#anyways ... 🤠

[ap-menz]

This drawing was a little present for a friend but also-

Manifesting a western flashback for season 3 please ~

[softguarnere]

Can I requests a oneshot with Ron Speirs x reader? everyone in easy thinks that big grumpy speirs holds a grudge against the reader bc he often gives her paperwork or smth but in reality he just wants to keep her around him out of protectiveness bc he likes her? But she doesn't know and thinks he doesn't like her either so shes kind of intimidated but also has a massive crush on him? But when he sees the reader with some other easy members he gets jealous and snaps so now he has to tell her that hes in love with her. Don't stress yourself, i just thought it could be interesting, thank youu

From Scratch

Ron Speirs x reader

Summary: No, what bothers you is that ever since he gained control of Easy Company, he’s done nothing but take opportunities away from you. You’re proud to be a lieutenant. But what’s the point of holding the rank if you never do any of the work that comes with it?

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, Anon! I swear I didn't forget about this - or the other prompts in my inbox. School has been keeping me busy this semester, so this took me a long time to write. But it's here now, and I hope you enjoy it! (This is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: mentions of war

“Uh oh!” Nixon singsongs when you step into the command post. “Looks like someone is in trouble.” He flashes you a broad grin as you make your way over to his desk and drop a stack of files with a heavy thwack! “What’d you do this time?”

Anger boils in your chest. Not towards Nixon. It’s not his fault. For his sake you try to keep your voice just as light and joking when you shrug and say, “Oh, you know, just the usual sort of thing. Got the scouting mission that I was supposed to lead taken from me and given to one of the sergeants.” You shrug. “No big deal.”

Except it is, and you both know it.

Nixon lets out a low whistle. “Damn. And might I inquire as to who arranged this?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you really need to ask?”

Speirs. It’s always Speirs.

Which seems unfair, somehow. You can still remember the first time you saw him, way back in Camp Toccoa, when he was in a different company, but already gaining a reputation for himself as one of the best runners. One time you passed him as you were going up the mountain and he was going down. He had nodded at you as he passed, and something about the niceness of the gesture made your heart jolt so fiercely that you almost tripped as you started on the switchback.

Then he went on to distinguish himself in other ways – the ever present whispers of rumors and stories that follow him like a cape made out of mystery – and suddenly, after he was put in charge of Easy Company, he didn’t seem so nice anymore. The rumors have never bothered you; Ron is a good leader, and you trust that he’s making whatever choices he needs to in order to keep the company safe.

No, what bothers you is that ever since he gained control of Easy Company, he’s done nothing but take opportunities away from you. You’re proud to be a lieutenant. But what’s the point of holding the rank if you never do any of the work that comes with it? (Well, besides paperwork, that is.)

The most frustrating part of it is that as angry as you are with him, you still feel your heart begin to hammer away in your chest whenever he enters a room – or race into triple time if you think he’s looking at you. How dare your own heart still feel so fondly towards him when your eyes can clearly see the obvious fact laid before you?

The fact being: Ronald Speirs dislikes you. Which kind of makes it feel as if someone is crushing your heart under their shoe, like a cigarette being ground out on the sidewalk, when you think about it.

You push the thought – and the feelings – aside. Or try to, anyway.

“I hate paperwork,” you mutter as you take a seat across from the intelligence officer. “Almost as much as he hates me.”

“I don’t think Speirs hates you.” When you fix him with an incredulous look, Lewis holds up his hands in surrender. “I mean, he might hold some sort of grudge against you, maybe, but hate you? If that were true, I think you’d be dead by now, (Y/N).”

You roll your eyes; it’s a conversation you’ve had before, and one that never fails to fill you with the smallest shred of hope that maybe Nixon is right about Speirs not completely hating you. “Well, now I hold a grudge against him for making me do all this paperwork.”

“You sound like somebody else I know. Ah, and if you speak of the devil, then he shall appear!”

Quick, confident footsteps approach the desk from behind you. Neither you or Nixon can stop the smiles that spread across your faces when Dick appears. Even something as simple as his presence has always been able to lighten the mood, and today is no exception.

He returns the smile as he pulls up a chair from a nearby desk to join you, but not before glancing over both shoulders, searching.

“The devil?” He huffs a laugh. “Weird. You were already here, Nix.”

“Oh ha ha,” Nixon deadpans. He props his feet up on the desk and leans back in his chair.

