#to make your pint you could have used any other character

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Time.

You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will all have their own ways of helping you heal.

Pairing - Santiago Garcia, Frankie Morales, Benny Miller, Will Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Cursing, mentions of blood, gunshots

Word Count - 4329

Author's Note - hi lovely people. i loved writing this one so much oh my :( those four boys in one movie together is a dream. and i don't know if you noticed, but i have a real soft spot for will. and yes, i did photoshop ben afflecks character out of that picture. more than happy to write for any of the triple frontier boys individually - just send me an ask! as always, lots of love x

my other triple frontier fics - Tethered, Tranquility and Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Masterlist. Requests.

It’s been 6 days since you were shot.

6 days of blood, pain, sterility, stitches, hazy memories that float into your consciousness like smoke in the air.

You somehow remember it both clear as day and blurry as night.

The metallic taste of copper in your mouth, clear as day.

The searing, burning pain in your side, clear as day.

The panicked looks on the boys faces, the yelling, the frantic scrambling – clear as day.

The rest of it? Blurry as night.

You can’t remember getting home. One minute you were bleeding out on the ground in Colombia, and the next minute you’re back on US soil, lying in a bed in Houston Methodist Hospital.

You can’t remember your discharge. You fell asleep on those sterile, crinkly white sheets, and woke up in a soft bed, wrapped in a navy blue comforter that smells like Will.

All you’ve known for the last 6 days is sleep. That molten sleep that moves like molasses, warm and slow and sticky. The sun rises and sets, and you’re none the wiser. Floating aimlessly through unconsciousness, just you and your dreams.

Unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been alone for a minute since you got home. The boys have taken turns sitting by your bedside, heart rates rising whenever you stir. All of them silently processing what all of this means, for you and for them.

It was damn close. Too much blood. Pints after pints after pints of it. Pouring over Will’s hands, soaking into Benny’s jeans, slipping beneath Santiago’s boots, choking the air around Frankie where his forehead was pressed to yours, begging you to stay awake. All of them wondering the same thing – where has all of this come from? Surely one person can’t have so much blood in them. It can’t all be from her.

The Doctor said that you got lucky. Any more blood loss and you’d have lost your life too. Your surgeon said that you owed your life to whoever stopped the bleeding.

William ‘Ironhead’ Miller. He’d shoved his hand straight into the wound, applying as much pressure as he could without breaking any ribs. It was the worst thing he’d ever seen, but he was in fight or flight mode. He knew it had to be fight. He hoped you were making the same choice as you were lying there, breath rattling in your chest like pennies in a tin can.

Some would call it a miracle. Divine intervention, perhaps. You shouldn’t have survived. Scientifically, statistically, you should have died right there on that floor, in a mission gone wrong. Tragic accident. Caught in the crossfire. Collateral damage.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re half conscious in Will’s guest bedroom, enveloped by his scent. Warm, cozy, safe, and alive. You’re struggling to stay awake for more than ten, fifteen minutes at a time. It’s all catching up to you. You had to fight so hard to take each breath, that now you’re exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that sleep can’t fix. No, it’s settled into your gut, wrapped it’s limbs around your bones. It keeps you weighed down and heavy, a reminder of the trauma. You’re alive, but you’re tired. So tired.

The boys are worried. Worried beyond belief. When the Doctor told them she was happy to discharge you, reality hit the four of them like a high-speed freight train. How do they navigate this? You can’t go home. You can’t be by yourself. They’re all back on Texan soil, which means work, and family, and bills to pay, and routines to carry out. How do they factor in the woman they call their best friend, who’s currently in the deepest sleep of her life with a healing bullet hole in her side?

“I’ll take her,” Will had said. “She can stay with me, in my guest room. You guys can come over whenever you want. I have the most space, anyway.”

That was true. Santiago and Benny live in apartments, bachelor pads really, and Frankie’s second bedroom is his daughter’s room. She was only with him on weekends, but she needed a place to sleep, so that was him out of the question. Having you stay with Will made the most sense. They all agreed to come and sit with you in shifts, so Will could go to the grocery store, or for a run, or to take a shower. The Doctor never actually said that you needed twenty four hour surveillance, but the boys thought it would be best. Just in case.

So that’s exactly what they did. You’re on bed rest, and they’re all happy to play nurse for a few hours during the day, and to leave you with Will during the night. He’s been sneaking in to sleep in the armchair next to your bed. His room, a mere ten feet away, feels too far. He wants to be able to hear if you need his help. Just in case.

None of the boys quite know how to treat you. They don’t want to act any differently around you, but it’s hard not to. They haven’t seen you like that before. You, a force to be reckoned with. The backbone of the group. You, with your sharp wit, quick humor, blinding smile. You, who always seems to be a step ahead of them. You, a pillar of strength, proving yourself just as capable in this world designed for men. Lying on the ground, painted crimson, you looked fragile. Small. Frail. You looked so… innocent. So afraid. That was the scariest part for all of them – seeing the fear in your eyes. They’ve never seen that before. They never want to again.

So, they all take their different approaches. They cope the best way that each of them knows how.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Frankie visits, he always brings a book.

Cracking open the door, he pops his head around the frame, smiling as he sees both you and Will asleep – him in the chair, you cozy in bed. He gently squeezes the blond man’s shoulder, whispering as he wakes.

“I got her for a while. You go do what you need to do.”

Will shoots him a grateful smile and stretches his arms above his head, before padding out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

Frankie opens the curtains, letting the soft morning light fill the room. It illuminates your face, catches on the strands of your hair, making it glow. You look like an angel, in this orange haze. But Frankie already knew that.

Your eyes flutter open, and land straight on the broad man standing next to your bed, trusty cap sat atop his head. You smile, and his heart stops for a second. God, he’s missed that sight. All of the tension from the last week leaves his shoulders, and he sinks into the armchair next to you.

“Hi, Francisco,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse from minimal use.

“Hi, cariño,” he whispers back. “You doing okay?”

You nod, golden smile still etched on your face. The wound in your side is a dull ache, and the psychological pain keeps washing over you in spontaneous waves. But you’re okay.

“You here to babysit me?” you tease.

He smirks, which is all the answer you needed.

“You don’t need to. I’m okay, I swear,” you insist.

He looks at you and quirks an eyebrow, the corners of his lips still turning up slightly.

“Well, you’re my baby, and I’m sitting,” he winks. “Now that we’ve established that, what do you wanna do for the next few hours?”

His abysmal attempt at a joke makes you chuckle, which in turn makes you wince, pain shooting through your abdomen. He jumps out of his chair towards you, placing a hand on your cheek gently.

“Shit, querida. I’m sorry. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Breathing deep and slow, you tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“Yes. For you to stop fussing. Sit down, Francisco. Your nervous energy is making me stressed.”

He exhales carefully, and presses a kiss onto the top of your head.

“Yes ma’am.”

He returns to his original place, and grabs a book from the nightstand.

“Have you read this already?” he asks, showing you the cover.

You shake your head, and he flips to the first page.

“It sounds good, actually. You comfy, cielito?”

You nod gently, holding his gaze. He flashes you one of his signature smiles – the rare, genuine, time stopping ones – and begins to read softly, in that dulcet, honeyed voice of his.

He reads to you for hours. You were only awake for 45 minutes, but he continued reading aloud anyway. Morning becomes afternoon, yellow sunlight beating through the open window. A gentle breeze blows the curtains and ruffles Frankie’s hair that is ever so slightly too long for his liking. He’d be perfectly content to read to you like this forever. He’s gotten so into the plot of the book that he doesn’t notice Will stood in the doorframe, watching with those careful eyes of his. They gleam blue in the sunlight, his golden hair glinting like citrine. He eventually catches Frankie’s eyes, and the older man makes his way over to the door, both boys talking in hushed whispers so as not to wake you.

“Has she been okay?” Will asks, eyes scanning your sleeping form.

“Perfectly fine. She was awake for about 45 minutes,” Frankie replies, pride evident in his tone.

“That’s the longest she’s been conscious since. Progress, huh?” Will smiles. Frankie can’t help but smile too. A week ago, they were huddled around your lifeless body, hands deep and bloody in your wound. Now, they’re watching you slumber peacefully, life returned to you like a gift from the universe.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Benny visits, he brings comfort with him.

He uses his key to let himself into Will’s house quietly, aware that you’re most likely asleep. It’s been a week and a half since everything happened, and while you’re awake more and more each day, you’re also still on bed rest.

Creeping up the stairs and peeking his head around the door that’s ajar, he finds Will sat at the end of your bed. You’re awake, but barely. The light shines from the hallway into the bedroom, and illuminates your tear stained cheeks.

Will wipes your cheekbone with his thumb gently, and moves to meet his brother. The older Miller pulls Benny into the hallway, shutting your door momentarily.

“She’s having a real bad day. The worst since she’s been home. The memories are flooding back man, they’re drowning her.”

All the colour is gone from Will’s face. He looks helpless. His brother hates it.

“I don’t know how to help her,” Will continues. “The tears won’t stop. It’s like every time she calms down, another nightmare takes her by surprise. I don’t know what to do, Ben. I don’t know what to do.”

Will’s voice is shaking, tears threatening to spill from those cerulean eyes. He has a hand fisted into the front of Benny’s shirt, as if he’s grounding himself. There’s something unsettling about seeing the calmest person in the room start panicking. Benny doesn’t like it.

“Hey, it’s okay. She’s gonna have bad days, that’s a given. Go get some fresh air, go for a drive or something. I’ve got her. I ain’t gonna leave her.”

Benny looks pointedly at his big brother, and inhales deeply. They exhale together, and Will wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Are you sure?”

Benny nods. Will trusts him.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything and I will come straight back. I mean it, Ben. Anything.”

Benny pulls his brother into his chest, holding him for a moment. Will isn’t used to being the glue holding everything together, he thinks. It’s usually you.

Will pulls away and starts his journey down the stairs, momentarily pausing to watch Benny straighten his shoulders and clear his throat before opening your door carefully.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiles.

You don’t feel gorgeous. No, you feel like you’ve shattered into a million pieces in William Miller’s guest bedroom. The weight of your trauma has come crashing down on top of you suddenly. It’s suffocating and it’s choking you and no matter how many times you inhale, your lungs won’t fill with air. Tears keep streaking down your cheeks despite your best efforts to stifle them. You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever – forced to carry around the weight of surviving something that you weren’t supposed to.

Benny’s never been any good with words. So he tells you what he needs to with his actions instead.

He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, throwing it on the chair. Then, he unbuttons his jeans and slides them off his legs, tossing them sideways with haphazard aim. The last thing to go is his t shirt, which he shucks over his head with ease, landing somewhere with the rest of his clothes. He moves across the room towards you and pulls back the comforter. He strokes your cheek with his knuckles gently, looking at you carefully to gauge your reaction. When he’s satisfied, he climbs into bed behind you, pulling you mindfully to sit in between his legs, his chest pressed to your back. He pulls the comforter back up over the two of you, and uses his arms to cage you in to him, enveloping you in his warmth.

Benny’s always run hot. You joke that he’s like a walking space heater, a radiator if you ever need one. Right now, it’s like having your own ball of sunshine, warming you gently from the outside in. You feel the safest you have in two weeks.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. He pulls you in tighter, and nudges your head to rest in the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply – the first real breath you’ve been able to take all day. He smells like sunshine, and salt, and sandalwood, and safety. You relax into him and let all the tension leave your body. You let go of the flashbacks, and the fear, and the chaos, and surrender yourself to Benny.

He stays with you like that for three days. He doesn’t separate himself from you more than a few inches for 72 whole hours, keeping his arms wrapped around you from behind, as if holding you together. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, he takes you with him. You stay attached for three days, skin to skin, allowing his warmth to seep into your bones, to settle your nerves. You’re convinced that no medicine could heal you the way Benny is. Science doesn’t have a match for this. It never will.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

When Santiago visits, he brings his guitar.

The first time he came to see you, right at the beginning, he sat with you for 20 minutes before he careened out of the room, gasping for air. The silence was strangling him, sending him into some sort of panic attack. Then, the guilt settled, and he felt like he’d betrayed you so badly that he couldn’t bring himself to go back in. He sat on the floor of the hallway with his back pressed against the door for 6 hours before Will returned home, concern coursing through his veins.

When Santiago explained what had happened, Will looked at him knowingly.

“You don’t have to be deathly silent, you know. You can watch some TV, turn the radio on. Frankie reads to her. Benny talks her ear off - doesn’t stop fucking rambling. I walked in the other day and he was explaining the current state of the NBA to her, team by team. She’ll sleep no matter what.”

Santiago nods, patting Will on the back lovingly before leaving, weighed down by shame.

The next time he visits, he brings his guitar.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s hoping you’ll be asleep. It’s easier to play for you if you aren’t looking at him like he hung the moon with those big, bright eyes of yours. But, lo and behold, he walks into the room you’ve made your own, and you’re wide awake.

“Hi, handsome,” you smile. “Where you been?”

“Oh, you know,” he smirks, “just caring for all the pretty girls that need my help.”

“And here I thought I was special,” you tease.

That smile of yours wraps itself around his heart, tangling in the core of him. You’ve always had that effect on the boys. One grin from you, and all of their problems melt away, even if just for a moment.

“You staying today, or you gonna run away again?”

You’re joking with him. Why are you trying to make him laugh? You should be upset, telling him that he’s a bad friend, that all of the other boys have sat with you for hours, so why can’t he?

But instead, you continue.

“I’m kidding, Santi. I get it, you know. I don’t think I’d be able to sit in a room with you lying there all half dead and helpless if the roles were reversed.”

