#c: coco

[jessehart]

Jesse set his taco back down, reaching for more tomatillo sauce to drown it in. He nodded a little absently as Coco went on, eyes only flicking up once he mentioned Jesse being captain as he rolled his taco back up and took another bite. Perfect.

He snorted around a mouthful of his food as a few of Coco's toppings went flying, the question turned back around on him. He shrugged as he chewed, setting the taco back down and swallowing. "I'm feeling the pressure, for sure," he admitted honestly. Even if their coach hadn't explicitly said it, Jesse knew he was on a short leash this year after the article and his own antics the year prior, so he really wanted— needed— to pull the stops out for this final season.

"It's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about," he hedged. "I was wondering if you wanted to run some new plays I'm thinking about trying, just me and you? I think we could stand to tighten up defense a little more on the [bad knee, right or left? idk] side."

Absentmindedly, Court flexed his knee under the table, extending out his lower leg and retracting it back underneath him before he answered Jesse, the motion an instinctual reaction to the question. "Feeling great," he chirped after a moment, flashing Jesse a bright smile. He wouldn't dare saying anything else, no matter his true feelings - he couldn't risk being benched or anything like that. He quickly turned towards his own half dozen tacos, eyes darting back and forth over them before picking one up at random. "Don't worry about me, though - I'm not the captain. Or a senior," he said, brushing away the question with a quick gesture - yes, with the hand with the taco, a few toppings going flying. "How about you?" he asked, before taking a bite from the taco, quickly trying to turn the subject from theirself.

[floofiestboy]

university akam I drew a while back

[tohruies]

karasu and coco and their big fat indian wedding.....

[letsraisealittlehelltrds]

would it be possible for you to do a gif set of coco the french train from the bochum production? if not i understand she's kind of niche aaa :p

From France, the fastest underwater train in the world…

Powered by Coco!

Feel free to reblog / use on tumblr with credit! Got a request or idea for a future spotlight? Send it to my ask box!

[bluearc009]

Pass it on

Everyone is watching a movie.

Jaune: Ruby could you ask Emerald to pass the popcorn.

Ruby: nope.

Jaune: but why?

Ruby:(poin to emerald) she like way over there.

Jaune: just pass it on.

Ruby: last time we did a whisper train, everyone got sucked into a pyramid scheme.

Jaune: please I'm hungry.

Ruby: fine(to Weiss) Jaune wants the popcorn.

Weiss:(to Yang) Jaune bought the popcorn.

Yang:(to Blake) Jaune bought a newborn.

Blake:(to Nora) Jaune bought a baby bjorn.

Nora:(to Ren) Blake has tuna breath.

Ren:(to Neptune) Blake has it bad for Beth.

Neptune: who's Beth?

Random girl:(pop up from behind the couch) I am.

Neptune:(to Sun) I think I have a chance with Beth.

Sun: .................................

Coco:(to Sun) what did neptune say?

Sun: I wasn't paying attention.

Coco: ask him again.

Sun:(to Neptune) what did you say?

Neptune: I think I'm going to ask out Beth.

Sun:(turn to Coco).....I forgot what he said.

Coco:(to Velvet) Sun is an idiot.

Velvet: Sun is a(turn to see Ruby)...what, weren't you sitting over there?

Ruby: I was, but I love the juicy gossip. Sun's a what?

Velvet: he's an idiot.

Ruby: I already knew that(turn to Oscar) Jaune wants the popcorn.

Oscar:(to Emerald) Jaune wants the popcorn.

Emerald: NO.

Oscar:(to Velvet) NO.

Velvet:(to Coco) NO.

Coco:(to Sun) NO.

Sun: NO.

Beth:(turning down Neptune) NO.

Neptune:(depressed) oh

Ren:(to Nora) NO.

Nora(to Blake) NO.

Blake(to Yang) NO.

Yang(to Weiss) NO.

Weiss:(to Jaune) NO.

Jaune: guys I can hear y....