Dick gently pushes his friend’s feet off the desk, which makes Nixon sit upright. For his part, though, Nixon doesn’t seem to mind it. Or mind that Dick sets more paperwork in front of him. Well, at least someone seems okay with filling out forms. Maybe if you’re extra nice, you can trick him into doing all the work that Speirs assigned to you.

Just as you’re trying to sneak your stack of files in with Nixon’s, Dick raises an eyebrow at you.

“There a reason that you’re stuck inside again, Lieutenant?”

You shrug. “Oh, you know how I just can’t stay away from office work. And how much I love to be bombarded with company gossip by Nix.”

Lewis puts a hand over his heart and gasps. “What?! You mean to tell me that you don’t hang around here because you enjoy my witty banter and winning personality?”

“Actually, I would rather – “

You’re cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

Slowly, you turn to see Speirs standing a few feet away from where the three of you sit. Upon first glance, he looks a bit like a child standing on the fringes of a friend group on the first day of school, nervously waiting to see if he’s going to be invited to join in. But when the shock clears off, it’s impossible to miss the look in his eyes – there’s a darkness lurking beneath the surface that suddenly makes it so easy to see why every rumor thrown his direction sticks to him like he’s covered in paste. It makes your heart drop.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Dick says, leading the charge bravely, as always.

After a nod and a brief salute, Speirs turns his attention to you. “Lieutenant (Y/L/N), I forgot to give you this.”

Your heart sinks when you realize that he’s holding yet another file full of paperwork. It’s such a setback that your heart can’t even bring itself to run wild when your hands briefly brush his as he hands it to you.

“Oh.” The words feel rough as sandpaper as you force them out. “Thank you.”

When you manage to meet his eye, Speirs has furrowed his eyebrows, which makes him look thoroughly annoyed. Standing so close, it’s easy to see the striking features of his face – like a marble bust of a Greek hero. He’s so handsome, even with the lines between his eyebrows and the frown tugging at his lips. It makes you want to reach up and smooth them away, let him lean into your touch so you can soften his features, molding them like clay into the gentle man that you imagine he might be under his tough exterior and the cold armor of rumors that make every line so harsh and so jagged to everyone else.

But you can’t do that. Instead, you’re separated from him by his armor, just like everyone else. You hate that you’ve caused him to look this way – to look at you this way.

“You know,” Speirs says, his voice quiet and as cold as the look he’s giving you. “it’s a lot safer here than it is on the line.” He glances back at Nixon and Winters before looking you up and down. “Get to work, Lieutenant.”

Then, just as quickly and as silently as he appeared, he’s gone.

It’s so cold, so impersonal. Your stomach turns to a block of ice.

Behind you, Nixon lets out a low whistle. “Well then.”

Get to work. Part of you wants to scoff, brush it off, and go back to your friends. The other part of you is chasing after him, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Instead, you’re stuck standing there, staring after him, looking forlorn.

No, you decide. You can’t carry on like this.

The file falls unceremoniously onto the desk in front of Nixon as you toss it at him. “Finish this for me, will ya?”

Dick can’t contain the small laugh that escapes him when he sees the surprised look on Nixon’s face. You’re out the door before either of them can offer a proper response.

Outside, you don’t make it far. The door clicks shut behind you, and when you look up, you see him. Ron is a few feet away, coming towards you, closing the distance between you. Unlike a few moments before, he doesn’t look mad. The hard edges of his expression have softened into something like concern.

You stop in front of each other, each waiting for the other to say something.

“Can we talk?” You ask at the same time that Ron blurts out, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

You blink. “You’re what?”

Voices fill the air as a small group of officers approaches the command post. Ron gently takes your elbow and guides you aside so that they can pass, not seeming to notice or care what it does to your poor heart.

He lowers his voice as the group passes. “Can we talk? Privately?”

The Ronald Speirs wants to talk, alone, with you. There’s no question about it – you follow him.

He leads the two of you into one of the remnants of a building that soldiers have been quartering in. The skeletal remains of the structure probably provide no protection for whatever words he wants to exchange, but at least you can be away from prying eyes.

Alone, his dark eyes look you over. The motion isn’t as harsh as it was back in the command post. No, this is . . . gentle. Like he’s studying you.

You find yourself nervous under his gaze. Clearing your throat, you try to find your words. “You wanted to talk?”

Ron looks unsure of himself – something that you never would have imagined was possible. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, the sound filtering through the hollowed out room you stand in like it’s the building’s last raspy breath.