You’re looking at him with so much understanding in your eyes that he has to choke down the tears that are trying to escape from him.

“It’s not that. It’s just – it’s my fault, bebita. You wouldn’t have even been in Colombia if it wasn’t for me. I’m the reason you got shot.”

He’s crying now – heavy, ugly sobs crawling their way from his chest, up to his throat. His knees give out, and he sits on the side of the bed, hands fisting in your comforter.

“Santi, baby. Hey. Look at me. Please, Pope.”

Your pleading gets his attention. He looks at you with those red rimmed, watery eyes, and your heart breaks so hard you swear you can hear it shatter.

“It wasn’t your fault, Santi. I followed you out there voluntarily. We all did. You know I’d follow you anywhere. I still would. It could have been any of us that got hurt. I’m glad it was me. I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing any of you in a hospital bed. It’d break me.”

You’re crying now too, at the thought of one of the boys in your situation. The bullets, the blood, the makeshift bandages they shoved into your side, ripping their shirts and tearing apart anything they could find. You couldn’t have survived that, if the roles were reversed. You wouldn’t have wanted to.

You press your forehead to his, hands tangling in the front of his shirt. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, needing you as close as possible.

You fall asleep like that, face pressed into him, his heartbeat in your ear. Santiago tucks you back into bed gently and takes his place in the armchair, settling down. Pulling his guitar out of the case, he tunes it slowly, meticulously, before beginning to strum the strings carefully. He picks at the strings, playing you tune after tune, only stopping to stretch his arms and crack his knuckles. He plays for you for hours, time slipping by him like sand through his palms. When you wake, you keep your eyes closed, savouring his presence for just a moment longer.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Will doesn’t visit.

He sticks steadily by your side, day in, day out. If Frankie visits for 6 hours, Will sits with you for the other 18. When Benny holds you for 3 days, Will gets anxious, popping his head around the doorframe every few hours, checking in just in case. Since everything happened, Will’s whole universe has revolved around you. Which, he’s realising, is the way it’s always been. His whole world has always been you. He’s just been forced to confront that truth now, and it’s scaring him.

He’s suddenly aware of the fact that he almost lost you. He’s never felt fear like that before. He’s had men press guns to his temple, shoot at him from mere feet away, fight him with their fists. That’s nothing, now. He’d take that any day over watching you lie there, drenched in crimson, dripping with pain. His hands, twisted into your side, wet and slipping, trying to quell the dam that’s broken inside of you. Your eyes, looking into his, terror grasping your whole body like a cold chill. When he falls asleep at night, all he can hear is the way you said his name, like it was the last thing tethering you to the Earth.

He makes a silent vow to himself. A promise - to never let you go again. To protect you forever, no matter what. All of this trauma has just made him love you more. He’s not sure what the future will look like, for him, or for you. But he knows that right now, you need him.

And so he pours all of his love into his actions. He makes you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and sits with you as you eat slowly. He eats at your speed, too - always doing everything at your pace. He combs your hair every morning gently, brushes your teeth twice a day carefully. He tucks you in when you fall asleep, pulling the comforter around you, keeping you safe and warm. As soon as one of the other boys leaves, he takes their place, sitting in the armchair – making sure you’re never alone. Whenever you’re awake, he listens to you pointedly, nodding and smiling. When you have a bad day, he’s right there next to you, wiping the tears from your cheeks and murmuring reassurances gently.

He watches as slowly but surely, you come back to yourself. You’re awake more often, smiling more confidently, cracking jokes and asking for laughs. The two of you are chatting like you used to, about nothing and everything. And you watch as slowly but surely, he returns to Will. The frown lines in his forehead become less pronounced, the worry in his eyes fades slightly. The smiles he throws your way are bigger, more genuine. The scales balance out again.

You’ve been in bed for two weeks when you decide to ask him for a favor.

“Hey, Will?” you query, looking at the blond man who’s currently folding laundry on the dresser.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replies instantly, ready to give you anything you could possibly ask for.

“Can we go outside? I think I might go insane in this room real soon,” you smile, bright and bold.

He beams at you, relief washing over him like an ocean wave. You haven’t left your bed for a fortnight. He’s offered a couple of times, but you refused, scared to leave the comfort of the safe haven you’ve created. But you’re ready now.

“Of course we can. You want me to carry you?”

His tone is light, jesting, but you know he’s being serious. Neither of you are actually sure if you can walk all the way outside.

“I can walk if you carry me down the stairs? Not sure I’m quite ready for those yet.”

He grins at you, and your heart stops. That smile of his seeps into your pores, lifts you up, sends energy flowing through your veins. You’re alive, and you’re okay, and Will Miller is looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You feel invincible.

Admittedly, it does take you 20 minutes to get from your room to the back patio. Will throws a strong arm beneath yours, holding you up as you take the journey step by step. When you reach the stairs, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you carefully. Before he sets you back on your feet, he nudges his nose to yours, still grinning.

The sun soaks into your skin outside, gentle breeze rippling your t shirt that you’re now realising is Benny’s. The leaves rustle in the trees, and you inhale the world, as if seeing it again for the first time. Will sits right next to you on the bench, hand holding yours tightly, fingers interlaced as if he’s worried you’ll blow away.

You glance at Will’s watch and see that it’s only 1pm. You have so much time left. So many possibilities to be fulfilled, so many people to love, so many places to see. But for now, you press yourself into the blond man’s side, settling in. You fit perfectly. Almost as if this is where you belong.

“Can’t believe I almost died without telling you I love you,” you murmur. It’s quiet, but he hears you, loud and clear.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “You’re here now. We have time. So much time.”

“Forever,” you whisper. “We have forever.”

He turns to look at you in the hues of the bright afternoon. His blond hair is glowing gold, and his blue eyes match the sky, hopeful and full of promise. His hands come up to cradle your face, and he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He moves in closer, and nudges his nose into yours. He breaks out into a grin, and you can’t help but join him. Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours, soft and reassuring. You melt into him, running one hand into his hair, the other at the nape of his neck. He pulls you impossibly closer, until every part of you is pressed together. The sun is still beaming, and the birds are chirping, and you have time.

“Forever,” he whispers into your mouth when he breaks the kiss.

“Forever,” you murmur back. “We have time.”

You have time.

You have time.

[ronearoundblindly]

Ro! I’ve been on a mint chocolate chip ice cream kick lately, and it makes me wish I could share a pint with a babe (that’s also probably very much the pre period hormones, but anywayyy) which ice cream flavor do you think you would associate with each of the babes? Their favorite flavor and/or personality trait-wise.

Mint chip is my favorite, too! \o/ I don't get to eat ice cream much, but this was interesting to think about. I will try not to project onto the babes, though, only their pure likes maybe...

Oh snap! I can use the banner again!!! (All characters I've ever written for below.)

James Mace - Neapolitan

When this guy indulges (very rarely), he can't decide on just one flavor, so the easiest thing to do is get multiples. If he can go to a shop where you order by the scoop, he'll ask whoever is behind the counter what the popular or new or their faves are and try three of those. Mace, I believe, can pack away some ice cream.

Curtis Everett - Birthday Cake or Cotton Candy

The sickliest sweet things are a delight to Curtis. He's never gotten over how bland and boring and miserable the food of his childhood was. He goes nuts for sugar overload, but in intensity of taste, not in volume.

Jimmy Dobyne - Peach

Fruity, refreshing, creamy, and just screaming to add a dirty joke onto the end of it, Jimmy will use any excuse to sneak a double-entendre into polite conversation with a pretty lady. "Your peaches taste the sweetest..." Yeah, dessert is more about flirting than it is about eating. Ice cream is nice in the heat, however, so it's a great date option.

Johnny Storm - Cookies & Cream

With extra cookie crumbles and caramel sauce on top, he'll demand. Sprinkles, too, if you have it. Maybe some gummy worms or cereal. At least, like, five cherries. Oh! Also preferred that it be hard frozen when he starts eating so that it's not soup halfway through his rapid eating of it. The sensation of eating ice cream gets lost when he can barely tell it's cold.

Jake Jensen - Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip

This flavor has everything (and yeah, ok, I am projecting a bit on this one, whatever). Jake likes a whole lot of flavors and textures; he's actually not picky at all. He does enjoy ~the hunt~ for this rarer find in all his travels because raspberry is a popular flavor--it's often a sorbet though--but it's not the most popular of the berry options. He also will try all of the crazy niche flavors at hole-in-the-wall places. Conversely, it is easier to work while not holding a bowl or cone, so Jake loves a good milkshake or malt. Those he can sucked down like air.

Lloyd Hansen - Mint Chocolate Chip

My theory is this man is obsessed with fresh: fresh food, fresh sheets, fresh intel, fresh meat. Bet you his lip balm is always, only mint, too. Very classic. Very pristine. Fresh. Sweetness with a purpose.

Ari Levinson - Butter Pecan

Fine, I'm projecting again, idec, but you can't tell me Ari isn't this kind of old soul who loves not-overly-sugary treats! You cannot change my mind. That guy loves the crunch of candied pecans in there, he freaking lives for that rounded slightly-savory sweet cream flavor, and he loves that it's widely available but never sold out anywhere. Easy!

Ransom Drysdale - Coffee

And it's weirdly been that way since he was too young of a kid to drink coffee? Turns out, this was the flavor his father got but told Ransom he wasn't old enough for, he wouldn't like it. Of course, Ran immediately ordered two scoops of it in a chocolate dipped sprinkle cone, and while he may not have been totally keen on it in that exact moment, coffee-flavor grew on him. He loves it as much as he loves all of the other behaviors that say "f*** you" to his parents.

Steve Rogers - Rocky Road

Created during the Great Depression, this ice cream was shared between Steve and his Ma quite a few nights when he was too sickly to go out but needed a pick-me-up. Bucky enjoyed it with him, too, but it's not his favorite. Steve tends to really enjoy eating only when there's nostalgia attached to the food.

Bucky Barnes - Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter

Rich, velvety, and made slightly different by each company. Sometimes Bucky wants ribbons of fudge and the tiny pb cups mixed in; sometimes he wants full-blown chocolate ice cream with peanut butter swirled in. Can't go wrong. Only good, heavy, decadent happiness vibes.

I am...stunned at how confident I feel in these choices HA!

Thank you for asking!

[k-atsukibakugou]

Mercury your event is SO cute I’m actually obsessed! I’m such a beer girlie, but if I had to pick a drink it’s gotta be a jägerbomb! And for the character you pick because I want you to be as free as possible I’m ready for anything👀

ehehehe i was a lil cheeky with this one, i leaned more into the leave you wanting more vibe with the jagerbomb also im sorry for the lack of beer i've never met a beer or cider i've liked LMAO i was going to make this endeavor but the more i wrote it the more it worked better with bakugou but i hope u like it!! teehee birthday bash intro + rules + menu | event masterlist

anyone who wasn’t a couple jagerbombs deep could tell you how bad of an idea jagerbombs are at an work party, but when you work at one of the most popular bars in musutafu, it’s more a rite of passage.

not even here a year, your work-best friend was the very first to inform you of the notorious annual work party, how messy they get, how she’d gone home with the chef one year, and how many servers had crashed in the booths over the years. finally, the time had come for the party, your friend already abandoning you to flirt with the chef again, although, you couldn’t play the morally high act about it when all your attention was on your boss behind the counter.

walking behind the bar, you perused the liquor on offer, mostly mid-tier stuff, but god, did the imported stuff look good right about now, something smooth to take your mind off of him. fuck, why’d he have to roll his sleeves up like that? his forearm muscles enough to make you wonder what else lies beneath that damn shirt, an endless expanse of muscles underneath a wife-pleaser singlet, thick thighs caged in his expensive slacks.

“need some help?” lost in your daydream, bakugou is beside you before you realise how long you’ve been ogling him, your indecisive daze in front of the alcohol drawing his attention (any excuse to talk to you, really). you’re nowhere near drunk enough for him to be this close, to get this messy. yet.

“you don’t have my beer on tap.” his eyes nearly roll back at your sweet tone, your gentle teasing that’s been driving him up the wall for months. he stays steadfast, dark garnet eyes unwavering, despite the top you’d worn specifically for them to wander.

“let me make it up to you,” he takes another step closer, the expensive scent of his cologne filling your lungs when he reaches around you for the distinct green bottle, trapping you between his biceps for a fleeting moment, “we’ll do something i used to have in my party days.”

grabbing two pint glasses and two shot glasses, you watch him work with the kind of swiftness and expertise decades behind a bar could give a man, every twist of his wrist calculates, not a single drop of jagermeister or redbull spilling, even when the latter threatened to bubble over the top of the glass.

“you used to do jagerbombs?” you can’t help but sound incredulous, your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline when you accept the drink from him. mesmerised as he pours his own, you try to imagine him younger, chugging back the bomb, swallowing shot after shot, stumbling home in the am. even in your daydream, his hair had speckles of salt through the blond of his hair, the silver fox look worked too well for him to see him any other way.

“why are you so shocked? i was twenty once.”

“it’s hard to imagine you… like that.”

“like what?”

“you know, a party animal, i can only see you drinking bourbon on the rocks.” he chuckles at the memories, of sleepless nights, of horrendous hangovers.

