#but just cutting the price down halfway is just a joke man

[long-cold-winterr]

.

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s only the fifth time that he comes in that she realizes the man is obviously going to be a regular. He orders the same thing, a single black tea with a buttered croissant, then proceeds to sit in the booth in the corner, the one that faces away from everything but also gives the best view of the entire café. It takes him exactly thirty minutes to finish the entire breakfast before he leaves, always dropping two pounds into the tip jar and gives her a tight smile before he exits.

“You’re a creature of habit,” she notes, and he looks up from his phone, blinking at her in shock.

“Pardon?”

She smiles. “You order the same thing and sit in the exact same place every morning. A creature of habit.”

“I guess I am,” he replies, looking down at his cup and plate. “Can’t go wrong with simple things.”

“You’d be surprised.” Her eyes trail up his arms, pausing on the fancy but tactical watch, then to his face. “You know we offer military discounts for active duty and retired, yes?”

At this, he pauses and meets her gaze, brows furrowing in what one could only describe as surprised satisfaction. “How’d you know I was military?”

She gestures to the seat across from him and he nods, watching as she takes a seat. “My dad was retired USN. You carry yourself like he did. Punctual, clean cut.”

“Good senses.”

“Eh, I try.”

He smiles as he takes a sip of his tea. “How’d you end up this side of Birmingham?”

A bit of sadness crosses her face as she lets out a soft sigh. “Dad died from cancer a few years ago. I just needed a change of pace.” She shrugs. “Flying halfway across the world and starting new will do that I guess.”

“Sorry for your loss,” he murmurs. “Where was he laid to rest?”

“Arlington.” Her smile is one of pride. “I don’t think I’d ever seen so many retired and active-duty members come to his funeral. It was…really something.” She shakes her head. “But back to my original question. You get a discount for being a military service member.”

“Don’t need it,” he says, shaking his head.

“Just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean you’re not getting it,” she fires back. “You fight for freedom, you get it.”

“Quite an American way of putting things,” he jokes, and her smile is wide and bright.

“The American way of life extends far.” She rises from her seat. “I have to get back to work though.” She turns but pauses and spins back around. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

He smiles, heart fluttering a bit in his chest at the fact that she wants to see him. “Of course.”

“Good,” she says holding out her hand to shake. “You never told me your name though.”

“Jon,” he answers, taking her hand. “Jonathan Price.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jon,” she answers, flushing when he presses his lips to the back of hers.

“The pleasure’s all mine, love,” he smirks, chuckling when she laughs and pulls away, practically tripping over herself as she hurries off.

[b0g-b0y]

Gone South Part1

NSFW in part 2

Requested by Anonymous

———————————————————————

When Price told you that you would be helping a newer team out because they needed a spot filled temporarily, one of them was recovering from an injury y/n didn't think anything of it. You got the briefing of what the mission was. It was just a basic get intel then xfile out of there after it was secured. You 're not a stranger in the slightest to keeping an eye out for your team on higher grounds hell y/n did a god damn good job at it. But despite all that Price was a little nervous he didn’t like that you would be out of his reach but what got him was you would be with a team that wasn’t very experienced in the field yet.

“Captain John Price I’ll be fine it’s a simple in and out mission, now stop smoking up a storm before you run out of your cigars” Y/n said. “ I’m just worried love.” Price spoke quietly. You gave him a pat on the shoulder and a smile.” I’ll be fine John I’ll be back to bothering you in no time. How about you and Gaz have a father and son day well I’m gone” Price wasn’t amused by your joke.” Get out of here muppet” Price said.

Let’s just say Price was probably drowning himself in cigars at the moment, the simple in and out mission was a bust. Not only was the place packed full of the enemy inside and out you were down one man and another injured pretty badly. You’ve called for an early xfile and requested a good medic to be there. You were able to clear an exit for the remaining of the squad to get out of there as quickly as possible. And for once in the whole mission you had smooth sailing, you made sure everyone was out of the building before making your way back to your team halfway to the xfile mark. You even got a quick comment that they were ahead of you and they didn’t run into anyone else. That made you relax. You knew what you agreed to when you took up filling a role for a new squad but you just couldn’t help but feel like a dad trying to protect his kids. Even if it was temporary. You were almost there before you got tackled down by a man that you were quick to cut down with your knife that you may have taken from Ghost and never returned. But you were just thankful you didn’t have to use your beloved sniper as a baseball bat. You were covered in mud and blood but your team didn’t have it any better they had it worse, but what killed you the most was Price watching you exit the helo with a very wounded team that followed. Making sure someone was looking after the injured you left. You broke into a small jog up to Price. “Hey…” you said. “Don’t hey me Y/n I heard the mission failed and by the looks of it, It went real south real quick, what would happen if you didn’t make it back here? I told you to stay why don’t you listen to me” Prices voice got louder slowly throughout his sentences. “John, look at me this is my job I do what I can let’s not do this here out on the field” you grabbed John's hand to drag him off to his office for more privacy. His office was always more private; the walls were thick unlike the ones that were held between the rooms on base. And just like that the small argument picked back up again.

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

COD things I think about just price being a dad towards his team makes me soft, also nik and price being married is so funny and also gives good angst prompts, and I always see this but graves trying to makes moves on soap and everyone stops him because they know he is a red flag (they are also jealous how graves make soap laugh so much he puts his hand on his chest) and prevents him for going further with soap.

I’ve been seeing so many Nik x Price fanarts on my twitter timeline and I’m living for it aye, that shit is just so good.

The one prompt I’ve got sticking out in my mind about Nik and Price is Nik coming back from his own little mission, tired as anything but excited to see his not-husband-husband (because ‘Nik, I’ll not say you’re my husband if you don’t give me a proper wedding day. I haven’t lived this long for nothing.’)

But he’s excited, smiling to himself as he thinks of the man, but the first thing he comes across is so wildly reminiscent of a husband coming home after work to his kids and partner in absolute chaos that he just freezes and stares for far too long.

There Soap and Gaz are, halfway up a flagpole and yelling down at Ghost who literally looks like he’s about to climb the damn thing, while Price stands to the side looking like a tired dad that can’t help but be endlessly amused and fond.

Nik walks over, still staring at the scene but taking a moment to pull Price into his side so he can kiss the side of his head before he’s asking what the fuck is going on.

Price snorts, waving a hand toward them uselessly as he speaks, “Oh y’know Soap. He was being a shit and dragged Garrick into it which ended up with Simon in the middle. They figured he’d have too much pride to climb a flagpole to get them but he’s seriously been considering it.”

Nic hums, smile cracking across his face when a startled scream and dread filled wail escape the two sergeants once Ghost actually starts climbing the damn thing.

“And you haven’t done anything because?” Price sighed again, head falling to the side so he could bury his face in Nik’s neck in an attempt to block out their madness.

“Was waiting for you to get back so you could give me some patience.” The pilot laughs a little louder this time, giving the man a longer lasting kiss for his troubles before sending him off.

“Do this now and I’ll make you some of that stew you enjoy so much.” Price is reluctant still, but he’s afraid of what will happen if he actually lets Ghost reach his sergeants while they’re still up that pole so he goes.

