocky cliffs.

As he parked, you stepped out, glancing around. The sky was a deep orange fading into dusky blue, the ocean waves rolling in with a calming rhythm. "A private beach?", you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Priestly grinned. "I have my secrets". He popped the trunk, pulling out a picnic basket, and your eyebrows shot up further.

"You… packed food?".

"Hey, don’t sound so shocked", he said, walking toward a flat spot in the sand. "I figured, since we spend all our time making sandwiches, we might as well actually enjoy eating them for once".

You followed him, watching as he laid out a blanket and started pulling out an assortment of snacks. Not just sandwiches—but chips, fruit, even a couple of chocolate bars. He sat down, patting the spot beside him.

You sat down next to him, watching the ocean, the distant sound of seagulls mixing with the waves. It was peaceful. Private. Just the two of you.

Priestly leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out. "So. Scale of one to ten—how impressed are you right now?".

You pretended to think. "Mmm… solid seven".

"Seven?!". He turned to you, looking personally offended. "You’re telling me this perfect combination of location, food, and my undeniably charming company only gets a seven?".

You smirked. "Fine. Eight. But only because of the chocolate".

He groaned, shaking his head. "Unbelievable".

You laughed, reaching for one of the sandwiches. As you unwrapped it, Priestly glanced at you, his usual smirk fading into something softer. "Hey", he said, nudging your knee with his. "I’m really glad you said yes".

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. "Me too", you admitted.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The ocean breeze was cool against your skin, the sky darkening into soft purples and blues. Priestly sat up, leaning closer.

"You know", he murmured, his voice lower now. "I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. But you… kinda freak me out".

You blinked. "I freak you out?".

He chuckled. "Yeah. Because you’re not like anyone else I know. You keep up with me, call me out on my bullshit, and somehow, you actually make work fun". He hesitated. "And, uh… you’re kinda ridiculously cute, which doesn’t help".

Your heart skipped a beat. "You think I’m cute?".

Priestly rolled his eyes. "Come on, don’t make me say it twice".

You grinned, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the setting sun. "Well, for the record", you said, nudging him back, "I think you’re pretty cute, too".

For once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, he just watched you, his eyes flickering to your lips for the briefest second before he cleared his throat and looked away.

"Okay, so maybe this date deserves at least a nine", you teased, breaking the tension.

He groaned, throwing his head back. "I should’ve just stuck with the peanut butter jalapeño sandwich".

You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder as the waves crashed against the shore.

The conversation between you and Priestly flowed effortlessly, filled with teasing remarks, laughter, and occasional moments of quiet honesty. The sun had fully set by now, the only light coming from the moon and the distant glow of city lights on the horizon. The air was crisp, but the warmth of Priestly’s body next to yours kept you from feeling the cold.

At some point, he had shifted closer, his knee bumping against yours, his fingers brushing over the back of your hand when he reached for another snack. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think so at first. But as the minutes passed, those accidental touches became more deliberate. A casual arm draped over your shoulder. A lingering press of his fingers against yours when you handed him a chocolate bar.

And then, as you were mid-sentence about some ridiculous customer you had to deal with earlier that week, Priestly reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You froze.

It was such a small gesture, but something about the way his fingers lingered at the side of your face, the way his thumb brushed over your cheek so lightly you barely felt it, sent a shiver down your spine. "You’ve got, uh… sand in your hair", he murmured. His voice had dropped, softer now. Deeper.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of just how close he was. "Thanks", you whispered.

But Priestly didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in closer, his lips curving into that signature smirk, though this time it wasn’t teasing—it was something else. Something more dangerous. "You know", he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "you keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me".

You let out a breathy laugh, but it came out a little shaky. "Maybe I do".

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before something new flickered in his eyes—something darker. More intense.

And then, before you could say anything else, he shifted, pushing you back gently until you were lying against the blanket, the cool sand underneath cushioning you. Your breath hitched.

Priestly was hovering above you now, one arm braced next to your head, his body caging yours in. His face was inches from yours, close enough that you could see the way his pupils had blown wide, the way his lips parted slightly as he stared down at you.

"Well, that makes two of us", he murmured.

Your heart pounded as his hand found your thigh, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, just beneath the hem of your dress. The touch was barely there, but it sent a jolt through you, heat pooling in your stomach.

His eyes flickered up to yours, searching. He was waiting—for you to stop him, to encourage him, to do something.

Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted this. You wanted him. But then, you swallowed hard, your body tensing beneath him. "Priestly, I—".

He stilled immediately.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I just… I’ve never done this before".

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, his expression softened, and he pulled his hand away from your thigh, shifting back slightly to give you space.

"Hey", he said gently, his teasing edge completely gone. "It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for".

You bit your lip, embarrassed. "I—I mean, I want to, I just—".

"Shh", he interrupted, pressing a finger lightly to your lips. "No explanations needed, (Y/N)". He smiled, softer this time. "I kinda like that I get to be the first guy to make you feel this way".

Your face burned. "Priestly—".

He chuckled and leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead instead of your lips. "Relax", he murmured. "We’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere".

