#courier-mail

[alphabetsoup-blogposts]

"Emma Lovell"

All Love—MME (Teeside Intl)

Move all—MEL (Melbourne)

where Love is Hard.

[unsaiiinted]

didn't realize i haven't posted my courier ref yet (he's just me) -- some info is a little outdated but i really dgafff

(he's also up on artfight btw... hehe)

silly little comics under the cut >_>

^ it's real hard to put two and two together

^ post-dead money stuff, i miss the companions T_T my friends... including dean domino, although i dont think he'd consider me the same.

[sporkberries]

What if the culmination of the story was our meeting and we’ve been circling each other for so long while changing and warping the world around us… and we were both mailmen

[heritagebrowser]

The chapel on the left of the altar of the Onze-Lieve-Vrouw ter Zavelkerk in Brussels belonging to the Thurn und Taxis family.

Saint Ursula Chapel, a unique Italian Baroque style chapel in black Belgian marble and white Carrara marble, was built according to a design by Lucas Fayd'herbe (1617-1697). The sculptures are by various southern Netherlandish sculptors. The restored Caritas statue made by Jan van Delen was recently placed back. The statue was confiscated by French revolutionaries in 1795 and therefore returned after more than 200 years.

The von Thurn und Taxis family initiated international postal traffic in Europe. A German descendant is today known as the richest man in his thirties and the largest private landowner in Europe with 28,000 hectares. The powerful 'DHL predecessors' von Thurn und Taxis had the chapels added to the church in the second half of the seventeenth century.

Von Thurn und Taxis (also Thurn and Tassis in Dutch) is a German noble family of Italian origin that acquired great wealth through its activities in the postal system. The current monarch, Albert II von Thurn und Taxis, resides in the Fürstliches Schloss of Regensburg. For two centuries the family was based in Brussels, where they owned a city palace (ca. 1500-1700). The still existing site of Thurn and Taxis was at the time the grazing land for the post horses.

The patriarch of the postal dynasty was Omodeo Tasso, the first family member to be located in Cornello dei Tasso. At the end of the 13th century, he and 32 relatives organized the Compagnia dei Corrieri, a courier company that worked on behalf of the Serenissima (Venice). She provided foot connections between Venice, Milan and Rome, Genoa,... The Bergamots had always occupied a major place in the old Venetian postal service (couriers were called bergamaschi in Italy). At the end of the 15th century they organized themselves into the Compagnia dei Corrieri dei Roma, a company controlled by the Tasso family.

Other members of the family were called to the Papal States to take care of the papal post. They did this from 1460 to 1539. It was two brothers from another branch who eventually took the business to a European level: Janetto and Francesco. As head of the family (procuratore generale della famiglia e società di Tassi), Janetto entered into a contract with Emperor Maximilian I to set up a truly transnational post (1489-90). He had to connect the emperor's headquarters in Innsbruck with Italy, the Burgundian Netherlands (Mechelen) and France. Janetto was given the title Kuriermeister and called on his brother Francesco and his cousin Giovanni Battista. Under the leadership of the trio, an innovative relay service was created that allowed messages to travel at a speed never before seen in Europe. Thanks to a succession of stopping places along the routes, it was possible to constantly change horses and riders. Only the leather mailbag ("Felleisen") was constantly in motion.

Francesco settled in the Netherlands around 1500, after his brother David had prepared the way. Under Maximilian's son Philip the Fair, he became postmaster and captain and had a beautiful city palace built in Brussels. After the government of Spain de facto fell to Philip, he renewed his agreement with Francesco of Tassis. The new postal contract of January 18, 1505 included more destinations and, for the first time, binding order deadlines (extended in winter). The postmaster guaranteed strict compliance with his life. A star-shaped network of postal routes departed from Brussels: to Innsbruck, to Paris-Blois-Lyon, to Toledo-Granada. For the important route to Spain, an alternative was provided via the Alps and the sea in the event of war with France.

[snail-eggs]

KISSING DOWN THE GD BODY BOONESIX YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO 🔥🔥

pairing: Craig Boone/Courier 6 (F!OC)

warnings: smut. sex. they finally fuck. are you happy, Rags? you've created a monster. Seriously though, this is my first attempt at smut. That's a warning on its own.

divider by @/saradika

There’s something off about this. About the way Six looks as she’s counting their remaining bullets in the divot in her lap. She looks more alive than she has the past few days, despite the bags under her eyes growing worse and worse by the day. 