And if Nikolai’s promise of good food and his company makes him just a touch less harsher than he should’ve been then you won’t see any of the guys complaining about it.

~~~~

Oh my god! The 141 glaring Graves down or purposely steering Soap away from him at every available chance? Oof, thats fun.

That mf would get so salty he’d purposely start getting bolder with his flirting attempts and make shittier jokes, because if his time with Soap is gonna get cut down he’s gonna make sure it’s still worth it.

Price desperately wants to just kick the American out on his ass and call it a day but he knows Soap’s got a bit of a soft spot for him, plus he’d actually face very real and very serious repercussions from his superiors if he did that with no reason… viable reason that is.

Gaz shamelessly interrupts and drags Soap away whenever he catches so much as a glimpse of Graves near them. He can barely stand him on a good day, let alone one where he’s constantly going after his best friend.

Ghost doesn’t do much more than stare him tf down in that silent, semi-creepy way he has. Graves gets wildly unsettled by it because he knows (in his little lizard brain) that if he were to go toe to toe with him, not only would he lose but he’d also disappear off the face of the Earth. And that’s the last thing he wants right now.

Soap of course doesn’t have a damn clue, is honestly just happy to be with his team as often as he has been lately. He also enjoys hanging out with Graves, he likes having someone he can just have casual, light conversations with where its nothing more than good laughs and friendly interactions.

[ariluvsusm]

latte- azriel

description: short filler fluff, azriel gets back from a mission and just wants to spend time with you, so you go on a cute date (like normal people)

warnings: fluff, female reader, a few sexual implications and jokes

-a/n: i wrote this so fast but i just wanted to publish something 😭 sorry for being inactive!! im busy with school. i’m working on two requests rn and will have them published by this weekend (a spn one and a tog one!!). please give me requests!! i will literally write ANYTHING you request (including smut) but i just need prompts!! i’m having severe writers block.

————————————————————————

you sigh quietly, putting down your fork.

“missing loverboy, y/n?” cassian asks.

you and the inner circle, save for azriel, are having breakfast at the townhouse. rhys insisted upon making you all breakfast, like the mother hen he truly is. it’s really good… you just wish azriel were back from his mission.

“shut up, ass-ian.” you shoot back.

“yeah, shut up assian!” rhys sarcastically echoes in a high voice, an amused smirk on his face.

“you know what, rhys? if you could use your dark scary night powers and make him come home that would be helpful.” you joke.

“i can’t do that but i can make you an exact replica of him out of night that functions and everything.” rhys jokes, stuffing half a pancake in his mouth and then downing chocolate milk. like a child.

you laugh. “okay, what’s the price? my soul? my youth? i’ll take it!”

the entire table breaks out in laughter.

“well, if i were you, i’d ask amren to make me an anti-azriel. she seems like she’d know how to do that,” mor says through laughter.

amren smiles, smiles, evilly at you. you stop laughing and look at her, gaping, slightly terrified.

and she breaks into laughter.

“your face!” she says through bouts of laughter.

the rest of the inner circle just looks at her, mouths slightly open, forks halfway to their destinations, waiting for amren to damn them to hell or something.

“at least someone’s in a good mood,” cassian grumbles.

the conversation topic changes, now discussing books and the library. but you just stay quiet- you miss him so bad. and you can’t help but wonder and pray that he comes home unscathed. you know that’s he’s the best spy in prythian, and a skilled warrior, but you still worry. finally, you hear the front door open, and you bound through the house, flinging yourself into the arms of the golden skinned, hazel eyed man in the doorway. he spins you around.

the rest of the inner circle, except for amren, show up a moment later- laughing at your eagerness. but you don’t let go.

“i missed you so much.” you murmur into his neck, breathing in his scent. he squeezes you.

“and i you.” he mutters.

“gross,” cassian says, scoffing.

“leave them be,” rhys says. “after your… reunion, come find me and we’ll do the paperwork.” he leaves, and you turn your head, now looking at mor, the last remaining one in the doorway. she just winks and leaves.

you were about to ask az why the hell you guys weren’t in the bedroom yet, when he starts.

“y/n… let’s go on a date.” he says. “i just… i just want to be a normal male and female.”

you were about to object, when he gives you a pointed look.

“i can bed you later…” he says quietly against your neck. and that’s all it takes for you to agree.

“i’m gonna go bathe. why don’t you go get ready?”

so you go back up to you and azriel’s room to get ready. although, you’d rather be up against a wall, or pinned to the bed, or hell, even on the floor under azriel.

you put on a casual date outfit- for the night court, at least. loose, high-waisted lilac pants that sway when you walk, and a matching long-sleeved, deep v-neck top that shows off your cleavage and cuts off to reveal your midriff. you put silver jewelry, dab some oil on your lips, and line your eyes with kohl. finally, you’re ready.

azriel had just come out of the bath when you’d slipped on your flats- so you watched him on the bed while he got ready. his muscled, toned back and majestic wings flex as he slips on some undershorts and pants. he turns around to see you ogling at him.

“like what you see?” he jokes.

“why do we have to go on this date?” you groaned. “i can think of a hundred other things i’d rather do with you. in this house. in this room.”

a flash of something crosses his eyes.

“i don’t know, y/n, i just want to be a little more… domestic. i- it’s like i’m a beast all of the time. i just want to go on a coffee date with my female.” he turns around and slips on a shirt.

you hop of the bed, hugging him from behind. it doesn’t exactly work- you are quite a bit shorter than him, and his wings prevent you from wrapping all the way around. stupid gigantic illyrian male.

“i know, az. i understand. now get dressed so we can go!” you say before giving him a half-heated pinch on his side. he relaxes- just a bit.

you walk down the hallway and into the sitting room, where for some reason, the entire inner circle is waiting. they look at you in surprise.

“what are you doing out here?” cass asks.

“this is… my house too?” you reply.

“shouldn’t you be in there with him… doing… stuff?” he prods. again.

“we’re going on a date.” you say over your shoulder, azriel holding your hand.

“oh, build the tension a little, so when you get back you can fu-“

mor cuts him off. “shut up, cassian.” and then she calls after you and azriel, “you two have fun!” he insists on flying you into town, of course. illyrian males need female validation.

you’re in the sky, looking down upon the town, wrapped safely in his arms, when he tells you.

“one of my males lost his mate,” he almost whispers. you look up at him. you know he’s referring to the spies he was commanding on the mission- the ones who are in training.

“oh, azriel, that is just awful.” before you can say more, he continues.

“it broke him completely. he… he didn’t make it out of his tent that night, the night that they told him. that- that bond… i… i just wanted to spend some actual time with you. wholesome bonding time.” he murmurs.

you look up at him as best as you can. a few moments pass before you assure him,

“of course, az. i understand. i’m happy to spend this time with you.”

after a few more seconds, he continues flying.

“okay, but… wholesome bonding time?” you laugh.

“was not clear enough?”

“no, it’s just not very azriel-esque.”

“what other choice did i have?” his laugh a deep rumble, and music to your ears. “was i supposed to bed you first and than say ‘oh, y/n! put your clothes back on, damn it, we’re gonna go get coffee’?”

“i mean….” you jokingly trail off.

before you land, he stills in the air. you look up at him, a question in your eyes, and when he meets your gaze your breath hitches. a new look- a different one than you’ve ever seen. affectionate, awe-filled. it softens his features. a smile lights up your face before you can help it, and he smiles back. a smile that reaches his eyes and shows his teeth. you couldn’t be happier.

———————————-tiny time skip——————

soon, your arms are linked, walking down the streets of velaris, towards the cafe you and the inner circle frequent. the barista, a young brunette female with a kind smile and kinder eyes, looks up from the latte she’s preparing and greets you.

“hey, yana.” you call, walking up to the bar and sitting down.

“you two look cute,” she smiles, “what can i make for you today?”

immediately, azriel answers with your favorite coffee. he orders himself a regular black coffee, also going for a plate of pastries- your favorite. you can’t help it- you feel so loved, so cared for. although it’s a small thing, it somehow fills your heart. when she walks away, you peck him on the cheek.

“so what’s going on with the rest of them?” he asks you.

“you mean the rest of our family? your wonderful brothers and sisters?”

“sister, and amren.”

you slap his arm. “amren has earned the right to be your sister.”

“that doesn’t stop her from scaring the absolute shit out of me.”

“that’s just the true older sister spirit.”

he laughs, looking down at you. yana is making your order now, having already placed azriels black coffee in front of him. everything is perfect in this moment. azriel is happy and home, you’re happy, you’re both unharmed. you kiss him- on the lips this time- and smile up at him.

“what is that for? am i just so lucky?”

“i love you so much. thank you for being so wonderful.”

—————————————————————————-

-a/n (again lmao): this was so cheesy but 😭😭😭😭 at least im getting better? i just wanted y’all to know i’m alive LMAOOO… and that im going to be publishing good things soon :)

[soaps-hoe-141]

Back Together

To everyone that has liked and reblogged and followed up to this point I truly love you. I've never done this before and certainly never posted any fanfic before so all the love has made me so happy. I've been smiling like an absolute idiot the past five days now, thank you everyone.

Part 5

Pairing: Soap x Ghost

WC: 3.6k

Synopsis: Sad boi hours inbound but it's ok we can fix him

Warnings: Self harm, parents that don't know when to shut up, general blood and gore descriptions

It had been a week since the team had been given approval to leave the base, two days after the Captain had run them all near to death for the stunt they had pulled. At least Price had somehow gotten the whole issue with Konig squared away though none of them really knew how he had done it. The Captain had told them they could go do whatever it was that they wanted and they’d meet back on base in a week. It was a leave that they were given freely and that they were more than happy to take, it wasn’t often that you got a week off to go home and relax. But by the time midweek arrived the 141 group chat was lighting up with everyone except for the man who typically ran their conversations. They were all chomping at the bit except for Soap, the Scotsman was abnormally absent. As per tradition when coming off leave, sunday night the guys had met at the bar that was equidistant from all of their apartments but Soap never showed up and they didn’t stick around long after that. The smiling, good-natured Scotsman was the glue of their little family, he steered most of their conversations, he always made sure to engage them all in something they enjoyed talking about, and he was always prepared to give them a quick laugh. Without him the conversations were empty, boring, and the laughs were absent.

As Monday morning rolled around and they were set to meet at 0700 they were all a little worried that Soap wasn’t there by 06:30. Typically he was ready to go thirty minutes before they were supposed to be, the only person who ever showed up before him was the Captain but even that was only a few minutes before. Gaz was the only one who ever showed up chronically late and even he was there by 06:50. At 06:58 they spotted a disheveled Sergeant MacTavish sprinting around the corner of a building. His mohawk was in dire need of a fresh cut, his beard was in no better shape, he was pulling down the hem of his shirt like he was only just now putting it on, and he was holding one shoe in his hand the other which was at least on his foot but had yet to even be tied. He sprinted over to the group, already huffing in air even though workouts hadn’t even started yet. They all watched as Soap stopped a few yards away to pull his shoe on and then lace the both of them. When he was done he joined them, and they all expected something from him, anything really would have done but he stayed awkwardly quiet as they all looked at him. The Captain gave him a narrow eyed look before asking slowly, “You ok, Soap?”

The Sergeant gave a quick nod, “I’m fine, sir.” The reply was short and terse, their good-natured Scotsman sounded more like Ghost right now than any of them were comfortable with, especially Ghost. But every single man there was afraid to press those buttons, to ask him what was really wrong. He didn’t even come equipped with his usually beaming smile, he was devoid of a smile altogether. 

Instead of pressing it further though the Captain simply nodded, continuing to watch him for a few more seconds as Soap stared past him seemingly lost in thought now. “Come on boys, we’re only doing five kilometers today and then some sparring later.” Quick yes sirs from all of them and the four men took off, matching Price’s pace as they ran in sync.

Gaz was beside Price in the front with Soap and Ghost paired up a pace behind. They were halfway into the run, Ghost occasionally flicking his eyes to Soap who typically would have been cracking jokes and keeping subdued smiles on their faces through the whole run by now but this time he stayed eerily quiet. The Lieutenant said quietly, “Missed you at the bar last night.”

Blue eyes slid slowly to find Ghost to his right before Soap answered, “Sorry Lieutenant. I was busy.” Again the terse response drew out a narrow eyed look and the sound of his full rank coming out of Soap’s mouth quite nearly made Ghost flinch, Gaz was glancing back at him now as he listened and Price looking to Gaz for some kind of answer. Typically Soap would have found the staring uncomfortable, he had no problem with being the center of attention but having three men staring you down like you had shit on your face was cause to squirm. Usually anyway. Instead Soap’s mind was lightyears away, the man was running on autopilot and his communications systems had shut down leaving room for only two to three words per sentence if he could even manage that.