Your heart melted at that.

He shifted off of you, lying back down on the blanket beside you instead. After a beat, you hesitantly curled into his side, resting your head on his chest. He let out a contented sigh, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

You stayed like that for a while, just listening to the waves, to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. And as you closed your eyes, you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t nervous anymore. Because Priestly was right. You had time.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 2

-

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[himbodruid]

Storm

CW: mentions of death, PTSD, trauma, survivor’s guilt

Oneshot heavy angst Rafayel x Reader

You survive a horrific event and seek out Rafayel on a stormy night

Not NSFW for smut reasons, but does delve into heavy topics, so probably best left as minors DNI

**********

There was something about the power of an unrelenting storm that brought about late night inspiration. The flashes from lightning streaking across the canvas offered daring glimpses to the painting Rafayel was immersed in. The room was otherwise dark, save for a single candle he’d lit. He didn’t mind, he didn’t need to see what was happening. This painting wasn’t about precise strokes anyway.

Three rapid-fire bursts of light made him pause, brush hovering over the canvas. Something was off, a small voice at the back of his head urging him to go to the door. He ignored it at first, until it came again. This time saying someone approaches. It was an intuition that was only attuned to one person, and she should not be out in a storm like this.

And sure enough, there you were on his doorstep, drenched and breathing heavily.

“Cutie? What are you doing here?” A half smile spread on his face, trying to not let his worry show at the disheveled state you were in. Your hair was plastered to your face, clothing soaked through. He would be surprised if your service weapon was even functional once dry. But what caught him off guard the most was the amount of blood splattered across your face and chest.

He didn’t give you time to respond, instead pulling you into the warmth of the villa and shoving the cardigan he wore around your shoulders. Your body trembled and the nonverbal and near-catatonic state you were in sent spikes of anxiety rocketing through him.

You could hear him calling your name, but his voice was a distant echo that was drowned out by the screams that were still ringing in your ear. You didn’t even know why you’d come here, but your legs just carried you on a whim of their own. You dragged yourself up from the depths of despair when you felt his warm hands cupping your ice cold face. The concern knitting his brow together is the first thing that came into focus, and then his voice.

“There you are,” he said, with a relieved sigh. His soft smile, his warm presence…just him. You understood now why you sought him out. Breath stole away from you and your face crumpled as a sob clawed its way up your throat. Death was part of every day, but the horrors that you’d witnessed that day were enough to make you question everything.

You swayed on your feet, the cramping in your legs evidence to how far you’d gone to come here. His arms came around you, holding you to him and swaying. He didn’t ask what was wrong, and for that you were grateful. You didn’t know if you could talk about it then, if ever. Not without flashes of your colleagues being struck down from right beside you. Rookies that you’d helped train, now nothing more than decimated corpses, casualties of the hunt.

You came back to the present again, realizing that Rafayel was running a shower. He’d steered you there without you having any cognizant memory of it- or had he carried you? Only he knew.

He approached you cautiously, his movements slow so he wouldn’t frighten you, as though you were a wild animal on the verge of bolting. Maybe you were. A hand appeared in your line of sight, interrupting the hypnotizing pattern of the tile you were staring at without seeing. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head to clear it and looked at him. His face held such a tender calmness and you wanted to do nothing more than curl into him. But you were aware that your trembling was more than just the trauma you’d witnessed. An icy chill seeped deep into your bones, and you were almost certain you could hear your joints creaking like old doors when you lifted your hand to take his.

He was gentle and placating, asking permission for every move he made. Asking “is this okay?” for every touch, for every soaked article of clothing that stuck to you like a second skin that he peeled from you. It took time, but eventually you stood trembling and nude in front of him, not a single hint of embarrassment you knew you should feel. You were numb, physically and emotionally, when he guided you into the hot spray of the shower. Panic clawed at you when he left you, but you fought it back when you realized he only did so to remove his own clothing before joining you.

His touch kept you in the present, the warmth of his hands and the water working to clean you, to warm you and pull you back from that pit. You kept your eyes locked on him, sometimes unseeing. For the most part, though, you concentrated on the way his brow furrowed, the way his mouth dropped into a pout whenever he frowned, the cerulean depths of his eyes broken up by startlingly bright streaks of fuschia. The relief that washed over his face when he realized most of the blood on your face wasn’t yours, and what was yours came from a single cut that split your brow. You hissed a breath at the unexpecting sting when he dabbed at the cut with a cloth. The only evidence of what you’d survived that day.

Survived. Survived. When others didn’t. So many others…

“Don’t,” he said softly, taking you by the chin and making you look at him again. His voice snapped you back to him. “I can see you trying to leave me again, so just don’t.”

The command became an anchor for you, alongside his touch. When he finished assessing you for more injuries, he took his time to wash the blood and mud that caked your hair and then just held you to him until your body temperature returned to normal, until your trembling ceased and your breath wasn’t heaving. The steady beat of his heart in your ear helped to ground you, and you were finally able to close your eyes without seeing the events of the day unfold over and over.

