#handlebar tape | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

punkshort · 3 months ago

Text

Cuts Deep

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: Dave shows up at your apartment in the middle of the night again, but for a different reason.

Warnings: language, descriptions of wounds/injuries/blood, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (m!receiving), little glimpse of soft!dave

WC: 2.6K

Collection Masterlist

You lost count how many times he had come to you in the middle of the night, but after the fourth or fifth time you began to recognize a pattern. It was always after he did... whatever it was that he did under the cover of night. There was a week where you thought he might be a vigilante crime fighter, then you realized you were watching too many movies and shut the television off.

You didn't dare ask him what he did. He wouldn't tell you, anyway, but you were afraid if you even questioned it, he might stop coming to see you.

And when he did come see you, it was always the same. It was always middle of the night. He always wore all black. And he always broke in and sat at the foot of your bed until you awoke. Or sensed his presence. Whatever you wanted to call it.

But that night was different.

You woke with a start when you heard a loud pounding on your front door. A closed fist slamming against the weak wood, rattling the chain on the other side that was left dangling, as always.

Stumbling out of bed, you rubbed your eyes while you made your way to your front door.

"Who the fuck is it?" you seethed, then your eyes widened when you peered through the peephole to find Dave on the other side. His hoodie was tossed over one shoulder and his arm was braced against your doorframe as he clutched his side with a gloved hand.

"Oh, my god," you breathed as you fumbled with the lock. You swung the door open and hurried him inside, glancing quickly down the hallway to make sure nobody saw, then locked the door behind him.

"What happened?" you exclaimed, hands beginning to shake when you saw his blood seeping through the thermal shirt he was wearing.

"You got a first aid kit?" he growled, cheeks puffing as he tried his best to stifle his pain.

"Y-yeah, uh," you swiveled around and grabbed a kitchen towel. You shooed his hand away from his side and pressed the towel there instead. "Bathroom," you instructed him. He nodded and followed you down the hall, then collapsed with a groan on the closed toilet seat.

He held the towel while you scrambled in your tiny linen closet for your first aid kit. It had all the essentials, but you had a feeling it wouldn't be enough for whatever was hiding under his shirt, so you tucked a few extra towels under your arm along with some large pieces of gauze and medical tape from the time you used to ride your bike to work and you flew over the handlebars, effectively ending that means of transportation for you permenantly.

Popping open the kit, you rummaged around for scissors, antiseptic, and whatever else you thought you might need within arms reach.

"Okay, are you ready? I'll need to take off your shirt."

He scowled at you and you rolled your eyes. Dave had a habit of keeping your sexual encounters as transactional and impersonal as possible, and that included him remaining fully clothed.

"I can cut it off, if you like," you offered, but he shook his head. Gingerly, he took off his gloves and raised his arm, hiding his pain while he struggled to remove the wrecked fabric. You immediately stepped forward to help, pulling at the wrist of his sleeve, then the other, and then carefully tugging it over his head. You balled it up and threw it in your tub to deal with later before turning back to him.

Even covered in blood and grime, he was beautiful. Your eyes briefly roamed over the sharp planes of his chest, strong and toned, then down his thick arms all the way to his softer belly. You had to turn away so you could hide your smile, tickled by the fact that he was actually mortal and didn't have a six pack.

After you washed your hands, you collected some gauze doused in antiseptic and knelt down in front of him so you could get a better look.

"I'm not a doctor," you said when you saw the deep gash along his ribs.

"I'm aware."

"No, what I'm saying is maybe you need to see one. This looks pretty nasty."

He grunted and shook his head. "Just clean it up and I got some glue you can squeeze on when you're done, it'll seal right up."

He leaned to his side and pulled out a tiny disposable plastic bottle filled with a clear liquid, then handed it to you. "Tear off the top and just squeeze," he explained. You stared at it in your palm, your brain still struggling to catch up with what was happening before putting it down on the counter next to you.

"Alright," you said hesitantly, then nudged his elbow so he would lift his arm. You did your best to be gentle as you dabbed at the cut but you heard his breath hitch each time you pressed down on the wound. Your eyes flicked up to his but he was staring at the wall behind you, his jaw flexing and his nostrils flaring. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, just hurry up," he snapped. You rolled your eyes again and tossed the pink gauze into your wastebasket before picking up the glue and twisting off the top.

"Is this going to hurt?" you asked him. He swallowed and nodded.

"Once it dries."

"When does it start to dry?"

"About twenty seconds after you put it on."

You bit your lip, looking back and forth between the glue and his seeping wound, then shifted your weight before leaning forward. You left one hand on his thigh for support while you hovered the glue over his cut.

"Just be quick," he said softly, almost pleading. You nodded and focused as hard as you could on your task, squeezing the tube and smearing the glue around with the tip of the bottle to make sure the entire cut was covered. And sure enough, right when you sat back on your heels to throw out the bottle, he groaned loudly and grabbed frantically at your towel bar.

"Fuck!" he seethed, his eyes squeezing shut as he struggled to breathe evenly through the pain.

"Shit! What do I do?" you asked, your hands hovering in the air around him. He shook his head and exhaled sharp little bursts of air through his pursed lips until his eyes finally reopened and he dragged in a deep breath through his nose.

"Fuck," he said again when he sagged against the back of the toilet, chest heaving. You grabbed his arm just as it fell from the towel bar and fanned some air along the gash, trying to help it dry so his skin wouldn't stick. You didn't realize it, but he was watching you carefully with a small smirk, eyes scanning up and down your body. He felt his cock spring to life when he finally realized you were on your knees, seated between his wide spread legs in just a thin sleep shirt. He recognized it. In fact, he had fucked you in the shirt before. The memory just sent more blood rushing between his legs.