The fear to press those buttons and dig deeper to pull him out of his mind was still glaringly present though. Pushing yourself into a soldier’s mind was a dangerous thing, if you cracked those carefully constructed walls that allowed them to forget they might never recover. But Soap had been fine coming out of the mission, he had not seemed the least bit upset once they had gotten out of the desert. He had been tired of course but it wasn’t unusual for him to sleep so long after missions, it was part of his process and they had all seen it at work many times following their more physically taxing missions, everyone had their ways of dealing with things. But this facade, this mask that Soap had donned was nothing any of them had witnessed before. There had never been a time the Scotsman was unwilling to talk and smile and crack jokes, he had been hesitant on occasion but never just completely absent from their conversations.

The run seemed to take hours without the talking, weighing on all of them now as they all laced their fingers behind their heads. Except for Soap who crossed his arms over his chest and waited quietly for whatever the next order would be. The man wasn’t even breathing all that hard, he seemed mostly indifferent to it all now. Price beckoned them all to follow and so they did, heading inside the mostly empty gym and to a sparring mat on the floor. Price looked at Soap and beckoned him forward with a finger, watching the Scotsman step onto the mat. The Captain gestured for Gaz next and the other Sergeant did so as well. Finally Price said, “Alright go for it.” 

The speed at which Soap attacked first was blinding, he was a shorter and stockier man than the others but most of his strengths still lied, well in his strength. He was well built with corded muscle across his body. None of them had seen that kind of speed from him before today, and especially not the aggressiveness in every strike he threw. Soap’s punches were barely blocked by Gaz, and when Gaz was so preoccupied with keeping a punch off he didn’t expect the strong arms to lock around his body, his grip seemed to be made of iron then as Soap threw Gaz over his head. The other Sergeant was thoroughly winded but it wasn’t over yet. Soap was quick to stand watching as Gaz tried to as well before his arms locked around Gaz’s neck in a chokehold. The man was like a snake when he got Gaz to a knee. His legs wrapped around Gaz’s ribs  forcing the winded Sergeant to fall backwards. Soap’s back hit the ground but his grip stayed iron clad around Gaz’s neck. Every time the man let out a breath the hold tightened even more, Soap’s thighs like a crushing weight around the other man’s ribs. He couldn’t break the hold and finally Price called it, the Scotsman immediately let go as Gaz tried to catch his breath while laying back on Soap’s stomach, arms weak for a few seconds while his brain recouped the oxygen he had lost.

The Captain helped Gaz up then, glancing over as Ghost offered Soap a hand up. At least he took it, there was no malice in his actions or at least none that anyone else could see. It was simply a means to an end, the quickest and easiest way for him to end the sparring match. Soap wasn’t even looking at any of them anymore, his eyes had drifted to the far wall, his mind back in a loitering pattern until he was given another order. They didn’t spar much longer after that though before Price let them go to do whatever they wanted. Soap slowly made his way to the punching bags as he left the group behind, Ghost quietly following him as stealthy as he always was.

Soap didn’t bother with wrapping his hands up, that would take time and energy that wasn’t needed. Besides he could hear that voice in the back of his mind now since Price wasn’t there to fill the silence, it told him that he deserved it, that he deserved the pain and if he hurt his hands it was a just payment to stop the exhaustion and pain of his mind at least for a short time. The punches started out slow, controlled, and part of a pattern but it soon degraded. That was when the hits sped up, his fists connecting with more and more power and less downtime. The pain built with each strike and shut his thoughts up, closing his mind down for longer and longer as the pain increased. His fist connected and searing pain rushed through him. It lit his brain up with something other than the degrading thoughts he had been plagued with since he went to see his family on leave. The pain itself was a relief, a way to keep himself from losing his mind when the degradation became too much.

Soap’s mind was only on the punching bag and the relief it brought until he pulled back his arm about to strike even harder when a hand caught the inside of his elbow ripping away his momentum. The Sergeant seemed to be pulled out of the smoke then, looking around with an expression other than neutral for the first time that day. Confusion was written on his face as he followed the arm attached to the gloved hand all the way up to Ghost’s masked face. The Lieutenant stared at him for a few moments before asking, “What the hell is wrong with you, Johnny?” It wasn’t accusing as he had expected, it was worry stamped into his tone wanting to know what could possibly have happened to make Soap do this to himself.

Blood decorated his knuckles, his fingers already bruising and the pain lingered now for much too long despite the relief it was still bringing his tortured mind. “N-Nothing Lieutenant, I’m fine.” Ghost’s eyes widened and he could see his eyebrows raise even through the mask. Before he said anything more though Ghost glanced about the gym, taking note of the people before he jerked his head in a beckoning gesture and brought Soap along with him.

They exited the gym into the mostly empty parking lot, the only ears though were those of the sleeping cars. They moved through the parking lot until they made it to Ghost’s truck, black just like everything else he owned. He turned on the Sergeant then, eyes much more harsh now, “You are not fine, Soap. What’s wrong?”

Soap looked past the balaclava then and to the grassy bank behind him until he shifted his head to find Soap’s gaze once more, a look of expectancy written there. “I don’t know what you want me to say Lieutenant, but I’m fine.”

“Someone who is fine does not do this to themselves, Johnny,” Ghost reached down grabbing Soap’s wrist and pulling it up to show the Sergeant the damage he had caused.

“I didn’t- I don’t know- I didn’t have any-” his mind was faltering now. Seeming to short circuit as he tried to produce a sentence to explain away the bloody knuckles and the fiery pain there. He couldn’t though, he had been running on autopilot for too long now and his mind had seemingly forgotten how to speak. The exhaustion that had been hidden behind a careful mask was suddenly too visible in his eyes and the lines of his face. A wince of pain found his features as the pain in his hands finally registered as what it really was instead of the relief he had been imagining.

Ghost was watching him with a hard look that seemed to soften with every failed attempt to start a sentence. He shook his head, staring hard at the shorter man before he said, “Stop.” It was a simple order that the Scotsman followed easily enough. The tall man was still holding Soap’s wrist when he instructed, “Deep breath in Johnny,” Soap followed the order again holding his breath until Ghost said, “And then let it out.” He waited, letting Soap copy him a few more times before asking again, “Now, what is wrong Johnny?”

“Lieutenant-”

Ghost cut him off before he even got another word out, “And stop calling me that or are we being more formal because I can always call you Sergeant MacTavish if you want.”

“No, I’m sorry Ghost it’s just been. Well it has been a long week.” Soap sighed, reaching up with his free hand to rub at his forehead a bit, flinching away from the contact immediately when the pain flared in his hands.

“I’m listening,” Ghost leaned against the side of the truck watching Soap as he sorted through his mind trying to figure out where to begin.

Surprisingly it didn’t even start on the mission like Ghost had been afraid it would. “I went to see my family on leave, stayed with my parents and stuff. I shouldn’t have done it, I love them Ghost I do I swear it, but sometimes they just know right where to stick me. Kept asking me about work and then couldn’t understand why I couldn’t tell them. Mom was asking me why I wasn’t married yet, didn’t have any grandkids to bring home to her, not even so much as a girl I was dating, even more so than usual. Said I should be settling down like-like-like my brother or somethin. And my dad, well he’s my bloody father so everything was ‘Did you move out of that shitty apartment yet, John?’ ‘Got a house yet, John?’ ‘At least tell me you aren’t going to be driving that piece of shite car you’ve had since you were sixteen for much longer.’ ‘Oh John, you should look into the private sector, the pay is ten times what you’re making now.’ He just wouldn’t shut up about the whole bloody thing, Ghost. And then mom brought over fuckin Penny from down the road like I haven’t known her my whole feckin’ life. Chan eil fios agam dè bha i an dùil, ach thuirt mi ri Penny nach robh ùidh agam agus thug mama dìreach air ais mi gu leanabh beag.” He had switched to Gaelic without even realizing it, his anger pouring out like a faucet now that Ghost had unclogged the pipes. His rant continued for nearly five minutes with the Scotsman not even realizing he was telling Ghost every little detail of the week long leave and every thing that went wrong, and he said every bit of it in Gaelic so that Ghost had no idea what the hell he was really even saying. The tall man just kept leaning against the truck though, nodding along like he understood everything, his arms crossed over his chest while Soap paced back and forth two paces one way and two paces the other nearly shouting a couple times.

By the time he finished he was nearly out of breath and Ghost waited a moment to see if he had anything more to say. When it was obvious he wasn't going to say anymore Ghost asked, “So that’s why you didn’t come to the bar last night? And why you’ve been ignoring the group text?” Soap’s eyes shot up from where he had been looking at the lines on the ground then before darting away with a slow shake of his head. “Well why didn’t you show up then? You started the tradition, it's only right that you’re there.”

Soap hesitated then before he looked down with a little shrug and muttered, “I didn’t think you wanted me to be there.”

Ghost gave him another hard eyed stare that had Soap looking back to the grassy bank behind Ghost again. Until Ghost reached a hand up to the unshaven jaw moving Soap’s eyes back to his own. “Why would you ever think we don’t want you there? We only ever show up because of you Soap. Without you there isn’t really much reason for us to be there.”

Soap looked at his reflection in the shining paint of the black truck before he answered, “I don’t know. I guess my parents just got in my head. I tried to tell them more than once that I was happy, I have you guys and you are my family, but they just kept telling me I was putting too much into it. And you know maybe they’re right, I mean I’m loud, annoying, I say stupid shite all the time, there isn’t really much I bring to the team except for the occasional good shot. I mean I-” The air smacked out of his lungs as Ghost pulled him forward with a jerk, his arms squeezing tight around his ribs and very nearly strangling him with the force of the hug. It was surprising and warm and just what he needed when all he could think about was every stupid thing he had ever done or said or every time he had ever screwed up. The Sergeant returned the hug then, feeling himself melt against the Lieutenant. Before he even knew he was doing it his eyes dripped with tears, and Ghost was content to hold him there when Soap’s face pressed into his shoulder to hide what he could no longer control. It nearly made the big man cry too, feeling Soap’s body jerk with sharp inhales as he tried his best to hide the quiet sobbing. It was a sadness Soap had never dealt with before. Typically he had just let it run its course, accepting he would feel like shit for however long it took until his mind righted itself. But to acknowledge those thoughts and those feelings, well it was more than he knew how to process especially when Ghost was sitting here in the middle of a nearly empty parking lot holding him tight like he would break apart if he ever let go.

The time was lost on him while Ghost felt every second, letting Soap feel the emotions he had never allowed himself to. Slowly he pulled away, Ghost’s hold on him loosening until Soap backed up leaning back to find the truck with a hand and turning his face away immediately so Ghost couldn’t see the tears. They had soaked his shoulder until he could feel it through his shirt but somehow it felt more demeaning, made him feel like a weak child, if he let the other man see that. He gave a soft chuckle and shook his head, “Sorry about that Lt. I didn’t mean to spring that on you. Like I said, it was a long week.”

Ghost watched him for a moment and Soap’s face burned as the gaze bore into him. “Don’t be sorry, it’s fine.” He watched Soap nod but still the shorter man refused to look back at him, instead staring at the door of the gym as if waiting for someone to exit.

The blue eyed man wiped his face quickly giving Ghost a quick smile, it still didn’t reach his eyes but it was a smile at least, an attempt. “I should go, Ghost. I need to get out of here, you know?”

The tall man nodded, hands shoving into his pockets before he gestured to his truck with his chin, “Get in, I’ll give you a ride.” He pulled his keys out, both listening as the doors unlocked.

Soap turned a confused glance towards him, “No you don’t have to do that. My car’s here, and you’ve got things to do today. I’ve got it Ghost.”

The Lieutenant who had already opened his door and was about to get in turned his head quickly back towards Soap as if the man had just insulted him. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. I’ll pick you up tomorrow on the way over here, we have to be here at the same time anyway. Get in.” He pointed to the passenger side then, waiting until Soap moved before the big man climbed inside as well.

Soap turned to look at the old car he had, had since he was a teenager and sighed before he nodded and moved around the truck to get in. “Do you mind if we stop at the market? I don’t have anything for this at home.” The Scotsman held up his bruised and bloody hands. Ghost’s eyes stared at them a bit too long before he reached behind him and pulled out a medkit like the ones they brought with them on missions. He let it drop into Soap’s lap and they were rolling out of the parking lot as the Sergeant stared down at the kit with a smile on his face. You could always count on Ghost to be prepared right?

[secretsickysideblog]

dumb lucky

"“you know my favorite color?” bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing. “anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…” “that’s cute,” bucciarati smiles, and abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “you know my favorite color.”'

a mission takes bucciarati and abbacchio all the way to a town in piedmont where bucciarati finds himself fever-riddled in the midst of a snowstorm. abbacchio finds silver linings.