Ruby:(sit back next to Jaune) she said no.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Citroën ZX Volcane, 1992. The ZX was designed at Bertone by Donato Coco, sharing many components with Peugeot's 305. The Volcano came with a 2.0 litre 16 valve 4 cylinder engine share with the Peugeot 405 Mi16

[bobauthorman]

Cat & Rabbit

I wanna see how Blake and Velvet interact in the Post-V9 episodes. Because if Blake's problem is that she's so ride-or-die for Ruby that she unwittingly contributed to Little Red's breakdown, Velvet's thing is the opposite. I know a lot of fans are so into Crosshares, but if the Myers books are anything to go by, Velvet post-V3 is so very done with Coco. There was probably a time when she looked up to and followed Coco's lead (As evidenced by how eager she was when Coco gave her the 'okay' to use her weapon and Semblance), but this has clearly faded by After the Fall. By that book, Velvet has a great deal of pent of frustration with Coco's bossiness. I wonder if Velvet can help Blake learn to have a more grounded view of her Team Leader that Velvet had to develop for Coco?

(To be clear, I don't think Ruby and Coco are the same, it's clear that Ruby's a lot better than Coco. But blind obedience doesn't do anyone any good in RWBY)

[22plus15]

narla & coco hard launch 🐶💕 (via narla's ig)

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

i don't know how people see the c//a dance and immediately think of lumity or bubbline or other instances of healthy couples dancing consentually.

the only thing i could think of whenever i see it is

[small-wha]

[jessehart]

Even if Jesse hadn't already loaded up on anything and everything he could get his hands on to block the sound of his cocksure piece of shit sperm donor peacocking on the other side of the room, his response to Coco's offer would have been a resounding yes. As it was, Court earned a wide, genuine smile from Jesse. "I always wanna get weird with you," he said, words slurring only just as he reached out to boop Coco's nose. He waggled his brows at his friend enticingly. "Maybe I'll toss in some of the goodies from my pocket and make this a real party."

who: @jessehart when: may 27th, shortly before g's texts where: the commencement gala

Court grinned when he saw Jesse, one of the few actually genuine smiles he had put on all evening, weaving through the few people between them to throw an arm around his shoulder. "Since it's the off-season and everything..." Court said, head angling as they gave Jesse a mischievous look, complete with a sparkle to make his blue eyes even brighter than normal. Thank god, Coco seriously needing the break, considering his knee had been twinging with pain ever since he had seemingly re-tweaked it in their championship game. Not that it had even been fine before that - maybe he shouldn't have played a whole season on it. At least the haze of the painkillers helped with more than just the knee. And he knew Jesse was always down, so he wouldn't even have to be the halfway to washed up athlete alone in the bathroom doing drugs. That night, at least. "I have some perc's and wanted to look for my best buddy in case he wanted to get weird with me," he said, the suggestion left hanging for Jesse to accept, Court pretty sure he wouldn't have to tempt him with much more than a straight forward offer.

[possibilistfanfiction]

nightmare for the one word prompts

[a little sad but mostly very silly, butch bea universe]

//

'i really don't have to go today,' beatrice says, kissing your forehead before settling down next to you on the couch. you know she means it: beatrice means everything she says, first of all, and you have grown — despite your brain's best efforts to steer you otherwise — to trust her when she offers care. you take her in: her fresh haircut that she gets done every month now, usually neatly parted on the top, messy from sleep; her tender wrists; the soft skin of her thighs; the soft sweater you bought her last christmas, sleeves pulled down over her hands, which are always cold.