"Okay, I think it's dry. I should probably put a bandage over it, right?" you asked, completely unaware of his erection pressed against his leg for maybe the first time since you started your little tryst.

"Yeah," he said, voice coming out a little more gravelly than he intended. He cleared his throat. "Put some gauze over it with some medical tape. It'll keep it clean til I can get home."

You nodded and began to rip into your package of gauze, picking out a few pieces to layer on top of one another before gently laying it over his cut. Your eyes, which no longer looked filled with fear, found his and he felt his stomach flip.

"Can you hold it here so I can get the tape?"

He nodded, his arm automatically dropping to hold the gauze against him with two fingers while you began to cut pieces of medical tape. After you had secured the bandage, he let his hand fall to his thighs, just inches away from where his cock was straining against his black jeans.

With a heavy sigh, you glanced over your shoulder at his mangled shirt. "I could put it in the wash for you. I don't think I have anything that'll fit you."

Dave shook his head. "I'll just wear my sweatshirt."

You turned back to face him, your gaze scanning him for any further injury before you braced yourself on his knees so you could stand.

"I have some ibuprofen-"

His hands shot out to grab your wrists and you paused, your body arched awkwardly halfway between kneeling and standing.

"I like the way you look down there."

You blinked rapidly for a moment and then he saw that familiar flash of desire in your eyes before you slowly eased back down.

"Are you saying you have something else you need my help with, Mr. York?"

His eyes lit up, pain temporarily forgotten as you slid your hand up his thigh.

"Don't tease me, I've had a shit fuckin' day," he scolded while fighting back the smile that threatened to spill across his face. He was growing very fond of this little game with you.

You chuckled, fingers pinching around his zipper and pulling down. "Really? Couldn't tell."

A mission that almost went sideways was a rarity for Dave York, but when it happened he had a tendency to dwell on it for far too long. He simply couldn't let it go until he figured out exactly where he went wrong and how he could avoid it in the future. Sometimes it took days or even weeks to get his mind off a mistake, but the moment you took him inside your warm mouth, all the stress melted away and his mind went blank.

"Shit, that's it," he whispered, watching in a daze as your lips wrapped perfectly around his cock. "Look so pretty like that. Yeah, keep going, little more," he urged, the compliment causing a gush of arousal at your center as you took him further into your mouth.

Before Dave, you didn't really enjoy giving oral sex. Your past partners were either too quiet or didn't reciprocate or, in one case, asked for it way too much. But not Dave. Much to your surprise, he always expressed his appreciation and was far more vocal than you expected, two things that turned you on and made you want to do it even more.

His fingers weaved through your hair and he hissed when he nudged the back of your throat. His hips lifted almost involuntarily, causing you to gag and tears to fill your eyes, but you quickly recovered.

Dave's breathing grew ragged and he fought like hell to ignore the pain in his side with every deep breath he took. He watched, transfixed, as you worked him up and down. Slowly at first, then with more speed. Your fist gripped him at the base, moving in rhythm with your mouth while you moaned around his cock, like you were enjoying it more than he was.

"Christ," he groaned, your tongue swirling around his length every time he sunk back inside your mouth. "Feels so good, baby," he rasped, letting his eyes slide shut and his head tip back, knocking lightly against the wall. Baby. God, you loved hearing that. It only made you work even harder.

You relaxed your jaw and took him as deep as you could without gagging. His grip on your hair tightened and relaxed with each pulse of his cock on your tongue. You dared to glance up at him and the sight took your breath away. He was still shirtless with his chest heaving and covered in a thin sheen of sweat and blood, chin tilted towards the ceiling in ecstasy, and it had you squeezing your thighs together to quell the ache between your legs. You noticed some bright blue bruises beginning to form across his torso and you had to fight the urge to kiss each one.

You released him with a gasp, dragging air deep into your lungs while your fist continued to glide up and down his shaft. You were just giving your jaw a little break but then his head tilted forward and he gazed down at you, lips parted for air and eyes wild.

And then he said something that had you melting.

"Please, I'm so close," he whispered, hand pressing gently against the back of your head. "Please, baby, please."

Please. Please, please, please. You weren't sure you'd ever heard him sound so soft and you certainly never heard him say that word.

Immediately, you slipped him past your lips, no matter how the muscles in your jaw screamed for relief. He sighed and you felt him relax as he went back to watching you work with renewed gusto.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, noticing right away how the praise affected you. You moaned and your eyes fluttered closed, relishing in the taste of him leaking onto your tongue. "You like this, huh? Like being on your knees for a killer?"

A shock of arousal hit you and you began to work even faster. It was the first shred of truth he shared with you. Even if you already assumed he killed people, it was different hearing the confession coming from him.

You hollowed out your cheeks and twisted your wrist, your neck muscles now aching from the effort but it was worth it when you heard his breath stutter and his soft little groans that filled the air.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, hips lifting again, but this time you were ready for it. Your name on his lips sounded like a song when he came, deep grunts pairing with each burst of his seed across your tongue until he visibly relaxed and sagged backwards, chest and stomach rising and falling so fast that he felt lightheaded. Or maybe it was the blood loss.

You swallowed his salty release and sat back with a sharp gasp. You caught your breath against your tub, your eyes closed for a moment while you both tried to get your bearings.

When you reopened them, a jolt of fear shot through you. Dave was leaning against your vanity, eyes closed and looking pale. You scrambled to your feet and hooked your arms under his to help him stand.

"C'mon, you should lay down."