The house around them is falling apart. Foundation groaning with every strong gust of wind. He taps his boot against the steel bed frame. Rust flakes off. He has no idea how it’ll carry his weight, let alone both of theirs. Boone’ll let her take it tonight, he thinks. She needs the sleep more than him, even if her pseudo-prophetic dreams keep her from getting any real rest. 

What he doesn’t know, however, is that it isn’t just visions of tornadoes, swirling around the irradiated dirt and leaving nothing in their wake that’s haunting her. No, more recently, it's his hands. Six hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his hands. Looking at them. At the way they grip his rifle, pull the trigger just so. The way his hands clench, knuckles turning white when she’d asked one question too many. 

She wonders how they’d feel in her own. If his white-knuckled grasp would really hurt. She doesn’t think so, though. Not so long as he’s holding her. When it really comes down to it, Six thinks, all she wants is to feel him. If it hurts, then it hurts. So be it. 

Six looks up at him now from her spot on the floor. Bathed in the warm wasteland glow, he looks like something else entirely. Something not Boone—closer to the approximation of him that lives in her head and nowhere else. Lives deep in her chest too, she supposes. Close to her heart. And in her chest, her heart thumps hard against her ribs. Six can feel it in her throat. She swallows hard when he looks back; looks her right in the eyes in that precise, cutting way he always does. And maybe it's a trick of the light or the lack of sleep, but she sees something else there too. Something that softens the edge of his gaze. Her heart beats faster.

This adrenaline rush isn’t new. Odd, sure, but not new. Six can recall having felt it precisely once before. With Benny. At the Tops, on his bed after too many drinks, roughly fourteen months after he’d shot her in the head. But she wasn’t scared then, not at all. Guesses that means she isn’t scared now, either. Just nervous.

Boone has never made her nervous, though. Not back in Dinky’s mouth when he’d pointed his rifle right in between her eyes, not ever. 

Except for now, in this rotting house, sitting at the foot of some disgusting bed. Staring.

Six has forgotten all about the bullets now. They lay scattered on the floor, less than a handful still resting in her palm. There’s a flash of concern in Boone’s face then. He leans his rifle against the wall. Drops down to his knees right in front of her and begins to pick up the bullets in between Six’s legs like it's nothing. Like he isn’t so close. Her jaw clenches. 

“You need to sleep,” he’s tossing the bullets back into the box by the handful. His fingers brush against the ones in her palm. Hesitate for a moment before he grabs them up like all the others. “Look like you’re gonna keel over any second.” 

Her hands move of their own accord, cup Boone’s face on either side and tilt his head up to face her head-on. He’s deathly still—every muscle in his body tensed. Six runs her thumb back and forth on the rough skin of his cheek. Boone isn’t breathing, she thinks. He’s staring at her apprehensively. Like at any second, she’ll draw a knife and stab him right in the gut. Her eyes flit from his wary green eyes down to his lips. They linger there, long enough for Boone to notice. He inhales deep, exhales loudly. Their eyes meet again. 

Boone takes her by the back of the neck, faster than she can process. Pulls Six in and collides his mouth against hers .Its bruising—all wrong and still, neither of them break away. He can’t remember what it's like to kiss somebody—to really kiss somebody. Hasn’t so much as entertained the thought. Not after Carla. But now with Six’s lips pressed against his, it feels like second nature to have her so close. Feels like this is how it's supposed to be. He leans into her, the remaining bullets in his hand falling to the ground and he couldn’t care less about them. 

Six is halfway to having her back pressed against the dirty, splintering hardwood when his fingers find themselves tangled in her short brown locks and she pulls away. “Boone,” it's breathless, the way she says it. Nearly quieter than a whisper. She studies him as best she can from so close. Hasn’t ever seen him like this—so desperate. Hungry for more. Boone presses his forehead against hers. Leans into her, wordlessly begging to continue this—whatever this is. 

“Six.”

“Still want me to go to sleep now?”