“i could still drink you under the table.” he challenges, already reaching to pour another, you try not to laugh in his face, the image of your all-powerful boss drunk and stumbling was something you’d pay to see. with a smile you could only describe as evil, hot, you clinked your drink with his before knocking it back, “sure you can, old man.”

after too many bombs, an assortment of other shots, some cocktail bakugou poured you and a sip (you weren’t game enough to have more of it, there’s a reason you weren’t a bartender) of the one you poured him, the pair of you stumbled into his office at the back of the bar. half the buttons are undone on his shirt, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt even when he pulled away from you long enough to unlock the door, pulling you inside with him and nudge it closed once more before turning all his attention back to you; the way you stared up at him with glassy eyes, the way your lipstick smudged under your bottom lip, how your chest heaved (the way your tits looked when you did), how your dress rode up when you pulled yourself onto his desk, tugging him in by his belt loops.

he can’t even find it in him to care about the time-sheets crinkling under your ass when you bite your lip, can’t care you’re his employee and his mind goes blank of everything when you wrap your thighs around his hips. fuck, you’re irresistible like this; arching into him, kissing and biting his jaw, one hand tugging your dress further up your thighs, the other working off his belt to slide into his slacks, searching for more and more, more he wants to give you.

you’re just so, so, so hot… and he’s soft. he’s fucking soft. he finally has you under him and he can’t get it up.

let’s hope the alcohol buzzing through your blood is enough to clear your memory of this in the morning.

[undoing-anobrains]

bartender *

minors dni

wordcount: 2.4K

warnings: smut, oral (m receiving)

You felt very much out of place backstage surrounded by talented musicians, some of which you'd idolised for years, even if it was just from behind the bar. You wouldn't have been in the position if it weren't for your best friend who had convinced you to sign up to work for this company with her for a laugh, thinking you'd only be pulling pints for the crowd who were too pissed to comment on the size of the heads on said pints and turning away rowdy teenage lads hoping to use their fakes. Until you both arrived earlier that day and discovered that she had been assigned to that area but you were being sent alongside a few others to man the bar backstage which only the performers had access to.

It was quieter than you expected but you supposed that made sense given the constantly busy stages. A crowd of people would come in and order drinks after their performance and eventually filter out after a few minutes leaving the place dead again. Trying to make yourself  look busy you polished the same spot on the counter with a cloth and chatted idly to the three others who'd gotten roped into serving backstage.

Glancing up at the clock you realised that the headliners of the night would be finishing up momentarily and once they had been taken care of and left, you guys could close up the bar and go home for the night. And sure enough there was an influx of people into the previously empty space. Unlike the prior customers they were a large group seemingly including the band's entire team.

You hadn't looked into the line-up for the festival since it was so last minute when your best friend signed you both up to work at it so you were trying to peer into the crowd of faces in an attempt at subtly recognising one of them and determining who they were. Unfortunately though you were struggling to place any of them and instead busied yourself with pouring beers from the taps and measuring out glasses of wine and other spirits as requested.

There were a few cocktails here and there too which you were internally screaming at because the most experience you had with cocktails was drinking them so you were fairly clueless as to what the actual ingredients were for most of them. You'd never bartended before this as well so it was a recipe for disaster. Luckily your co-workers seemed to know what they were doing, or at least they did more than you, so you let them handle the more complex drinks.

Once the bar was calming down and everyone who had already been served their drinks moved out of the way to go sit at the tables dotted around the space you realised who had been playing. Mainly because the very identifiable frontman had wandered up to the counter and taken a seat on one of the stools directly opposite you.

Trying your best to remain composed you greet him warmly as he settles at the bar. Matty looked a bit exhausted but still had that magnetic charm about him. You were more of a casual listener but you knew your best friend would be going absolutely insane if she knew who you were going to be serving. He leaned against the bar and smiled, making eye contact with you "So..." he started and his voice was way more captivating than you expected "is there a reason everyone is queuing for the other bartenders that I'm missing or are they just intimidated by pretty girls?"

You're taken aback by how forward he is but at the same time this seems very in character for him based on the videos your best friend constantly sends you of their latest concert "I wish I could say it was the latter," you find yourself admitting "but this is my first time bartending and I don't really know what I'm doing so it's probably for the best."

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your honesty "you could've fooled me love. Think you can handle me?"

Oh fuck. Your brain was going haywire because of the stupid pet name. It had already been reeling from him calling you pretty just moments ago but this was so much worse. Especially with the addition of his question - could you handle him? In that moment you come to the conclusion that you'd really like to try. So you tell him just that "Of course," with a challenging "do your worst."

His eyes are firmly fixated on you now and he almost seems amused by your response. Nevertheless, he gives in to your bait "get me a bottle of malbec will you...an old fashioned and two pints."

"The whole bottle?" You echo, albeit teasingly "good thing you've already performed...wouldn't want it to make your finger work sloppy."

Now Matty appeared even more interested by you "cute," he hums thoughtfully "but I can assure you darling that even with it, my finger work is more than adequate."

It shouldn't be this easy for his words to affect you but the insinuation has you thoroughly flustered even if you started it. "Good to know," is all you can manage to say in response as you finish fixing the drinks he ordered.

Then you pull a rather impulsive move and find yourself scribbling a note on the paper in the pocket of your apron and ripping it off, folding it up as small as you can but hopefully large enough that he realises what you've done. You pass him his drinks and he makes two journeys over towards one of the tables in the back where you can now see the rest of the band sitting down.

Just then you feel a gentle touch on your hand. Startled you look up and find Matty standing there with a faint smirk on his face. His fingers wrapped gently around yours and he slips something to you out of view of the other staff behind the bar. The sheer contact was enough to send a tingling sensation down your spine. "Thanks love," he says casually before letting go of your hand and returning to his friends.

When he's out of view and nobody's looking in your direction you open the palm of your hand to find a fifty dollar bill in it and the tiny piece of paper you had previously given him returned with a barely legible 'yes' scrawled below your much neater 'meet me after?'

Although your mind is anywhere but where it should be, you help the others wipe down the bar and start to close. Polishing glasses is dull work but it gives you the best view of Matty so you do your job dutifully and try to focus so you finish faster. The band and their crew slowly start to filter out of the bar, chatter spilling from their lips as they loudly talk of an after party happening else where. Matty is the last of them to leave, slowly striding out of the room and sending you a purposeful look before he’s out of sight.

There was no way of misinterpreting that look Matty had sent you though. Dark eyes clouded over with lust, soft peach skin and a lip bite that could be described as nothing less than seductive. You couldn’t walk fast enough away from the empty bar once you’ve finished cleaning up after them.

The bathroom in question was just a left turn and three doors down from the bar and once you arrive at the door you force yourself to take a couple of deep breaths. It was beyond fathomable that just behind this door coated with chipped white paint was Matty. Matty, waiting for you.

Pulling down on the handle gently, you tug it open, ignoring the tentative shake of your knuckles and the anticipation creeping up your spine. Leaning nonchalantly against the edge of the sink, ever present smirk spread across his cheeks was Matty, He ran as hand through his slicked back hair and sent a teasing smile in your direction.

“I’m surprised you came this quickly pretty girl,” he comments letting the nickname drip smoothly from his lips “so eager already.”

A light blush travels down your neck at Matty calling you pretty again. God was it addicting, you were already craving to hear him utter those words in that sultry tone again.

“Shy?” Matty quirks an eyebrow before you even have time to respond to his original remark “didn’t seem like it when you were making jokes about my fingers and giving me the eyes baby.”

“I’m not.”

“What was that?” He sends you a teasing glance “I didn’t quite hear you there.”

You repeat yourself embarrassingly quick at his command and seeing how quickly you obey brings a wide grin to his face.

“Tell me something darling are you going to be a good slut and make this worth my while or are you going to stay over there like a shy little thing.”

Your fingers loop into the belt holes of his trousers and you undo the belt before pulling them carefully, sliding gently until they pool around his ankles. The outline of Matty’s hardening cock was enough to make you pause and stare for a moment, already practically drooling and you hadn’t even seen it yet. Then you drop to your knees before him, your hands finding a home on his surprisingly firm thighs.

You pull Matty’s boxers down his thighs, exposing his dick which was becoming increasingly hard. He was breathtaking: veiny and bigger than you expected and you have to stifle the moan that nearly escapes your mouth at the mere sight of it. But of course it was beautiful, it was his.

Lapping your tongue experimentally at the tip of Matty’s cock you lick the drop of precum glistening at the surface. This had to be heaven, sure you were on your knees in a dirty bathroom still in your work uniform but being there with him was transformative. You move on to lick from the tip all the way down to the base of his cock multiple times, slathering it in your spit and pure desire. Matty glances down at your with an expression you can’t quite read as you look up through your lashes at him and take the head of his cock into your mouth once more and hollow your cheeks.

“Oh fuck baby, you’re doing so good for me. Fucking made to suck my cock weren’t you.”

You blush at the praise and the feeling of his cock brushing against the back of your throat repeatedly. You move further down, taking more and more into your mouth. Bobbing your head you feel strong hands grip into your hair and tug it roughly.

Upon glancing up you notice how dark his eyes have gone and before you know it he’s guiding your head until your nose is pressed against the skin just above his balls and held there. You gag around it at first but eventually became accustomed to the feeling of the obstruction in your throat and swallow it further and further.

"Take it all the way in slut,” Matty commands you “swallow around it baby, go on. I know you can do that, can’t you.”

You do just that, wanting to do anything to please him and as you do you hear a deep groan come from the throat of the man above you and you can tell by the shaky breaths and gasps he was letting out the longer you kept him there that he was growing close to his release. Just as you feel him twitch, Matty yanks your hair harsher than before and thrusts into your mouth, pounding against the back of your throat rapidly to the point where you feel a stream of salty tears trickle down your cheeks because of the intensity and speed your face is getting fucked at.

Matty smirks in satisfaction at how you shake, body convulsing as your eyes shine with tears and the little water marks on your cheeks from previous tears glisten in the dim light. You truly look beautiful there he thinks, on your knees and just taking everything he has to give you.

“That’s my good little slut,” Matty mumbles, sweetness dripping from his tone despite the obvious juxtaposition between his words and voice “you look so, so pretty crying like this for me.”

“Can’t take it much longer,” you all but whine when you come up for air “I know you’re close baby, cum for me.”

A final teasing lick of the tip of his cock and a few meaningful pumps of his shaft cause Matty to cum, leaving ropes of the salty white substance in your mouth. To which you swallow with a smirk before taking Matty’s dick fully back into your mouth to lick it clean.

“Such a good girl for me,” Matty beams “you took such good care of me darling.”

You look away bashfully, unsure what else to say but “thank you.”

A calloused hand from years of playing guitar then cups your chin and tilts it upwards so you’re forced to make eye contact with Matty. “I think you deserve a little reward darling.”

It would have been embarrassing to observe how you perk up with eagerness at the idea of Matty giving you a reward if you weren’t so fucking horny. You’d been growing restless and needy while getting him off and you could only hope he’d reciprocate the favour.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” You dare to ask.

Matty grins “you’ll have to wait and see love, think you can hang on until we get back to my hotel?”

The thought of waiting even longer for him to return the pleasure you were so desperately craving seemed torturous in that moment but you were also dying to leave the grimy bathroom so you nod and slowly stand up on your shaky knees. Matty looks more pleased than he should be as you slightly wobble and have to place one hand on the sink and another on his thigh to get up.

“Let’s go,” you say with an air of confidence and you can’t wait to see where the night will take you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You walk out of the bank, tempted to have your lunch at The Horn. You're certain they'd serve it up nice and foamy in a pint. Never the matter, you were never a drinker. Sins of the mother and all that.

You get into the front seat and sit for a minute, contemplating what to do. If you leave the land as it is, burn that shitheap down, drive off into the sunset, well, who will care about what some dead crone owed the bank? That's not how it works. You might think little of shared blood but a name is a name to the powers that be.

You shove your key in the ignition and turn. Your engine cranks and sputters but doesn't roll over. You frown. You just had it serviced before you drove out here. Oils filled, everything was tiptop, so the mechanic said. No lights, no dinging. You try again, twisting harder, but it doesn't catch. You let go as the car quiets.

A slap on the roof makes you jump and you look out the window at the figure right outside. Thor Odinson bends, grinning at you through the glass as he gives a wink. You don't believe in coincidences, especially not in Hammer Ford. You ignore him and give it another go; third time is the charm.

Nothing. Just a puff of exhaust and rattle. Fuck!

"Ah, don't worry, sweetheart," Thor raises his voice so you can hear him through the glass, "I'll take you 'round Vol's--"

"Fuck off," you hit the switch, ensuring the locks are down.

He laughs, "you know, I don't think I ever heard you speak before."

You shake your head and scowl, peering around. Several people watch but quickly put their heads down and continue on their way. Just like it always was. Fucking cowards.

"I see why he likes you--"

"Piss off!" You flip two fingers up in his direction, "now!"

"What? I'm tryna help you out. Sounds like your transmission," he taunts, "or maybe... you got some gravel in the gas tank. Shit, you know, that'll ruin your lines--"

"God! Would you just leave me alone?" You roar as you hit the steering wheel, "you and your fucking family."

"My mother gave me this cheque..." he reaches in his pocket and unfolds a slip, "has your name on it... and would you look at that? She left the amount blank."

You ignore him and grit your teeth. They think you're that girl who could be sold for a sixer and a couple bills. They don't know anything. They don't know you.

You reach over to the glove box and pop it open. You reach inside and take out the bottle of glass cleaner you keep there. You flip the lock up and he steps back, a victorious hum as you open the door just a hair. You aim the nozzle up and spritz him in the eyes.

"Is that clear enough for you!?" You snap the door shut again and thump the lock down with your fist.

He cries out and wipes his eyes furiously. You sneer as you watch him growl and his. He pulls his shirt up to mop at his face and finally stands, blinking furiously. He sends his fist into the glass, shattering it as you yipe. You shield yourself, reading for the next one, but he merely stumbles away.

"You've done it now," he snarls, "just you fucking wait."