He nodded weakly and allowed you to lead him to your bed, where he collapsed and closed his eyes again. You stood next to your bed, biting your nail and looking around nervously. Was he okay? Should you call an ambulance? No, he wouldn't want that. A man like him must have some secret doctor he calls who doesn't ask questions. At least, that's what you'd seen on television.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, sensing your worry. "Just gotta... just need a minute."

"Okay," you said softly, then turned on your heel to head to your kitchen. You got him a bottle of water and made sure to tuck it into his side so he could find it, then slid into bed next to him.

You watched him for about an hour, staring at his bare chest steadily rising and falling and listening to his little snores. Once you decided he probably wasn't going to die, you let yourself drift off to sleep.

And in true Dave fashion, when your alarm woke you the next morning, he was already gone, along with the bottle of water.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#dave york #the equalizer 2 #pedro pascal #dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #the equalizer 2 fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal characters

212 notes · View notes

drabbles-mc · 6 months ago

Text

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be. Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it. You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not��I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Angel Reyes Taglist (If you want to be added to any of my taglits, please let me know!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @narcolini @justreblogginfics

@winchestershiresauce @rosieposie0624 @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @proceduralpassion

@artemiseamoon @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @danzer8705 @camelia35

@cositapreciosa @choochoo284 @crowfootwrites

#mayans mc #mayans #mayansmc #mayans fx #angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

133 notes · View notes

spacenintendogs · 8 months ago

Text

what the gang has for Transportation in my modern au

hiccup has a motorcycle he built himself basically from the ground up and he completed it his senior year of high school. he showed up to school riding it with the parking pass to go to the student lot and taped it to the handle bars. painted the same color as toothless. very much built for Speed. side pouch for toothless to sit in. it honestly breaks down a lot and he has to always fix it lmao

astrid owns a car that's got good gas mileage. i think it'd be a toyota corolla. it's silver and is covered with stickers on the back with varying messages ranging from the gym she goes to's logo to "if you can read this get off my ass" type shit. stormfly loves sticking her head out the window as astrid drives and if she's with astrid, she gets the front seat no questions.

fishlegs owns a volkswagen beetle. bright green. stickers all over the back of it with varying messages ranging from stuff about saving the planet, having a gronckle on board, and a bunch of stickers stuck on by the rest of the gang as jokes and otherwise. you immediately know it's his car. everyone always plays punch buggie when they see his car despite hiccup's insistence to knock it off because it doesn't count when they see it 24/7. meatlug has a specific seat just for her in the front :) baby on board!!

snotlout owns a Harley Davidson motorcycle with the fucking spread handlebars and everything. probably has flames painted on the side of it bc he's like that. has a saddlebag on both sides. hookfang will sit in the saddlebag and when he grows bigger (hee :)) snotlout will eventually get a sidecar that hookfang sits in :)

ruffnut drives a an old chevy silvarado pick-up truck. it's got a lot of miles on it but it runs very well. not a huge truck but it is good when they have sizeable loads to move lol. the back is also covered in stickers of varying messages but her favorite is one of those stupid ones with calvin from calvin and hobbes pissing on a logo of some random sports team she doesn't give a shit about. it just makes her laugh. the seats are torn at the seams because of 1. how old it is and 2. barf and belch like to Shred.

tuffnut also drives the old silverado but he also has a bicycle he likes to use. he loves using it!! it's bright blue with cool ass stickers all over it. he sometimes has ribbons coming out of the handlebars for pizazz. he just loves having the wind in his hair!! very serious about bicycle user safety stuff!! he knows all the hand signals!! the gang think he's weird for it but he'll always get whereever they're going first and they do not understand how (bikes = driving through small areas off road :)) he wears a special backpack that barf and belch sit in!!!

#dragons off the coast au #httyd modern au #httyd headcanons #httyd #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #fishlegs ingerman #snotlout jorgenson #ruffnut thorston #tuffnut thorston #rose rambles #this has been in my drafts in december 2023 and it is finally Free

100 notes · View notes

christiangeistdorfer · 5 months ago

Text

Little facts about Wolfgang Von Trips which I have picked up reading The Limit by Michael Cannell. Dot point style inspired by @cazzyf1

^^ btw picture of all time for me. i love it.

Wolfgang was known as Wölfchen [little wolf] by his parents.

As a child, he hated going to social outings due to the leggings & ruffled shirts his parents forced him to wear.

If left on his own as a child, he would run through the apple orchard or paddle along the moats around his house. He also had a secret treehouse in his favourite tree.

Wolfgang as a baby. Does it surprise anyone that he was like the cutest baby??

His first car crush was the family's Opel Super 6.

During WW2, when he was 16 he was drafted to search through air raid debris. He said he "saw the whole of human suffering firsthand."

He learned English from the African Americans living in his house and apparently could speak nearly flawless Americanized English.

He had a tendency to faint when he went through without eating. It is likely believed he had diabetes but it was never diagnosed.

His first motorsports obsession was motorbikes

Look how excited he is to be riding his motorbike oh my wordddd

At his first Mille Miglia, he won his class and came thirty-third overall!

Like many drivers starting out, he had to hide from his parents about his racing obsession. They viewed Wolfgang as the last hope for their family as he was their only child.

So when his parents went out for dinner after the Mille Miglia, the waiter asked if they were related to the Von Trips who had a class win - "I'm sorry no, my son is studying in West Germany." They didn't know until they saw the newspaper.

He raced under the pseudonym Axel Linther, a man he borrowed from a dead-end branch of the family tree.

He was actually supposed to race in the 1955 Le Mans however he was replaced by Pierre Levegh as Levegh had more experience. Von Trips was actually in the crowd and witnessed the accident.

He got the nickname Crash Von Trips due to crashing out within the first lap.