And he chuckles earnestly before leaning in to kiss right under her jaw. Six’s breath hitches. She can feel Boone smile against her skin. He coaxes her back, tugs at her hair before he has her flush against the ground. It didn’t feel like this with Benny. Not even close. Six’s hands move down from his face to his chest; she clutches his shirt in a vice grip. Doesn’t think she ever wants to let go.

Her heart is beating out of her chest now, more so than before. She never imagined she’d have him this close, feeling the calluses on his hands run under her shirt; his fingertips digging into the skin of her waist like his life depends on it. Never thought she’d whimper at the pressure, only wanting more. 

This is dangerous territory they’ve crossed into. Despite the arousal muddling her thoughts as Boone grazes her collar bone with his teeth, Six wonders what comes after this. Nothing good, surely. She stares up at the ceiling, half hyperventilating now. He tugs at her shirt. She lets him take it off. Whatever the consequences are, they’re not worth losing Boone. Losing what she has with him. 

And yet. 

She’s got her hands on his shoulders now, beckoning him down further. His hands are starting to mess with the button of her pants. Six gasps—no, whines as he presses a chaste kiss to her abdomen. Then he stops. With her pants unbuttoned, zipper down as far as it’ll go, Boone leans back onto his knees. Takes in the sight of her before him. Looks a little spooked, even, and the sight makes Six smile. A laugh escapes her throat unwillingly. Boone watches her fondly through his heavy-lidded gaze. Runs his hand up and down her still-clothed thigh. The sun’s rays bleed through the windows as it sets. Light’s waning and he can still see those intense bags under her eyes better than anything else. His cock stirs in his pants watching the heaving of her bare chest. He doesn’t understand the scope of this—doesn’t want to consider the consequences—all he knows is that he has never wanted anyone more than he wants Six right now and it's killing him. It's been killing him since their last night at the Tops when he’d watched her disappear with Benny into his room for what he’s sure was a piss-poor fuck. Really he would have been fine with anyone else but Benny—never really thought he’d be in this position anyway. Something about it made his skin crawl. The thought of Benny running his hands all over Six’s body after what he did to her. After he shot her in the head and left her to die in Goodsprings like a dog.

Boone might not be deserving of Six, but Benny is even less so. 

If it has to be anyone, Boone sure as hell isn’t mad that it’s him. He’s fucking psyched about it actually—as psyched as Boone can realistically be about anything. He pulls his shirt over his head, unbuckles his belt with fervor and tosses it to the side. 

Six arches a brow, looks him up and down. She’s amused and he’s not entirely sure why. “What?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “You’re—you’re really pretty right now.”

“Pretty?”

“Handsome. Whatever. Cut me some slack, I don’t do this.”

“Six, we can stop if you—”

“Fuck off, I never said that.” Six reaches up, brings him in close and presses a gentle, languid kiss to his lips. Words catch in her throat when they pull apart. Words she can’t quite place. Only knows the tug she feels in her chest when they’re eye to eye. She’d stay like this forever if she could.

Tongues gliding against each other’s, Boone grinds his hips into Six’s. She’s half starved with the way she’s gripping at him in any way she can. These messy, open-mouthed kisses aren’t enough. Having his body pressed against hers isn’t enough. No, she’d need to be in his skin to be satisfied. Though she’ll settle for the next best thing. 

She reaches down, palms his cock through the fabric of his boxers. Boone groans into her mouth. He’s breathless now, desperate. 

When they fuck, its slow. He’s got one of her thighs held up against his hip as he drives himself into her at an agonizing pace. Being with Boone is nothing like how it was with Benny. There’s something fundamentally different about this, she thinks as she stifles her moan in the crook of his neck. Maybe Boone is just better at fucking—she doesn’t entirely doubt that—or maybe she’s just more present now that she’s not drunk off her ass. 

Benny was fun. Quick, but fun. They’d fumbled and laughed and drank but god, it was nothing like this. She’s almost glad it wasn’t. Glad she’s feeling this way with Boone instead. 

Her walls clench around him. The room’s completely dark now—Six has no clue how long they’ve been at this. She’s closer to the brink with every second that passes. Her breathing is becoming erratic—so are Boone’s thrusts. She comes loud and hard, nails digging crescent-shaped craters into his back. It doesn’t take long for him to follow. He pulls out, spills all over the inside of her thigh. 