And even after the shower, the care and concern that he showed you was so much more than you thought you deserved. He brushed and dried your hair, humming to himself as he went about the task as if that were a normal everyday thing he did. Dressed you in one of his shirts so your clothes could dry, bundled you in a pile of blankets, and then led you back to the studio so you could watch the storm together. His arms were wrapped around you in a loose embrace while he sat behind you. At first your posture was stiff and awkward, but you sunk back into his warmth after a minute. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions, and for that you were grateful. His silent companionship did more to soothe your aching soul than any therapy.

“Rafayel?” Your voice was small, alien to you. You were normally boisterous and obnoxious, never meek like this strange shell of a creature that sat in your place.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” He huffed a small laugh, kissing you on the temple. His arms squeezed you briefly, as though that alone could keep the shattered pieces of you from floating away. And in a way, it did.

“Stay here with me, cutie,” he said. The relief in his voice was palpable, as though nothing mattered until he could hear you acknowledge his presence.

“Is that okay?” You didn’t want to be anywhere else but right there with him. And you didn’t want to be alone.

“Stay with me as long as you need, however long you want. I’ll be right here with you, always within arm’s reach.”

You turned slightly in his embrace so that you could look at him. You studied his face, traced every contour of it with your eyes. Memorized every detail, right down to the two tiny freckles that dotted the side of his nose and his cheek. You didn’t believe in perfection, but in that moment, that is what he was to you.

He wasn’t paying attention, his eyes cast out to the sea and the turmoil of the storm that swirled above it. He was still very conscious of you, though, of your assessing gaze, of your every breath and movement. You felt your heart stutter in your chest, with a fleeting emotion that was something akin to affection. A light in the darkness.

So, it was with surprise to you both that you leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He froze, you froze, and then you pulled back from him, embarrassed at that moment of weakening impulse control. But instead of letting you shrink back into yourself, he kissed your brow before resting his head against yours with a soft, contented sigh.

And so, you spent the night in his embrace. When sleep did come to you, plagued with nightmares, he upheld his promise and was there within arm’s reach whenever you woke- if he wasn’t already holding you. He did everything in his power to help you heal from that day, and expected nothing more than your cooperation when it came to eating and drinking.

When the darkness finally became less burdensome, you came to the terrifying realization that you were in love with him. But his actions spoke louder than any words ever could, and you knew that he loved you too. You could see it in the softening of his gaze, in his smile, the warmth of his voice, the attentiveness in which he catered to you.

Perfect, indeed.

[puckpocketed]

lak lb + regular season sincereposting

Entered this season less than confident about the kids we brought up from the AHL and quiet summer acquisitions. Though I loved what the 2023-24 Kings gave me, I was very ready for this to be a Learning year for the first full NHL season of Turcotte and Clarke, Byfield’s first run at playing center full time, Laferriere continuing his quiet performance from his rookie year, along with our Reign legends rotating in and out.

Amazing that all of them have made the jump and contributed significantly to the team’s success after a miserable, shaky start to the season. Clarke and Spence really stepped up when Doughty was injured, Turcotte spent half the season skating on the first line before settling into his current role with grace and everyone knows what a rocket Byfield has been since he figured out how to shoot the puck halfway through🙂‍↕️

and GOD !!! Sammy Helenius stealing the 4C spot halfway through the season, Jacob Moverare finally forcing their hands after years of being a 20 game call-up, Akil Thomas and Andre Lee making it out of camp and getting some games in when the Kings were shorthanded…. That’s so many players drafted and raised by the org.

THAT is going to be my gold standard for player development. Though a lot of the opportunities were given to them incidentally because of injuries, they were primed to seize the moment because of the environment the Reign have been able to give them.

I love the way this team plays and how it drafts and builds itself. Personally i think there IS more to hockey than being huge and violent, and the way they draft reflects that. I love that it matters to them that players they select have pride in their role and pride in protecting their own zone. I love seeing a development pipeline that has produced so many NHLers for this era of cup contention. I love that their AHL team is also competitive.

This team has been such a light for me in a season full of loss for my other teams LMAO!! Kings hockey is a genuine pleasure to watch and learn about. It is beautiful, defensively responsible, and in ideal circumstances it allows for players like Fiala, Clarke, and Kuzmenko to thrive and get creative.

The vibes have been amazing — team and lb tag combined. I wasn’t able to be there for every game due to split loyalties but seeing lak lb slowly grow from maybe 3 people on a good night to. at least 7?? <3 yay <3 I love coming here and seeing new/familiar faces, and hearing from old kings blogs that have come back from the dead. It’s SO cool that we get to hang out <3

I called this season the LA Kings Youth Renaissance at the beginning largely as a joke, but the renewal of Kings hockey on tumblr has been so cool to watch and I feel really privileged to have contributed to it in some way 💙 if i type any more I may get very weepy lol so

HAPPY PLAYOFFS TIME LOOP EVERYONE!!! I’LL SEE YOU IN THE TRENCHES!! (GAME 1)

[thepunkranger]

Resident Evil Characters - A Summary

Note: This is entirely my own opinion and said with a heavy dose of humor

Please enjoy

Chris Redfield

OG

Started as a twunk

Became an angry gorilla man???