"I will be," you holler, "just you come around and see."

He staggers away, groaning as he continues to fuss with his eyes. You watch him in the rearview before you lean back and stare at the lifeless meters in the dashboard. Rest in peace, mom, you left me a whole lot of shit, didn't you?

🏚

You grab the tire iron and leave your car behind. You have no other choice but to make the long trek back to your mother's shack. You get a few looks from passerbys on the main strip, their eyes lingering on the heavy tool in your hand. You're not stupid or weak like them. You're ready to fight back.

You keep your eyes set ahead of you as you crest the first hill. You always hated how this village only ever seemed to be up. You weave around the country roads and turn off into the trees as the sun dips below the treelines. You're tired and sore but not done. You still have a ways to go.

As you come through the canopy that opens to your mother's house, you feel the coolness in the air tingling in your fingers. The chill in your spine is from more than the late cast of a spring afternoon. You grip the iron tight as you stare up at the open door.

You swing around at the kick of a pebble. The iron meets only air as you twirl all the way around. No one's there. You back up, searching the trees. No, someone is there.

A snicker rolls up through the forest. It's him. He's watching you. You won't back down, not this time. You squint into the shadows. Where is that snake?

"Oh my, are we scared?" Loki's hiss crawls up your spine.

You spin again to find another void.

"Don't you remember our game..." he taunts. "Perhaps this time, you might win..."

"Go away!"

"Ten..." He calls out, "nine..."

Your heart races as your eyes tinge. You remember that girl, lost in the trees, listening to him count down, to his pursuit rustling through the leaves behind her. You feel the crash of the ground against your chest and the river water flooding into your mouth. You can't breath as you're trapped beneath another, rutting and ramming, snarling as he snickers in your ear.

"three..." you come back to the present, "two..." you whip around, "one!" You spin the iron and jab it backwards around your side.

He grunts and staggers back as you stumble forward away from his grasp. Loki falters as he grasps his stomach, a clot of red blooming on the inside.

"Shit..." he spreads the fabric, showing the gash. Not deep enough. You hold the iron tighter and raise it again. He chuckles and shakes his head as he looks up at you, "oh darling, you should know by now..." he smirks, "I don't play fair."

Suddenly, you're taken off your feet from behind, a thick arm around your neck and another around your middle. You thrash with tire iron only to be thrown away from the body behind you, hitting a tree so hard you're left breathless. You drop the iron as Loki moves to sweep your feet from under you and Thor brings his foot down onto your chest. You cough as you stare up at the brothers.

Everything stays the same in Hammer Ford.

[michelasnook]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER

Sergeant Francesca Herrald doesn't like being in the military. She is one of the best snipers and the most meticulous medic. But at nineteen she desires to just live her teenage years. Inside the Fourth Squadron she just has to work. And she hates it.

Lieutenant Johnathan Price sees in the sister of his Captain a sad teen that wishes to escape that reality of blood and death. Even if she works with extraordinary focus and energy. He tries to make her life a bit more cheerful, but just when he thinks he is doing some progress, she turns and leaves. However, he just can let her go.

Now, something is wrong with her, more than usual. And he will do his best to understand her.

Words (for the chapter): 2503;

Warnings and tags (for the whole story): Lieutenant John Price, angst, depictions of violence, age gap, eventual smut, fluff, brother-sister relationship, panick attacks, minor character death, eventually more warnings.

A/N: So I started writing this story and I am now ready to start publish it all around. I fell in love with Francesca since the first chapters, and I hope I can manage to bring this story to conclusion (I've never finished a story in my life, but I feel confident). English is not my first language, but I hope there aren't any errors.

I. The Emptiness Machine

LONDON , 23rd of October, 2009. 

   I can imagine them all screaming my name, in unison, and then headbanging at the rhythm of my music. Even if my eyes are closed, I can see them all, while I move my head and strung the chords of my imaginary guitar. The riff is hard, but I know I'm nailing every note, making them all scream in awe. 

   I reach the most difficult part, my left hand going up and down the air and pressing on the right chords, with the right pressure, and when I almost nail it completely- one of my earbuds falls.

   No, it doesn't fall: Elia has yanked it out. He is looking at me, slightly disappointed.

   The pub all around me takes form again as the other people at the table chat. I sigh and pause the music on my iPod.

   "Care to grace us with your presence, Franny?" Elia asks me with a smile. I respond with a playful face, sticking my tongue out. He chuckles, turning back to his beer as the others laugh and talk.

   I swirl my shirley temple and then take a sip from the straw. I hate when my brother forces me to go out with our squad. He wants for me to socialize outside our job, but it's hard if you can't even drink alchool and all you want to do is just read and listen to music. It's even harder to try and make friend at base if everyone sees you Captain Herrald's little sister, or as the child of Major Herrald and Colonel Pearson-Herrald. Yet here I am, Sergeant Medic of the 4th British Squadron.

   I pluck the cherry from my drink and pop it into my mouth, just as Lieutenant Price sits down beside me with a dark beer in hand. I glance at it, wishing I could take a sip.

   "It's a Guinnes, right?" I ask, clear longing and sadness in my voice. John turns with shy smile and nods to me, then turns towards my brother and checks him. Slowly, without drawing attention, he slides the pint over to me. Grinning, I take a quick, satisfying sip before handing it back.

   "Thanks" I mutter, still savouring the dark tones of that good and cool Guinnes on my tongue.

   "Didn't peg you for a beer person" he says taking a drink from the same spot I pressed my lips on.

   "I enjoy a fresh Guinnes," I admit, "It's harsh to just drink it every now and then only when you pass me illegal sips." I pocket my iPod and earbuds in the big and old hoodie.

   He chuckles deep and smiles, shifting on his stool. "So, are you in on this mission?"

   Lieutenant Jonathan Price is the only one in the squad that actually tries to empatise and understand me. All the men and women at the table have enrolled because they wanted to, because they needed to give all their life to our country. But me? I don't want to risk my life only to save people I don't even know.

   I enrolled in the military academy at sixteen, but already at twelve I was trained by my father and deep in medical books under the scrutinous eyes of my mother. They wanted for me to be a military medic, a trauma field surgeon. And they got that, even if every night, at least until at seventeen I accepted my fate, I cried until I fell asleep. Under the command of my brother they now have total control of my being. Them and the United Kingdom, even if I just want to disappear in my old room in Bournemouth reading stories of dragons and fairies.

   John doesn't know the full story, but he listens when I talk. He's my sounding board when I need to vent, and I ignore his growing nicotine addiction as a form of silent gratitude. Sometimes, we share a cigarette when my brother isn't around.

   "I have no way out, so Afghanistan here I come!" I say mocking a tost and then take another slow sip. "Again, I suppose".

   John doesn't laugh, but just tries to smile to encourage me. "You can still leave, you can't stay out of coercion" he whispers, trying to not be heard by my brother that is just in front of him on the other side of the table. Elia is laughing at some joke Private MacGavin has said.

   "Except I can't if I want to stay in touch with all my family and not be disinherited" I suck even the last drop of my drink and then push it with the other glasses that have gathered from the others. "You know, I still would like some kind of family. So... I am stuck".

   I have two families: my actual blood and all family, and my gunpowder and injuries family. If I walk away, I would lose them both.

   "You wouldn't lose me, Sonne" he says, cues another one of his cute smiles. But I cringe at him for using my code name. 

   "Oh, don't worry. My brother would make sure of that" Elia thinks exactly as my father, even if he is more pleasant to be around and he cares about me more. 

   Elia and John are best friends, my brother has took the young Lieutenant under his wing, almost making him de facto his second in command. There isn't one single thing John wouldn't do under Elia's command. 

   "I have a mind of my own. Elia can make sure of whatever, but I think I'll never stop sneaking you sips of Guinnes" he chuckles at the end of the phrase and then pats me on my head, a few strands of ash blond hair falling on my forehead. I look at him, admiring him a few seconds. 

   If just he looked at me the same lovingly way I am looking at him now.

   "Thanks, Price" I say with a half sigh, then I turn to the little stage where three young teens are performing a Radiohead's song. I don't dare look at the Lieutenant for the rest of the night, not if I can avoid it.

-----------------------------------------------------

HELMAND PROVINCE, AFHGANISTAN, 25th of october, 2009.

   The base is rumbling with action: trucks rolling in and out, squadrons full of privateers marching around, weapons firing off in the distance. And the dust, there is too much dust, that is around our boots, that deposit on our faces and threatens to get in our eyes. It's not a place I like, it's not where I can find myself, opposite of my brother. 

   I look at him while he talks off in the distance with a Corporal that has orders to pass to him. His hands are on his hips, nodding and moving his hands if he needs to explain something. In his uniform and combact gear he looks the part; hell, he is the part. Elia thrives in this life. Meanwhile, I am here, just surviving it. 

   Captain Herrald returns with a piece of paper that the Corporal has given him, and looks at us with a sigh. He looks displeased.

   "The Chinook's been delayed. We're stuck here until tomorrow afternoon. They need us to work in the meantime. Franny, report to Role 3. John, head to JOC..." His voice is commanding, as always, but I barely hear the rest. I gather my gear and head to the Combat Support Hospital without waiting for further instructions.

   Role 3 is where I find a sense of purpose, if not belonging. After stowing my things in a small office, I report to Major Sheffield, the hospital's commanding officer. She's tall, redheaded, and carries herself with quiet authority. 

   "Seargent Herrald, I heard many great things about your operations. Care to walk with me?" Major Sheffield asks me, and I nod when she starts walking like she owns the place. Because she does, she owns the place. This is her hospital. 

   "So young and already putting your hands inside men's stomach to make them return home to their families, you must be proud" she says while we walk up the stairs and enter the surgical floor, where the many wounded soliders are awaiting their surgeries or to be discharged, ready to go home or back to action. 

   I mentally sigh when she saysthose words, because I don't know how to answer. But I smile, put myself practically on attention with my hands together behind my back and give her a cordial smile. "Yes, I am" I simply say, lowering my military medical surgeon mask. 

   "We have one surgery where we could really use another set of capable hands. Can I count you in?" she asks, while another doctor gives her a chart. 

   "If we finish before dinner, sure" I say with a smile, she returns it and leaves the chart for me to study. 

   Here I am, back to work. And the only thing I hope is that this base has good hiding spots. Even in this place, which should feel like my sanctuary, I still feel trapped.

------------------------------------------------------

   The desert wind feels fresh on my skin, like the vanilla ice cream I'm eating while sitting on the rooftop of our barrack. I can look at the stars clearly, like they've been painted just for me. One thing that I can surely be happy about this job is that it makes me travel around the world. Sure, it doesn't let me be a proper tourist, but at least I get to watch the sky from different parts of this planet. And this ice cream is actually really good. 

   I moan quietly with closed eyes when I savour in my mouth the last spoon of this wednesday's base dessert, then sigh at the sight of the empty cup. Even the small pleasure of life are short-lived here, and I am now left with the spectacle that is the base ahead of me. 

   It's dinner time, even if in half an hour everyone has to go to sleep, the base is still alive with activity. Everyone is busy with something, and me... I am just hiding. 

   Rooftops are my speciality, just like operation rooms. It's the duality of being a sniper and a doctor. I have two hiding places, but with time even these places feel so wrong to me. I don't belong. 

   I lean back on my elbows, listening to the rhythm of the soldiers marching below. I close my eyes and I take a big breath. Trying to convince myself that I belong here, that I am doing something actually right for me and for the people. But which people?

   Behind me, I can sense someone is climbing up the pipe to reach the roof, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of my brother's footsteps. Elia sits besides me with an non-alcoholic beer in hand. I didn't realise they would give beers out at base. 

   "Ugh, are you here to remind me that I'm still to young to drink?" I ask with a sigh. In response he hands me the green bottle. I smile and take a swig, but immediatly girmace at the taste and give it back in disgust. "Why do you drink this blonde shit?" I ask, wiping the drops around my mouth. 

   "I am blonde, we are blonde. Of course I am going to like a blonde beer" he says with a chuckle in his voice, looking out the base, but his expression is different from mine. 

   I can see it in his face, in his eyes. He is surveying his domain, his land, like a King. His dream is taking our father's position, rise to his rank. So yeah, he wants to be the King of this land. 

   "Everything good at the hospital?" he asks, still not looking at me, his diamond-like eyes reflecting the moonlight as his golden beard gleams.

   "I did four GSWs, a fasciotomy, and cleaned so many burns and immobilized so many fractures that I lost count" I say, groaning as my shoulders scream for rest. I give in, lying down with a tired sigh. "I was in the OR for nine hours, then spent the rest of the time in the trauma wing." My muscles ease as my back hits the ground.

   I open my eyes and see Elia's usual proud smile when it comes to my work. When it comes to be happy about what I accomplish, Elia does it for me. He covers joy and proudness for all my family, decanting my successes in the field, from the lives I save to the enemies I take down. 

   "You've been awfully quiet, Fran" he says, setting his beer aside and turning towards me for the first time this evening. 

   "I always am" I say, avoiding his gaze. 

   I look at his forehead, his cheeks, even his lips- anywhere but his eyes. If I look at him in his eyes he'll see that I am scared to be here, that I don't want to be here. Just like how when we were kids and he could always tell how much I hated our father's training. And he would take the beatings for me. 

   Elia doesn't know still don't want to be here. He thinks I found some deep sense of patriotism at sixteen when I enrolled. He doesn't know what convinced me to stay.

   I can't let him see how scared and angry I am. It would be misinterpreted as a lack of confidence in my ability, and even though I hate it, I'm damn good at my job. This whole setup is insane, but I can handle it.