(sicktember day 1 - fever)

read under the cut!

It’s only tradition for things to go wrong for Passione. 

Well, perhaps that’s a lie--normally, they get dumb lucky. But this means that when things go wrong, they go incredibly wrong in multiple ways at once. It’s only fair for the amount of times the gang has narrowly escaped death by the skin of their teeth. And Abbacchio is grateful that neither he nor Bucciarati are running the risk of death right now; it could be much, much worse.

But this mission could certainly be going much better. After all, Abbacchio never thought he’d be buying fever reducers in a little town in Piedmont, Italy as a part of the job of Neapolitan Mafioso. He hadn’t expected to be led all the way to Piedmont in the first place. 

Easy mission my ass, Giovanna, he laments internally, rolling his eyes as he compares the prices between on and off-brand fever reducers. Abbacchio doesn’t usually bother to buy things like this, but Bucciarati’s fever--yes, a fever that had managed to swell up to a whopping 39 degrees overnight while on a mission--definitely needs to be treated. 

He settles on both bottles, and he grabs a pack of water bottles, too. Abbacchio peruses the shelves, considering what else Bucciarati might need. He’d rather not come trudging out through this snow again if he could help it; it started coming down last night and hasn’t shown any sign of stopping since. He grabs another thermometer, a can of soup, and he’s about to head to the register when he spots something else that catches his eye.

It’s a large blanket in blue--Bucciarati’s favorite shade of blue (not that Abbacchio bothers to remember things like his Capo’s favorite color), and god, does it look soft. His gaze wanders to the window. Snow falls in clumps, kicked up into a white mist by the wind, and Abbacchio could shiver just looking at it. He does shiver thinking about the short walk back to the motel through that storm. 

Abbacchio sighs, runs his fingertips over the inviting fleece. A blanket couldn’t hurt. 

He grabs it and tucks it under the arm without the basket only to spot that there’s another of the same in purple. And another, in ivory? Abbacchio isn’t someone tempted by luxuries, but blankets in the cold seem like a necessity. 

So he picks up both. Because Bucciarati has to sweat out the fever anyway, right? He’s too out of it to be angry, anyway. 

Abbacchio lugs the three heavy blankets and the basket of various other supplies to the register, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. The cashier looks over his selection as she rings up and bags each object, smiling fondly. 

“Taking good care of someone, I see.”

Abbacchio huffs, lips quirking upward to a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s about time he lets me.” 

“These blankets are on sale, you know. Buy one and the other is half-off,” and, in an expertly-crafted manner of egging him into it, the cashier finishes her sell with, “Everyone loves a good blanket. Perfect to cuddle up under.”

Abbacchio doesn’t anticipate growing the balls to ‘cuddle-up’ with Bucciarati, but something about the idea sways him into it. He stares at the blanket shelf in consideration for a long moment before giving in and grabbing a fourth, this one in black. 

The cashier is, clearly, proud of herself. Abbacchio can’t find it in himself to get as annoyed by this as usual. He did fall for her marketing scheme, after all. Can’t bitch about it if he gave in. 

Altogether, he walks out of the store with five bags slung on his arms, four of which are occupied by heavy fleece and tied off to avoid any of the snowfall. His boots feel like weights as he trudges through planes of muddy white, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. His hands are freezing--he wishes he’d bought gloves. 

When he finally returns to the motel room, Bucciarati is curled up on the bed. He looks just about the same as he did when Abbacchio left which is, admittedly, like shit. His hair, lacking its typical braid, fell in uneven layers wherever it wasn’t sticking to sweat-soaked skin. The only real color in his face is across his cheeks in bright, splotchy red, and though his eyes are closed now, they’ve been glazed over all morning. 

Abbacchio shakes his head in disapproval, wondering how Bucciarati managed to just ignore this, because he knows damn well it didn’t just spark overnight. He must’ve been feeling at least vaguely unwell before they’d embarked on this (unexpectedly) lengthy journey. Abbacchio tells himself, as he has every time he starts thinking about how his Capo sucks at self-care, that he’ll just bitch at him about it later; criticizing a sick person is mean, and besides, there’s not enough cognizance in his fever-addled head to comprehend annoyance right now anyway. 

He unties his scarf, shrugs off his coat, and unbags the items on the small coffee table in the room. Bucciarati stirs into half-lucidity, as told by the mix of a groan and a whine that slips from him after a bit of shifting around. Abbacchio looks over to him, seeing his hazy blues blink open, and he immediately grabs the bottle of fever reducers to force down his throat now while he’s just awake enough to swallow and not awake enough to protest.

“Here,” he holds out a bottle of water and two of the pills for Bucciarati to take, which he does after taking a second to process the command. He moves sluggishly, but he manages to get the pills down and put the water bottle on the nightstand. Abbacchio feels his forehead with the back of his hand, frowning at how much he’s burning still.

He goes to pull away. Bucciarati doesn’t let him, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand there.

“What are you doing?”

“Cold,” he mumbles, letting his eyes flutter closed again. “Feels nice.”

Abbacchio opens his mouth, closes it. Thanks the lord above that Bucciarati can’t see the way his cheeks heat up as though he’s contracted a fever. After a moment of hesitance, Abbacchio brings both of his hands up to cup Bucciarati’s cheeks, and the other man sighs contentedly. 

“Well, if it’s cold you want, maybe you should go take a nap in the snow,” Abbacchio jokes.

“Hm,” Bucciarati takes a breath. “Perhaps I should.” 

Abbacchio stares down at Bucciarati. At the way his eyelashes, dark and thick, fan out across his cheeks. At his lips, still pretty and pink and miraculously not very chapped. Even now, sick as a dog, Bucciarati is gorgeous. Abbacchio could watch him forever, he’s sure, but then he realizes how creepy he’s being and abruptly pulls away. Bucciarati’s eyes open with a dejected look to them, and Abbacchio reminds himself that it’s not because it’s his hands, it’s because his hands are cold and Bucciarati is delusional with fever.

“Uh, so, I got you two kinds of fever reducer, and you’re gonna take it whether you like it or not,” Abbacchio starts to say, clearing his throat. Bucciarati hums, half-listening. “I got water. A can of soup, if you get hungry, but since you just woke up I’m sure you’re not yet.”

Bucciarati doesn’t respond, so Abbacchio assumes he’s right. He’ll make him eat something later. 

“And,” Abbacchio unties the other four bags, “I know you’re not looking to get warmer, but fevers have to be sweat out, right? I got blankets. They were on sale.”

Bucciarati almost whines, though it’s quiet, subtle. Abbacchio opts to ignore it, because it does nothing good for his heart. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but look, it’s your favorite color,” Abbacchio holds up the blanket in proud display. Bucciarati looks at it, but it’s clear that he’s not fully seeing it. 

“You know my favorite color?” Bucciarati slurs, brows furrowing.

“Anyway, it also came in purple, and black, and ivory, so I bought all of them, and uh…”

“That’s cute,” Bucciarati smiles, and Abbacchio nearly dies at the way he looks while smiling unabashedly, weak as it may be right now. “You know my favorite color.” 

Abbacchio takes the tags off the plush fabric and chucks it at Bucciarati. Bucciarati, as expected, makes no move to catch it. It takes him a minute to slip the fleece off of his head and onto his lap. This process is repeated four more times as a mountain of plush fabric piles up on the bed--the singular bed, which Abbacchio would be incredibly nervous about if this was a year ago, but they’ve been stuck in the ‘unfortunate’ one-bed scenario too many times for him to care anymore. 

“This is...so many,” Bucciarati murmurs, staring down at the pile. He runs his thumb along the hem of the blue one. “They are soft, though.”

“I don’t know if you can feel how cold it is in here, much less out there,” Abbacchio gestures towards the storm just beyond the windows, “but we needed them. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be stuck here, between your fever and the bastard we’re after.”

Bucciarati nods, absently petting the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Falling ill,” Bucciarati says it like it’s the most obvious reason to apologize in the world. “We’re stuck here. It’s my fault.”

Abbacchio rolls his eyes. “Stop apologizing for things you can’t control.”

Bucciarati looks like he wants to protest, but then his expression turns confused as if his own thought process doesn’t make sense to him anymore. Abbacchio snorts at the sight and shakes his head before climbing into bed beside the other man and urging him to lay back down.

“I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Abbacchio pulls one of the many blankets around them up to his shoulders, and another about halfway above that. He lets Bucciarati kick the others aside. “You’re warm, and I’m cold. I’m finding silver linings.”

Bucciarati chuckles a little. If he were any more coherent, he’d make a joke about Abbacchio’s usual pessimistic cynicism being an act; the latter is almost grateful, at that thought, for the fever. The wind howls outside as the storm picks up. It’s definitely not an ideal situation, but it could be much worse.

Bucciarati turns to nuzzle his face into the crook of Abbacchio’s neck. Tentatively, Abbacchio wraps an arm around him.

Maybe this was just dumb luck in disguise. 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains and: The Shovel Talk

Who gives a successful shovel talk and is fully willing to go through with the threats at the slightest WHIFF of tomfoolery: 

Bo Sinclair: He’ll be waiting on the porch all night with his gun and the dog.

Debbie Loomis: Oh, you want to date her perfect boy?? Hmmmm… 

Granny Boone: She may also stalk y’all.

Inkubus: He’s very unsettling in his performance. 

Jedidiah Sawyer: The date may not survive the shovel talk with Jed.

Mayor Buckman: Boone’s better at it, but he sure as heck tries.

Pamela Voorhees: She will want to see some kind of resume and at least 3 references if you want to date Jason.

Sheriff Hoyt: Dear god I wouldn’t want to be whoever he’s threatening. He takes great joy in performing the traditional shovel *cough* or shotgun *cough* talk.

The Clown / Kenneth Chase / Jeffrey Hawke: He only half means it, but goddamn is he good at it.

The Deathslinger / Caleb Quinn: Can you imagine this man standing there before you with that big ass gnarly looking weapon telling you that if he hears even one tiny unpleasant thing about the date he will hunt you down?! Dear god. Save yourself. and ‘mark me down as scared and horny’ XD Haha

Thomas Hewitt: He’ll be keeping an eye, out…

Who is the second family member / friend / whatever, who feels bad for the person who’s getting the shovel talk and tries to cool the situation: 

Lester Sinclair: Well with Bo as the shovel talker, it has to even out somehow and Lester is happy to try!

Who is the second family member / friend / whatever, who doesn’t give a rats ass. Leave them alone.: 

Michael Myers: He’s busy eating… don’t ask what, though. THEN you might get a threat.

Patrick Bateman: “Whatever.”

Piper Shaw: “Yeah uhuh, okay. Have fun.” *Doesn’t even look up from her laptop*)

Roman Bridger: He’s too busy directing movies and running a Wes Craven horror franchise to give shovel talks!?

Who is the second family member / friend / whatever who is edging on the angry shovel talker for their own enjoyment: 

Midnight Man: Well he’s just mischievous bastard, isn’t he?

Both Pennywise’: Cheeky little shits.

The Djinn: Oh, he is just hanging totally onto the hope you’ll say something like “Oh, how could this possibly get any worse?”

The Man from Hush: Because he’s an ass.

Who stalks the couple instead of giving a shovel talk: 

Stuart Lloyd: He’s at a table in the back of the restaurant trying to act natural.

The Huntress / Anna: But she gives the shovel talk AS WELL. She’s just, you know, making sure.

Who gives the shovel talk but is joking:

Chop Top Sawyer: *Cuts off mid shovel talk into raucous laughter* “Pfftttt, I can’t do this, hahahahahaha… Have fun kiddos, and here have a joint I pre-rolled.”

Who fails at giving the shovel talk: 

Bubba Sawyer: He got cut off by one of his other brother’s. Sigh.

Who received the shovel talk: 

Billy Loomis: Ohhhh, boy. If only Neil had caught Billy in Sydney’s room that night… 

Jennifer Check: She really doesn’t care, though, hahah.

Jerry Dandridge: He’s so polite and understanding and smarmy with the shovel talker, cuz he knows he could kill everyone in the room easily in under a minute.

Kieran Wilcox: Probably from his own Dad, honestly.

Mickey Altieri: He also gives good natured shovel talks for the price of one big coffee- I mean come on, he’s in college. He’s struggling. He needs caffeine.

Who was about to receive the shovel talk, then had the person just gives up: 

Carrie White: Shovel Talker: “This small golden thing would never hurt a soul, what am I doing?? Oh my god, it’s trembling, I’m a monster- “

Leslie Vernon: Shovel talker can’t decide whether this is a secret thirst machine or a cinnamon bun.

Who gave up giving the shovel talk halfway through: 

Drayton Sawyer: “-Aghh, what do I care. Don’t get shit on your good dress shirt.”

Who got the shovel: 

Freddy Krueger: Just, you know. Shovels- right to the knees.

Stu Macher: I mean Sydney got it done but Cece and Tatum are gonna throttle him in the afterlife, too.

Who gave the shovel talk… then got the shovel from someone else:

Chucky Lee Ray: You can’t tell me if Tiffany’s mother was in the picture she wouldn’t have shot Chucky in the face at least once by now.

Is the poor lead who’s date is getting the damn shovel talk: 

Jason Voorhees: I betcha he would also give a great shovel talk, too.

Jill Roberts: Her and her innocent little act. Standing there like ?? what?? Why are you threatening my date?? This is so embarrassing…

Vincent Sinclair: Oh my god, he cannot bring (Or sneak) anyone home, friend or what, without Bo sniffing them out and starting on his bullshit. Lester immediately behind him making jokes that are ignored.

*Then there’s Luda Mae,

Who is probably the one who feels sorry for the person who’s getting the shovel talk when it comes to Thomas (While Hoyt gives the talk), but who then GIVES a threatening shovel talk to Charlie when he brings a gal home. Not to the date though XD

[fandomficsnstuff]

Special - Final Part

Ivar x Reader