Alpha Male™️

Punches boulders

Wants you to marry his sister

Smoker

Hide yo kids, hide yo wife

Rude to wait staff

2/10 - Just a guy. Hit him with your car

-

Jill Valentine

Other OG

Arguably better main of RE1

Master of Unlocking

Bisexual Bob™️

Butch

Supercop

Once got mind-controlled into going blonde

Rocket Launcher babe

PTSD

Big Strap Energy

Giant anime gun

10/10

-

Albert Wesker

OG Baddy

Sunglasses

Thinks he’s cool

A little too into Chris

“What are we going to do this game, Albert?”

“What we do every game, Alex: try to take over the world”

Matrix jacket

Maybe a vampire?

Looks like my uncle (derogatory)

4/10

-

Barry Burton

Bear

A+ line delivery

Just happy to be a part of things

Wishes his daughter would talk to him

Comes through in a pinch

Got lost on his way to The Last of Us

Father figure

Not dead out of sheer dumb luck

8/10

-

Rebecca Chambers

Baby butch

Sees the best in everyone

Autism be damned, my girl can work a shotgun

Sporty

Mommy Domme/Babygirl switch vibes

Sweet coffee addict

Doing fine, thanks for asking

Awkward thumbs up

9/10

-

Billy Coen

Bad Boy™️

Never bothered to take off his handcuffs

Tattoos

Mullet???

Moral standards

Strong silent type

Whole situation could’ve been avoided by just talking about his issues but no

Queen fan

7/10

-

Leon S. Kennedy

If a golden retriever became a human and then got kicked every day of its life

Having a really bad first day

Into dominant women

Dumb 90s haircut

Uses comedy as a coping mechanism

Hair grows in direct correlation to his level of angst

“Hey demons, it’s me, ya boi”

Sexy

Dog lover

Certified Good Boy™️

Fucked up a perfectly good rookie is what you did. Look at it, it’s got depression

15/10

-

Claire Redfield

College student stuck in the zombie apocalypse

Soft butch

Humanitarian

Forced her brother to teach her how to knife fight

Really into motorcycles

Leather jacket

Rocket Launcher babe #2

Always has at least one adopted child with her

10/10 would ask to babysit

-

Ada Wong

Mommy. Sorry. Mommy- sorry. Mommy-

Grappling hook

Badass spy

Emotionally distant

Soft spot for cute cuddly things (Leon)

Femme fatale

Book lover

Chaotic neutral

Crossbow 😍

Could step on me and I’d say thank you

Rocket launcher babe #3

10/10

-

Sherry Birkin

Goosebumps protagonist

Worst parents ever tbh

Surprisingly good under pressure

Please someone get this girl some therapy

Supergirl

Smartest person here

One hell of a shot

The trauma is immeasurable

Somehow still doing fine

Loves her weird adopted family

8/10

-

Carlos Oliviera

Himbo

First POC main?

Went from three polygons and a white boy haircut in the original to actual gorgeous South American hunk in the remake

Lost his accent along the way for some reason

#1 Jill simp

If Dug from Up was a guy

Only trustworthy person in the whole series

Just wants to help

Gorgeous gorgeous hair

Loves strong women

Hakuna matata

Touch-starved

10/10 would peg

-

Steve Burnside

Twink

Who is this sassy lost child?

Hot Topic employee

Into Claire (she’s too old for you bud)

Choker

Thinks he’s edgy

Whiny

Daddy issues

1/10

-

Luis Serra Navaro

If Puss in Boots was a human

The Most Extra™️

Luscious flowing locks

Definitely into bondage

Used to work for Umbrella

Trying to make up for it

Don Quixote references

Bisexual

Good with his hands

Praying for a threesome with Leon and Ada

10/10

-

Ashley Graham

Basic white girl

Always getting kidnapped

Master of Unlocking #2

Razor flip phone

Ada Wong bisexual awakening (same)

Good with a wrecking ball

Makes Leon catch her every time she has to jump a ledge (also same)

Would like to go to Hot Topic, please

7/10

-

Sheva Alomar

Player 2

Second POC main

Bad AI

Too good for her game

Willing to go on a suicide mission with a guy she just met

Left handed

Deserves a better stylist

Only good part of RE5

Literally my girl got done so dirty just give her another chance please

10/5

-

Moira Burton

“It’s not a phase, dad!”

Probably gay

Weak arms

Skillz

Box dyed her hair at least once

Simple Plan playing in the background

Childhood trauma

7/10

-

Piers Nivans

Trying his best

Appreciates a good steak

Sick of Chris’ bullshit

Good with a rifle

Just a good man

German Shepherd boy

Self-sacrificing

8/10

-

Jake Muller

Wesker’s son

Daddy issues

Who invited Ronan Lynch here?

Quips for days

Bad boy

Loves the type of woman who can kick his ass

The Most Edgy™️

9/10

-

Ethan Winters

Husband of the year

Trusting

Surprisingly chill

The most basic white man in all of RE

Hands? What hands?