   "If you are bothered in some way, you can talk to me. I'm here as your brother, not as your Captain" he says, trying to meet my eyes. My eyes fall on his collar, where his insignias are, then his chest, decorated with medals. 

   Here, he's just my Captain. He doesn't get it. He never will. This is his land, not mine. 

   "I am fine, Elia. Just need to get through this mission" I say with a deep breath, moving my eyes back up, to the sky, to the indifferent dying stars. 

   He nods, staying by my side for a few more minutes. Then he finishes his beer, pats me on my shoulder and climbs back down. I sit back up, look down and can see my brother meeting with his Lieutenant. 

   John looks relaxed, though a bit tired from the work day. However, he looks like he could do it all over again. He's twenty-three and already a lieutenant; at this pace, he'll have Elia's job in a few deployments.

   I see Elia telling him something, and then John looks up in my direction. I stay where I am and wave. He returns the gesture, touching the visor of his cap and flashing me a small, kind smile. 

   Oh, I really liked that smile. Damn as hell I need to get to Lucy after all this shit. 

[wheels-of-despair]

The Ups and Downs of Dating a Trash Panda Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman's first date doesn't go exactly as planned… but everything works out in the end. Obviously. Contains: First date, questionable choices, proof that a good cheeseburger can fix anything. Words: 2.6k

"What, no dress?"

"Shut up."

"You really ought to put in a little effort."

"Cram it, dork."

"Guys like it when you get all prettied up for them."

"How would you know?"

"Maybe some lipstick."

"Good idea, can I borrow yours?"

"You're no fun," your brother grumbles before he gets tired of his annoying little game and leaves your doorway.

As if getting dressed for a first date isn't already stressful enough.

You don't know why you're stressing. The guy is perfect. You'd only known him for a week, but you were already completely crazy about him. He was funny, he was gorgeous, he scared you just the right amount, he had good taste in music. (Although you did dock points for being a Dio fan. He claimed he could get you to come around. As if your loyalty to The Ozz-Man could be tested by some pretty metalhead who was obsessed with the pint-sized weirdo that tried to replace a legend. Pfft.)

You settled on dark jeans, a shirt that your mom would call a "blouse", and relatively new Converse that hadn't been drawn on yet. The white parts were still white and everything. Yup, you think as you look in the mirror one last time, this is about as good as it's gonna get.

You decide to wait out the rest of the time in the kitchen, so you could dart outside as soon as you heard the van and not have to suffer through any awkward introductions.

You didn't even have time to sit down before you heard the unmistakable roar of that monstrous van.

"Leaving, I'll probably be back by dawn!" you yell before ducking out and making a beeline toward the driveway… where some vaguely familiar dweeb is getting out of Eddie's van.

"Hey."

"Who are you and what have you done with the feral trash panda I'm supposed to be going out with tonight?" you ask before you can stop yourself. You can't help it; he's wearing stiff jeans without holes in them, a tucked-in button-up without any stains on it, and freshly polished combat boots. He's even made an effort to tame his hair.

His pale face immediately turns red, and you curse yourself and your big mouth.

"Kidding. You look good." Oh god, he's going to just turn around and leave, isn't he? Honestly, you wouldn't blame him.

"Thanks," he says shyly, which feels even more out of character for him than the clothes do. "You do too."

"Ready to head out, or did you want to go in and get grilled?"

He gulps and spins on his heel. You follow him back toward the van and try not to smile as he gets halfway around the front before turning back, darting in front of you, and opening the passenger door. This adorable awkwardness is doing wonders for your nerves.

"Thank you, kind sir," you say with a wink as you get in. His eyes go big, and it takes him a second longer than it should to remember to shut the door. He hustles to the other side, jumps in, and starts the engine without looking at you. You're not used to having this effect on anyone. You're quite enjoying it.

In the week you'd known him, nearly every minute you'd spent together had been spent talking. Even when the teacher of the one class you shared together told you - well, him - to shut up and pay attention, you'd continued your conversation on paper. You had an entire notebook dedicated to Conversations with Eddie now.

But aside from the cassette mix blaring through his speakers, this ride was utterly silent. You wanted desperately to say something funny to ease the tension, but you were suddenly as tongue-tied as he was. What the hell is that about?

When you get into the little town you're still not completely familiar with, Eddie whips his van into a parking spot in front of a brick building.

"Uh… Italian good?"

Well done, Munson, three whole words. "Yup, that works."

He grins and jumps out, coming to open your door, but you beat him to it. You're quite capable of opening your own car door. You'll need to break him of that quick.

He gives you a funny look, but recovers as you join him on the sidewalk. He takes long strides toward the restaurant's front door and gives you a triumphant smirk as he holds it open for you. Yeah, okay, you win this one.

The second you step inside, you feel out of place. This is a fancy restaurant. White linen tablecloths, candles and fresh flowers on the tables, waiters wearing ties. Even with your attempts to dress up, you both still stick out like sore thumbs.

"Table for two, please," Eddie tells the hostess. She looks the pair of you up and down, puts her badly painted eyebrows back into place, and gives you a fake smile.

"Right this way," she says sweetly, leading you to a small table in the back. On the way, you pass a couple you've seen in school, all dressed up and eating with one of their families. They look at you with surprise, and the boy leans over to whisper something to the girl. Her eyes never leave you. Fantastic.

Eddie holds out your chair, clearly haven been coached on how to treat a lady, and you sit. He takes a seat across from you, and you both look around the dimly lit restaurant. This is the kind of place rich old men from three towns over bring their mistresses, or where seniors take their prom dates. What the hell?

"Come here often?" you ask, half-joking. His face reddens again.

"Not really," he admits.

"Good evening," your tie-wearing waiter greets before you can make Eddie any more uncomfortable. "Can I start you off with drinks as you peruse our menu?" He hands you each a laminated sheet.

"Uh… Mountain Dew?" The waiter's nose twitches at Eddie's request. "Same," you say with a mildly sarcastic smile.

"Very well," the waiter says, giving you a hard look down his crooked nose before leaving you alone. You feel like a kid who's been mistakenly seated at the adult's table… until you look at the menu. And then you look up at Eddie. His eyes are wide, probably for the same reason yours are: these prices are ridiculous.

"I don't even know what half this stuff is," you mumble, scanning the list in horror.

"Me either," Eddie admits. If he keeps going red like this, his head's going to explode before the night ends.

"Have you ever been here before?" you ask, genuinely this time.

"No," he says, almost guiltily, chewing his bottom lip.

"This doesn't really seem like us, does it?" You're trying to be as gentle as possible, for Eddie's sake, but you hate everything about this place. The flowers stink, the candle is giving you black lung, and you're feeling more claustrophobic by the second. You also suspect you'll both end up washing dishes to get out of here. Bet the people from school would love to see that.

"Do you want to bail?" he asks quietly, almost like he fears your answer.

"On you? No. On this overpriced shithole? Hell yeah." His face lights up, and he looks around to see if you're being watched. You are. Fuck it. "C'mon," you stand up, instinctively taking his hand and pulling him up to follow you, dodging tables and ties on your way out.

"Is there a problem?" the hostess asks as you rush past her.

"Left the stove on!" you call over your shoulder as you burst through the door and find yourselves back outside, where the sun is just beginning to set. You turn to Eddie with a smile, which he returns. It's nice to be able to breathe again. And then you realize you're still holding hands, so you panic and break apart.

"Fucked that one up, didn't I?" He rubs the back of his neck, looking at you through one scrunched-up eye.

"Nah," you say, enjoying the fresh air and the feeling of freedom. "I'm honored that you think I'm a fancy Italian restaurant kind of girl."

"What kind of girl are you?"

"For you? I'd be a gas station hot dog kind of girl."

You briefly wonder if he's going to have a stroke, or get freaked out by how into him you are - way to come off like a stalker, you loser - and then he lets out the goofiest, dorkiest laugh you've ever heard.

"I think we can do a little better than gas station hot dogs. What are you in the mood for?"

You shrug. "What's your favorite?"

"There's a good burger joint a few streets over."

"That's more like it," you grin.

"You wanna walk?"

"Sure," you shrug. "Can I do something first?"

"Yeah?" You take a step toward him, and he instinctively steps back.

"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you," you tell him with a smile. "Close your eyes?" Surprisingly, he doesn't put up a fight. You take a slow step toward him, stick your hands in his hair, and give it a gentle tousle.

That's all it takes to make it go wild again. He looks at you in confusion.

"There he is," you announce, crossing your arms and looking up at him with affection. "Knew you were in there somewhere." He ducks his head to hide his smile, and you stand at his side and give him a gentle nudge with your shoulder.

"I believe I heard talk of a good burger joint?"

He beams down at you, tilts his head, and begins walking in search of better food. After he catches his reflection in a store window and blushes again, he untucks and unbuttons his shirt, revealing a plain t-shirt underneath. Another step toward normalcy. For him, anyway.

After the third time your hands bump together on your journey, you glare up at him. "Am I gonna have to do everything myself?"

"What?" he asks. The boy is hopeless.

With a dramatic sigh and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you grab his hand and interlace your fingers, wondering whose face is burning more on the rest of your walk.

"This is it," he says as you approach a glass window with chipped paint advertising breakfast, lunch, dinner, and coffee. You probably would've missed it if he hadn't pointed it out. He opens the door, and you step inside to see a checkered floor, fluorescent lights, a long counter, and a row of red booths. Framed newspaper articles and vintage advertisements decorate the walls. Two booths are occupied, and three old codgers who must be regulars sit at the counter having a lively discussion about pie over steaming mugs of coffee.

"Yeah, this is more like it," you grin up at Eddie. He laughs and leads the way to a booth in the back that's seen better days, and you settle in across from each other. You look around and see the menu above the counter. Not only can you pronounce everything on it, you can afford it too. Yeah, this is definitely more like it.

"What do you recommend?" you ask.

"I pretty much always get a bacon cheeseburger."

"Perfect."

A grandmotherly type wearing Keds, pleated jeans, and a sweatshirt covered in sunflowers appears. "Hey, honey! Where you been?"

"Hey, Bernadettte. Uhhh… working hard in school?"

She laughs and pulls a pad and a pen from her apron. "Suuure. What'll it be, kids?"

"Two bacon cheeseburgers and a basket of fries, please."

"Drinks?"

You each pick a soda, and she gives you a smile before returning to the counter.

Now that you're both comfortable, your usual level of chatter quickly resumes. From the time Bernadette went to fetch your drinks to the time you finished sharing an after-dinner milkshake, the only silence came when both of your mouths were full.

"Can I get you kids anything else?" Bernadette eventually asks. If you eat another bite, you're going to explode.

"No ma'am," Eddie answers politely.

"Haven't seen you in here before," she remarks to you, ripping the ticket off and placing it face-down on the table.

"I've only been here about a week. But now that I've found the best burger in town, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of me," you joke.

She laughs. "I knew I was gonna like you. I'm Bernadette. You come back and see me anytime." Somebody calls for a refill at the counter, and she winks as she walks away.

"Ready?" Eddie asks, sucking down the last sip of his soda. You nod.

He takes the ticket to the register, and you tidy up your mess and tuck a few dollars under the milkshake glass so they don't drift away. Eddie returns and looks down at it, then at you with a glare.

"Non-negotiable," you say simply, standing between him and the tip on the table. He holds up his hands in defeat, then gestures toward the exit. You wave to Bernadette on your way out.

"You kids take care!" she calls.

"You too, Bernadette!" Eddie responds.

Holding hands is less awkward on the return trip. The drive home is quiet, but not unbearably so. It's peaceful now; you're both full, and happy, and comfortable with each other.

When you're back in your driveway, he puts the van in park and turns off the engine. You turn to tell him goodnight, but he's already darting around the front to open your door. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as he yanks it open and holds out his hand expectantly.

"You know you don't have to do that, right?"

"Let me be a gentleman, dammit. Just for tonight. I'll go back to being a… what did you call me earlier?"

"Trash panda?"

"I'll go back to being a trash panda tomorrow if you want."

"Fineee," you grumble playfully, taking his hand and sliding to the ground with a thump.

"Now what?" you ask, looking up at him with a devious grin.

"Uh…"

You lean back against the van and cross your arms, watching your flustered date try to make up his mind.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he closes it again.

"I had a great time tonight," you prompt, finally taking pity on his floundering.

"Me too. Sorry I fucked it up."

"You didn't fuck it up. I think this might be the best date I've ever been on."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yup."

"Uh… me too…" Hopeless. Totally hopeless.

"I think this is the part where you kiss me goodnight," you stage-whisper, watching him blush again in the glow of your porch light.

"You're sure?" His dark eyes dart to your lips.

You lean closer. "Am I gonna have to do everything myself?" you tease, gently, repeating this question for the second time tonight.

Eddie grins and closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that makes you go weak at the knees.

"Happy now?" he asks smugly when he pulls back, in a low, gravelly voice that sets your insides on fire. This motherfucker.

"Nah, I think you better try again."

He pulls you back to him without a word, a little more aggressive this time. You don't mind in the slightest. When you come up for air, he looks at you expectantly.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, that was better." He grins triumphantly and stands to his full height, draping an arm around your shoulders.

"I'm walking you to your door. Deal with it." You laugh and let him.

After a shorter kiss on the doorstep and a promise that he'll call you tomorrow, he heads back the van, and you step inside.

Your brother is sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Not a fuckin' word," you warn, trying to look threatening instead of hopelessly head-over-heels for a feral trash panda.