(Warnings: Slight violence, but it’s Ivar, so come on, but it’s not towards the reader, tiny fluff at the end, also foreshadowing of Ragnar returning:3 Let me know if ya’ll want another part or want me to turn this into a series<3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You poured Ivar another cup of your special tea, giving him a sweet smile before sitting down in your chair again, looking out the window to see the sun already up, your eyes going back to Ivar as he took a sip of the tea “do you remember when we were children? When I would ask you how badly it hurt, and you’d rank the pain by the Gods? Loki was a good day, Thor was not good but you could manage, Frigg was a day you’d spend in bed, healers around you, and Odin would be a pain so great that not even the healers could help you” you mumbled, seeing a small smile make it’s way onto his perfect lips, his eyes staring into the cup as he gently nodded “I remember” he said, his eyes moving up to catch your gaze, and you couldn’t help the sympathetic look you gave him “today is Frigg, is it not?” you asked with sympathy in your voice, seeing Ivar look back into his cup, not responding, letting you know that you were correct.

You heard voices outside, your head turning towards the door as your father, clearly disheveled from hurrying to the little village your husband-to-be was from, watching him aws he stepped inside, behind him a tall, handsome man, blonde hair and blue eyes, though not as blue as Ivar’s, no one could beat Ivar, no one could match him in beauty, but this man wasn’t far off, you would admit that. You would also admit that you were disappointed, a part of you had hoped that he looked like Ivar, but no, this man was far from the beautiful man sitting across from you, carefully watching you as you for the first time saw your intended husband.

You glanced at Ivar before getting up, walking over to him, seeing him grin sweetly at you “hello… you must be Hans?” you asked as politely as you could, although it wasn’t much, and he noticed, his grin faltering for a second before he forced it to show again, gently taking your hand and kissing the back of it, a sweet gesture that should have made you blush, but you only cringed, not able to hide it, and he saw. “Yes, it is wonderful to meet you, finally” Hans said as politely as possible, and you were about to respond when you heard someone get off of his chair, that someone being the man at the center of your real attention. You turned and looked to Ivar as he crawled over to you, your eyes glancing at Hans, seeing him look smugly down at Ivar, and a part of you wanted to laugh, had he not heard stories? Had he not heard rumors of the youngest Ragnarson? Of the man who you wanted to kiss your hand, instead of Hans, of the man who was a god in your eyes. Ivar threw Hans a smirk “yes, finally, so, do you believe she is worth the price? Because that is what you did, isn’t it? You bought her, like a slave” Ivar’s smirk turned to a death glare as he looked up at Hans, and for some reason, Hans found it amusing “yes, she is beautiful, Ivar” Hans said in a cheerful tone and you cringed again, you could call Ivar by his name, but he was still a prince, and a Ragnarson at that.

Ivar smiled, though you knew it was fake, and chuckled low, crawling back to his chair and pulling himself up, gesturing to another chair for Hans once he was seated. Hans glanced at you, giving you a sweet smile that made you sick to your stomach, watching him slowly move towards Ivar, moving the chair he gestured to, putting it right in front of Ivar before sitting down, placing himself as an equal, a fault you knew Ivar was internally laughing at.

“So, Hans, do you love her?” Ivar asked casually, gesturing to you, and you quietly sighed and looked at your father who had a worried look on his face, turning back and sitting down on a chair besides Ivar, this should be entertaining at least. Hans nodded but did not look pleased that you choose to sit next to Ivar, and not your intended husband, but he choose to focus on Ivar for now “yes, I do-”

“How?” Ivar cut him off, mixing fake confusion in with his calm, relaxed look, making Hans frown “how can you love her? You do not know her, do you? You have not been by her side when she grew up, you were not there when her mother died on a raid, you were not there when she felt alone” Ivar began to grow angry with each word that left his mouth, but he still looked calm and relaxed, something you knew was just a facade, but Hans didn’t, and he let it lull him into a false sense of security “and you were?” Hans asked boldy, making Ivar laugh low “yes, I was. I was there for her when her mother died, I trained her to become a Shieldmaiden” Ivar stated proudly, and you couldn’t help the smirk that formed on your lips, but Hans grew ever unhappy “her? A Shieldmaiden??” Hans asked in disbelief before laughing loudly, something that set off Ivar, and in the blink of an eye, Ivar had a knife buried in Hans’ leg, Hans screaming in pain as Ivar just smirked, watching her carefully “why not? She is strong, stronger than you, beautiful, smart, kind” Ivar explained as if it was the most casual conversation they were having.

Ivar slowly leaned back in his chair, eyes watching Hans as he was about to pull out the knife, but Ivar made a small ‘tsk tsk tsk’ at him, smirking as Hans stopped his movements “I did not say you could pull it out, did I?” Ivar looked at you as he asked, making you chuckle slightly “no, you did not, Ivar. Play nice” you playfully scolded him, making Ivar fake a sad look “why? He does not play nice, why should I?” Ivar asked childishly, making you roll your eyes, amused with his childish behavior, before getting him, moving to Hans and ripping the knife out of his leg, wiping it on your dress and putting it away to clean later, sitting down besides Ivar, who were watching Hans amused. “No, no, what are you doing? Do you not know how hard it is to clean blood up? And you are bleeding over her chair” Ivar sighed dramatically, as if he was talking to the dumbest man in Midgaard, making you chuckle lightly “how would you know, Ivar? You have slaves to do that for you” you teased, making Ivar now give a small ‘tsk’ to you, gently shaking his head “is that how you talk to your Prince?” he asked teasingly, watching as you rolled your eyes again “yes, when he stabs my guests in my house” you answered, turning to look back at Hans, which Ivar did as well, clapping his hands together like he had forgotten that Hans was even there “ah, your guests” Ivar said mockingly, turning back to you again “would you say you would still like to marry him, (Y/N)?” he asked with a fake frown, watching as you scoffed “no, I never did, Ivar” you responded, a small smile on your lips when you saw how his eyes lit up at this, turning his head and looking back at Hans, smirking “well, that solves it, you will not marry this beautiful woman, she deserves someone better, farewell” Ivar mockingly bowed, making you chuckle, watching Hans struggle to get up and rush outside, your father hesitating before following him, probably to help him on his horse.

You sighed and looked back at Ivar, scoffing low, which caught his attention, his blue eyes turning back to you with a confused frown “what?” he asked clueless, making you gently shake your head as you looked down “well, now I will never marry” you mumbled, half joking, half serious, which Ivar caught onto, with his clever mind “what do you mean? Of course you will marry” Ivar sounded almost outraged, making you chuckle and look back at him “with who? No one has asked me, Ivar, no one certainly will after this” you mumbled the last part, looking back down at the table, Ivar’s face softening at your words, frowning as he looked at you with a sad look “marry me” he mumbled, so low that you barely heard it, your head snapping up to look at him with wide eyes, seeing the soft look on his face, the vulnerable look he held as he awaited your response, your reaction. “What?” was all you stupidly could say, and Ivar scoffed, moving to get off his chair, about to leave when you stopped him, but he didn’t meet your eyes, an angry look on his face, probably directed at himself.

You bit your lower lip in thought, before a smile slowly made it’s way onto your lips, “yes” was all you said, watching his head snap towards you, eyes wide in not only confusion, but disbelief. You giggled seeing his look and even more so when his own smile formed, him slowly leaning in, almost unsure, until you met him halfway, letting your lips touch in a sweet, shy kiss, smiles on your lips as you broke away from each other, just in time for your father to enter the house, a surprised look on his face, watching the two of you part from each other. After a small while of silence, you giggled again, unaware of the adoring look Ivar had on his face as you looked to your father “I’m getting married” you said in a cheerful voice, your father looking as confused as ever before smiling, watching you get up and run to him, hugging him tightly in joy and excitement. Ivar couldn’t take his eyes off of you, you were so beautiful to him, he watched the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, watched your lips part as you grinned, everything about you was perfect, and you were going to be his wife, you were going to marry him, not some stupid man who would pay for you, but him, Ivar the Boneless, Ivar the Cripple, or as you called him; Ivar the Special. The thought brought tears of joy to his eyes, and he would tell his brothers on their trip to the hunting cabin tomorrow, he only wishes his father could be there, to hear the news and at his wedding.

[agathaarts]

Spidersonas forever!!!!!! Though she’s become less of a Spidersona and more her own weird spiderspinoff at this point, complete with a name change.

Some more Itsy stuff outta basically nowhere! Her spider-human hybrid form is where she’s most “comfortable” and ultimately where she winds up resting most of the time, though she’s still a pretty competent were-spider-shapeshifter-sort. She has a number of different and modifiable outfits, perks of living with a seamstress, and....I also wanted to draw a bunch of her, uh, rogue’s gallery together, though admittedly the Black Cats could be considered friends before long. Or at least, associates.

This is far from all of them, but these are the guys I have concrete looks for at least! Maybe I’ll do one of her allies soon. As is, most of her issues stem from the monsterous OZCORP, the company that not only created her, but continues to create it’s own forces, meddling in the nature of reality to do so!

Tiny blurbs below the cut for each of them, and if you’d like to know more about any of ‘em...let me know! I have an unfortunate amount of ideas for this AU!

ITSY-BITSY AKA SPIDER-WOMAN aka Aggie Appleton. While working for the unscrupulous OzCorp, unlucky intern Aggie Appleton is caught in the backlash of an experiment that fuses her with unstable realmatter and the test subject- a hyper-adaptive spider created using the same unstable realmatter! Now, she fights to protect her city from OzCorp’s increasingly dangerous experiments and the beings created by their experiments as ITSY BITSY aka THE INCREDIBLE SPIDER-WOMAN!

THE GREEN GOBLIN aka Norma Osborne. The CEO and leader of OZcorp, Norma Osborne has sacrificed everything for her company and their work, being a gifted and brilliant scientist in her own right. It has cost her family ties, friends, her social life, and now- her sanity and stability of form. Able to transform into the corrosive GREEN GOBLIN, she becomes a destructive force of chemical reactions and decay, with no more limits standing in her way! At least, until that annoying spider shows up...

THE KLYNTAR, represented by units VENOM and CARNAGE ~ Inter-dimensional beings, symbiotes (or, perhaps, parasites) who feed off of living beings, the KLYNTAR are horrors from beyond who’ve made a deal with Norma Osborne: a place to stop and feed in exchange for OzCorp to poke and prod and take samples to use their unstable realmatter forms to create new techniques and horrors! Of course, once mold gets in....it’s almost impossible to get it out, even if said mold is far more than anything native to Earth!

BLACK CAT is a mystery. A force of corporate espionage, a cat thief, a rumor, and mystery, a funny joke to poke fun at unsolved thefts and leaked information- of course, it’s very hard to find Black Cat. They slip in and out of secure warehouses, files, and companies with nary a trace, virtually impossible to spot. Especially unless you know they’re not one person, but three. At least, that Itsy-Bitsy comes to know of...

THE BUGS are a group of ne’er-do-wells who took up an offer to be bonded with biotech armor by OzCorp, all for their own various reasons, and now they’re beholden to OzCorp...and on an impressive payroll, that motivates being guards, bullies, and thieves as necessary.

SCORPION aka Mac Gargan. Once a private detective of disrespectful status, Mac Gargan was hardly in a place to turn down OzCorp’s offer after befalling tragedy and desperation. Unlike his fellow bugs, he tends to question a lot of his commands, and is well aware of the quote “hinky crap” going down behind the lab doors of OsCorp- but the pay grade is nice. And the benefits, well, the benefits are killer. Besides, he’s gotten to know the personality of his symbiotic armor well...and wouldn’t abandon him back to OzCorp’s nonexistent mercies by quitting.

BEETLE aka Abby Jenkins. Previously an engineer with white collar criminal aspirations, Abby Jenkins was hardly in a place to turn down OzCorp’s offer after befalling tragedy and desperation. Having bonded well with her symbiotic armor, she’s enjoying the steady work and respect she finds with OzCorp, and gets to spend her spare time tinkering with projects amongst brilliant inventors she’d have never had a chance to rub elbows with before!

FLY aka Richie Deacon. A career small-time criminal, Richie Deacon spent most of his life in and out of prison, halfway houses, and shelters, and was hardly in a place to turn down OzCorp’s offer after befalling a particular tragedy and desperation. Now they don’t care much about the work they do, happy to do whatever OzCorp asks in exchange for living a cushy life, even if it means having to wear the gross symbiotic armor. Still, small price to pay to fly!

SHR- i mean -SHOCKER aka Herman Schultz. Another career criminal, Herman Schultz worked as muscle for a few crime families in various cities, before getting bounced out of almost all of them and directly into OzCorp’s loving arms. No tragedy or desperation needed to convince him to get into a suit of powered armor (even if it’s more or less a giant lobster as far as he’s concerned) and start breaking things at a whim! Besides, everything at OzCorp is so damn weird, he’s never been more entertained anywhere in his life!

ELECTRO aka Max Voltage. Once one of OzCorp’s many test animals, an electric “eel” cobbled together out of various types of electric fish and a hodgepodge of other animals, Max taking on human traits was, well...an accident, but a happy one. Now settled into a form distinctly human, with intelligence to match (though some would argue otherwise) Max is capable of incredible feats of electrical manipulation and sensitivity beyond any creature in it’s creation!