Functionally a lizard

Would still love you if you were a worm

Just casually knows how to craft bullets

Moldy

8/10

-

Mia Winters

Toxic girlfriend energy

Literally possessed

Dark sense of humor

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss

Casually working for a bioterrorism organization

Does actually care about her family

Definitely doesn’t have a penicillin allergy

If you can’t be the girl of his dreams, you can at least be the feral swamp witch of his nightmares

2/10

-

Zoe Baker

Lesbian

Mold intolerance

Southern accent thicker than grandma’s gravy

Picked last on the playground

Somehow okay despite her brother being Like That

Joe’s favorite

Science skills

8/10

-

Lucas Baker

Jigsaw

Didn’t even need the mold

Probably got at least one true crime documentary made about him

Working for Mia’s bioterrorism organization

Left his classmate rotting in the attic

Just the worst

0/10

-

Alcina Dimetrescu

Mommy

Please step on me

Elizabeth Bathory vibes

Just fucking huge

Can turn into a dragon

Lesbian

9/10

-

Karl Heisenberg

Grimy

Tumblr Sexyman

When robotics majors get weird

Fights with his siblings

Doesn’t actually care at all about Miranda

In cahoots with the lycans

7/10

-

Rosemary Winters

Mommy and Daddy issues

YA protagonist

Badass

Childhood trauma

Into the Mold-verse

Alternate universe Sherry Birkin

8/10

[grussellsprout]

Is This Where It Ends?

Authors Note: this is my first smau fic I have written or fic in general so please leave any suggestions down in the comments that I could do better on when writing and feel free to write any requests in my inbox for current or past drivers on the grid! This is probably gonna be multiple parts and is inspired by Bailey Zimmerman's "Where it ends"

Pairing: Logan "wanna be Captain America" Sergeant x mixedblackcountrysinger! reader

fc: Various pinterest girls

Trope: Childhood best friends to lovers to ex's to ?

Warnings: Logans gonna be problematically toxic sorry guys.

Background: You and 2023 F1 rookie Logan Sergeant grew up together while being neighbors and moms being best friends with each other growing up. The both of them trying to push their kids into a relationship since they were teenagers because of their own teenage dreams of becoming each others in laws. What happens when Logan and you finally give in and give it a shot falling in love however with your music sky rocketing and his racing career going not as expected. What happens when your sweet childhood best friend turned "love of your life" gets resentful of your success and taking you, your love, and support for granted

youruser

liked by logansargeant lilymhe and 954,649 others

youruser Finally got around to making my debut album after much anticipation from y'all. American Romance is out now! featured pic of the inspiration of the album overfilled with love and admiration for the absolute love of my life.

Tagged:logansargeant

logansargeant I love you so much my cowgirl. So proud of you baby!

| youruser awww I love you too Logie Bear thank you sm honey 💕💕💕 liked by logan sargeant

user3 Anyone else feeling incredibly single after listening to her album? just me?

| user2 ALL OF US DO

| landonorris felt incredibly single mate after that listen

| user2 LANDO? damn even the album got to him

lilymhe When do I get my own song or an album @youruser ???? Thought I was the love of your life

| francisca.cgomes get in line for your own song I get one first bc I'm really the love of her life????

| youruser You both will gotta leave the best for last @francisca.cgomes @lilymhe

user7 mother is mothering again

user5 SLAY THE HOUSE DOWN Y/N

With the debut of the new album my social media was exploding and the songs were absolutely everywhere you went. I had interviews left and right on the most know late night shows, even getting to host an episode of SNL as the music guest. Even reaching the media on the paddock being a topic for everyone on the grid as it was blowing up. However it was the only thing that they were discussing with Logan, I could tell it was starting to get to him especially with the his and the team performance in Australia and it heading into the Montreal GP. I tried to make him feel as supported by me in his career as I could. I started to cancel interviews to go to every GP there was on the calendar for the season when he started to show the slightest of signs the media attention getting to him but he just kept pushing me away. No matter what I did to try and give him the support and attention I thought he needed or wanted from me. However it just never felt enough even though I was giving it my all. Showing up to all the sessions with him (attempted to be hand by hand) early in the morning and not leaving the paddock until he was done and set while giving my entire attention to him, even while he was in the garage talking to his mechanics; there I was following him around like a puppy just happy to be there. Meanwhile whenever he did seem to acknowledge my presence, his girlfriend's presence, all he could do was give me a scowl because I was in his way, or distracting the team, or something to get me away from him. We were never like this before, he was never like this before. I was starting to regret releasing the catalyst to what feels the ending of my relationship with who was my everything, who i thought was gonna be my forever.

F1gossipandwags

F1gossipandwags Fans saw y/n l/n looking extremely shocked and confused while upset outside of a restaurant in Miami on Sunday night after Logan Sargeant’s DNF earlier that day. Reports shown while in the restaurant y/n with Sargeant she seemed to be comforting her childhood love while it was only appearing to be irritating Sargeant causing him to “flip out” and storm out of the establishment dragging the music star with him breaking off the 3 year relationship.

user43 WAIT WHAT??????