She gets as good a look at him as she can in the darkness. Stares him in those tired eyes, knowing hers must look leagues worse. Six opens her mouth to speak but the words are held hostage by some unseen force yet again. She kisses him on the forehead instead. Smiles and nods over to the bed right beside them. 

“Sleep with me?”

Boone shakes his head at her. Cups her cheek with his hand. The way he’s looking at her scares her. She doesn’t know she’s looking at him the exact same way. 

“I’ll sleep with you.”

For the first time in weeks, Six is not haunted by visions of tornadoes or of Boone’s hands. Instead she finds herself in a deep, dreamless sleep with Boone right by her side. 

By her side where he belongs.

[extremesalsaing]

FIRST SEASON OUT NOW: Please listen to our podcast about delivering mail in space

Clem Bianchi (they/them) is a courier, delivering mail in space one job at a time in a future where mankind has settled among the stars faster than communications technology can keep up. When a chance encounter awakens them to the ability to hear conversations tied to their mail, they embark upon a journey of adventure, conspiracy, and connections made across the stars.

SOME KEY POINTS:

10-episode first season out now

LGBTQ+ characters, cast and creators

Most episodes run 25-35 minutes

Sound design that uses bluegrass instruments in ways nobody should, probably

ADDITIONAL POSTAGE REQUIRED is a biweekly audio drama podcast, chronicling Clem’s adventures as they take on jobs, explore the new abilities at their disposal, and become entangled with the lives of their clients. APR is created and written by Jay Petrequin (@extremesalsaing on social media), co-written and co-produced by Chris Hutton (@topherdisgrace) and stars Kai Swanson as Clem Bianchi. Full cast lists, sound effect credits and content warnings can be found in episode descriptions.

Find us on:

Apple Podcasts

Spotify

Amazon Music

Pocket Casts

Everywhere else!

ADDITIONAL POSTAGE REQUIRED is a production of the Moonshot Podcast Network.

[nukashine]

Patroling the mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter.

thank u

[son1c]

the most harrowing international shipping experience is definitely australia to the united states. where's my package? dumped in the ocean? kicked to shit by the customs officials? you'd be better off flying to australia yourself and picking it up in person. tbh

[ceiling-karasu]

Jollin and the Festival

The afternoon before the start of the Dano Dragon Boat festival, Nayeon greeted Jollin as he returned home from his rounds, chattering happily as usual. As the spring crops came in around her family farm, the bunny had come by multiple times in the past few weeks to borrow the cart he used for larger courier and mail deliveries around his assigned area of Flower Hill.

Jollin did not mind. Nayeon only borrowed it when she knew he was going to have a light load the next day, or had the day off. And besides, letting her borrow the cart increased the chances of her gifting him a few extra bits of produce as a neighborly thanks, a luxury unheard of back when he was a half-starved laborer in the Weasel Kingdoms.

The entire community seemed to think he was too malnourished for his own good, not knowing that his thinner body and less fluffy tail was due to him being a dormouse scout for the enemy, and not actually a squirrel as they assumed. He dreaded to think about what would happen if they figured it out. Then again, instead of publicly exposing him, they would likely contact the Cherry Valley command center, who would explain that yes, he had actually defected long ago, and was happily being used as bait to lure out other scouts who may have escaped the roundup of the other Tokgasi agents. Or so the hedgehog and squirrel commander had assumed, and continued to believe.

“…I do hope you are able to attend the festival, tomorrow! I just hope it is not interrupted by the Weasel Unit, but surely not even they would be inconsiderate enough to attack a peaceful festival when an international crowd is around. Even I get to perform on stage in the afternoon! I have been practicing in every free moment I get! But I won’t tell you what I am performing. It’s a secret you will have to see for yourself,” Nayeon could hardly keep still as she laughed, bold and shy at the same time.