“I was an accountant, back before the war.”

Whatever you thought he was going to tell you, it certainly wasn’t that. You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

He nods. “I’m good with numbers; that’s my strong suit. Words . . . don’t work themselves out as easily. Some people mistake quietness for cruelness.” The dim light casts shadows on his face as he tilts his head. “You’ve heard the rumors, just like everyone else?”

Who hasn’t heard the rumors, the stories? Speirs can’t walk through a room without turning heads and leaving a trail of whispers in his wake.

“Yes,” your voice comes out as a whisper. Are they true? you stop yourself from asking, because with his sudden openness, you’re starting to question everything that you’ve ever known about Ron Speirs – everything you’ve thought you’ve known. Who is this man, really?

“I . . . didn’t mean to snap at you,” Ron admits, his voice as soft as the look that he’s giving you. “And I’m sorry about all the paperwork. I don’t have a grudge against you.”

You cringe. So he did overhear that part.

He wets his lips, not quite meeting your eyes. “I try to keep you off the line so that you’ll be safe. There’s no grudge or dislike or . . . I just wanted to keep you safe because – “ He cuts himself off with a deep breath.

With the quiet all around you, the frantic beating of your heart fills the silence. “You want to keep me safe?”

“Yes. If you’ll let me.”

Being in the same room as him felt impossible a few minutes ago. Now though, some inexplicable force draws the two of you together. You both step forward so that there’s hardly any space left between you. Something in the back of your mind wonders how things have changed so quickly. What else have you been wrong about?

“Who are you, Ronald Speirs?”

So close to him, you can see the smile tugging at the edge of his mouth when he replies, “There’s your answer: Ronald C Speirs. That’s all that I am.”

An accountant. Someone’s son, brother, friend who got drafted into the war. A man. The rumors and myths that shroud him fall away until someone you don’t know stands before you. You want to get to know him.

“Well, Ron, it’s nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).” You smile at him, and it feels natural when he returns the gesture. “Can we maybe start over?”

Ron lets out a laugh and you could swear it was the sweetest sound in the entire world. “I would like that very much.”

[butteredfrogs]

a male sim on the buttertrait account? its more likely than you think

[yourofficialdarlingx]

i want you to control my every move, my every thought and all my behaviors.

but make it subtle, let me think i have some control, when in reality it’s all you.

because i’m all yours.

[daughterearth]

it's just weird that whenever I have fallen sick in my life (which has been rare but extremely tiring) I have never had anybody take care of me. Ever. It's not that people don't love me or care for me but they are never around. They all specifically know that I'm down bad with fever but idk. Like im one call away, my roommates in the same room, my other friend is down the stairs. It makes me feel very unloved. Same thing happened when I go COVID. I was basically withering and getting really bad chills but none of them cared enough. It's giving me war flashbacks. idk.idk what the universe is trying to teach me with this but I'm done.

[x-heesy]

𝗠𝝝𝝝𝗗 𝗕𝝝𝝠𝗥𝗗 / 𝝠𝗣𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 /𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗗𝗥𝗨𝗚𝗦𝝠𝗡𝗗𝗦𝝝𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗛𝝝𝗟𝗘𝗦 / 𝗣𝗨𝗡𝗞𝗦𝝠𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗗𝗘𝝠𝗗 / 𝗟𝝝𝗩𝗘 & 𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗟𝝝𝗩𝗘 / 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 & 𝗟𝗘𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 / 𝗞𝗘𝗘𝗣 𝗜𝗧 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗞𝗘𝗘𝗣 𝗜𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝝠𝗟 / ​𝗡𝝝 𝗚𝝝𝗗𝗦 𝗡𝝝 𝗠𝝠𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 / 𝗣𝗥𝝝 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘 𝗠𝗙𝗭 / 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗖𝗞 𝗧𝗛𝝠 𝗦𝗬𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗠 / 𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙 𝗬𝝝𝗨, 𝗬𝝝𝗨 𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗟𝗨𝗙𝗙 / 𝗜 𝗗𝝝𝗡’𝗧 𝗚𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝝠 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗖𝗞 / 𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗧𝟰𝗣𝗛𝗨𝗡 / 𝗙𝝝𝝝𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚𝝠𝗥𝝝𝗨𝗡𝗗 / 𝗧𝗥𝝠𝗦𝗛𝗠𝗘 / 𝗧𝗥𝝠𝗦𝗛𝗖𝝝𝗥𝗘 / 𝗜 𝗣𝗘𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗬 𝗣𝝠𝗡𝗧𝗦 / 𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙𝗜𝗘 𝗠𝗬 𝝠𝗦𝗦 / 𝗘𝗟𝗘𝗩𝝠𝗧𝝝𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙𝗜𝗘 🛗 / 𝗘𝗘𝗞 𝗣𝗘𝝝𝗣𝗟𝗘 / 𝗕𝝠𝗟𝗖𝝝𝗡𝗬𝝠𝗥𝗧/ 𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗬𝗦𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗥𝗭 𝗡𝝝𝗧 𝗪𝗘𝗟(𝗟) 𝗖𝗨𝗠 / 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗭 𝗜𝗭 𝗠𝗬 𝗛𝝠𝗣𝗣𝗬 𝗣𝗛𝝠𝗭𝗘 / 𝗛𝝝𝝝𝗗𝗜𝗘 𝗠𝝝𝝝𝗗𝗬