[shitpostingkats]

I don’t really want to rephrase an ask I sent earlier but have you ever noticed how the Turks carry themselves as a slightly more effective Seasalt trio? Even as Shinra collapses they stick together, Rude gets Elena ice cream (incidentally, it’s sea salt!) when she complains to him, they really are out there doing buddy-cop style hijinks from time to time

When Elena brought out the sea salt ice cream I literally paused the game, threw my arms in the air, and dramatically exclaimed "NOMURA!"

I love the turks. I love how much Reno and Rude hate their jobs but still continue to do their jobs. There's definitely a bit of a proto-Axel energy. However, unlike the seasalt trio, which is one veteran babysitting two rookies who desperately do not want to be here, the turks are two veterans who do not want to be here stuck babysitting an overeager rookie who has yet to grasp how much this job sucks. I like referring to the turks as ff7's Team Rocket. Trio of corporate goons who you turn the corner and they are in the middle of a looney toons level of Interpersonal Drama and Shenaniganery, despite the fact that the last place we saw them was like five towns away.

Also a big fan of whatever the hell is wrong with Tseng. It's unrelated to this ask but it's also important.

[oscquinn]

tell me about baseball because I know nothing but would like to learn!

FEVER PITCH pro baseball!lip headcanons

TAGS & WARNINGS: mature, 18+. sexual content but non explicit, drinking mention, emotional angst, pregnancy. but also fluff!! silly shenanigans, second chance romance, lip is stupid in love.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is my brain child omfg. tysm for sending this ask, honestly. i yapped!!! there was also more to this but i've been adding to it for days and its getting long for hcs so. lmk if anyone wants part 2 teehee

WC: 1.4k

when he was younger lip always played shortstop, his arm was powerful but not quite precise enough to pitch, but he never minded. pitchers have to remember too much, shortstop just falls into the rhythm; watching the pitch, listening to the crack of the bat, and tracking the ball as it rocketed through the field. the two of you met in college, lip played two seasons at university of chicago before transferring to a better athletic program. there was a mutual breakup before parting ways, but whenever he's in town you can't fight the urge to see each other.

he's picked up on the MLB draft straight out of college, after captaining the national championship team, and sent to an affilliate somewhere warm in the south, georgia or maybe louisiana. he calls you often to boast the climate, while you complain about the stress of your masters degree. over time the calls come less frequently, but each conversation feels like no time has passed at all.

it takes three years for lip to work his way up to the big leagues, where he joins the chicago cubs for his rookie season. now, lip plays centerfield. he's a quick runner, and his powerful arm sends balls to their respective bases at record speed. he's efficient, most teams don't stand a chance.

he doesn't know how to tell you he's coming home again, back to chicago. and back to you. you find out from your best friend, who overheard fiona talking about it at patsy's. you two along with fi & veronica find the money for tickets at centerfield, right where lip will be.

fiona whistles through her fingers the second she reaches her seat and waves down her brother, whose cheeks immediately turn bright pink. if a teammate pointed it out he'd surely brush it off as the chilled march wind, but you know him better than that. he greets the four of you nervously, opening up as he gets sight of the smiles you wear. no one cares he didn't tell, your joy at his homecoming tops any negative in your minds.

after the third inning a guest services rep brings the four of you a handful of meal and beverage vouchers, a gift from lip. later you'll learn he'd tried to have your seats upgraded but was denied, too low on the totem pole for that sort of request. so you pile your arms with hot dogs, pretzels, cheese fries, diet coke and fancy ipa brews.

the game flies by, you and fiona sit side by side and shout teases down to lip, watching his face light up. this is the first time you really see his talent, how he's developed as an athlete. he finally has somewhere to put all of that pent up energy he keeps inside, using it to jump up in the ivy wall for a catch, to react as quick as the ball and sprint in the same direction. when he catches the game-winning out, a fly ball straight to centerfield, he tosses it up into the stands. it sails directly to you, tipsy giggles spilling from your lips as you scrawl your phone number onto the white canvas before throwing it back down.

lip wants to fog up the windows of your honda right there in the parking lot but you have the presence of mind to drag him towards his own parked car while he trails sloppy kisses down your neck. the sex is amazing, it always is, but there’s something different in the way he holds you this time. you pretend not to notice it, until you have a reason to bring it up.

three weeks later, two pregnancy tests sit on the gallaghers bathroom counter. you'd only brought one along, but fiona dug another out of her bedside table drawer when you became anxious at the two pink lines. when the second test reads positive, v offers to call lip for you and you let her.

it's hours before he can get to you, even without a game there's still training, a players meeting, and dinner afterward with franchise sponsors. he's busy, you get it. fi gives you the spare key to his apartment—a studio unit in a high rise downtown, somewhere you couldn't imagine a gallagher living—and lip pays for a cab to take you there.