[kasdan]

birthday hcs 🎂

it may or may not be my birthday today so i decided to write some headcanons on how the characters would celebrate with you<3 (saying i'm 20 now is wack)

pairings: loki x gn!reader, frank castle x gn!reader, carol danvers x gn!reader

warnings: fluffffff, very slight itty bitty suggestive themes if you squint and tilt your head, not proofread

marvel masterlist

𝑳𝒐𝒌𝒊

doesn't really see birthdays as being that special considering how old he is and how many he's had, but will make an effort for yours since learning traditions are different on midgard 

struggles with being forced to share you on the day where he just wants to lock you in your bedroom all day and have you to himself

plans a party for you anyway, wanting you to feel special on your day

will plan an extravagant outfit for you and leave it on your bed for you to put on before the party

the outfit is green obviously because he wouldn't want you in any other color

he's only a tad bit possessive it's fine

you two walk into the party arm in arm looking like a perfect couple 

finds himself smiling slightly when he sees you having a good time

doesn't leave your side for the whole night and periodically checks up on you to make sure you're enjoying yourself

gets you the most gifts out of everyone, and makes a slight competition on him getting you the most, and best, of the gifts you receive at the party

you figure out what he's doing early on and you just smile up at him kissing his cheek in content, causing him to hold you closer to him as you open the rest of the gifts

ends up not completely minding that he's sharing you with this many people at the end when he sees how happy you are, and just wants to see you happy

but he does get excited when you ask to leave the party finally, done with all the partying for the night

wraps himself around you and doesn't let go until late into the next morning

𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆

would prefer to just spend the day in with you rather than do anything extravagant

however, if you want to go out for it, he wouldn't stop you and would just want to support you in the best way he could

cooks all meals for you the entire day, including any snacks you might want, and will go out to get any missing ingredients that he needs

he knows if you're holding back on anything that you want that day and will force the truth out of you of what you want

will gladly just lay in bed all day with you if that's what you want

barely lets you get up to use the bathroom

all in all just wants to pamper you the entire day

will become your bitch for the day and will do whatever you want without asking twice

you want ice cream? he'll be out the door before you get all the words out and back 10 minutes later with 5 different pints for you to choose from

your feet hurt? he's picking you up and having you ride around the apartment on his back the entire day

no matter how much you try to get off and insist that you can get to the kitchen on your own feet, he's ignoring you and placing you on the counter before asking what you wanted from the kitchen so he could get it for you

just wants you to have the best day possible because he loves you<3

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔

gets up early in order to make you breakfast and will carry it into the room when you wake up so you can eat it in bed

plans out the whole day for you so you can have the best time 

puts together a surprise party for you with the help of your friends and kamala because once she knows there's a surprise party in place she has to help

takes you out to lunch and then tells you that she planned a dinner for tonight so you should both look for a new outfit for you to wear, even though you're really just picking out an outfit to wear at the surprise party

you both end up getting off track and trying on random outfits that don't go together in the slightest and making your own fashion show

eventually you get an outfit and move to the register to pay after being threatened to get kicked out of the store if you don't pay for something

doesn't even give you a chance to get your card out to pay, she's already handing over her card to the cashier glancing your way with a grin before you could even move to reach for yours

struggles to come up with more things to do while the party is still being set up, so she insists on a walk in the park to give more time for everyone to set everything up

finally gets the text that everything's ready and pushes you into the park bathroom to get dressed

makes an excuse that she forgot something at home so you have to go back first before heading to dinner

convinces you to go in with her even though you're sure the thing she's getting shouldn't take more than a couple minutes to get

you understand why she wanted you to go with her when you walk in the doorway and suddenly the lights turn on and there are a bunch of people in the room screaming surprise

brings in the cake that she made earlier in the week with the help from monica because she was failing miserably 

overall, she's just happy that she was able to give you a day that you can be happy about

buy me a coffee ♡

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Easy smiles and loud laughter (Osferth x reader)

synopsis: 5 times Osferth made you laugh and 1 time he made you cry

warnings: fluff, pregnancy, angst, character death, afab reader

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged in the `kissing booth AU´, for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

The first time Osferth made you laugh, you didn´t even know his name yet. You were working your shift at the ale house serving food and drink to the patrons, when suddenly the door swung open. The cold fall wind sweeps through the establishment, prompting you to whip your head around towards it right as you set down a pint in front of one of your regulars. He stumbles in a few steps behind the rest of his friends. While they are laughing boisterously, joking and pushing each other around as they do, he is a lot more quiet. A shy blush on his otherwise sickly face. You can tell this has not been their first stop in search of something to drink. Nonetheless you serve them whatever they order and when night falls you are not surprised when they ask for free rooms they could stay in for the night.

“How many rooms will that be?” You ask with a tired but friendly smile in place on your lips.

“Well, that depends, you see.” The man with short dark hair and a beard says with a mischievous grin.

“Depends on what?” You ask curiously.

“Depends if the baby monk is gonna grow a pair and talk to the pretty serving girl he fancies or not…” He and the other men laugh, though not in mean spirit. Your facial expression remains unchanged until you see the monk, the Irishman alluded to. His face is as red as a tomato and his eyes are glued to the floorboards as if there is nothing more interesting in the world.

“Finan…” He whispers sharply to his friend, making you break out into a chuckle anymore. He was just too adorable.

“Well? What´s the baby monks name?” You turn to fully face him as you ask.

“I am called Osferth.” His voice is quiet, but at least he looks up at you through his lashes.

“Well, it is nice meeting you, Osferth.” You chirp and wink at him, before turning back to the other men, who very badly try to conceal their laughter. “You are in luck. We have just enough rooms left for you.”

The second time he makes you laugh, you had just joined the group around Uthred a short time ago.  Still new to the life and the people, but you had made quick friends with Finan. The Irishman had a loyal and funny side that you could only appreciate. Even more so when watching him and Osferth spar. You weren´t much of a fighter yourself, so you had dedicated yourself to learn how to heal, to at least be of some use. So, while you watched the two men train, you studied any relevant book you could get your hands on. It is during one of those instances, that you get interrupted. Finan had just `defeated´ Osferth once more when he turns to an approaching figure in the distance. A smile spreads on his lips.

“Go, fetch Lord Uthred. Tell him we have a visitor. And tell him it is a woman.” He says to the blond man beside him.

“How can you tell it is a woman?” Osferth asks. Earning a raised eyebrow from Finan and an amused headshake from you.

“You have to ask?” The look Osferth gives the Irishman is what beckons a laugh from you as you stand up from the fur that you had laid out underneath you.

“I will go and get Uthred. You two stay here and greet our guest.” You say as you make your way inside.

The third time he makes you laugh, your little group sits around a campfire. It has gotten cold fast and the lot of you are freezing even through the furs over your shoulders. The mood between the five of you had dropped just like the temperatures. Icy silence hanging in the air, the only sounds around are the chattering of your teeth, the crackling of the fire and the bubbling of the stew that was cooking above it.  Then into the silence sounds Osferth´s voice.

“It is so god damn cold I cannot even tell the stones in my shoes from my toes.”

It is a stupid joke, really. And neither of you feel like laughing. Yet, unlike your companions who scoff at his words, a laugh leaves your lungs. The sound light, almost bell-like and bringing an unknown warmth to his insides. Meanwhile, you can´t stop laughing. Even under the looks of Finan, Sithric and Uthred, who all silently question your sanity at the moment.

The fourth time he makes you laugh, you are sure is the moment you really start living. He pulls you aside during the day. A serious expression firm in place on his face, that is rarely seen anymore in quiet times like these.

“Is everything alright, Osferth? What is it you so urgently wished to speak about?” You ask quite worried by his behavior.

His eyes are trained to the ground, like the first time you had met. Avoiding yours at any cost, as a blush dusts over his cheeks.

“I um… I needed to… To talk to you about…” He starts to play with his fingers from nervosity.

You step closer to him and lay a gentle hand on his cheek, making him look at you, which has him in even more of a nervous mess than before.

“It is fine to take your time. Just take a deep breath for me and then try again.” You take a deep breath for him to mimic, which he does. Finally calmed down a bit he even is capable of looking you into the eyes.

“In the months since you have joined us, I have caught myself falling for you. Deeply. And though I am aware that you do not feel the same, I still needed to tell you.” You want to hold in your laughter as to not possibly hurt him more, but when Osferth looks at you with what can only be described as puppy eyes, you can´t hold it in anymore.

“I love you too, Osferth.” You kiss his warm cheek, which instantly becomes a deeper shade of red and watch a small, happy smile break out on his face to replace the serious look from before.

The fifth time Osferth makes you laugh, the two of you had just found out that you were with child and couldn´t be happier. In those days a smile seemed to be plastered on your faces constantly. To Uthred´s and Finan´s amusement. Sithric seemed to be the only one with a little understanding, congratulating the two of you and then backing off. You still traveled a lot, but you had built yourself a nice life in Rumcofa. One night you lie in bed, cuddled close under the furs, one of his hands resting on your belly that would soon swell.

Laying one ridiculous name on you after the other until you feel like you can´t breath anymore from how hard you are laughing.

“What do you think about Uthred or Finan if it is a boy?” You suggest while catching your breath, though it is clear that it is meant with all the sarcasm in the world.

“I think they would never speak to us again if we would choose either of those names.” He chuckles along with you. And as he still speaks you get the perfect idea.

“Alright. Enough with the jests… I am thinking Leofric if it is a boy and Mildred if it is a girl.” You whisper, laying a gentle hand atop his. Turning your head you see his eyes shimmering with tears. “I am taking we have found ourselves some baby names?”

“Yes.” He says, clearing his throat, “Yes, we have.”

In that moment everything feels more real than ever. The love you share, the pregnancy, the life you have lived so far and the life you would soon live.

The one time Osferth makes you cry, is the day you are sure you will never feel alright again. The attack on Rumcofa came seemingly out of nowhere and without any real fighting skills you were of no great use. Running around to heal people left and right to the best of your ability, though you are aware that it isn´t enough. The attackers are too strong and too fast.

When you hear a scream by the docks you quickly run towards it. Not quick enough as it seems. With cold horror you have to watch as Ingrith is being thrown off her horse and Finan leave Osferth to help her. With shock freezing you in place you have to watch as your love gets stabbed by one of Aethelhelms men. Your mouth opens, though you don´t hear the scream that comes out of your lungs. Finan is by Osferth´s side before you are. Holding him in his arms as blood flows heavily from his side and the corners of his mouth.

“No! No, no, no, no… My love, look at me. Please look at me.” You ramble desperate to stop the bleeding from the wound on his side.

“I don´t want to die…” His cries become quieter and more strained as the seconds pass.

“Shhh, save your strength. You will not die today. I will not let you.” You sniffle, not even sure if you can believe yourself as you wipe away the tears that cloud your vision. Returning to your efforts to stop his bleeding you don´t see his eyes become more dull, until all the life has drained from them. The already shallow breath ebbing in his chest and his head falling to the side. You refuse to admit his loss at first, but when there is no lying about it anymore and your lips graze his forehead one last time, you let your tears run free. That day you are certain a part of your soul dies with him.

[mlmxreader]

Drunken Howling | R.J. MacCready x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ anyone you'd like from your fallout characters you write for, with the prompt;

"The first time you said you loved me - that was my best day"

preferably fo4, but if you wanna do other ones that's fine too ❞

: ̗̀➛ MacCready tags along while you and Preston go drinking with Old Longfellow.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, drunkenness

↳ word count: 1000

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

MacCready knew it was a mistake to leave you and Preston with Old Longfellow at the pub, but he had to leave for a brief moment to have a cigarette and to get himself something to eat; he came back to find you hunched over the table, leaning on one arm with the other slung over Preston’s shoulders, your glare fixed on Longfellow’s.

“No, no, listen,” you slurred. “This motherfucker here? He’s the best fuckin’ cunt I ever did meet. Honest, I fuckin’ swear down that he is - best cunt in the world, I reckon!”

Longfellow smiled, nodding along as he looked at Preston for a moment, trying not to laugh. “I’ll take your word for it, kid.”

“He’s lying,” Preston chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m really not that great.”

“Oh, hush!” You all but howled, shaking your head and smacking his arm. “You’re the cunt in charge of the only cunts who give a fuck about any of us! You, Mister Fuckin’-Garvey, are a fuckin’ angel, y’know. A fuckin’ angel.”

Preston was relieved when MacCready sat down beside you, pulling you into his side as he laughed softly. “And what about me, cowboy?”

You shrugged, swaying a little as you reached for your drink and took a long gulp. Moonshine seemed to do wonders for your honesty. “You are the fuckin’ love of my life, you can do no fuckin’ wrong… but I’m not forgivin’ you for never lettin’ me steal your cuntin’ hat.”

MacCready pulled back briefly, taking his cap off and gently smacking it onto your head as he stole a few swigs from your pint glass. “Happy?”

“Very much so,” you grinned, gently kissing his lips. “Because I know you don’t do anything without a reward.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he watched you put the hat on properly; his ears were turning bright pink, as were his cheeks, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he leaned back to catch his breath a little bit. “You feeling okay?”

You nodded eagerly, pressing another kiss to his lips as a hum slipped from the back from your throat. “Dandy… but you disappeared on me.”

“I only went for a cigarette,” he pointed out. “You want one?”

You nodded again, letting him help you to your feet before he took you outside; the sea breeze hit you like a freight train, and you immediately clung onto his arm to steady yourself.

MacCready put a cigarette between your lips, lighting it for you before easing you against the wall so you wouldn’t fall over despite stumbling over your own feet. Slipping from the wetness of the sea battered wooden floors as you laughed, your face hot as you rolled your sleeves up and grinned at him. 