DOCTOR OCTOPUS aka Octavia Otto. Respected young researcher and lead scientist of many OzCorp projects, Octavia Otto was caught in the backlash of an experiment that ultimately fused her with a number of test subjects, hyper-adaptive octopuses...except she’s continued to mutate and change, in ways nobody else can quite pin down (but it’s okay, she’s keeping rigorous, detailed notes on the process! For science!) and has assisted OzCorp’s goals since, happy to have a constant source of supplies and test subjects to work with. Her and Aggie Appleton had...history, before this all went down, too, so that’s not awkward at all!

RHINO aka Aleksei Sytsevich. Arriving in America as Anna Kravenoff’s bodyguard, Aleksei found himself out of work before long as Anna hastily shucked her father’s protections of her and kicked him unceremoniously out of her life. Once OzCorp decided he’d make a fine test subject, well, he’s been a professional mook for most of his life and didn’t have many complaints about the improved size, strength, and toughness. Aleksei may put on a blithe, dopey exterior, but he’s far too controlled to be an actual fool...which makes him quite dangerous, even if he only does as OzCorp asks.

THE SPOT aka Joon-Woo Ohnn. The Spot’s creation is a sort of mystery, even to himself and to OzCorp. An experiment, a failure, and...Dr. Ohnn is still certainly alive and aware, but some sort of bizarre 3D shadow cast by, well, wherever he is. While unable to speak, Ohnn is still fully capable of serving OzCorp, with his ability to function as a series of wormholes and perform strange acts of teleportation.

MYSTER.IO aka Mysterio aka thecrystalball aka The Mystery aka ??? aka aka aka aka aka..... Myster.io is a digital character- either a face for someone distant and anonymous, or many someones, or perhaps some sort of self-aware AI, Mysterio’s story changes every time he tells it and that’s just how it should be! This bizarre digital being pops up on people’s devices and is an information gatherer and peddler, always happy to tweak reality to better suite someone’s needs for a price.

KRAVEN the HUNTRESS aka Ana Kravenoff aka Kraven Jr. aka Lady Anastasia Kravenoff. Kraven the Hunter was a star, a legend- a man who battled beasts and travelled to impossible places and rose to reclaim an ancient family legacy, he was famous and infamous alike, and regardless of if you loved or hated him- he was a household name across the globe. Ana would like that. Ana might have been shipped off to America to live a carefully tailored “normal” life by her father and his estate, but Ana has aspirations that greatly outstrip those of her brothers and a goal to match her father’s infamy someday! But until she can secure a show, she hunts monsters for YouTube and enjoys her modest cult following- especially since she’s found a way to attend college in a sleepy Midwestern City that just happens to have a lot of monster-related issues. Her current target? Spider-Woman!

[oldsoldierr]

The Carnation ~ Part 1

summary: the media always told you that the famous art critic bucky barnes is an arrogant, rude playboy and you agree, but something still draws you to him. is there a deeper reason to why he acts the way he does or is he the class A jackass you first met?

art critic!bucky x artist!reader

word count: about 2.8k

series masterlist 

Your art studio was silent except for the occasional paper turning from the person across the room from you. The only sound you were paying attention to was the smooth sliding of the brush on the canvas as you traced a carnation from the actual deep maroon flower behind the painting. That was until you heard a jingle from the door. Soon after a set of footsteps came your way. You sighed putting your paintbrush down. 

“Hi, Steve.” He gave you a charming smile and sat down next to you with his sketchbook. 

“How was your day?”

“Actually pretty good. I got almost a third of my commissions done,” he responded.

“How was yours?” He took out some charcoal from his bag.

“Ugh, not great. I was almost halfway done with a painting when fucking Brock bumped into me and made me drop it before it was dry.” Your fingers curled into a fist just thinking about it but you strategically didn’t go into the details to avoid getting too angry. 

“Well, I think I have some news that might just make your day better.” Steve grinned. 

You looked at Steve curiously.

“What is it?”

“‘You remember Natasha? The one I talked to you about yesterday?” You paused for a moment racking your memory, then nodded.

“Your coworker?”

“Mhm. Well, she told me word has it that Bucky Barnes is coming to Brooklyn!” He looked to you for a reaction. You shifted at the mention of the name. 

“Is that really a good thing?” You asked. Steve looked at you like you just said the earth was flat. 

“Are you deaf? I just said the Bucky Barnes, as in the world-famous art critic is coming to our city!” he emphasized. When he still didn’t get a good reaction he elaborated.

“He’s made so many careers with just one review. He could be your chance at a better life! He could be your chance to launch your art career into the stratosphere!” You looked at him skeptically with a raised eyebrow.

“I really don’t think so,” You replied logically. “I mean, he’s practically the Gordon Ramsey of art. And not in the funny, badass way. Did you forget he’s also broken more than his fair share of careers?”

“Yeah, of course, I know, but it’s a risk worth taking!” he tried again.You looked down at the floor nervously and fidgeted with your fingers. This time it was Steve’s turn to look suspicious.

“Wait, you’ve never been afraid of a risk.” He realized. “You literally jumped off a bridge once just because you were bored. What’s really going on?” You bit your lip. You debated the best course of action inside your head before saying, “Fine.” You sighed.

“I just-- I don’t like him,” you admitted.

“What, why?” Steve asked, looking slightly offended.

“He’s just such that kind of person ya know? The kind of person that thinks they’re better than everyone else and struts around acting like they own everything.”

“What do you mean? You’ve never even met him before!” Steve countered. You shrugged.

“I don’t need to. I’ve seen guys like him before.” you frowned.

“They all think the same. The only thing they think about is trying to get in girls’ pants. He got just a little famous and now he thinks he’s the shit and that his opinion is the only right one. always acting like he’s the best,” You scorned.

“That’s quite an assumption to make considering you barely know anything actually about him.” The blonde hesitated before saying the next part. “He’s really not too bad,” Steve combed his hand through his hair. You couldn’t stop the puzzlement that crept onto your face. Steve had never been one to be hypocritical.

“Oh, so you know everything about him?” you said sarcastically.

“Well, actually…” Steve rubbed his neck. “...he’s kinda been my best friend since we were kids, so I know a fair bit about him.” That caught you off guard. 

“Wait-- what?” You sat there dumbfounded for a minute.

“How come this is the first time I’m hearing about this?

Steve gave you a  half-smile.

“Well, you know, I didn’t want to scare you off or anything.” He let out a breathy laugh.

“You’d be surprised at how many people have completely blocked me out because of him.” Steve tapped his pointer finger as he awaited your reaction.

Man, this boy is dumb.

“Stevie, you’re literally the only one who talked to me after I first moved here,” You recounted. 

“Even though I don’t like Barnes, you couldn’tve scared me off if you tried,” You promised. “Seriously.” You looked at him.

 “And you’ll never get rid of me ever again,” you joked. The blonde gave you a relieved sigh.

“Now back to me being mad at you.” You quickly reset from that surprise heart to heart. 

“You should’ve told me!”

“Well it’s a bit late for that now,” he teased. A chuckle bubbled from your throat. You thought for a moment.

 “Just as long as I never have to talk to him, I’ll be fine,” you said light-heartedly. At this statement, Steve looked rather alarmed. You looked at him questioningly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Is there paint on my face or something?” Steve looked at you rather guiltily.

“Hey, so I sort of did something,” He said cautiously.

“Yeah of course?” You started to get anxious. 

“I kind of expected you to respond positively to the Bucky news and I may have…” Steve trailed off.

“What?”

“I may have already invited him,” Steve said sheepishly. You looked at him with a face of pure panic.

“Oh, shit—I mean—that’s not too bad?” You bit your tongue. 

“As long as I have enough time to prepare,” You tried to convince yourself, but judging from the blondes’ expression, there was more to it than just that.

“When’s he coming?” you asked.

When Steve didn’t respond you asked again in a much more urgent tone.

“Steve, when's he coming?”

“So, yeah, about that too, um-“ Steve stuttered.

“he’s supposed to come right about… now.”

Before you could kill Steve, scream, and/or faint there was another jangle from the entrance. You looked towards the door. 

An extremely attractive man sauntered in from it. You observed his piercing baby blue eyes and dark, shaggy hair was cut just above his built shoulders.  You could tell he went to the gym from his bulky stature but most of him was covered by a cliche snobby scarf and a black, long leather jacket that probably costs more than your rent and we’re talking New York prices. There was a little stubble on his sharp jaw that framed a cocky smirk. Your breath got caught in your throat. As you took him all in, you knew you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t the goddamn most gorgeous boy you’d ever seen. Even if you hated him with all your heart.

Steve stood up to greet the man with a hug. 

“Hey man, glad you could make it,” Steve pat him on the back and the brunette returned it. Your friend turned toward you with his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. 

“Y/n-” Steve hesitantly continued. “-meet Bucky.” You were pretty sure you were having a panic attack. But somehow you still had coherent thoughts.

So this is Bucky? you wondered. He’s so much younger than I thought he was. In complete honesty, you always imagined him as a 100-year-old with a swirly mustache so a mid-twenty-year-old was quite a surprise.

You somehow composed yourself and said, somewhat politely, “Oh, uh, hi, pleasure meeting you. I’ve...heard a lot about you.” You wiped the paint off your hand before extending it to Bucky. He looked down at your hand. His eyes glanced back up before ignoring your hand completely, instead, he put his hands on his hips. You put your arm down awkwardly.

“Pleasures all mine, doll,” he flirted. A blush tinted your cheeks pink. You recoiled.

Who does this guy think he is?

Before Steve could stop him Bucky continued.

“Stevie, why didn’t you tell me how beautiful y/n is? I would’ve straightened up a bit more.” You knew it was a line, but to say you weren’t slightly charmed would’ve been deceitful.

Snap out of it, you told yourself. You had met too many guys just like him, and relationships with them always ended the same. Heartbreak and an unhealthy amount of ice cream, you thought bitterly.

“Bucky, don’t flirt with her,” Steve scolded. Bucky winked.

“I’ll try my best.” The blonde rolled his eyes but Bucky didn’t acknowledge it.

“So, this is the place you wanted me to come to?” Bucky said scanning the room. 

“Yeah, it’s a really great place, and really accepting,” Steve complimented.

 “‘Thought you’d like somewhere lowkey to get away from your-- you know,” the blonde-haired man said tentatively. Bucky rubbed his neck trying to mask his uncomfort at this topic. He quickly changed the subject, going into full critic mode.

“Hmm, the architecture’s okay,” Bucky evaluated, walking around a bit. “Did you choose the lights?” He looked directly at you. You felt his gaze burning into you.

“Uh, yes, yes I did,” You stammered out. The brunette hummed judgmentally. 

“Ideally you would’ve had completely white lights evenly placed throughout the ceiling. I assume it’d be a tad difficult to draw from reference accurately here.”

You mumbled something about fixing them while you played with your fingers insecurely. Generally, you had pretty thick skin, being in the art industry, but when Bucky Barnes tells you he doesn’t like something, it needs to go immediately, lest you become a laughing stock for the rest of your career.

“Mr. Barnes, could I give you a tour of the studio?” you offered. Bucky blinked.

“Of course. Lead the way.” He gestured for you to go forward. You pondered for a second.

“Follow me.” You proceeded to start walking around the room planning on pointing your proudest achievements out. Before you could say anything though, Bucky stopped dead in his tracks.

“This easel is at a 70-degree angle when the rest are at 90.” You honestly didn’t know what to say to that. He continued, “For maximum efficiency, I suggest making them all the same.”

You narrowed your eyes a little. This opinion seemed a bit nitpicky for you. He was supposed to be mainly judging your art anyway, not your fucking angles.

 “I’ll make note of that,” you replied curtly. Luckily, it seemed your wish for him to critic your art was granted as his eyes moved up to the painting Brock had made you drop earlier. Your heart dropped.

“Huh.” He looked at it with revolution. 

“It’s rather smudgy, don’t you think?” Bucky said looking over it. “Crisper lines create more appealing products. An artist of your age should know that by now,” He said demeaningly. You wanted to defend yourself and tell him about how it wasn’t your fault it was so smudgy but you knew better. Art critics hated excuses.

Before the brunette could make any more comments about your less proud works you spoke again.

“I’ll show you the supply closet.” You suggested. Bucky nodded. You walked to the closet door, opened it, and flicked the light on.

“Honestly this is probably my favorite part of this place. It has everything you could possibly need.” You looked at the brunette for his opinion. He nodded again but didn’t say anything. You were surprised he didn’t have any comments considering he had a lot to say just a second ago. You were getting suspicious that he wasn’t listening. You crouched down to reach a basket.

“I keep my favorite and most used supplies right here, though I’m sure you have your own preferred materials. Do you have any suggestions?” you asked expecting him to recommend some other brands or criticize your choices. When you didn’t get either you turned around. Bucky was staring at something in the previous room. As you followed his gaze you realized it was not a something, but a someone. The Infamous Bucky Barnes you didn’t like too much, to begin with, was really beginning to piss you off. 

“Uh, ahem?” you cleared your throat with only a hint of sass. Bucky snapped out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hmm? What’d you say? Sorry, I was just admiring your uh- organization.” Haha bullshit, you thought. It took all your strength not to call him out on his blatant lie.