once you lay eyes on the space it becomes a little more believable that lip gallagher lives there. a box spring and mattress are stacked together in one corner, topped with the classic navy blue sheets and two pillows. he has a small couch (loveseat, more like) that you decide to wait on, favoring it over the bed. his tv sits on the floor against the wall, with the remote balanced precariously on top. flipping through channels is a nice, mind numbing activity to soothe you, and you fall asleep after landing on old sitcom reruns.

the sun has long set when lip comes in the door, eyeing your sleeping frame. he decides to let you sleep while he washes the grime of the day from his body. he kneels by you when he's clean and fresh, clothed in nothing but blue gingham boxers. "'ey kid, wake up," he mumbles, smoothing your hair away from your brow. when he sees you blink up at him he continues softly, "y'can live here with me, until the baby is born, m'kay? an' we can decide what we want to do." "about?" "about us."

you smile up at him, he offers you the bed and insists on taking the couch, not allowing himself too much of a good thing. he's already over the moon you want to keep the baby, his baby. he doesn't want to scare you away. he only makes it a week cramped up on that tiny couch. later in your relationship you have something funny to look back on, old photos of lip with his knees tucked up and one arm hanging awkwardly off the cushions.

when he can't stand the couch anymore he orders you a pregnancy pillow, and you order a bedframe, all on his card of course. you don't even need the pillow yet, most nights of your first trimester you're up and down, in and out of the bathroom. each time you come back to bed lip is on his stomach, arms curled around that damn pillow as he rests on it. he says it helps his sore muscles. whatever the reason is you don't really care, the toned expanse of his back makes a good pillow anyway.

you get into a habit of ordering furniture, decorations, and other home goods while lip is away. he doesn't mind, always makes sure you use his card, he wouldn't know what to do with all that money anyway. little by little the studio apartment starts to feel like home, and lip starts to feel more like a serious boyfriend than a hookup turned baby daddy, for lack of better wording.

before you know it the season is over, lip receives a large bonus after the cubs make the playoffs, and the two of you are kissing over a bottle of sparkling cider as you christen your new two-bedroom townhouse, complete with a downstairs office space and large backyard. october turns the leaves beautiful hues, and the calmness of this new neighborhood soothes your mind, your due date in december rapidly approaching.

between the new place, increased proximity during the off-season, and your pregnancy hormones, you find yourself bickering more and more with lip. it comes to a head one night when he shouts at you, and you feel the baby kick in response before you break down completely. the fight was about something small, insignificant. it had started with you talking about baby names. lip isn't sure how he let it spiral this way.

dutifully, with regret painted on his features, he kneels down beside your crumpled form on the bed. he takes your hand, muttering an apology and promising to make things work. then he says softly, "i like lucy. as a name for the baby?" you just stare at him, and he continues, "could be short for lucille. an' you liked olivia for a middle name, yeah?"

"lucille olivia gallagher. it's so pretty, lip, i love it." you smile in awe, reaching out to cup his cheek. "i love you," you say, and now it's lip's turn to stare. but a moment passes and he smiles, gathering your frame into his arms to pull you into his lap. "love you too, pretty girl."

by new years day you have a healthy baby girl in your arms, and a pretty diamond ring on your left hand.

© gallaghersgal, 2024. dividers © cafekitsune (x)

[evangelina830]

Meet the Bandit!

(RP Blog for them!)

Name: Evan

Age: 23

Weight: 112 lbs

Height: 5’0”

Role: support

Ethnicity: Mexican/American

Origin: California, USA

Primary: Machine pistol

Secondary: RPG

Melee: Bowie Knife

Speed: 95%

HP: 150

Personality:

Despite sneaking around, being apart of their stealing technique, they have a usual very silly personality similar to Scout, except without such a big ego and a try-hard habit for women. They joke around a lot, and sometimes get loud depending on their mood.

Abilities:

Stealing

Trading

Sneaking

Likes:

Piano

Art

Comics

Animals

Making deals/Money

Dislikes:

Tomatoes

Big bodies of water

Backstory: as a baby, they were picked up off the side of the road, but they looked a little strange. Growing up in California, they were raised by a family of one mother, six sisters and one brother, being the third oldest of the group. They wear a human disguise because they are a secret alien shapeshifter exploring earth! (They are actually born from Venus…)

Appearance:

Evan’s brown eye color matches their hair, although Eva’s eyes are a lighter brown.

Both of their hair is the same brown, but a blue and red/pink ombré.

BLU bandit, aka Evan, has somewhat crooked teeth (and find the excuse to wear their scarf more often to hide it. Mostly, to hide their smile). But Eva’s teeth are straighter, being the cloning process. Evan also has rather sharp canines.

Both bandits have beauty marks (moles) in the same spots.

Eva’s skin is slightly darker than Evan’s due to being in the sun more

Red bandit’s hair is a bit straighter, and shorter In the back. Blu bandit’s hair is more wavy

Facts:

both Bandit’s use they/them pronouns.

The BLU Bandit is actually the original, the RED being the true clone. Both bandits often, casually, switch teams because they get along with them better. They only kill their friends on the battlefield. (My headcanon is that the blue team is all clones of the red team, being born into the mindset of war, which is why some mercenaries may be more serious than the RED team.)