E*zo Ferrari said Wolfgang had "a noble spirit."

He used to call Phil Hill "Philee Hillee".

He always got called 'The Count' or 'Taffy', though no one knows how he got the latter nickname. It is believed another driver said he looked like a Taffy, which means Welshman or a beloved friend.

He appeared in a video encouraging people to get into motorsports for the "mastery of technical structure".

He would always carry cameras at the races to record his events, friends, girlfriends, etc and then when home he would tape-record himself talking about what was in the film.

At the 1957 German Grand Prix, he didn't race due to a broken leg. His Ferrari teammates Mike Hawthorn & Peter Collins gave him a set of yellow, blue, and white flags so he could signal the location of Fangio.

I C O N I C A L L Y When Fangio was kidnapped in Cuba, Wolfgang was lending a group of drivers on a tour of Havana's seedy clubs.

"He knew where every sex club was... including the gay bars." 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

If he came first, he had a habit of pulling his teammates underneath the victory wreath with him <3

Fat mood Stirling

He had to get to a post-race interview but had no way of getting to the meeting point so he borrowed a bicycle from a teenager and rode with the teen sitting on the handlebar LMAO.

He was a big hope for Germany, especially after WW2, and became a national symbol. If he had won the 1961 championship, he would have been the first German to do so. That didn't come until 1994 with Michael Schumacher.

Speaking of Schumi, Wolfgang was very passionate about karting and established a go-kart racetrack near Kerpen which Michael would later take his first-ever lap on!

#the more i learn about him the more i just fall madly in love with him #he was a guy that loved racing & enjoyed working on the farm.#such a sweet and gentle soul #classic f1 #f1 #formula 1 #wolfgang von trips

23 notes · View notes

naughtystiel · 1 year ago

Text

Golden light bathed their surroundings, vivid green leaves of a tree that they were sitting on looked like tiny pieces of stained glass against the sun. On the other side of the tree, on a thick branch was Dean, his eyes sparkling with joy when he glanced at Castiel. Small shadows danced on his features like a kaleidoscope, so mesmerising it was hard to look away.

Castiel’s fingers fumbled with the hem of a tee that he once had stolen from his best friend, so long ago the material started to wear thin in some spots. It was battered, but it was his favourite piece of clothing he owned. As he chewed on his bottom lip, pleasant breeze tousled his dark curls that gained a few lighter strands from the time spent out in the summer sun. The wind carried Dean’s quiet humming, one of songs that they used to listen to on an old walkman. Sometimes they sat on a hill and stared at the night sky, sharing a set of earphones, accompanied by music from a mix tape they had created together.

The branch creaked underneath him as he shuffled in his spot, trying to change his position. His best friend gave him a curious look, his face pressed against dark bark as he wrapped his arms around the tree, “What are you doing?”

Clumsily, Castiel hung his legs over and swung back, his arms now swaying slightly, the tips of his fingers brushing long grass underneath him. In result, the gravity pulled his tee down, covering the blush that spread over his cheeks, “Hanging.” He mumbled and Dean barked out a laugh, “Yeah, I can see that now. Don’t stay upside down too long or all the blood will rush to your head.”

Suddenly, Dean jumped off the tree and walked up to Castiel. A brush of fingers on his torso made Castiel shiver, but all Dean did was lift the tee up to expose his friend’s face, and grinned, “It’s already working, buddy. Your face matches the shade of fuschias in my mom’s garden.”

In lack of any good comeback, Castiel stuck out his tongue like a child and tried to swing himself enough to be able to reach the branch again. His fingers slipped on the crumbly bark before he could get a good grip, but instead of the hard landing that he embraced himself for, was met with a pair of strong arms. For a second, relieved about being saved from possible bruises or fractures, he laughed. Then, it occurred to him that he was, in fact, still upside down and his rear end was shoved right in Dean’s face. Squirming in the tight grip, he tried to wiggle his way out, but instead made his friend lose balance and they tumbled down to the ground. Once more, embarrassed, Castiel crawled away from Dean who was laughing so much his whole body was shaking, “Are you okay?”

Dean nodded and swatted a blade of grass away that kept tickling his nose before pushing his hair back, “Yup, all good. Let’s go!” Before Castiel knew it, his legs were carrying him after Dean, who held his wrist while running towards bikes that they had left nearby. As they cycled on a path that divided two endless fields, wildflowers scattered all over them, they tried to let go of the handlebars, spreading their arms wide open. Any negative thoughts fled from Castiel’s head and got replaced with the carefree feeling, with pure joy of just existing in the moment. Sweet scent of flowers followed them and Castiel took a few deep breaths that filled his lungs with the smell of contentment. The feeling travelled through his whole body, seeping through his bones right to the core. In this moment, nothing else mattered.

An uneven sandy patch made his front wheel swivel and without his palms on the handlebars, the bike turned right into the tall grass that cushioned his fall. Before he could get up, Dean’s hand was already waiting for him, reaching out to be grabbed. So, with a grateful smile, Castiel accepted and got pulled up, “Dude, you gotta stop falling.” His friend teased, but Castiel’s heart quickened its pace. Combined with the previous rush of adrenaline, it was basically hammering against his chest.

“I can’t.” he blurted out, but before Dean could question him about his strange answer he grabbed the bike and jumped on, pedalling as fast as he could, “We’re racing to the lake!” he called out behind his shoulder, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You’re cheating! Stop distracting me then!” Dean yelled back, quickly mounting his own cranky bike. It was hard not to laugh around him and it was one of the reasons why Castiel was glad that he could call Dean his best friend. In fact, his only friend, but spending time with Dean made him feel like he wasn’t lacking anything and judging by how Dean acted around him, he felt exactly the same. Some would say that they acted like kids, and perhaps they were, a pair of kids with scraped knees trapped in bodies of people who had already lived for over twenty five years. Selfishly, he hoped that it would stay like this for many more years to come.