you sigh. you had had nightmares — more than one, which is rare this many years later, after the worst of it — and woken up with scars that you don't think about too often, or at least with too much pain or sorrow anymore, aching all over your body. your legs had been pins and needles — worse, you've discovered, than feeling nothing some days — and your spine had ached, the halo feeling your sorrow, sharing in it. beatrice had skipped her typical surf session this morning, partially because she'd woken up with you both times last night, and partially because she's worried. she doesn't try to hide it anymore, her concern written all over her gentle face, in her sweet eyes, her soft hands. you find it nestled along all the small things she did for you in the past two hours: bringing you pain meds along with an easy breakfast of scrambled eggs and your favorite rosemary sourdough toast, doing a few snuffles with korra's morning unkibble so she's calm and ready to work today for whatever you need, helping you, after your glum nod, transfer from bed to your chair. you twist the wedding band around on your finger, focus on the few freckles that sit on the tops of her hands because of her time in the sun. your life is real, you remind yourself. your time on the other side, every endless day you spent in hell, was worth it for this, for beatrice quietly and patiently sitting next to you, soft and always becoming more herself; for your family visiting at the end of the week, camila begging to go to universal studios, lilith grumbling but giving in; for the respect people owe you now, and ready give; for your dog and your bar and the edibles you share with beatrice some nights, easy with laughter, and the farofa you feel confident in making for dinner when your friends come over, a warm offering.

'no,' you decide on, firmly, and you know beatrice will trust you. 'we should go. it'll be fun.'

'it will be fun,' she says, the same gleam in her eye you remember from years ago when she was ready to "maim or kill" (lilith's words) anyone who was in the way of her and the mission, especially once you became involved.

'you remember this is, like, your weekly tennis match for fun, right?'

'of course, ava.'

the way she cracks her knuckles tells you that the for fun is lost on her for the most part. it's endlessly amusing to you, though, and quite harmless — although maybe not to her opponent's pride — so you don't bother to argue any further. 'okay, well, i think angela and ruth wanted to have lunch anyway today after their jazzercise class, so we can watch you play.'

'no catcalling.'

you pout. 'you're my wife.'

'not from you, not from ruth or angela.'

'they're old, bea. let them have some fun.'

'at my expense? no thank you. i need to focus while i compete.'

she's already sitting up straighter, eyes lively. she's playing david today, you think, if you remember the club's "adult intermediate to advanced tennis league" rotation correctly. he's a decent player, and their head to head record is relatively even. he's also a bit of an asshole, and a venture capitalist, so it stands to reason beatrice despises him.

'fine.' you squeeze her hand. 'but can you change your shirt between sets?'

'ava.'

'gratuitously towel off or something at least.'

'ava.'

'whatever,' you say. 'i'm wearing a bikini. at least ruth and angela will appreciate it.'

'oh, i'll appreciate it,' she says, and then laughs softly and leans over to kiss you.

/

everything about beatrice, you decided years ago, is endearing. can she kill a man in, like, one second using just her hand? yes, sure, but you've seen her very skillfully practice her forms every morning for years, barring injury, and frown when anything is off, even by a breath. most people find her precision in all things kind of terrifying, but you've learned that some of it is a trauma response — from her childhood, from being a soldier, from losing you — and some of it is really just how she is. her books sorted exactly how she wants them — by genre, subgenre, and then author's last name — on the bookshelf; the meticulously labeled spices in your pantry, always in both their language of origin and english; her surfboards waxed perfectly and neatly stored in the small shed in your yard. everything about her precision is endearing because you understand her and you love her, and maybe the most endearing, or at least you think some days, is the way she treats rec league club tennis.

no matter how many times you've jokingly reminded her that your club isn't wimbeldon, she likes to wear all white little outfits; men's shorts and, your favorite, a neat polo. in the summer, she favors tanks, which you are not complaining about. she has three racquets and a very impressive bag like all the pros carry onto the court, special towels, pristine sneakers, and, when you're most amused, a wristband she very sincerely wipes her sweaty forehead on. since you'd met she'd loved watching tennis, and she'd taught you — as patiently as she has always taught you anything — the rules, her favorite players (not that it was, like, hard to think serena williams was the best athlete ever), common terms to know. you'd gone out with her a few times to the courts and she'd shown you proper form; you'd found out, eventually from her, that her dream as a little kid was to be a tennis pro, which was so charming and a little unexpected. you had thought she would've wanted to be some kind of scientist, maybe a really good lawyer, but her brother had dug out some pictures of little beatrice in her tennis getup, her expression so, so serious for a nine year old, and you'd fallen in love all over again.

