sorenevans

[sorenevans]

the fact that I’ve actually had this happen multiple times when I’ve entered a new fandom is hilarious like what do you MEAN

[sorenevans]

True Louisiana representation.... mmmmmmmmm yummy.

Jazz 'n Beignets | Gambit x Reader

Summery: Remy decided there's no better place to bring his love on Valentine's Day than his ol' stomping grounds. The jazz, the food, everything about it speaks that good old fashioned love to him.

Themes: Already Established Relationship, Fluff, light Angst (sorry not sorry), Food, Kissing, Lovey Dovey Gambit, New Orleans written by a Louisianian, Remy written by a Louisianian.

Word Count: 1.1k

"Non, non cher, come on." He murmurs against your skin, pulling you from the bathroom as you stared at yourself in the mirror. "Y're already magnifique, mon amour. No need ta spruce yaself up no mo'."

"But, Rem," You start, but are cut off by his lips pressing against yours. The man can't keep his mouth off of his lover. He turns you around, holding you close.

"Don't care, cher. Y're perfect just da way ya are." He murmurs against your lips, "Now let's get goin before they run out of beignets."

"Are they gonna be as good as yours?"

"Better, if you lemme find da right place." He smirks, pulling you out the motel room, placing a kiss on your knuckles. Or two, or four, as you walk down the metal stairs to his car.

You can't help but be absolutely infatuated with how much he loves you, never taking his eyes off you, always having his lips pressed against any part of you they can reach. It's not just out of love, but pure dedication. He doesn't understand what he did to have you love him, just a rough around the edges Cajun Rogue that didn't get up to no good before he joined the X-Men.

He opens your door, pressing a kiss to your temple before making sure you're buckling up and closing the door. He makes it around to the driver side in no more than five steps, quick to hop in and start the car.

The radio blasts with some local classic rock station, and Remy smiles wide as he looks over at you. You groan slightly as you realize what song is playing.

"I wanna know what love is-" is all that Rem out before you punch his arm, "Ow, ow, alright, no need for violence, cher."

You laugh shaking your head and rubbing your hand slightly, his muscles are solid and hard, shooting a slight pain up your arm. "Whatever, let's go before you decide to become a start a cover band."

"Naw, ya don't like my singin'? Not what you said a few nights ago, mon amour." He purrs, pulling out of the parking lot. Your cheeks heat up at the memory of you both drunkenly singing karaoke on the drive down to Louisiana.

"You know you can't trust the opinions of someone under he influence, Remy."

"Non, but dey say 'Drunk words are sober thoughts, yah?"

You grumble, knowing he's right. You do like his singing, but not when your stomach was eating itself alive. Leaning against the car window, you stare out at the sidewalks of New Orleans. Finally, Gambit pulls over and cuts the engine, getting out and opening your door. "Cafe Beignet, mon amour." He says, pulling you as close as humanly possible.

"Cheesy." You murmur against his lips.

"Ya, almost like giving a handsome devil like moi da last name dat means handsome... oh wait." He smirks. chuckling softly before chauffeuring you inside.

You enter, the sound of live jazz fills the room around you, making you grin from ear to ear. You get a basket of beignets and sit across from Gambit as he sips on his black coffee. "We can get mo' if you like em too much, cher."

You look at him, eyes wide as he stares at you shoving the last bite into your mouth, other hand already reaching out for another. You swallow, a tint of blush on your cheeks that spills to the tips of your ears. "Well, uh... maybe..." Your mumble before taking a bite of your next beignet.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sips his coffee. You both sit, taking in the atmosphere of jazz and the electric tension between you both, staring into each other's eyes. You're still not used to just how much you love him, and have. Especially not how much he loves you.

You didn't do anything to deserve a caring, handsome man like him. He's almost too caring, almost worshiping your every step. It's nice, but some days it's a little too much.

You're ripped from your thoughts as you feel his fingers interlock with yours, thumb rubbing the side of your palm. "Cher?"

"Mhm?" You prompt, looking back at him, not even realizing your head had slowly turned down as you got lost in thought.

"Ya good, sugar?" He asks, voice dripping with concern and admiration. "You seemed a lil in ya head. Whatcha t'inkin', mon amour?"