The path they followed turned right, but there was a shortcut through a field with short green grass that Castiel decided to take. Soon, he let the gravity do its thing and the bike accelerated on its own, speeding down a hill. A sound, close to a howl of joy, erupted from his chest when he lifted his legs up, tightly holding onto the handlebars, so he wouldn’t fall.

Again.

Dean’s own laughter could be heard just behind him, so Castiel knew his friend was catching up with him. All too soon, the lake appeared in front of him and when he pulled onto the brakes, they didn’t work. Panicked, he tried to stop the bike, repeatedly pulling onto the brakes, but it did nothing against the speed he had gained cycling down the hill. Then, accepting his fate, he held tight and let himself go down with his ship. At first, the cold water was like a shock to his body that was warm from being exposed to the sun, but soon enough it became pleasant. His head resurfaced from beneath the lake, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. Heavy drops of water dripped down his face and eyelashes, making his vision slightly blurry. To his surprise, he found himself not being injured, apart from a small scrape to his elbow.

“What the hell happened?” Dean laughed, jumping right onto Castiel that was attempting to fish his bike out of the lake. When he managed to push Dean off, uncontrollable laughter echoing around them, Castiel swung his arms so they made contact with the surface, and splashed his best friend right in the face. After a short splashing war, they were both breathless, with huge grins on their faces, “Peace?” Castiel panted, reaching his hand out to Dean, who nodded and shook it. Together, they got the bike out to the small wild beach and rested it next to Dean’s. Once that was done, they took off their tees, leaving only shorts on, and hung them on a bush to dry.

The sky started to turn dark blue with a layer of orange hues dividing it from the trees on the horizon. The atmosphere shifted alongside with the changes in their surroundings, from energised to more sedated.

Castiel had known Dean for so long, that they were able to communicate without the need to use words. With a small nod, they started gathering twigs and small branches that later got placed in a pile on the sand. Back in the water, they found some bigger stones and used them to surround the wood. Dean reached into his pocket, the wet shorts still clinging to his body, and pulled out a lighter, “Here goes nothing.”

At first, there was no flame, but after shaking it a few times an orangey glow appeared. Their gaze locked and Castiel wondered if his eyes were mirroring the happiness that he could see in Dean’s. Using some dry leaves, they set the bonfire aflame and sat down, their legs crossed. The gap between them was small, but immediately Dean scooted even closer, so their knees brushed.

The warm glow danced on their features and the cracking sound of wood slowly being burned by the fire created a comfortable bubble that they occupied. They sat there, enjoying the private smiles and glances in between songs that they sang, warmth spreading within Castiel that wasn’t caused by the bonfire in front of them. With Dean, he felt content, whole. There wasn’t anything that he would change about their friendship.

Perhaps, apart from one.

His fingers itched to entwine with Dean’s, he wanted to rest his head on his friend’s chest and listen to the steady and comforting heartbeat. Finding out what Dean’s lips tasted of was a mystery that he wanted to solve, so so badly. But he restrained himself, for years.

The songs died out as time passed, the sky darkening with every minute until stars started to appear and lazily blink over their heads. Castiel got up, wiping off any sand that stuck to his shorts, and checked on their tees that were now dry. When he turned to pass Dean his, his friend was right in front of him, an unreadable expression on his face. Something shifted in Castiel’s stomach, concern and worry replacing the carefree feeling, “What’s wrong?”

Dean reached out for his tee, but his fingers lingered on Castiel’s, “Nothing, I just…” he trailed off and shook his head, finally grabbing the piece of clothing and pulling it over his head.

“Dean, we’re best friends. You know you can tell me anything.”

The man visibly hesitated and chewed on his bottom lip, averting his gaze away, before taking a deep breath and locking his gaze back with Castiel’s, “That’s the thing. What did you mean when you said that you couldn’t stop falling earlier? Do you ever wanna be-”

“Yes.” Castiel blurted out, cutting off Dean’s question. He could be wrong, maybe Dean didn’t intend on finishing it with more, but God, he hoped he was right, because otherwise he would fall apart. Now, that the possibility was so close, he would do anything to launch himself onto it and hold tight.

A pair of soft lips connected with his and Castiel’s heart rate quickened once more. The kiss was slow, tender and they poured every unspoken feeling that accumulated throughout the years of their friendship into it. Now, it could bloom into something more. But maybe, it was always there, slowly creeping up until it quietly settled down and waited to be discovered.

When they parted, their foreheads rested against each other. Without any more hesitation, their fingers entwined with a soft brush, “This is love. Right?” Castiel smiled and Dean nodded, “Yeah and there’s so much more on my tongue so take a bite and let it linger.”

#destiel #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #spn #spn ficlet #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural ficlet #supernatural fic #vin.txt #vince writes #vmart #drabble.txt

84 notes · View notes

spahhzy · 10 months ago

Text

A Bunny, Bike, Widow, and a Deadman. 1(?)

It's the John Wick parody nobody asked for, but me!

A video camera fired up revealing a nice large living room and moved forward around a corner as some banging could be heard, followed by an 'ouch'. The camera suddenly caught sight of one tall blonde haired man, with some defined muscle dressed in black shorts and a plain white tee as he had a tool bag around his waist. He was currently putting together a small table.

Jaune: Just a few more hammers annnnnd done!

Jaune set the hammer down and admired his handy work, unaware that a video recorder was catching every moment until he, of course, turned around.