A strange fact about Eva, is that during Evan’s cloning, they were recognized as a human, therefor, they are not an alien like the BLU Bandit.

Eva is rather monotone and speaks a lot less than Evan. Although, they are kinder if you get to know them, despite looking angry as a resting face.

Evan has a tortoiseshell cat named Molly, back at home

They shake violently when having caffeine, and since they have anxiety they either get a burst of energy, or get anxious (choosing to ease their nerves by running or dancing), so they ‘aren’t allowed’ to have it, but would do anything to get their hands on coffee cause they love the taste.

Oddly enough, BLU Bandit melts (literally) when they feel a strong emotion (like nervousness, excitement, or extreme pain - so they often melt when they die during battle), but it’s somehow a normal thing to the others. (Melts into a puddle, but always returns in one piece)

Relationships:

Scout: He’s just too much similar to Bandit. They often bicker (usually in a playful way). Though sometimes, they like to talk about comics together.. they have a relationship similar of siblings.

[Bandit calls Scout; Chucklehead (to mock him), Jerms, Jay. Scout calls Bandit; Bandy, four eyes, amigo (to mock them), Copy-cat, Ban-Ban]

Their duo name would be called Comic Twins

Pyro: Bandit and Pyro love to craft together! Even if it’s with the blood and guts of their enemies. Evan is also a good translator to his mumbling.

[Bandit calls Pyro; mumbles, py, señor loco]

Their duo name would be called Gender who? (Lol)

Soldier: These two often play fight like animals, but Bandit teases him more than actually doing something. They bond over their love for raccoons and rockets! Bandit sees him like an uncle or a ‘stupid older brother’.

[Bandit calls Soldier; Solly, Sol, Jay-Dee, soldado, sky man. Solly calls Bandit; Rookie, Rocket pal, cadet, sneaky little thief]

Their duo name would be called Raccoon Rockets

Demoman: they are Very close with him - If Demoman isn’t with Solly, he’s with Bandit or both of them! And Bandit seems to have a little crush.. they exchange platonic kisses sometimes and play piano together, but perhaps it’s a bit more than friendly.

[Bandit calls Demoman; Demo, Guapo, Tav, Dee, Tavish-ing (like ravishing). Demo calls Bandit; Bandy, lad, Bonnie, Bee (to mimic the way they give nicknames), Ev]

Their duo name would be called Piano 4 Hands!

Heavy: Bandit and Heavy have a family like relationship. Like they do to others, bandit likes to mess with him, but he doesn’t react as much as the rest do. So taking that into consideration, Bandit is calmer around him and nicer.

[Bandit calls Heavy; Señor viejo, H, pesado, Hev. Heavy calls Bandit; маленький вор, подлый енот, small Bandit]

Their duo name would be called Sticks and stones

Engineer: The last thing this Engineer needs is for a sneaky thief to steal parts of his machines! He gets frustrated with them sometimes, but they’ve got a silly thing going on. Bandit sees Engi like an uncle, and he sees them like an annoying little nephew.

[Bandit calls Engi; ingeniero, Engi, Dell pepper, robot man. Engi calls Bandit; Bandy, little thief, Ban, sneaky trash panda]

Their duo name would be called Astronomical Smarts

Sniper: While sniper studies aliens, it doesn’t help that he works with one, though he doesn’t know for sure (even though he’s correct). Bandit knows of this, since Sniper sometimes tries to call them out, but they ignore it, protecting their secret, by playing it off as a joke. Besides that all, they’re quite good friends.

[Bandit calls Sniper; Monday, francotirador, Snipes, Em, Vanny, hombre sucio. Sniper calls Bandit; Bandy, crook, Space-man, sneaky critter]

Their duo name would be called Alien Exploration

Medic: The Medic may be the only one Bandit is afraid of, just a little. Half of their interactions are passive-aggressive. Though, on some occasions they get along relatively well, and like to talk about silly things.

[Bandit calls Medic; Doctor, El, Doctor L, lewd-wig (to immaturely mock his wild behavior, and name). Medic calls Bandit; hinterhältiger Dieb, kleine Ratte]

Their duo name would be called Anxiety diagnosis

Spy: Their favorite thing to do is talk about romance and banter about how more sneaky one is. And sometimes, they secretly gossip to one another…

[Bandit calls Spy; Spy-der, French fry, espiar, Señor, hombre cangrejo. Spy calls Bandit; petit voleur, Monsieur?, Thief, raton laveur sournois]

Their duo name would be called sneaky Romanticists

Pauling: Bandit has always admired Miss Pauling, and even hates when Scout flirts with her. Not because of jealously or anything of the like, but because they’re aware there’s a much better method to charming a woman like her and it’s almost offensive how he always fails (LOL). The two are friends that don’t interact so often, but bandit respects her

[Bandit calls Pauling; Señora, Pauli, señorita violeta, Señora P.]

Their duo name would be called Cat-Eye lenses!