“I fuckin’ love you, y’know,” you slurred with a soft laugh. “I fuckin’ love you so much. You fuckin’ mean the world to me, you fuckin’ daft cunt, you know that, don’t you?”

MacCready laughed loudly, closing his eyes as he did so, resisting the urge to throw his head back as he grinned. “I love you, too.”

It still felt wrong to say the words, but admittedly, MacCready was getting used to it; the wrongness was just starting to feel like a slight sting in the chest, the way that a nettle would sting. A small irritation, but still so painfully obviously there even when he tried to hide it.

But knowing that you had more than enough liquid courage to say those things to him did make him feel a little bit better about admitting it; even though every warning sign in his head was telling him to grab you before you fell and vomited. 

“You’re a good cunt,” you told him between sharp drags from the cigarette. “A really fuckin’ good cunt. You’re my favourite cunt. My favouritest cunt.”

MacCready nodded, humming as he came to stand beside you so that he could grab you if you stumbled; fixing his hat to make sure that it wouldn’t fall from your head. “Thanks, cowboy. You, too.”

“Aww!” You gushed. “I’m your favourite cunt?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he laughed. “But sure.”

Fuck it.

“You gave me a second chance,” he told you softly. “I didn’t think I could… feel anything for someone again, and I f- I really appreciate that.”

“It’s a fuckin’ puppy!” You gasped out upon seeing one of the stray dogs wander towards the pub, skidding down onto your knees and taking its face in your hands. Tears quickly beginning to stream down your face. “Puppy! R.J., can we take him home? He’s a puppy and I love-is him.”

MacCready could only laugh as you petted the dog and cried over it, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky to be given a second chance with a man who made him laugh so much whilst also giving him a shoulder to lean on when he needed it most.

He gently pulled you away from the dog, keeping you steady against his body as he allowed a few small chuckles to escape the back of his throat. He really was just so lucky.

“I love-is you, too,” you slurred out, clinging onto him. “I really do - you is my favouritest cunt in the whole worlds.”

“Yeah, you, er, you made that pretty clear,” he slowly started to guide you towards the door. “C’mon, we’ll grab Preston and go home.”

“Wait!” You protested, swaying from side to side as you grinned and laughed. “I wants a kiss.”

MacCready smiled, shaking his head as he gave you a soft, quick kiss to the lips. “Come on, before you call me a c-... well, y’know.”

“A cunt!” You howled out proudly. “You are a cunt, R.J.! And I love you! You cunt!”

He rolled his eyes, opening the door and ushering you inside so you could grab Preston. “Come on, we should start getting ready to go home.”

“I loves you.”

༺═──────────────────────────────═༻

I'm a bit drunk rn, but thanks for reading! if you could spare 5 minutes, maybe consider sending anything you can to help Mahmoud to rebuild his life as he is currently trying to survive the ongoing genocide. Any little helps, genuinely, even if it's a bit of shrapnel from your back pocket - just a few pence, anything would help.

[skelebellie]

no i definitely haven’t been not drawing because i’ve been playing baldurs gate…. (yes i have)

anyways here’s a long log of my tav/persona Cyris! a gueer tav w/ autism that hasn’t socialized with anyone outside of three people that they themselves have hired. being thrown into a bandwagon of complicated characters, including themselves, has been a difficult challenge. and unfortunately for them, they rolled a nat 1 for insight. (also we need more conventionally unattractive tavs bc i said so.)

if anything could describe Cyris, its the emperors words, “you are… conflicting”. they don’t seem to have any qualms with taking jobs or loot (rouge), but seem keen enough to help others as long as it benefits them (cleric), sometimes even when it doesn’t. though, it may be because they find it easier to solve other peoples problems than their own.

as a *cough cough*, person in intelligence, they’ve accidentally wormed their way into being the leader. hopefully trying to balance out the teams gold and make it back to their home city before they turn into a mindflair. though, they have a lot of difficulties with understanding why people stand on certain sides, let alone why anyone would want to spend their day taking over humanity. all they want to do is go back home to their comfy bed and grandpa withers.

most of their background involves rising out of an urchin background in order to track down the cult members of bhaal who killed their mother, taking Cyris as an unfortunate sacrifice for later use. though… it seems like something else resulted out of that. now they begrudgingly cary the title of kelemvor’s chosen, a win win for the both of them as of right now. with an odd knack for killing others- they seem to either be constantly calculating, observing the the world around them. Or- completely in control of themselves, a flitter of a laugh only worming out with a pint of ale. luckily getting to build actual relationships with other people has been getting them to open up. their story has one main lesson- let yourself succumb to the desires of others, or tell fate to suck your dick.

in conclusion- they did kill the entire goblin camp and no they did not regret it.

[chatterbox-73]

Twelve days of Smutcember 2022.

Day 4 - Cold shoulder.

Jean Kirsten x fem!Reader

This story is a smut story for Smutcember, I’ll be writing more characters x reader one shots for Smutcember and if you want to see a character please let me know...

finally I think it’s important to note, I might be a person who celebrates Christmas, however I know not everyone does so I won’t/try not to mention or reference any particular festive holiday in these one shots, out of respect for everyone.

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

Summary/prompt: “I’m going to f*cking ruin you”

Word count: 1.9k

CW: anal, fingering, unprotected s3x, swearing, hate-s3x, enemies to ‘friends’, drinking alcohol, arguing and name calling.

You sat at the table drinking a large pint of beer, you grumbled to yourself as you watched the tall blonde Marleyan woman suck up to the higher ups, offering them some fancy wine. “Oh y/n… why not come over and have some wine” yelena smiled and held up the bottle, “I’d rather not… who knows what you Marleyan cunts could have done to that grape juice” you growled turning your nose up at the woman and she frowned, “after all this time you still don’t trust us…?” The woman walked over to you and placed a glass of wine in front of you, taking a sniff and looking down at it “smells like monkey piss…” you snarled and knocked the glass off the table only to have it shattered into pieces, you stood to your feet and looked Yelena in the eyes, “listen Yelena… why don’t you take one of your fancy wine bottles and shove it right up your a-“ you were then cut off by someone wrapping an arm around your neck and covering your mouth. “Woah wine party how cool” you heard you Commander’s voice, “section Commander L/n, why didn’t you come get me?” Hange started to pull you out of the room and into the corridor where most of the other scouts were, “now why are you starting fights with her?” They questioned and you huffed ignoring the question “you can’t hate them forever” they sighed and you chuckled, “watch me” you snapped. Hange looked amongst the group of scouts and landed on Jean, “Kirsten, take feisty pants home and make sure she stays out of trouble” they pushed you towards Jean, they knew the two of you absolutely hated each other, however they had this weird little theory, “oh, come on hange… I was planning on having a good night” he groaned and grabbed your arm before you’d try run “I don’t need a babysitter, besides I also had very important plans too… I was hoping to drink myself into a stupor” you rolled your eyes and tried to pull away from Jean, only to be yanked back. The two of you walked back to your house, both grumbling about your ruined nights, getting inside your house you kicked your boots off and staggered over to your drink cabinet, Jean stepped inside and looked around the very clean, nicely decorated house, “take your dirty fucking shoes off” you growled as you plopped down on the couch, the man jumped at your tone before slipping off his boots and placing them by the front door, “this is a really nice place… I honestly expected you to live in a sty” he sat on the armchair next to a large bookshelf, “yeah well, I like to keep things clean… this place, is also the place I was gonna live in with…” you stopped talking before looking down at the half empty bottle of whiskey and opened it taking a large drink, Jean nodded “why still live here? This place is just turning you into a miserable drunk” he sigh and to this you glared at the man, “because the man I loved bought this place for me… so we could live together” you placed the bottle down and crossed one leg over the other. “You obviously don’t know how it feels to being loved… as Mikasa is still trying to crawl up on Eren… but I’d do anything to hold onto his love for me” you snapped at the man sitting across from you and watched as his face changed from a calm, slightly smug expression, to one of burning rage, “ohhh… now that’s a scary face… don’t let her see that, it’ll push her further into Eren’s arms” you chuckled and was suddenly yanked off the couch by the scruff of the shirt, you wanted to say more smart-ass remarks but thought again. “You stupid drunken bitch!” Jean yelled in your face, you let out a chuckle and grabbed his wrists “come on I was only playin’ horse face” you smirked, before you were shaking slightly, “shut the fuck up for once… you know what if Moblit saw you right now, he’d fallen out of love with you on the spot… though I guess by now your used to loneliness” he snapped and you felt a lump in your throat, because you knew it was true…

Moblit would despise the women you’ve become and no one else wants you around because you are nothing but a sad drunk, “let go of me before I break your fucking wrists” your grip on his wrist tightened and Jean’s eyes softened at the hurt on your face, “I- I’m sorry… how about I make you something to eat?” He asked and loosened his grip, “I’m sorry too… I shouldn’t have said those things…” you softly smiled and pulled away “…and you’re right, I am lonely but I think I’m fine with that” you said with tears in your eyes, you were lying, you weren’t fine with it but it was too late now. You began walking towards your bedroom but were stopped, Jean grabbed your arm and pulled you back towards him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and tangled anything in your hair, “it’s not fine, I know it’s not… because I’m just as lonely as you” he looked down at you, watching you tried to pull away from him, “let me cook you something to eat, maybe that’ll make us feel better” he suggested and you shook your head, “I have no food to cook, now let go and leave” you snapped before finally breaking from his grip, “I’m not some replacement and neither are you” you glared at him, Jean blinked at you for a moment “of cause not… someone like you could never replace Mikasa” he chuckled and you only clicked your tongue. “Fuck you Kirsten” you flipped him off, Jean grabbed your hand “stop being so damn rude, like fuck… no wonder nobody wants you around” he snapped at you gripping your hand really tight, “well it’s no wonder she doesn’t want you… you pompous twat… you’re alway going to be a walking second place metal” you placed your other hand on his chest and tried to push him away, “I’m so much better then him… she just doesn’t know it yet” he grabs you other hand and yanked you closer to him, getting right in your face, “if you were ‘so much better’ then him… why isn’t she already with you” you whispered and smiled, suddenly you fell to the ground with Jean on top of you.

“Let me show you how much better I am” Jean growled and you chuckled, “so you know that’s pretty damn cheesy, plannin’ on ‘making love’ to me… but alright go now then” you laughed in his face “no… I’m not gonna making love to you… I despise you…” he smirked and before you could ask what he had in mind, he flipped you onto your stomach, “I’m going to fucking ruin you” he whispered as he pulled off your pants. “You’ve been a real pain in my ass ever since we first met in the 104th cadet corps… now I’m going to be a pain it your ass” Jean laughed while messily undressing you, you laid on the floor naked chest pressed to the cold wooden ground and hips high in the air, you heard Jean’s pants being unbuckled before you felt him rub something wet against your asshole, “you sure you still want this” he said as he rubbed spit on his throbbing length, “yeah I want it… it’s alright if your too scared to go through with it” you looked back and felt your breath catch in your throat once you caught sight of the man behind you. Jean had his shirt off and his unbuckled pants sitting low on his hips, he rubbed his hard member as he watched your backside closely, he spread your cheeks before spitting a large drop of saliva on your tight ring, you moan out eyes focused on his next move, he then leaned up on his knees and pressed his member into you, it hurt and he struggled but you both persisted until you found that sweet stretch. “Oh fuck, it’s some tight… I feel like you’re gonna snap it right off” Jean moaned as he found his rhythm, you whined still trying to get use to him, “give me a minute… please… dear god” you cried out, this however only spurred him on more, the man held your hips tight as he thrusted his tip rough and fast, he groaned and moan out “holy fuck… you look so fucking beautiful like this, you sweet ass is heaven sent” he moaned as he squeezed the fat of your ass cheek in his hand, you felt a tightness in your core from his words, you hadn’t expected this to feel so physical good and emotional satisfying. “Jean… can I asked you something” you asked in a small voice, it was so quiet he almost didn’t hear you, he stopped his movements and leaned down to you, pressing his chest against your back “yeah, am I being too rough?… you want me to be quiet?…” he asked as you felt your chest tighten, “can you hold me close? And umm… and keep say that stuff to me… please” Your face heated up and you heard him chuckle softly, “alright, beautiful girl” he hummed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you up with him, Jean continued his rough and fast pace while tracing his fingers down your stomach and down to your clit, you moaned softly at the gentle circles his fingers traced, it was a stark contrast to his thrusts, “what a sweet voice, moan my name” he whispered before he licked your ear, you cried out his name and gripped onto his arm around your shoulders that was holding you up. “Jean please… I’m so close… just a little more” you whined and feeling him twitch inside you, his fingers tracing your clit stopped and moved to your entrance before slipping in and instantly matching Jean thrusts, your head fell back on his shoulder as you came undone, Jean groaned and pressed his face into your neck as he released on your lower back, he let go of around your shoulders and watched as you fell forward, you felt your eyes go heavy before you completely lost consciousness.

Jean sat on your bed watching you sleep peacefully, he looked around the room and noticed a large pile of papers and opened envelopes on your bedside table, he grabbed the top paper and began writing over it, it reads…

~~~

To my dear y/n

My love runs deeper then river; you set my heart alight; I couldn’t without your soft voice… without your gentle touch… without your warm heart… without your sincere eyes… I couldn’t live without you, I’d rather die then live a solemn loneliness without you.

You are my heart, my breath, my life…

I will love you always.

~~~

Jean sighed as he finished reading the letter, he noticed at the very bottom of the paper was dried up wet spots where your tears probably hit the paper, he placed the letter back and turned to look at you, once you lost Moblit you became a hollow shell of who you once were… gone were the days you’d sit with Connie and Sasha for hours laughing and joking, gone were the moments where you’d braid Mikasa hair, or annoyed him and Eren, or play chess with Armin… you were no longer yourself, you no longer had purpose. Jean decided in that moment he’d help you get back to your former self, or at least something close to who you use to be, “I’ll help you… I’ll be there for you, you annoying little shit” the man laid down in the bed next to you and cuddled into you.