Jaune: Eh!? Trivia, are you recording me!?

A woman with pink and brown hair just silently giggled as she kept video taping a blushing Jaune.

Jaune: Trivia, how much did you see? The blisters on my fingers!? I'm a handyman, I swea-Oof!

Jaune had tripped over the table. A small ow escaped him as Trivia looked like she could burst into tears from laughing.

Jaune whined but had a silly smile on his face before he just wrapped his arms around her pulling her into bed amidst the fall he grabbed her scroll and smirked as he flipped the camera around this time to take a photo of both of them. Trivia, her head nestled into the crook of Jaune's neck with Jaune head rested onto of hers.

Happiness radiating from both their eyes. A click was heard from her scroll as the little photo was taken.

Warmth filled Trivia as she looked up into her husband eyes, feeling very tired but happy. Nonetheless.

Trivia blinked from inside her helmet as she looked up to see a 'Gas station next left'. She checked her left side rear mirror before taking the next exit off the freeway, as her hair fluttered wildly behind her as the motorcycle exhaust echoed off the city walls.

She pulled into the gas station, parking at a pump before killing the engine and finally taking off her helmet.

Her pink and brown eyes adjusting back to the light before she sat her helmet back on the handlebars.

She admired the motorcycle, a nice bike that her husband had gotten for her and on occasions Jaune would bring out his bike and they would ride together down the riding twists and turns that Vales backroads and outskirts had to offer but often then not, she would ride shot gun if she was nit feeling up to driving, still she admired and loved her bike dearly non-the less because it was from the man who was her world and also thanks to clear recommendation from one Yang Xiao Long. She has a taste for motorcycles she did.

She thought it hilarious, that she ,a city girl, wouldn't like anything like this... but boy, did Jaune prove her wrong. He was right when he said it was almost the 'free' someone can be.

She casted her eyes onto the floor as she suddenly felt a crushing sadness begin to eat at her.

Numbly she took off her riding gloves and thumbed the wedding ring tenderly.

While she was feeling sad, something was inside her backpack, that she had carried with her on the ride, wiggling around before a set of tall ears popped out, and suddenly, a rabbit head sprang out of the pink backpack.

It shook its head softly, floopy ears hitting the back of Trivia's head, causing her to turn around and look at her bunny.

The sadness vanished a little bit as she looked at the last gift Jaune had given her before he passed.

'I know the pain will be great...and that i will leave a hole but please take this last gift from me to help comfrot you. Her name is Juniper, please take care of her as I know she will take care of you'

Reaching behind her Trivia gently petted the bunny's head to which the small white rabbit leaned into the hand and after a few seconds she, with Juniper In the bag, walked inside to put some gas.

Coming out of the gas station with a small bag containing water, lettuce, and small baby carrots. She took off her backpack and placed it on the back seat, opening it up a smidge to give Juniper a little more room. The little rabbit looked up at her as Trivia just smiled softly as she reached in and grabbed some lettuce into her hand before guiding it over to the hungry rabbit who had stars in her eyes and chomped away at the green.

At the same time, Trivia had begun to pump gas into her bike, and both enjoyed a brief moment of silence.

Or they would have if a large HUV, blasting loud music, didn't pull into the gas station. It pulled into a pump directly across from Trivia as four young men jumped out.

Sky: I'm gonna go pay for the gas. Does anyone want anything before we hit up the strip club?

Russel: Nothin from me.

Dove: Same.

Cardin: Will one of you get out and go pump gas!

Dove gout out laughing, while Cardin got out, too, finding it a good time to smoke before the night began. Lighting up his cigarette, he took notice of a woman with pink and brown hair feeding her rabbit while sitting on a very nice-looking bike.

Clicking his hair back, he had a very staunce collection of bikes sitting home in one of his MANY garages, but that one in particular? He must have it.

Cardin: Nice Bike!

The woman stopped feeding the rabbit and looked at him before nodding and turning her attention back to the gas pump.

Cardin: Marauder! 70?

The girl just turned her head to him and shook it before fishing out a scroll and typing the words 69 before showing it too him.

Cardin: Oh, even rarer... I asked one of my 'friends' she had one just like this but would never sell it to me...

The woman shrugged as she finished pumping the gas as the bunny sat on the seat, still nibbling away.

Cardin: Alright, how much?

The woman stopped in her tracks and looked at Cardin with an eyebrow raised.

Cardin: Come on, how much for the bike! I'll pay you any amount and a little extra~

A look of disgust flashed briefly across the young woman's face, but she shook her head and flashed her scroll to his face quickly that said.

'Not For Sale'.

She got Juniper back inside her backpack and was about to grab her helmet before a hand stopped her.

Cardin: Aww, look at the cute rabbit.

He roughly pets the bunny's head, who just hides inside the backpack, then he turns his gaze back to the woman speaking in Atleasian foreign tongue.

Cardin: 'Everybody's gotta price, bitch'

Trivia could only just look at the man unimpressed but not before typing into her scroll and showing it to him.

'Not this bitch'

Cardin's eyes widened as he stepped back, allowing Trivia to finally grab her helmet. Cardin looked like he was about to escalate things before Russell stepped in with a look that said 'back off'. He looked back at Trivia and nodded.

Russel: You have a good day ma'am.

Trivia nodded slightly before firing up her bike, putting on her helmet and setting off back home.

Cardin just watched as bad thoughts enveloped his head.

Not for sale huh?

Then he'll just have to acquire it the old-fashioned Winchester way.

That fucking weirdo-nobody bunny lady will regret saying 'no' to Cardin Winchester!