"Ah, nothing. Just... you." You laugh softly, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss to it, mirroring his earlier action. You feel him slightly tense as your lips press against his rough, scarred and calloused hands. He quickly relaxes, letting out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding.

He pushes the basket of beignets to the side as well as both of your cups and looks at you head on. "You thinking bout how much ya love me, cher?" He smirks knowingly, "Or the other way 'round?"

You blush again, shaking your head. "Shut up." You mumble, pressing another kiss to his knuckles before pulling your hand away to grab your drink. You take a long sip, looking at him as you do. His never wavering smirk stays plastered on his face, watching you with the same admiration and love as always.

Your attention is drawn to the Jazz band as the music stops and they start packing up. You clear your throat, looking down at the basket of beignets and your drinks. Remy notices, too, and sighs. "T'ink dat's our queue to get going, chouchou."

"Mhm." You say, taking another beignet to your lips before getting up. You eat the small pastry and chug the rest of your drink. Remy throws a twenty on the table before wrapping his arms around you and swaying you slightly, placing his head on top of yours.

"Ya know..." He murmurs to starts, trailing off before anymore words leave his mouth. He shakes his head, pulling you out the cafe and onto the street.

"You can't just do that, you know?" You say, brows knitted together in annoyance.

"What? Oh, uh... I was gonna say I love you." He laughs, opening your door.

"I love you too, asshole." You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek and getting into the car.

You don't even realize it before you're already there, but he brings you to the french quarter, and walks you around, stopping in front of some of the musicians and letting you listen.

"You like da jazz, cher?" He whispers, "I got us a reservation to a nice little restaurant tonight, right next to the band."

"What?!" You ask, eyes widening as you look at him.

"Ya, it's the least I could do for mon amour, cher."

You kiss him, for what feels like the millionth time today. The both of your lips are smiling as he deepens the kiss, holding you close enough that you can feel each other's heart beats. They beat in time with each other, like your were made for each other.

[sorenevans]

me experiencing something: how can i make this about cod

[sorenevans]

Ask and ye shall receive-

imma give you a big fat kiss later

[sorenevans]

ao3 turns 15 today

reblog if youre older than ao3

(there's a lot of people asking about this, but the legal age to use social media is 13, except in few countries. so yes, there are people here under 15)

[sorenevans]

[sorenevans]

At some point "fanfic can be as good as professional writing" became "fanfic should be as good as professional writing" and that's caused major damage to fandom spaces.

[sorenevans]

“The cost of not following your heart is spending the rest of your life wishing you had.”

— Unknown

[sorenevans]

[sorenevans]

[sorenevans]

See this- this is beautiful! And I’d like to know what/if you referenced anything because this stance is PERFECTLY in accordance with American shooting sports.

when did i get so pitiful, just a goddamn corpse in a centerfold you've got my back against the wall -- and now i can't ever get comfortable

[sorenevans]

[sorenevans]

one thing I will say about dick grayson’s canonically like, potentially Olympic level gymnastic capabilities, is he truly never could’ve pursued either that or being a professional trapeze artist without quitting his vigilante life. like it’s fun to joke about but also if he kept on being nightwing while making athleticism like that his job, especially given the kinds of injuries he gets, it would’ve absolutely destroyed his body so thoroughly even the plausible deniability of comics couldn’t save him. dick can’t even make a living out of one of his passions, one of the things he’s best at, the legacy his parents left him, bc of what being a vigilante demands of him. are you picking up what I’m putting down. the things being a vigilante takes from him, the doors it closes, are so numerous and diffuse that it’s easy to lose track of them all, forget they’re even closed at all, forget the way it shapes him. grabbing your shoulders Do You Get It????

[sorenevans]

[sorenevans]

[sorenevans]

Adding my own OC!

Elana “Dixie” Delaney

Her mother and father met through the military. Her mother was from Northern Ireland, and her father from Texas.

The circumstances of their meeting cannot be shared, but Elana could guess it had something to do with a tank.

Elana parents were never married, and they broke up sometime before her 5th birthday because her mother wouldn’t stop taking unnecessary risks in the field-She was very successful, and highly decorated because of it- and she wouldn’t commit to home life with Elana. Her career mattered more.

Because of her parents split nationality, Elana has duel citizenship.

Because of her mother’s unwillingness to give up her career, Elana went to live with her father’s family, on a ranch in Texas.