#xheesy #glitchmylife #glitchmafia #artsyfartsy #artfuckery #expressyouself #iphoneart #popart #appforthat #punksarentdead #newcontemporary #worldoffmusicon #trallala #Digitaloriginal #photoart #photoartist #photoartwork #photoartistic #photoarts #blissfulphotoart #photoartistique #photoarte #photoartistry @dakota-283 😂 #contemporaryphotoart #photoartists #photoarty #photoartgallery #photoartspirit #urbanphotoart #darkphotoart #photooftheday #photographylovers #aesthetic #photographylover #ilovephotography #photographyart

Soundtrack: Music Is The New Religion by The Subs

[velvetsssapphic]

Her nose is all the way down there how is her ass keeping her glasses on her face 💀

[cinnamoninnit]

Hanging out with my father today maybe :3 sure hope he doesn't play wilbur soot's your city gave me asthma in the car because i accidentally infodumped too hard and he actually liked the album

[b-l-l-n-k]

You aren’t allowed to use the term fictive because it’s an endo term :)

Its worth noting that while the term "fictive" *came* from endos, its also been widley reclaimed for traumagenic systems to use

so, if you are an endo,

1 dont break my dni

2 "Fictive" is a term, yes coined by endos, to refer to alters introjected from a fictional source.

The only *only* circumstance that alters can occur is in OSDDID

Therefore endos created a term for *OSDDID systems* and it is fair game for us to reclaim the use of that term.

Dont like it? Dont steal our disordered experiences and make terms for disibilities you dont have.

(pk ; s aedsw )

if you arent endo, i appreciate the concern, please dm me next time

[rosesradio]

me after looking up stuff on riordan wiki for all of about four minutes: man this research is exhausting

[spookypanda04]

1, 5, 12

1.) Gonna have to go with my untitled Hylia is the villain one shot that's floating around somewhere. Favorite unwritten idea would be my Wild re-meets the chain in the sanctum, hands down.

5.) Most popular would be my Hobbit fanfic (There and Back Again: A Bounder's Tale) that recently crossed 10,000 hits on the archive despite not being touched in a year and a half. I still love it and plan on finishing it, but it'll need some work first.

12.) Favorite character to write so far is (beeeep) no spoilers for you! But they're the main villain in Running Back to You, so there, I still answered the question. Dramatic Villain Monologues™ are my favorite things ever to write and I love getting to let my own overly dramatic flair come out to play.

[hotcinnamonsunset]

there better be a ‘saddle up partner’ or ‘ante up cowboy’ or ‘first time at the rodeo?’ coming from eddie to buck at this poker game shindig

[softguarnere]

Feeling very stupid for only just now realizing that laglam begins with Zenie running away, and that I came up with her and her story whilst in the middle of running away 💀 How did I not connect those dots

[a-simple-peanut]

Arthur Morgan my love.

I needed to get Rdr2 out of my system, so instead of replaying the game I drew a portrait lol.

[kindahoping4forever]

This question is brought to you by my fascination with Ashton in cowboy hats.

So we've seen Ashton, unofficial king of looking hot in a cowboy hat, in a cowboy hat.

The Summer Brothers, I believe have been seen wearing cowboy hats and look spectacular.

Have we ever seen Luke in a cowboy hat?

It's happened on a few occasions, actually! And someone correct me if I'm wrong but I think the most recent instance was Coachella 2019?

[trash-rat-art]

Did I mention that I'm accident prone 🤠