#neopolitian (rwby)#trivia #rwby jaune arc #cardin winchester #jaune arc #rwby silent knight #yang xiao long

29 notes · View notes

ladamedusoif · 11 months ago

Text

Wrapping Paper (Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 21

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas - A Pedro Boy Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Follow my writing blog, @ladameecrit, for updates.

Characters: Joel Miller, Tommy Miller, Sarah Miller

Word count: 900

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Pre-outbreak (set around Christmas 1994); alcohol consumption; swearing

(Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

“Alright, think she’s out for the night.”

Tommy looks up as his older brother walks back into the living room, and takes a swig from his bottle of beer.

“Sarah’s real good like that. Took all those stories about Santa not coming if you didn’t go to sleep very seriously.” He gestures towards Joel’s TV, where a trashy action movie is playing. “And now, brother, you can relax with me, a beer, and Steven Seagal.”

Joel puts his hands on his hips and stares at Tommy. “The fuck you mean, ‘relax’? We’re just gettin’ started. C’mon, Santa needs his elf.”

***

Joel carries the box containing Sarah’s smaller Santa gifts in from the garage while Tommy follows behind, carefully handling her much-wanted main gift: a lilac bicycle, complete with white basket, ribbons on the handlebars, and purple training wheels.

“Alright, just leave the bike to one side while we deal with these.” Joel produces four rolls of gift wrap from inside the box, along with a couple of mini Scotch tape dispensers and labels.

“You hid the gift wrap, too?” Tommy looks confused.

Joel shakes his head. “She’s five, Tommy, but she’s not dumb. Sarah sees this gift wrap in our house and then on Santa’s stuff too - she’s gonna be askin’ questions.”

He hands Tommy some gift wrap and a roll of tape as he settles himself at the dining table, opening up a roll of paper for himself and taking a pair of scissors from the dresser drawer. Joel reaches into the box of gifts and finds a little box containing bright pink and purple hair accessories - he’d picked it up while grocery shopping a few months ago.

He unrolls the paper and places the box on the underside to gauge how much he’ll need, before expertly cutting the paper and beginning to wrap. It’s no time at all before a neat little package emerges, which he tops with a green self-adhesive bow.

His eyes flick up, looking at his younger brother across the table. “You gonna help, or just sit there?”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright.” He pulls a set of pyjamas out of the box - soft jersey, printed with unicorns - and unrolls his gift wrap.

“Joel? How the fuck do you wrap somethin’ soft?”

***

The small pile of gifts shows varying standards of wrapping excellence. Joel quietly decides he’ll tell Sarah it was one of Santa’s apprentice elves who did it, if she asks about the somewhat ramshackle ensemble of paper and tape on some of her things.

“We still got time for the last hour of Seagal!” Tommy pushes himself back from the table. Joel turns his head slowly, meaningfully in the direction of the living room.

The bike.

Tommy looks sceptical. “You can’t gift wrap a bike, man.”

Joel arches an eyebrow. “You sayin’ Santa can’t gift wrap something? Bring it over here. Let me show you the magic of the season in action.”

His brother watches as Joel measures and cuts and wraps and tapes until the entire bicycle is covered in red and green paper, topped with an even bigger bow.

“It looks like a bike, Joel.”

“That’s cos it is a bike, Thomas.”

“But what’s the point in wrappin’ it? She’ll know what it is.”

Joel smiles to himself. “Don’t matter. Wait and see.”

***

Sarah climbs into bed beside her dad at 6am on Christmas morning, bouncing so hard on the mattress that Joel swears she’s going to send him flying off it.

“Now calm down, babygirl. You don’t even know if he’s been.”

Sarah gets off the bed and twirls around with excitement. “I hope he’s been I hope he’s been I really hope he’s been let’s get uncle Tommy to check I hope he’s been -”

Her voice echoes down the hallway as she runs to the guest bedroom and hammers on the door. Joel can hear a presumably bleary-eyed Tommy emerging.

“Alright, girl, I’ll go check. Hold your horses!”

It’s become tradition, this little routine - ever since Joel and Tommy’s ma passed away. Tommy stays with Joel and Sarah for Christmas, and he becomes the chief checker on Christmas morning - making sure the important visitor has been and gone before Sarah sees her gifts.

Tommy is also in charge of taking a bite out of the cookie left for Santa and drinking the milk.

He reappears from the living room a few moments later. “He’s gone and…he’s left you presents.”

Sarah bounces up and down and drags her father along by the hand as she races to see what’s under their tree.

***

Tommy finally understands why Joel gift wrapped the bicycle when he watches his little niece start to remove the paper. Sarah is careful, conscientious - she doesn’t rip off the gift wrap like other kids, never did. Instead, she methodically peels away the wrapping, bit by bit.

She squeals every time she reveals a new part of the object within: the glittery frame, the ribbons, the purple bell that makes a satisfying “ping!”

Joel beams with delight as he watches her, occasionally stopping to take photos on his compact camera.

Tommy understands. Sarah knew the parcel contained a bike: but she didn’t know quite what kind. Each layer of paper removed maintained the suspense, sustained the joyful experience of discovery, of the reveal.

Her face is shining with happiness. He makes a mental note, if he ever has kids of his own, to always gift wrap their Santa presents. He’ll just get Joel to help him.

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #joel miller #tommy miller #sarah miller #the last of us #hbo the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #tommy miller fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal

23 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 10 months ago

Note

Months later and still kinda salty about the Advisers treatment in S6 since its very clear they were not on the team's mind: not including Bindi with Amplivolt against Edgeshot, not including Hole guy's panel about to ambush Orca (so he just got beat out of nowhere), not including the panel of Cabbie Hat and Fox guy running off, Hose Face not speaking before he killed Midnight, heck even messing up who gets captured in the end. I know they aren't super relevant, but S6 didn't help them either.