Her father retired from the military and took on a somewhat more stable job as a police officer.

Elana always knew what she wanted, She wanted to do what her father did. So from a young age, she trained.

Shooting club and ROTC were her thing! She rocked it and ended up winning multiple prestigious awards and titles-

But what really made her stand out was her experience with first aid, and medical care in general, and her affinity for technology.

For her 17th birthday, her father went with her to enlist. Her recruitment officer was honest when telling Elana that there was little to no chance she was getting into the America special forces,and that her efforts were better applied elsewhere.

After a long conversation with her father, she decided to take advantage of of her duel citizenship, and enlist in Northern Ireland, where she would be more likely to be accepted into the special forces.

After a few years of grunt work, Elana was transferred to a base to begin special forces training. Little did she know, her mother was Captain on that base.

After finding out about her connections and her parents background in special forces, paired with the thick Texan accent she’d gotten from the years growing up with her father, she earned the nicknames “pedigree” and “Dixie Dog”. She hated them for demeaning her and every bit of hard work she’d done to get this far.

After a few months of nonstop arguing, she goes to her mother, the Captain.

Because of the nuclear argument they have, Elana decides being in this base is a conflict of interest, and requests a transfer.

While the transfer was being processed, Elana’s team was sent to assist a task force. When the team was there, she patched up some loudmouth Sargent, then focused on creating a distraction so the teams could leave the site.

She broke into the intercom system and got ready to play something.

A glance at her team, all scoffing g and rolling their eyes, tells you she’s done this before. She presses a few buttons on her tablet and “play something country” by Brooks and Dunn starts playing over every speaker, enemy comm- Even the cell phones! Elana smiles. Her team groans. They start calling her demeaning names again, but she just plasters in the most sweet smile.

With a sweet Texan voice she pushes out a “bless y’all’s hearts.” And they move under the cover of the sweet music of her home.

It’s later when the loudmouth Sargent, and the quiet Lieutenant tell their captain about the “aggressively American” woman that helped them.

John price does his research on this mysterious American and upon finding out she’s Irish- that peaks his interest even more.

By the end of the night, he decides she’ll be on his team, they need a medic and someone who’s good with tech- she just fit the bill.

And the fact that she’s currently looking for a transfer? Maybe fate has a cruel sense of humor.

-OoOoO-

Soon after she joins the 141, her call sign changed from “Dixie dog” to just “Dixie”.

She says it’s because she’s from southern America, but the real reason is that it’s an ode to her father, the man who supported her in all her life. The man whom she would not be here without.

i adore hearing about people's cod ocs/self inserts!

so here's mine!

Name: Taylor Starling Callsign: Wraith

Her recruitment into Task Force 141 didn't come easy. Nor did getting her to cooperate with the US Government in the first place. She wouldn't be here if prison wasn't the only alternative.

Taylor Starling, expert codebreaker and stealth operative, was arrested for committing treason at the age of 24. The company she worked for went down with her. 23 men and women who'd been doing good work for the country, domestically and abroad, were suddenly behind bars. "Why?" You might ask. For conducting espionage operations with no authority or permission from the United States Government.

Taylor's life had never been easy. Bouncing around juvenile detention centers throughout her teenage years for silly things like petty theft and the occasional infiltration of a classified government data networks. No big deal. But federal prison is a lot different than juvie.

Then Kate Laswell went sniffing around the recently busted operation; found Starling's file. She was given an option: spend the rest of her life locked up...

or join the CIA.

Not surprisingly, the reckless young woman, deciding that she wasn't quite ready to give up on living just yet, chose the latter. Even if it was hard to understand why they wanted her. Laswell explained that they’d never seen such a talented codebreaker and hacker, especially that young. So Taylor went along with it. After all, she was doing the same shit she’d always done, just for a fatter paycheck and without the looming threat of life in federal prison.

Two years of intelligence work later and Taylor is being approached by none other than Captain John Price. He and Laswell have decided that her skills as a stealth operative have been… underutilized. They want her to join some ragtag band of special forces assholes dubbed Task Force 141.

Let’s just say it didn’t take much convincing to get her back out in the field.

aside from general headcanons and x reader content, I’ll most likely be posting more about this crazy lady because I love her dearly. she literally got shot while pregnant once but no big deal.

[sorenevans]