Jollin could guess that she would probably perform a dance, perhaps in tune to some folk music, or even an opera song. Over the last few weeks, she had taken to wearing a traditional hanbok- or chosŏn-ot, as Flower Hill called them- in every spare moment, twirling as she moved. Even Jollin had noticed her gracefulness, which made her a prime candidate for one of the floating dances performed on the peninsula. He had heard of those, although it had previously been a delicate spectacle reserved only for the weasels and other upper class groups in their mansions and theaters. Granted, she still had to work, so the chima was not as long as to cover the boots, and was not adorned in complex patterns, but she would likely be wearing a proper version at the festival. Still, even he knew not to spoil the surprise, needing to fake some cheerfulness and mimic the excitement of the fools of the country.

“Oh! I simply cannot wait! The Command Center does need me to deliver a few packages tomorrow, but I bet they will need to be taken to the festival anyway,” he laughed. Really, the commanders had already approached him with intel that another Tokgasi agent was to appear at the festival, and wanted him, the supposed defector, to hunt them down. “But it will be getting dark soon! You had best be on your way home so you can help the others with the crops! Otherwise, you will all have to do it in the dark, and that can be dangerous! You might oversleep.”

“Yes, sir!” The bunny tittered She waved, then quickly moved down the path and around the hills towards her home, pulling the cart.

Jollin was not necessarily worried about Nayeon being out alone in the dark. Granted, the Tokgasi survivors were hiding out in the area, but it was unlikely they would go for her. There was a danger of a rouge scout taking her hostage to try and get the dormouse courier to shelter them, of course, thinking that they were close friends. But he knew that despite her looks, Nayeon had already been through the mandatory conscription of Flower Hill. She should know how to fight off an attacker, especially given her grandfather being a top general.

Which made him wonder if she was really the happy, bubbly bunny she appeared to be. As far as he was concerned, his paranoia over her being a plant by Cherry Valley was fully justified. Particularly after her grandfather, the doddering old retired soldier, who would absentmindedly, in his loneliness and age, give away secrets about Flower Hill’s defenses and movements, had turned out to be a fully in charge general, who was feeding him false information as part of a Flower Hill plot to use an enemy scout to destabilize the opposing army. Apparently, Flower Hill, as with other nations, were surprisingly fine with allowing a scout to live and work in their homeland. However, the fact that the scout was not sending the false information back to his handlers as they had planned was an actual problem, as it meant that Weasel Unit forces were not falling into traps that had been set up. It forced the general to drop his charade early out of frustration, and for the Flower Hill commanders to formally induct him as a defector from the enemy.

So, what about his granddaughter, Nayeon? Living so close to the Command Center, it was possible that her role to play was to casually drop information on what he should be doing, in a way that would not sound like an order, should he prove obstinate to demands. Come to the festival, a loud place he had no interest in, and stand near a stage, possibly to meet up and chat with a ‘friendly’ hedgehog about infiltration he had seen other than the Weasel Unit soldiers who had been purposefully invited.

On the other hand, she could simply be that innocent, somehow. It would be a bad idea to question her. If it was the latter, and she found out he was one of the enemies? I wouldn’t see her as often. There would go all the extra food, and news from around Flower Hill that he did need to pass on to his handlers. As far as he could tell, she had no parents, and lived with her grandfather, and given the current war and occupations, there was usually a reason for that.

So, being a bit paranoid about what he said and did was reasonable. The commanders and the soldiers saw it as typical mouse nervousness, while the citizens out of conscription saw him as a poor shellshocked victim from the border, afraid to make friends in case he lost them again. Let both those groups believe that. It makes it easier to meet up with Tokgasi alone.

Which was another reason Jollin needed Nayeon to leave so early. He could see the smudge on one of the stones leading up to the walkway to his house his own house. Someone like him, a Tokgasi scout, would easily recognize the faint Weasel Unit symbol on the ground, signaling that there was a message for him. Jollin lay a hand on the fence post, waiting for Nayeon to shift positions, so the straw hat hanging off his back would block her view of his hand snatching the calling card from Tokgasi affixed to the fence post.

My own house. He hardly could have dreamed of having his own private residence in his previous country. Small, but his own. His own bedroom, a main room, working plumbing in a bathroom, and closets for extra clothing of all things. And the fools had just given this to him, either thinking he was one of their own, or had happily switched sides.

He could get an even greater house if he gave Flower Hill over to Tokgasi and the Weasel Unit. A larger home, with luxuries Flower Hill eschewed, maybe even his own servants, as he had seen other mice get for procuring a great victory for their weasel masters, should they be so inclined.