Day 3: The pleasure of presents - Kei Tsukishima

Day 5: Roasty Toasty - Dabi/Toya Todoroki x Reader

Smutcember masterlist.

[sadruru]

In-character character development questions for Melissa!

🔮 CRYSTAL BALL — what is a core memory from your childhood that you think defines you today?

😶‍🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS — is there something you're hiding from the people you love? if so, how urgent is it for them to hear it? what's holding you back from sharing it?

Thanks for the questions! I've already decided how I'm going to answer them, it's going to be a bit experimental 😈

Melissa will personally answer questions. Expect a cameo ~

😶‍🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS — is there something you're hiding from the people you love? if so, how urgent is it for them to hear it? what's holding you back from sharing it?

"Well, well... All right! It's a miracle you could convince me, and I'll repay you for the drink and song. I don't like to stay in debt. First of all, let me say I'm not a very good storyteller, and my stories aren't very sweet. You won't be in Drezen for long, right? I doubt I'll see you again in the future. If I started telling my story, believe me, it would take a few nights. Hold on, what do you mean calling you by your name, sugar-voiced Lark? I won't, because it's more interesting!

…I hide a lot of things from those closest to me. If I have any. I often hear from others that I change topics too easily, especially from one restless boy. I've never liked looking into the future, because you never know what will happen tomorrow. On one hand, it sounds a little scary... Maybe one day I'll tell them, and him too.

I had too much shit behind me. So much that I should shut up. I don't think you'd believe me the first time.

You know, I used to not really care about this Crusade or the people around me. You should have seen how everyone reacted to me at first. The obscure bandit turned knight-commander, the tiefling, who looked like “ a succubus” or “ a whore”. Or whatever those "noble" paladins and knights called me for my looks and temper. Never mind. I've been called worse in the River Kingdoms. But now I see that they look at me with hope, despite what I do... It gives me a bitter taste in my mouth. I don't... I don't want to seem weak to everyone. It's really annoying.

Hmm… Did you see the adorable little elf with the burns? Ember. Sometimes she draws a crowd of onlookers. Her eyes, words and actions... When that girl looks at me, it's like she sees right through me. These moments make me feel pretty… Vulnerable? Oh, no. Too many bad thoughts in my head again. Now you owe me another pint!"

🔮 CRYSTAL BALL — what is a core memory from your childhood that you think defines you today?

"Ah, come on! Another tough question again? I really don't know! I had a lot of good and bad moments.

I don't know about you, little Lark, but my childhood ended quickly and darkly. I'll tell you about the good one. When I was five years old, I saw my dad carving something for me. It wasn't just another wooden toy, and he didn't say what it was. To be honest, I wanted a dragon toy so bad! I begged him long and impatiently until he finally finished and hung a simple amulet around my neck. The amulet bore the symbol of Cayden Cailean. Then he said to me, "Be brave, strong, and believe in good as always, Lissa. I can feel the spirit of adventure in you. Perhaps in the future you will continue our family business, or travel to other countries. That's your choice."

My first piece of jewelry... Ha ha! After that, I pounced on my mom's stuff and started imagining myself as a rich lady in a dress, with lots of gold rings and precious bling. I dreamed of getting rich, making our tavern bigger, buying a big house near the sea, with lots of servants and cats, maybe even finding a handsome husband and living happily ever after! Uh... My parents scolded me severely for making such a mess.

Believe in good, right? And foolish childish dreams... As you see, something went wrong."

Why little Lark? Because Siavash is half elf and taller than her 🤣

I hope I portrayed her character well. I don't know about the second question. Many memories in her childhood defined her. So I decided to show one of them - about her childhood dream of a good ending.

How it ended: Fluffy steals meat from hand.

Better not look at what's going on in the background. I just like to draw funny sketches in the background. I wonder if people recognize their kids? Hehehe...

[merelymatt]

To get my upcoming audio drama I Need A Miracle off the page and into the airwaves, I decided against the indie production scramble where everyone donates their time, and against crowdfunding – and instead I basically sent the scripts to @wirelesstheatre and said "What'll it cost to make this happen?", then compared that number to my savings and said "Ok, let's do this".

(It was obviously more businesslike than that, but that was the basic maths of it on my side.)

Here's why I didn't do it those other ways this time:

Why not the indie production scramble?

Scraping it together on a shoestring. Buttonholing friends to perform, using whatever recording equipment I already have to hand, doing as much of the production as possible myself and begging favours for the parts I can't.

In some ways this would have been the easiest option. It doesn't rely on anyone else's approval, or involve putting any new infrastructure together.

But! For me, for I Need A Miracle specifically, this was the option of absolute last resort, for various reasons.

First and foremost, I already have one podcast (@merelyroleplayers) that I run on this basis. I already ask a lot of my friends to perform on that show for nothing, on the promise it'll be fun and I'll buy everyone a pint afterwards. I think you only get one of those, or you should only get one. If you run every project like this, especially if you're calling on the same people each time, it starts getting exploitative.

Second, I'm trying not to exploit myself either, by which I mean, I've put work into writing this series (admittedly on spec), I think it's worthwhile, and I'd like to see if I can make some money in return for that work. And if one person involved in a project is getting paid, everyone should be getting paid.

Why not crowdfund?

There are sub-options within this option: subscriptions and patronage-style funding (like Patreon, Ko-Fi or Gumroad) and up-front project-based funding (like Kickstarter, Indiegogo or Seed & Spark).

I actually have been weighing up the idea of a Patreon or Ko-Fi for a while, not for I Need A Miracle specifically, but for @foggyoutline in general. At the beginning it would effectively be a Merely Roleplayers subscription, because that's currently the only Foggy Outline show. But if enough people pay a bit a month for bonuses like uncut episodes, that could help fund new projects like I Need A Miracle, which could bring in more listeners and more patrons, whose contributions could help fund the next thing, and so on.

But the problem I would have with any kind of crowdfunding model is, right now I'm only pulling a small crowd! I'm an unknown writer, Foggy Outline is an unknown player at least in audio drama. And it seems like to succeed with a crowdfunding campaign, you really need your audience already built and poised to give you money.

If I Need A Miracle takes off and finds its audience, the kudos off that might make crowdfunding an option for the next thing. But I just wasn't confident it would succeed for this show, at least without a load of spend on a consultant and advertising (which then eats into the campaign proceeds).

So go on then, where is the money actually coming from

Me! Supplemented by my Foggy Outline business partners, who are also my Mum and Dad. But the majority of the production costs for I Need A Miracle are coming out of my savings.

This is one of the reasons I prioritised I Need A Miracle over other audio drama projects I'm working on: because it's simple enough that I felt confident I could cover the costs myself if I needed to. There's no dialogue (only monologues), so it's not a complex edit. Most of the episodes take place in one location, with little action beyond the character speaking, so it doesn't call for elaborate sound design. All the episodes are under 20 minutes. For a more complicated production, I would have had to bring in some funding from somewhere, or convinced a producer to take on the production costs themselves. This one was, to some extent, designed (by me) to be more affordable.

It's worth saying that getting started wasn't just a case of getting a quote from Wireless and agreeing to pay it. Producer Sarah Golding read the scripts and wouldn't have taken on the project if she didn't think it was worthwhile. So it's not pure pay-for-play.

So the plan now is:

Sell ads and subscriptions and see how much of the production cost I can get back that way after the fact (I expect not all of it, but that's ok, because...)

Also think of that money I've spent as an investment in both this and future projects – by spending money on an amazing production company that's making the show brilliant, I'm getting something that's hopefully going to make this whole process easier next time. Because next time I can point to Wireless' confidence in my writing, and the quality of I Need A Miracle, (and hopefully its success and acclaim and awards and all its fans), to get someone else to put their hand in their pocket instead, whether that's listeners, producers or sponsors.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

💯🔺 aus for the ask thing?

🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?

He knows how to shoot, box, and use the bush tools to deadly effect if necessary. The wadi or waddy too. He must have fiddled around with boomerangs at some point. He had periods when he desperately wanted to be blooded, to join the ranks of the imperial powers, and he got there in his way, but I don't think violence ever sat quite right with him. He's part of the British imperial system; god knows he's capable, but pushing him headlong into that ease with violence like Matt or Arthur doesn't sit right. The sheer length and breadth of protest history in multiple facets of Australian culture have me lean more towards 'will throw a brick at someone in a fit of rage or grief,' but putting discipline and time into learning a weapons system makes him incredibly uncomfortable.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

He's turned into a borderline insufferable food and drink snob over his life. Penal colony baby was just happy to eat, but it wasn't long before he ALWAYS had thoughts on what the cooks could do better. He will rip apart a chiko roll or a meat pie without complaint, but he will seriously ponder a wine pairing for dino nuggets. Coffee snob, too. An adventurous coffee snob, but a coffee snob. Straight-up British-style instant coffee will make him gag. He's almost in the Mediterranean club now, and his preference shows it.

He can be ungodly surly when he's hungry. Like no one in this family is a light eater, but he is a fricken vacuum cleaner. He spends WAY too much on eating out just because he does not stay in very much and always needs a snack.

He's pretty fricken reckless. Like there's a very thin line between brave and stupid, and this shithead has had Zee going, 'Can you keep some fucking blood in your body for fifteen minutes?" and he's just like, "Can we stop at the pub before the ER? I'll buy ya a pint."

Character Detail Ask Game

[vamp-ress]

Fic Rec: LOTRPS

Title: The Fall Author: Idrilia Beta: anobtuselife - with thanks for your encouragement :) Rating: PG-13 for adult themes and reference to teh sex Pairing: Viggo/Orlando rps Disclaimer: Not real, not for profit, not mine. Feedback: Always adored. Genre: A ladle full of angst, a pint of romance, a dose of hurt/comfort, a dash of historical AU, and a twist of New Zealand. Written for the viggos_50 prompt table. Warnings: This fic contains major religious themes that could cross into what some might consider sacrilegious territory. My intent is not to offend but instead to explore faith, hope and love. Angst, ladies and gentlemen. Summary: The angel lay with the man and knew that one Heaven had been exchanged for another. The angel knew the mortal would be gone too soon and so refused to return to Heaven. Refused to return to God. The angel exercised free will in order to indulge in lust... in love... and by doing so, the angel chose to fall.

____________________________________________________________

Title: The Deal Author: Idrillia Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Orlando/Viggo Beta:anobtuselife who made this so much more readable that it was. Thank you! Warnings: References to underage and overage prostitution plus drug use and man sex. Abuse of main characters. BDSM overtones. No happy ever after resolution. Feedback: Is so very welcome. Word Count: 6,579 Genre: Angsty supernatural dark!fic that uses lore from the televison show Supernatural but in a LotR RPS (hopefully AU) scenario. Summary: It's the morning of 14th January, 2008 and a date of deadly importance for Orlando is now fast approaching. He turns to the only person he believes can comfort him: Viggo. Written for Orlando's 31st birthday.

____________________________________________________________

Title: Five Times Orlando Went to Hell and the One Time He was Saved Author: Idrillia Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Orlando/Viggo Beta: anobtuselife. Any remaining errors are all mine. Warnings: Major Orlando whumping. Viggo too, but mainly Orlando. References to prostitution plus drug use and man sex. Abuse of main characters. Character death and suicide references. In short, a happy, happy birthday fic. Feedback: Is so very welcome. Word Count: 10,728 Genre: Angsty supernatural dark!fic that uses lore from the televison show Supernatural but in a LotR RPS (hopefully AU) scenario. Sequel to The Deal posted on January 14th 2008. Crosses over with another of my fics, The Fall. It would be useful to read those (especially The Deal) first in order to have this make the most sense. Disclaimers: All credit to Eric Kripke and the Supernatural writers for their influence on this story. Especial credit to Eric for one line that I straight out 'homaged' from Series 4, Episode 1 of Supernatural (Lazarus Rising). The poor actors are not mine, the characters are not real, and this is definitely not for profit. Summary: On his birthday in 1999 Orlando made a deal with the Crossroads Demon. He bargained for ten years of success in return for his mortal soul. Not a bad deal when you're on the edge of despair and surviving on drugs and prostituting yourself. Now, ten years on, his situation has changed - but his time is up.

These fics are quite possibly behind a friendslock. I have no clue whether Idrilla is still active somewhere or adds people or reads DMs, but I'm reccing it anyway, because I just re-read it and loved it even more than I did 15 years ago. If you're Christian this *might* offend you, because there are a lot of religious themes in there. But I found all the ideas in these stories brilliantly handled. You could read "The Fall" seperately from the other two, but why would you when these make for such a wonderful trio. It's wing!fic (for which I always had a soft spot), it has angels and demons and a historical setting is still "canon" compliant as far as you can talk about "canon" in any RPS fandom. Loved the tone of "The Fall" (very Bible-like), loved the absolute desperation of "Five Times" ... If a chance to get your hands on these fics presents itself, grab them and enjoy! They're just as deliciously sexy as the cover art.

(Also, the way I remember it, the art used here was originally done for a rockstar AU called "Unnecessary Evils" of which I can only find an Italian translation. The English original sadly seems to have vanished. I used another iteration of that fanart - bare-chested rockstar Viggo in leather pants with spiky hair, nipple piercing and tattoo lounging suggestively against a table - as a desktop image in the past, but people kept fainting at the sight, so I had to change it. It's smoking hot.)