she listens to her "pump-up music" — a lot of pop, surprisingly — as she drives you both to the club, focused already in her tennis outfit, complete with a quarterzip warmup top and everything. you're endlessly amused by her, in a way that most people are too intimidated to be, and you think it's good for her, to feel human, to not be taken so seriously when she should get to just enjoy things. your pain meds are helping by the time you get to the club, the pins and needles down your legs leveling out, the halo shaking off some of its deep sorrow, the memories of torture and abject aloneness that sometimes show up in your dreams. today is bright and sunny, the bluest sky, and your friends wave to you once you get out to the tables near the tennis courts. beatrice says a quick hello and then bustles off to start her very precise warm up routine, and you all wait until she's out of earshot to share a fond laugh.

'david today?'

'i swear she was rewatching coco and iga's last match yesterday to prepare.'

ruth pats your hand and angela orders a charcuterie for the table, gets prosecco for ruth and herself and — they both know you well enough by now that your chair usually means you've had to take medication, which you don't mix with alcohol — a cranberry soda for you, your favorite.

david shows up a few minutes later as you're gossiping, angela gasping at ruth's latest escapades with her new boyfriend while you laugh delightedly. he's the kind of muscular dude that likes to run along the beach shirtless because he thinks it's impressive but really it just looks ridiculous, the kind of dude that would give unwanted pointers in the gym. you don't have a disdain for him like beatrice does, because he's never done anything abhorrent to you personally, but when you see her steely gaze as he goes to his bench on the court, you get it. and, also, it's hot, so, like, you shoot a quick thanks to david and his douchey backwards cap for that.

/

things go just about as you'd expected: beatrice plays with the amount of passion you'd see in a wimbeldon final, and angela and ruth relentlessly whistle and cheer and boo. the charcuterie has a new truffle havarti you're all in love with, and the bottle of prosecco gets split happily while you watch. it's a fairly even match — david hits harder than beatrice but is slower and definitely stupider — and she wins the first set 6 games to 4. she gets mad at him for serving too slowly, and they briefly have an argument over whether or not one of his backhands was in. it's all deeply ridiculous for an afternoon at in an amateur club league, but beatrice and her overhand serves get you every single time.

she's down a break in the second set when she hits a drop shot that has david falling over his own feet, and you know it's over then. the second bea realizes someone is truly out of sorts, in any scenario, she's already won.

they shake hands after the match is over, beatrice taking the second set much quicker than the first, and then she makes her way over to your table and sits, very satisfied, in the chair next to you, a towel around her neck.

'my champion,' you say, and she rolls her eyes, accepting the congratulatory beer angela had already ordered for her as the last game was winding down with a thankful nod.

'great match, beatrice,' ruth says, half-sincere, half-teasing, but beatrice smiles anyway. sometimes, things are not good; sometimes, on the worst days, even now, even still, even with all this love, you still remember what it was like to suffer alone — without feeling, with too much feeling — for so much of your life. but beatrice slips into her quarterzip next to you and you smell sweat and laundry detergent and the pomade she puts in her hair, you feel the sun warming along your back and you hear the small group of children starting their lesson, laughing brightly. beatrice holds your hand and you'll nap later; you'll order takeout from your favorite thai place and watch the sunset on your patio; you'll fall asleep in her arms. you'll wake up and do it all over again — the loneliness, the pain, the longing — just for this.

[tohruies]

karasu fresh out of bed wearing low-hung grey sweatpants and scratching at his chest while he stretches the other arm over his head…. his lips are a tad swollen from sleep and little beads of sweat collect in the divots between his abs because of how hot he gets in the mornings and there’s the faintest puddle of dampness over the crotch of his sweats from when you woke him up by making him cum

[valsyngur]

he bites

[twinklesofhope]

"FanGo? Elestra?"

"My! You all have such weird tastes in games? Isn't it all about Candy Run?"

[stabbbed]

Various works by Coco Paluck, including the cover art for Reptilian Club Boyz’s “Rock Out Gang” (2020)