“I asked if you had any suggestions for supplies.” He still looked distracted. Like he wanted to get this done already. He rapped his foot impatiently.

“Everythings fine,” Bucky replied lazily. Before you could say anything he spoke again.

“Hey, who’s that?” he said pointing to the person he’d been ogling earlier. You bit the inside of your mouth to stop from scoffing.

“That’s Sharon. She’s a regular artist here.” You said professionally trying to keep from saying something about Bucky catching a case. Said man smirked.

“Could I speak to her? I’d like to...learn about how things are run here.” His voice clearly indicated that was not what he was going to talk about. Avoiding Bucky’s line of view you rolled your eyes farther than you thought they ever could.

Guess the rumors were true. He is a womanizer, You thought to yourself. I can’t believe I actually thought I might have a chance. This is just how he is with everyone. Your ideas of him being interested in you flew out the window.

“Yeah, sure. Go right ahead,” You said in a tone that was just controlled enough.

You sighed as he left the closet with a click of the door. Before exiting yourself you gently hit your head on the wall a few times. This jackass of a man was really getting under your skin. You decided to just go back to your painting and hope he noticed it. As you walked back to your seat you caught a glimpse of Bucky leaning on a table near Sharon clearly chatting her up. You grimaced. 

They say never meet celebrities for a reason, you thought to yourself.

When you sat back in your chair, Steve gave you a sympathetic look.

“I know he was a bit of a jerk but he really isn’t usually like that.” Your blonde friend eyed Bucky. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him today.” You didn’t reply.

“Hey,” Steve said, trying to get your attention. You looked at him expectantly.

“He’s really not that bad of a guy once you get to know him.”

You couldn’t help the snort that came out.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t wanna know him enough to get to that point.” You knew you were being a bit harsh, but a bad day plus this was really amping everything up.

“I mean he’s an art critic,” you said exasperated. 

“but he only reviewed one of my pieces!” You humphed.

“He does everything for a reason.” He muttered. You picked up your brush again unconvinced. Steve seemed to notice as he resumed. 

“Really! Please just promise me you’ll give him a chance.” When you didn’t budge Steve gave you the puppy eyes he knew you couldn’t refuse. You groaned and dipped your head back in frustration.

“Fine,-” You grumbled. “-but know, it’s not for him, it’s for you, cause I trust your judgment.” 

I mean I’ll never see him again anyway, you thought.

Steve grinned.

“And that’s all I can ask for.” You and Steve fell into a comfortable silence for around an hour as you both worked on your projects, but the constant flirting you heard from Sharon’s corner was riling you up.

You made a sound that was definitely some sort of growl and threw your hands up.

“Why can’t they just shut up?” Steve smiled mischievously.

“You doing okay there?” You glared at Steve

“What do you think? Barnes is basically throwing himself at Sharon. it’s so distracting.”

“You know what it sounds like to me?” The blonde man beside you asked.

“What?”

“It sounds like someone’s jealous,” Steve whispered. You could physically hear the grin in his voice.

“I really want to hit you right now,” You threatened.

“That’s not a no!” he sang.

“I’m NOT jealous! Why would I ever want Bucky Barnes to flirt with me? I’d honestly rather die,” You denied.

Steve looked at you skeptically.

“Whatever you say.” He went back to his sketches. You huffed and ultimately did this same. 

You did NOT like Bucky Barnes. But as you looked back towards the playboy brunette talking with Sharon, you felt an ache of envy that he wasn’t talking to you. 

I do NOT like Bucky Barnes, you repeated to yourself. But a little part of you knew that wasn’t true. You put your head in your hands.

Well fuckity, fuck, fuck.

so that was part one! it’ll get more dramatic soon! this is my first series so i’m still trying to figure some things out. if anyone has tips please let me know! sorry for any grammatical errors. thanks for reading :)

series masterlist~part 2

[loveburnsbrighter]

Like a Blushing Rose

Written for a lovely anon who requested little embarrassing moments :) read it on ao3

"What was that?"

David freezes.  Maybe if he stays really still, Patrick won't be able to see him.

"David," Patrick says with a huff of laughter.  "I can still see you, even when you stand really still."

Okay, fuck that plan, then.  David relaxes.  "What was what?"  He says as breezily as he can manage.  (Nevermind that he's not breezy at his best.)

"David," Patrick says again, in his patented teasing voice.  "Did you belch?"

"Okay, firstly, that's a gross word and I hate it," David clarifies, because Patrick's vocabulary, as it turns out, is atrocious.  "And secondly, no, I did not.  That's a disgusting thing to do in public."

"Is it technically public if it's just us two in here?"  Patrick cocks his head, a show of innocence that's so full of shit, and gestures at the admittedly empty shopping floor.  

David bristles to hide the little shiver that just us two gives him.  "Please don't remind me that we're quiet," he snaps instead.

Patrick just laughs at him.  "Told you the cafe's Super Burrito was a bad idea."  

"You know what, this isn't a discussion we're having," David announces.  He hates how out of control he feels.  He hates that Patrick is having fun humiliating him.  He hates that he actually doesn't hate either of those things, that Patrick's savant-level ability to press all of his buttons with  complete accuracy gives him a little thrill that he's chosen not to poke at thus far.

The thing about the beginning of a relationship is that there's no way of knowing how the other person will react as you slowly become a little more accessible to them, a little more human.  In the scant few weeks they've been dating, David has tried to stay at his filet mignon for Patrick, and now he's unwittingly exposed himself at his Super Burrito.

"David, it's okay," Patrick says gently.  "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Oh my God."  David tosses his hands up.  "How are we still fucking talking about this?"  

He cringes, expecting Patrick to be cowed by this, but he should know better at this point.  Patrick is smiling at him, endeared by David's harshness rather than repelled by it.  "Would it make you feel better if I burped, too?"

David's jaw actually drops in horror.  "No, it would not.  Literally at all."

"Okay," Patrick says, holding his hands up in surrender.  "But I just want you to know that there is really nothing to be embarrassed about.  You can't always control your body, right?"

David really doesn't know how to handle Patrick's blend of teasing and gentle sincerity right now.  Humiliation wars in him with his desire to let it go, because for some reason Patrick hasn't turned away at him, even after doing something as disgusting as — he has to swallow a gag at the thought — belching in public.  Finally, he sighs and looks at Patrick.  "Can we just drop it?  And never bring it up again?"

Patrick's eyes soften, though the teasing smile doesn't slip completely off his face.  "Consider it forgotten," he says.  And when he scrubs a firm hand over David's back, David lets himself think, maybe.  Maybe this, the first guy to still want to touch him after seeing his body betray him, maybe this one will work out.

There's a wet spot on David's shirt.  

It takes him a moment or two to orient himself — they're at Ray's, and Ray is out with a client.  It's their day off from work, and they're on the couch, and they must have fallen asleep watching TV.  Patrick's head is resting on David's chest, and his mouth is slightly open, and… 

Drool.  Patrick has drooled on his shirt.

David is first horrified by the drool on his shirt, because ew, and then he's horrified because in equal measure to his horror, he finds that he's finding this whole thing endearing.  And a bit relieving — finally, a tangible physical flaw, a little imperfection to prove that Patrick is a real person, who apparently drools in his sleep.

It's endearing enough that instead of leaping up and spot cleaning his shirt immediately, David finds himself petting a hand over Patrick's hair.  Patrick snuffles, and David does it again, encouraged.  When he runs his fingers between the shorn strands — not tugging, just seeing how it feels — Patrick sniffs and shifts and blinks awake, and David tugs his hand back guiltily.

"Mm," Patrick says, voice thick, not lifting his head from David's chest, "How long was I asleep?"

"About an hour and a half," David says, petting his hair again.

Patrick groans, wipes his mouth and lifts his head, and then he pauses.  "You got something…"  He points to the wet spot on David's shirt, and then stiffens.  "Oh my God," he says, and covers his face.  "David —"

"It's okay," David assures him, because for some reason it really is.  Because it's Patrick, and David has learned over the past several months that he'll make a lot more allowances for Patrick than he ever could have thought.

"It only happens when I sleep during the day," Patrick says from between his fingers. "I'm so sorry, I'll pay to have your shirt cleaned —"

"Hey," David says, pulling at Patrick's fingers.  "Don't touch your face, it's bad for your skin."  He succeeds in prying Patrick's hands away from his face, which is bright red.  David can't help but touch it; the warmth radiating off Patrick's skin is intoxicating, which is a thought he's interested in chasing down the line — but not right now.  "It's fine, Patrick."

Patrick chances a look up at him with the biggest set of puppy-dog eyes David has ever seen on an adult.  "But your shirt!  You're not mad?"

"I'm as surprised as you are," David tells him with absolute sincerity.  "But I guess…it's kind of…," he takes a long pause, looking for a word.  "Endearing."  He cringes, waiting for Patrick to react.

Patrick reacts by blushing harder, which David thinks is very fun and adorable of him, the bloodrush painting his ears, his neck.  "Okay," he says.  "I'm…really embarrassed," he admits.

"Mm, shocking," David can't help but tease.  "It's okay, Patrick.  I promise."

"Oh, you promise?"  Patrick shuffles up, eyes dropping to David's mouth.

"Mhmm," David says, smiling into the kiss Patrick offers him.  He pulls back and leans his forehead against Patrick's, and he can't help but think that maybe, at this exact second, everything really is okay.

They're driving home from a conference when he sees it.

David generally doesn't attend these sorts of functions, but this one was a one-day affair in Elmdale, there and back without having to stay in a dusty motel (Patrick had hit David with the driest expression in his repertoire when David had expressed this point), and there was a workshop called "The Power of a Cohesive Aesthetic," so David had agreed with what he considers to have been a very modest level of bitching.

The radio is on low and Patrick is relaxed, one hand on the bottom of the wheel and the other on David's thigh, chattering about the Greater Elms Business Association panel he attended, and David can't really be blamed for letting his attention drift a bit; watching Patrick's face move through his excitement is simply much more fun than actually listening to what the CFO of Elm Glenn's premiere laundry facility had to say about bargain buying.  They will not be applying that to the Apothecary, thanks so much.

David lets his gaze drift down Patrick's profile — the slight curl of the hair at his neck that says he's overdue for a cut, the stiff collar of his teal shirt, the strain of the fabric where he's rolled his cuffs up, the long, transparent sticker that reads XL XL XL XL down his chest — 

Wait a second.

"Um, Patrick, honey?"  David says delicately, completely disrupting whatever Patrick was saying about cheaper office supplies — although, actually, if Patrick wants to cut costs, carbon paper and premium colored ink are surely the places to do it.  "Is that a new shirt?"

"Yeah."  Patrick glances at him for a second, one eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly.  "You were with me when I bought this.  Do you not like it?"  He frowns.

David does remember — after being coerced into Kohls on the promise that he wouldn't have to try anything on himself, he'd actually quite enjoyed the little fashion show Patrick had given him, and it had gotten him into slim-fit jeans (he didn't buy them, but, baby steps).  And he remembers thoroughly endorsing this color on Patrick — it brings out his natural coloring a bit, so that even under the harshest fluorescents he doesn't look cadaverous.  That assessment is what probably led Patrick to wear it to a conference at a university, with its stupid economical lighting and paint jobs.

"I love the shirt," David says emphatically, because he doesn't want Patrick stuffing it in the back of his closet, never to be seen again.  "Um, it's just.  You've got a price tag..?"  He reaches over and delicately plucks at a corner of it; it separates from Patrick's chest with a soft ripping sound.  

"Oh my God," Patrick says; his eyes are on the road, but his ears redden considerably.  "Do you think that was there all day?"

"Um.  I don't think it magically appeared there halfway through the day.  So."  David cringes, trying to be sympathetic but unable to imagine leaving the house without checking over his clothes first. 

Patrick's face only flames further.  "I talked to so many people today!  David, I had a whole conversation with the president of the Greater —"

"Greater Elms Business Association, I know," David says, pained that he's in love with a man who cares about the opinion of the Greater Elm's Business Association's president.

"They must have thought I was an idiot," Patrick says miserably, shaking his head at the road.  "Damn it, and I really killed them with that joke about British accountants…"

David grits his teeth over that one.  "I'm sure they didn't notice.  I mean, I didn't notice, and I think I pay just a little more attention to your clothes slash body than the average person?"

Patrick's mouth twists.  "I guess that's true."

"Um, you guess?"  David paws at Patrick's shoulder playfully.  "When we get home I'll get you out of this shirt and prove it to you."  He tries for a sexy growl, knowing the effect will be more goofy (he's not really the growling type) and that it will make Patrick laugh.

He does laugh, just a little bit.  "I know what you're doing, David," he says, smiling sideways at the freeway, "and if you try to distract me now I will send us straight into a guardrail."

David pulls back.  "Wouldn't want that."  But Patrick's blush is almost gone.  "So…what else did you learn at your panel today?"  He knows he'll regret asking, but as Patrick lights back up and launches into a detailed description of whatever it is (so he's already zoning out, can he be blamed?) he's glad that he did.  He laces his fingers with Patrick's and watches his expressions shift and change, and humoring Patrick, pleasing him, lifting him back up is so easy and feels so good that David thinks he could do it for the rest of his life. 

