chadillacboseman

[chadillacboseman]

i hope all my friends know that their ocs and them talking about their ocs and all their oc content bring me so much joy

[chadillacboseman]

WIP well I'm late for everything...

discovered today that it had been nearly two months since I took part in a wip wednesday and its been a little while since a wip music post and I have been tagged most recently by :

@ellswips @neonshrike @imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat

@simplegenius042 and @g0dspeeed for either one or the other thank you so much you wonderful people <3

WIP Song:

this is just very much a Rory vibe when it comes to the ship

and for the fic wip, here's a little domestic fluff/banter with Rory and Price. It's not something I generally get to write for them and I've had the hankering to write some of the civilian moments for them. This will be a little aside at the start of chapter 11 before the angst hits:

On a particularly wet Sunday, mid-morning in late September, they stood in the paint aisle of the local hardware store surrounded by an array of sample chips in every shade and tone imaginable, and somehow Rory had managed to bypass them all, gravitating to one bleak little corner. 

“Fucking hell, love,” John gruffs, arms crossed over his chest in his favorite sheepskin lined denim jacket, beanie tucked over his ears, looking down his nose at the paint chips she holds in her hands like a fan. “That’s three different versions of white.” 

“Shut up,” she laughs and shakes her head, the damp ends dripping down the back of her neck. “They’re lace, linen, and cream.”

He meets her giggle with a straight face and a lifted brow. “They’re bloody white. Need your ‘ead checked if you think there’s some sort o’ difference between these and the color of the ‘landlord white’ walls back at the flat, my girl.” Arm curling around her back, his wide, warm hand drifts down to rest on the back pocket of her jeans furthest from him. Giving her hip a squeeze, he presses her tight against his side and his thumb starts to rub circles into her as he shifts his weight on his feet. 

The umbrella she carries drips a steady stream of rainwater onto the linoleum floor, a small puddle forming at the blunt plastic tip. One to join the many others dotted throughout the shop, blockaded by yellow ‘Caution: floor slippery when wet’ signs as the sound of a mop being dragged in the same constrained fashion as Pac-man joined in with the quiet chorus of The Verve’s Bitter Sweet Symphony.

“Oh, I am sorry I wasn’t looking for something garish in the room where guests do their business. Pardon me.” Her words are lathered in sarcasm as she animatedly waves the cards in her hand. 

“Didn’t say garish, did I?” Giving her a dangerous glance from under his brow, he reaches out and grabs the first card from the wall that takes his fancy. “What about this one?”

Her brow cocks at the sight and her lips curl into a little sneer, one that makes her nose scrunch up with distaste. “Forest green? In a toilet?” she asks skeptically. “Love, it’s a small space. You don’t put dark colors in there, it’ll only make it feel smaller.”

“It’s a bloody cloakroom, Ror,” he grumbled, his mouth scrunching up under the bristles of his mustache. “It’s not supposed to feel like the Ritz-Carlton, it’s where someone takes a piss and moves on.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes the card from his hand decidedly and tucks it back into the sleeve on the wall. “It’s too dark. I told you to just leave this with me.”

Truth be told, she was used to making the decisions to the design of the townhouse. It had been her home before John had arrived on the scene, her first purchase after she turned twenty-one and her trust fund that included the money from the sale of her mother’s house in Canada was finally available to her. She had paid for all of the renovations herself, picked out the furniture and lighting. That home was her baby and it was hard not to be the one to have final approval on all the changes, it was like letting a little piece of herself go, handing over more control to her dear Captain.

“And I told you I wanted to make some decisions around the place,” he says, tugging her into him a little tighter. “Still feel like a guest in our ‘ome sometimes.”

“Oh piss off, now you’re just taking the mickey.”

“Am not.” Shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat, he jutted out his square jaw, and stretched out his lower back.

Placing her hand on his chest, she uses the other to sweep across the wall of samples like she’s Vanna White. “Fine, if choosing the toilet color is of such great import to you, go ahead. You have my blessing to freely choose.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at her, leaning back slightly to keep her in his full view. “This is a test.”

The quiet chuckle that bubbled out of her was one she could hardly contain, looking taken aback by his sudden wariness of the task. “Classic coming from you of all people.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“I am not dignifying that question with an answer.” She juts an accusing finger up at him, and pokes the underside of his chin. “You know damn well.”

Grumbling in response, he reaches out and grabs another sample card to try and change the subject. “And this one?”

“You want lavender?”

“’S grey.”

“It’s not,” Rory says with a chipper giggle. “It’s bloody purple.”

“Now you’re taking the piss.”

Laughing, she reaches into her purse on her shoulder and digs out her mobile. Doing a quick search on her phone, fingers tapping away on the screen, she pulls up a picture of a dress and gives him a cocky grin. “Is it white and gold, or black and blue?”

“What are you on about?” Peering at her phone screen, he gives it a quick glance before answering, “Tha’s white and gold,” stating it without a second look, absolutely sure of his decision.

“It’s not.” She locks her phone and slips it back in her bag. “It’s blue and black.”

“Proves nothin’,” he says with a sharp nod of his head, directed by his tightly clenched jaw.

Giggling at his reaction, her dimples emerge and her eyes shine. Even in a moment where he’s clearly proven wrong, Captain John Price has to believe he’s right. 

His face immediately softens, hard eyes turning crystalline as he regards her warmly, his scrunched lips curving into a gentle half grin. “Christ, I'll never get enough of that laugh, y’ know tha’?” 