And perhaps, despite how nice they had been, the thought that Flower Hill fully deserved destruction for their inaction towards the suffering taking place in Usuhan Jiyeog still arose. Just sitting back and not interfering as his people starved and died of sickness, hardly having a care in the world about those who had slighted them generations ago. Jollin had seen the firepower around Cherry Valley and elsewhere, knew that with precision strikes they could have easily wiped out the leaders and most of the Weasel Unit, making their country safer, but they were too soft to do so. Once the weasels were gone, most of the mice would likely starve to death without overseers telling them what to do, so Flower Hill should not have to worry about that.

Still, the firepower he had been allowed to casually see gave him pause in reporting anything.

Either way, there would be a meeting tonight. The message noted to leave the door unlocked.

……………………………………………………………………….

The hill in front of his house blocked his view of the valley below, and he assumed that hedgehogs would spy on him from there. Which meant it was a perfect area for Tokgasi and his agents, along with other scouts, to survey as well to make sure they were not being watched.

The mice gathered in the main room, some watching the windows to make sure no one snuck up on the house. Nervous fools, Jollin noted. One of these days, during one of these meetings, someone was going to make a mistake and capture a hedgehog who passed by, instead of hiding. The smarter infiltrators had run away when Tokgasi’s scout ring had collapsed, helped by Jollin’s instructions on the lax security that appeared during specific times. He had heard the other mice whispering rumors of Geumbanji’s mercenary group running a series of safe-houses for deserters, ending somewhere near the border of Chaand Hadia.

Which, while an odd tactic for mercenaries to use, made perfect sense. Geumbanji himself needed to lie low, now that Flower Hill had realized he was a traitor, and with other countries likely keeping a lookout for him as well, he might be bored. Besides, he would get money, news, and supplies from the traffic, while Flower Hill could watch a steady stream of soldiers leave the ranks of the Weasel Unit. The gold ringed mouse could run his mercenary operation from anywhere.

Fleeing to Chaand Hadia had also been one of his possible routes for desertion, but the stories he had heard about the endless food supply and idiotic citizens of Flower Hill who would just give him things had been too tempting. Besides, he would rather see if the foreign country he knew almost nothing about would actually welcome mice and allow them to assimilate. Best not to be among the first. Even if not, he could still hide somewhere.

But that was not important at the moment. Tokgasi was giving him orders.

“We have finally managed to make contact with the second scout we have embedded around the Command Center. We know that he will be at the festival working security, which is good for us to sneak in. Once you make your deliveries, seek him out and give him this message,” Tokgasi handed him a light pink data chip. “These will give him his next instructions.”

“Activating the sleeper agent, eh?” Jollin snickered, trying his best to sound like a typical mouse, fawning over his boss.

“Naturally! It is time that we start to make our moves to prepare to strike.” Tokgasi smiled back, all previous suspicion of Jollin being a traitor who deserted gone from his mind

“Alright, it should be easy enough, sir! I will complete my mission!” Jollin saluted properly.

The other mice smiled and cheered softly, not wanting to arouse suspicion from outside, if anyone was lurking.

Well, this is interesting. Two Weasel Unit scouts embedded in the command center could spell doom for Flower Hill. But Flower Hill also expected him to find a scout at the festival, which meant that they might already know, betraying the remainder of his own little group of friends.

Jollin supposed he would have to see how it would go.

…………….

End Part One

[sicc-nasti]

EVER KISS MAIL? EVER KISS A MAN? NO? WELL UR IN LUCK U CAN KNOCK OUT BOTH THOSE BUCKET LIST ITEMS TODAY WITH THIS MAILMAN. For just a measly amount of money* and a vote, you or your oc can pick between these very fun services provided to you by your fav failgirl mailman!! The Courier! Shoot him an ask in my inbox! Don't forget to bring the change- that jar is looking pretty empty! *Actual real money not required to participate, just throw an amount in and I will do my best to respond!

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE FOR THE COURIER IN @tf2shipswag UPCOMING POLLS

[fyux]

First day at work for starfish as Poste Italiane 's Courier ✨, Good luck Starfish!