[okimargarvez]

REVERSE - 1

Original title: Reverse.

Prompt: Penelope is the new girl on the BAU team and Luke tries to treat her cold.

Warning: A.U., possible OOC.

Genre: drama, romantic, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Derek Morgan, O.C. Sam Cooper’ team, Roxy.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 62 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑😘👓🔦🐶❗🎲🎈👻🎬🎵.

Song mentioned: Amici per errore, Tiziano Ferro.

Reverse- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

Note: I written the whole story in just two days; yeah, I’m not normal. It was funny (but also not so easy) re-writing their main scenes and dialogues imagining that the situation was reverse: she the new girl, he with the team since… the beginning.

1 # In no way I would like to be elsewhere, that’s why I’m still here

About a month had passed since Christine left to follow her husband to another city. He couldn’t really blame her without feeling selfish: in her place he would probably have done the same. Not only had Rich risked dying from one of the madmen they were chasing (as had happened to Hotch, with a less positive ending), but at that moment she was actually pregnant. It had hurt him, that she hadn’t told him, to have to find out in such a brusque way. He was her best friend after all. Perhaps for a while, before Rich, he had even hoped for something more.

Her absence was not only noticeable in his heart, but much more practically when it came to solving a case. Hotch had called Kevin Lynch, with whom they had collaborated in previous years, but who for some reason he had never really liked him. Then, about a week ago, however, the man had announced that he was needed elsewhere and so his historic ex-girlfriend had replaced him (in the Bureau the gossip went wild, there was no concept of privacy): Penelope Garcia, the star of the behavioral analysis team led by the unscrupulous Sam Cooper.

Of course, he had already heard of her, not just through rumors. She was definitely the best in her field (as much as it bothered him to admit it, because he seemed to be doing wrong to Chrissie). Probably the best in the entire FBI or perhaps even in the world, without exaggerating. Someone said that CIA has banned her from its archives. Top level hacker, like any good computer technician. Even Agent Oller idolized her in a way he never really understood, since they were almost peers. Not before he meets her in person.

But there were other voices circulating, of another kind. Epic stories, almost to compete with the Arthurian and Carolingian cycles. With a co-star: Derek Morgan. The nicknames they had given themselves (and that people had added, as the wireless phone tour continued) were wasted. Her lines were at least as famous as her speed in finding the address of a suspect found untraceable. It had happened to him sometimes to meet Agent Morgan at the shooting range. He had wondered what was in her and was about to find out, at his price.

The elevator doors open halfway. The solitude in which Luke Alvez has taken refuge is about to be broken by a blond hurricane. -Hello!- Garcia exclaims enthusiastically, getting on board and positioning herself too close for his tastes. It is as if the lone wolf that was before joining the BAU had returned after Christine’s departure. Although his eyes remain fixed on the reflective steel surface, his nostrils cannot avoid capturing her perfume. The first time he saw her he was bent over studying a file; Hotch appeared on the balcony, calling them to the meeting. And he glimpsed at her backside, beginning to understand Morgan. Then the big boss made the presentations one by one. She was dressed in such an indecent way… not so much for the clothes, even JJ occasionally allowed herself something low-cut… and also Chrissie. But for the bright colors. He remembers what he thought at the time. But it would have been proven wrong more than once. Because her perfume is not at all exaggerated, strong and annoying as expected. Indeed, it seems an almost natural and damn stimulating aroma.

He erases the last thought and forces himself to be at least polite. His mother and grandmother would otherwise scold him, even if they have no way of finding out. -Good morning.- he replies, with a cold, distant and professional tone.

Because of the silence he can hear Garcia take a breath before opening her mouth. But he knows she won’t be able to hold herself; she can’t help it. She is certainly the least formal creature of the FBI. And Chrissie would love her. -How was your week-end?- here she is. Luke remembers how difficult it was to be grumpy and unkind when he shook her hand. Surely it would have been easier to hate Lynch for no reason… but he was a man. The overlap was not working.

He feels the woman’s gaze on him. Those brown eyes so dark and penetrating, as well as so large and apparently innocent, covered by a pair of fuchsia glasses, naturally paired with the flower in her hair and the three-quarter jacket. He cursed himself for being so adept at noticing a great deal of detail in no time. He may even feel her expectation while she is patiently waiting for him to answer. -I don’t see why I should talk to you about it.- he chooses to continue with the farce of professionalism. But then, despite Garcia continuing to keep quiet and good, he feels driven by an external force to add a detail. -But if you really insist…- he turns for the first time towards her, instantly catching her eyes. -I stayed with my girlfriend, who is beautiful and loves me.- inside he laughs deeply, because she can’t know he’s talking about his dog. It doesn’t seem to have been added to his file.

-Oh, fantastic!- her reaction, sincerely enthusiastic, confirms that she has fallen for it. Naivety is another of the things she is famous for. This often made her the victim of her team’s (light) jokes. He feels a little bad in taking advantage of her weakness, but if it helps to make her understand that with him he doesn’t work, that she won’t be able to become his friend… Garcia looks at him again, without any shame. -And you stayed at home or…- apparently not, he will have to play it heavier. He sighs.

He doesn’t even shake his head. -No, we went for a walk in the park.- he smiles maliciously, reflecting on how easy it is to exchange Roxy for a woman. -She loves it.- he adds. -What about your weekend?- he asks, considering that only one floor is still missing before they reach theirs. But has this elevator always been so slow, or is it doing it on purpose? Everything conspires against him.

She speaks with much more tranquility. Of course, she hasn’t lost her best friend. -I stayed at home with my boyfriend.- Luke feels a pang of annoyance at that answer, but doesn’t want to believe it’s the thought that she can’t have an affair. Kevin is proof of that, isn’t it? It seems to him that they have been together for about five years, back and forth. Of course it was JJ and Chrissie who talked about it all the time, they love the internal gossip. He has never been a superficial type and Garcia has all the credentials; her curves certainly don’t leave men indifferent. -It helped me improve my fingering techniques…- she continues, then realizes the way he is now looking at her. Eyes wide open and narrowed in amazement. Yet he knew it would happen. She is also the undisputed queen of double meaning. It seems that this time however it was not wanted. -On my clarinet!- she then adds, almost screaming. She defends herself with too much emphasis, the skin of the face even paler. -I swear, I meant the musical instrument.- finally, she seems to succumb and he is even sorry.

But not from the outside. Luke, on the other hand, chuckles, nodding, amused by the situation, he can’t help. As he wonders if Agent Morgan has ever been able to test the skill of her fingers. -There is no need to get agitated.- he says, but it doesn’t sound reassuring at all and in fact he didn’t want to be. -Whatever you do in your spare time, this is only about you.- he is amazed at the ease with which such nonsense comes out. Then he feels the cell phone vibrate in his pants pocket, just in time, even if he hasn’t programmed it. He extracts it and looks at the familiar message. -And, sorry- how damned fake he is! -but we have an important case.- without looking at her once, he goes down the elevator first. Really not very gallant. -Have a good day.- he adds as compensation.

-Wait!- she shouts after him. He hears the sound of her heels as she tries to reach him. -I can also play the ukulele.-

—————————

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[fvckyouimaprophet]

Glee. Niff + Chandler 😂😂😂😂😂

Okay, I did this to myself by bringing up Niff the other week. 😂 I took some liberties with Chandler because it’s my fic, and I can!

The last week had been a whirlwind. To Jeff, it had felt as if one moment, he and Nick were pushing boxes up two flights of stairs in the sticky summer heat, and the next, they were taking New York by storm. They had already begun their unofficial bucket list, complete with Levain cookies and a 3am pit stop at Veselka. But things had started to slow down. After five hours outside, with the sun reflecting off of the glass and concrete, all Jeff could think about was a little time to sit inside.

“Can we stop here?” Nick asked, motioning to a store down half a flight of stairs. Jeff squinted his eyes, trying to read past the sun gleaming off the storefront.

“Animal Records? As long as they have A/C, I’m down.”

The bell on the door jingled as they walked in. It became immediately obvious that there was no A/C, but several fans whirred at full blast, somewhat cutting through the stagnant air.

The guy behind the counter looked up at them and smiled. “Let me know if you need any help,” he said.

“Just browsing. Thanks!” Jeff leaned in towards Nick. “How is he wearing a beanie in this weather?” he asked under his breath.

“Dedication. He’s kinda cute, though.”

Jeff whacked Nick as subtly as he could. “You just have a thing for blonds.” He slid his way over to the Folk section. However, when he glanced over again, Jeff had to admit, there was something to him.

Jeff began leafing through records, but his attention was turned to Nick, who kept glancing at the blond boy at the checkout. If he noticed, he didn’t convey it. After a little bit, Jeff made his way over to Nick, who was halfway through the Rock section.

“Okay, I’ll bite. How would we even know he’s into us?” Jeff asked.

“I think he is. He—” Before Nick could say more, the guy behind the counter looked up at both of them and smiled again.

“Finding anything you like?” Something about his expression—bordering on a smirk—made Jeff almost certain that he had overheard, though considering the volume they were speaking at, it should have been impossible.

“Debating between Parallel Lines and Blondie by, well, Blondie,” Nick said.

“Ooh, both good choices.” He leaned forward across the counter. “But if you ask me, I’d go with Parallel Lines. X Offended is undoubtedly one of their best songs, but you haven’t lived until you’ve heard Heart of Glass on a record player.”

“Who am I to ignore your recommendation?” Nick said. He turned his attention down to leaf through and pull the record out.

“And you?” he asked Jeff. “No pressure, of course. Your boyfriend seems more into records than you.” Boyfriend – so he knew. Jeff wondered whether Nick had perhaps been right.

“Oh, um, I was just browsing, but I’d be interested.”

“Genres?”

“Pop, show tunes, I’m pretty open.”

“It just so happens that I give excellent musical recommendations.” He hopped out from behind the counter. “Though frankly our CDs have a better selection.”

Jeff glanced over at Nick, who raised his eyebrow and motioned for Jeff to follow.

“I insist on keeping the show tunes and soundtracks section well-stocked, even though we rarely sell from there. You’d think with it being New York and all, we’d have better luck, but people don’t exactly go to record stores for that.” He stoped in front of a wall of CDs.

“Oh, do you own the place?”

“Own it? Oh, heavens no! The owner’s a friend of a friend of my uncle. I go to NYADA.”

“Oh shit! No way. We have a friend who does. Kurt Hummel.”

“Kurt, huh?” Something about the tone in his voice told Jeff that there was more to the story, and as if to confirm it, the blond man smirked. “I’m Chandler, by the way. I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself.” He stretched out his hand.

“Jeff. And my boyfriend over there—” When Jeff turned around to motion, Nick was just a few paces behind them.

“Nick.”

“You new to the city?” Chandler asked, shaking both of their hands.

“Yeah. Just moved in last week,” Jeff said.

“I can tell. You don’t have that hardened look in your eyes yet from the MTA messing with you just one too many times.” He chuckled at his own joke and motioned back to the shelf. “So give me your favorite cast albums, Jeff, and I’ll give you the best recommendation list you’ve seen. It’s kind of my superpower.”

Under the guise of shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Nick nudged Jeff. Unless he was reading it wrong, there undeniably was something there.

“Spring Awakening, Next to Normal, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson.” Jeff chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought. “tick, tick… BOOM! as well”

“Excellent taste.” Chandlers stepped forward and leafed through the section. “I’m presuming you know about Heathers.”

“Yes, I love it!”

“And Bare.”

“We petitioned for our school to put it in,” Nick said.

“I love that.” It took Chandler a moment to find the CD he was looking for, and Jeff used the opportunity to look over at Nick. Upon seeing the wide grin on his face, Jeff couldn’t help but grin too, and reached over, squeezing his hand quickly. 

“Well, then, how about Razia’s Shadow?” Chandler asked. “It’s more of a concept album, but it I have a feeling you’d like it. Something about you strikes me as a Panic! at the Disco fan.” He handed him the CD, and Jeff did his best to hide his reaction when he saw the price tag. “It is pricier, though, as there are limited copies. I won’t suck you dry. Promise. You should look it up online, though.” He took another moment to look through before handing Jeff another CD. “Bat Boy?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never listened to it.” He looked it over and nodded. They made their way across the store back to the cash register, and Chandler rung them both up.

“Hey, since we’re new to the city, would you want to show us the ropes?” Nick asked. 

“How funny. I was thinking of asking you the same thing.” Chandler scribbled his number on the back of their receipt. “Something tells me that we’re going to be great friends. Maybe I can even take you out to see a show. NYADA gives us great discounts.”

“We’d love that,” Jeff said. He tucked the receipt in his wallet for safe keeping. “See you around, then.”

“See you around.”

They waited until they got outside before turning to each other. “Told you!” Nick said, elbowing him.

“Okay, okay, you’re absolutely right.”

Suddenly, the New York heat didn’t seem all that unmanageable to Jeff. Not at all.