She hums and she meets his gaze, curling into him and wrapping her arms around his, her hand finding the rough palm she has come to know so well, intertwining her fingers with his. “I'm aware.”

Her hand wrapped in his, dwarfed in comparison, he lifts the conjoined skin and bones and brings her slender wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh. His mustache tickles against the raised veins, smiling as the smell of her perfume fills his nostrils. Fills him. Refusing to let her go quite yet, he presses another to the center of her palm, lingering for a moment against the softness of her.

“What was that for?” she murmurs. 

“Don’t need a reason. Not with you, love.”

tagging (no pressure to interact): @aceghosts @taciturntraveller @voltac @voidika @chadillacboseman

@strangefable @josephseedismyfather @statichvm @clicheantagonist @tommyarashikage

@raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @la-grosse-patate

@roofgeese @silkcrows @devil-kindred

[chadillacboseman]

Flowers, for my dearest 💐💐💐 because I haven’t done it on this blog yet 🥴

-Linds

❤️❤️❤️

[chadillacboseman]

you should probably print some photos sometime. it's a different feeling when they're not on a screen

[chadillacboseman]

Summary: Sorry to do another tag game in one day! Anyway, here's more from the Danny's Burden oneshot, where Danny is fighting for his life in the cage.

With the drink in hand, she slides off her barstool and cautiously weaves through the crowd, avoiding the elbows of anyone throwing their fist up to cheer or jeer at the men attempting to beat each other to death. Whenever Danny fights, she tries to find a place up front so he can hear her cheering for him over the rabble. When she finally finds an opening, he gets thrown against the chainlink fence by a well-timed kick on the grunt's part, and before he can catch his balance, the grunt is on him.

He strikes him three times in the face, alternating fists with each blow, but Danny gets him in the gut with his knee. It's enough to make him stumble so he can get some distance between them, but the young man is determined. He pulls the hatchet from his belt and charges at Danny, who ducks and dodges each swing until he is backed into the corner and forced to block.

The blade of the hatchet connecting with his chrome arm bracer sends sparks flying and makes the grunt recoil from the blow. Danny quickly seizes the opening, and hits him with a roundhouse kick, then strikes him again and again and again in the ribs and in the gut, pushing him back across the cage until he finishes the round with a spinning back kick that lays him out.

"That's it, baby!" Kate calls over the jeering of the crowd.

But as Danny backs away, she sees the toll that has already been taken on him: the bruise on his cheek, the blood draining from his nose, the slight limp in his right leg, and the raspy, deep breaths he sucks in with every rise and fall of his broad shoulders.

Though he is only thirty-two, the stress of this line of work and of his former career in the Navy has worn on him. She sees it when he sits down on the edge of the bed at night and clutches at his lower back. She hears it in the quiet wince that he lets out when he kneels to pick up something that she's dropped, the pain on his face gone by the time he is standing in front of her again. She has found him rubbing at his wrists and pulling on his fingers when he's sitting at his computer late at night after he thinks she's gone to sleep. And if Kate has seen it, that means Kano definitely has as well.

"Pretty boy ain't looking so pretty now, is he?" says Kano into the mic. "Let's see how Prince Charming fairs in round two."

Now that the grunt is back on his feet, Danny cracks his neck, grits his teeth, pushes his glasses up his nose, and raises his fists. Kano gives the go-ahead, and then the men are on each other like wild animals, throwing punches and kicks, and anything else they can manage to use as a weapon in their little cage.

"Danny!" Kate shrieks when he doesn't block the hatchet fast enough.

No Pressure Tags: @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @chadillacboseman @thenukacolachallenge @socially-awkward-skeleton @suga-catt @voidika @original-jade @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement @mintspider @bihanspookies @chewbokachoi @bi-force-1 @cloudofbutterflies92 @statichvm @confidentandgood @vivilovespink @meatgrinderminefield @purgetrooperfox @jaydraw209 @likesugarandcyanide

[chadillacboseman]

Fairy Meiker

Tagged By: @darialovesstuff

No Pressure Tags: @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @chadillacboseman @thenukacolachallenge @socially-awkward-skeleton @suga-catt @voidika @original-jade @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement @mintspider @bihanspookies @chewbokachoi @bi-force-1 @cloudofbutterflies92 @statichvm @confidentandgood @vivilovespink @meatgrinderminefield @purgetrooperfox @jaydraw209 @likesugarandcyanide

[chadillacboseman]

[chadillacboseman]

when your mutuals say the exact right combo of words that activates your yap-instinct like a sleeper agent and you accidentally send a novel over discord

[chadillacboseman]

The gig economy is not sustainable.

[chadillacboseman]

Racist fat ugly white pasty biych dyke. go push poop outta your falling vagina

Sir, it's Tuesday.

[chadillacboseman]

i’m so sorry for the typo. justice for wuthering heights.

[chadillacboseman]

[chadillacboseman]

[chadillacboseman]

your writing changed me as a person. and i really haven’t been the same since (in a good insane way)

this is really nice of you to say 😭😭 one day I’ll write again, god willing

[chadillacboseman]

Natsume Tomomichi: Bar Nakagawa (2004) Location: Tokyo, Japan

[chadillacboseman]

hey guys one day january will be over it's not today but it will be one day

[chadillacboseman]

people calling listening to music “media consumption”