Little gift for the adorable @kibiruui 's oc ouo/.

Hope you like it 🩵🩵

[tales-from-thornvale]

the premise of the Dear Red Audron segments is so funny to me because. who is delivering that mail. the only options I can see are either a) the boat is pre-packed with mail for all the people on board and they just... come across it (NOT good if the info is time-sensitive based) or b) there is a Designated Courier Courier who delivers mail to the people on the Audrons, and both of these ideas bring me so much joy

[datura-tea]

Why would you put Ulysses in a situationship like that…poor dude has been through it time and time again…. Also what does Avery(????I think that’s his name?????) look like?

hahahaha sorry!!! i wanted to explore a different ulysses/courier dynamic, one that's directly opposite from ulysses and moz. so if moz/ulysses is a slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers story, where they are both crazy for each other, just fully understand the other, make each other better and want to not just survive but thrive together, then avery/ulysses is... very much not that. they're a flash in a pan relationship, full of miscommunication; i mean, the feelings are reciprocated (in a way), but since avery is so reserved and distant, it's essentially one-sided. poor ulysses, falling for a man who is always on the run, not just from the authorities but from his own emotions

essentially... moz makes ulysses's life better :) avery makes ulysses's life worse >:(

also here's avery!! i should draw him more hehe

[mxwhore]

did you know? these ocs are almost a decade old. :) patreons get a special "saucy" sketchpage too!!

[snail-eggs]

I’m gently kicking my feet and gritting my teeth like I’m rabid thinking about some 55. tracing lines on the other’s hand for SixBoone iiiiiiif that does anything for it and I’m batting my lashes so prettily and gnashing my teeth so powerfully 🤭🥰😊

pairing: Craig Boone/Courier 6 (F!OC)

warnings: none, unless you need a warning for craigory being all self deprecating while he’s yearning .

divider by @/saradika

Her warmth is disturbing.

They lay together on a rotting mattress in some motel just outside Albuquerque. Boone’s never been this far east before. Six sleeps beside him, deeper than she ever has, he thinks. Chest to his back, arm across his waist with her leg slung over his hip. She’s close. Entirely too close. And yet he doesn’t push her away.

Against his nature, Boone lets Six hold him. Lets her body hear warm him to the point of discomfort after days of baking in the New Mexico sun. The skin on and around Six’s nose had perpetually reddened. Started to peel now, too. Boone’s found himself wanting to run his fingers across it. And it unsettles him, that thought. That hypothetical tenderness, and the fact that she would let him—even if it’d hurt.

He stares at the shadow of their combined form on the wall. Boone doesn’t hate how it looks. Them, together. It’s hours out ‘til sunrise and he doesn’t know how much of her warmth, her touch, he can take. Six stirs against him. Buries her face against the back of his neck. Her breath against his skin makes him shiver despite the heat. Six’s wrist hangs limp off his body now. She’s closer than anyone’s ever been since—

—In the moonlight, Boone sees the contours and shadows of the lines on her palm. And these lines, it’s not like they’re extraordinary. It’s a normal palm, albeit littered with scars from scrapes and falls. He turns against her—his back against the mattress now and Six’s face fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. Like it’s meant to go there.

He unfurls her lax fingers from her palm. Studies the lines of it as best as he can in the near darkness. Even runs a fingertip across the grooves gentler than he’s ever handled anything before. Boone doesn’t quite get this fascination he has with the lines of her palm. Maybe he’s just exhausted, delirious even. But they’re so uniquely Six and maybe that’s why. Six herself has such a hold on him; why not her hands by extension.

For a fleeting moment, he imagines what it would be like to hold her hand in his. Properly. Interlocked fingers, palm-to-palm. It’s so intimate, the thought. Sort of makes him sick—almost as much as it excites him.

Truth is, Boone doesn’t deserve her warmth, to be touching her tenderly like this, yet he can’t bring himself to wrench away from her touch. He doesn’t deserve it, but he allows it just this once.

Absentmindedly, he continues his motions of tracing along her palm. Lets his eyelids, growing heavier by the second, shut for moments at a time.

Her warmth is disturbing, but in his sleep, Boone finds himself unable to let go of Six’s hand.

[chainsawworld]

Thinking more about my little robot