Man, I completely fell off of watching the anime even for the purposes of criticism, so thank you for this update to clarify for me that only disappointment waits if and when I ever bother. I did get curious and look up who gets captured in the end, and wow, they really did comprehensively fuck that up, didn’t they? I know you know because you wrote me this nice ask about it, but for everyone else, take a look at this nonsense:

(Note that, as ever when I'm replying to asks from my dear fellow advisor fan @shockersalvage, the PLF codenames below are pure headcanon.)

I am agog at how huge and accessible and openable those windows look. Why on earth would you use vehicles like that for prisoner transport?) Are they just packing dangerous terrorists back onto the same buses the Heroes used to get up here, or what?

Comparing that to the equivalent shot in the manga, they didn’t get any of these people right. (Excluding the Heroes, who get relatively faithful if slightly less detailed renditions. Because of course they do.)

Look at the windows on these transports and laugh with me about how ridiculous the ones in the anime are in comparison. Also, I notice that while the anime got Tartarus Hat: The Capture Tape Hero's look right, they did fail to notice that the restraints dangling loose from his wrists are the same as those the PLF captives are bound with.

Not every person on the ground here is tentatively identifiable as a ranked advisor—only, you know, five out of seven of them, the entire middle group. The two on the back right are really obviously Galvanize and Piercings Dude (Compress’s #1 and Dabi’s #3), and given the visual similarities and the grouping, I’m pretty confident the others are Fray (Toga’s #3), Red (Skeptic’s #1) and Band Jacket Guy (Compress’s #2).

Yet even given the anime’s sloppy, ugly coloring decisions for the advisors they did show, they didn’t even accidentally get any of these right. Band Jacket Guy and Fray are both dark-haired in the anime, while Red’s honey blonde and Piercings Dude is silver-haired with a striped coat jacket. I would almost venture to guess that the anime intended the dude they gave the handlebar mustache to above (Galvanize in the manga, as apparent by his forelock and forehead scar) to be Sanctum, save that they didn’t those colors right, either! They have Sanctum in white in the opening attack scene and in blue in Twice’s imagine spot.

Just an impressively thorough failure to realize the manga’s intention.

One thing you didn’t mention that I wondered about was Scarecrow’s first scene of note, so I also looked that up—I wanted to see if he had a voice actor yet, given how important his voice would turn out to be!

Lo and behind, I find that the anime—while at least including Scarecrow, absolutely not guaranteed, as the above dissection shows!—gave what I had always assumed to be his dialogue to Re-Destro instead. Which, I guess, looking at the manga again, could be the intention? But I don’t really read it that way.

It’s certainly flowery enough to be Re-Destro! He definitely talks like that! But, as we later find out, Scarecrow absolutely talks like that too. And here, looking at the paneling and the way the talk bubbles fall within it, we can see that Re-Destro’s obvious dialogue (“What did you pesky Heroes do to our savior and liberator?!”) breaks out of the panel binding, overlapping into the scene change to Gigantomachia’s rampage.

That’s what I would expect to be the case if the next line (“After Gigantomachia, Liberation warriors! Our revolution is at hand!”) was also meant to be his, ringing out so loudly over the battlefield that even out in the forest, it’s still audible above the sounds of pitched, widespread conflict.

Instead of being overlaid across the panel borders like the others, though, it’s fully contained within the panels, visually implying that the line is being delivered by someone within that same scene/panel, for which the most obvious candidate is the guy prominently foregrounded in it. I suppose the counter-argument is that there aren’t any obvious tails to the talk bubble that would link it to him, as with the bubbles in final panel with Kamui Woods and Midnight, but then, Re-Destro’s shouting doesn’t have any tails, either!

Overall, I guess it’s a valid read, but I frankly just don’t like it as much as I do the dialogue serving as an early indicator of Scarecrow’s personality. Also, while it surely pleases me to contemplate that Re-Destro loves Shigaraki so much that he’d order a sizeable chunk of his own army to abandon him in favor of going to his savior and liberator, I have to think that if he did give that order, considerably more than a piddling 132 out of 17,000 people at the Villa would have successfully prioritized escape!

Sorry for taking so long with this one, shockersalvage! My plan was to respond to it when I got back to PLF Spotting posts, but I just don’t think I can be arsed with those at this point. I kind of unreasonably hate the stupid puce-colored arm the anime saddled Shigaraki with for some godforsaken reason, and I’ve not yet forgiven the show for giving Re-Destro an anime-original scene but fucking it up by having him identify Destro Classic as his literal father. Also, while the anime transparently doesn’t care about the PLF, it’s only emulating its source material in that regard, so it's hard to muster up too much righteous indignation on the manga's behalf.

Regardless, thank you as always for the ask and your patience! Please do feel free to report back in with any further PLF Erasure Crimes the anime commits; I'm not expecting to pay it much attention at this point save probably ducking in to watch Scarecrow's wonderful rooftop speech at the hospital riot.

(You know, assuming they let him keep it.)

#bnha #plf advisors #yotsubashi rikiya #re-destro #the anime continues to be Bad #news at eleven #shockersalvage #stillness answers

16 notes · View notes

sprucedarkstache · 1 year ago

Note

You got any trans Damien and or trans Yancy headcanons?

Boy, do I have headcanons???

(Tysm for the ask sorry this took me so long)

Damien

I used to heavily headcanon him as trans, not so much anymore but.

I had this old post that (jokingly but also not) both Celine and Damien were trans and just ended up swapping identities.

I believe that Damien would feel emasculated simply by being around his other male colleagues.

Since it’s the 1920s, a lot of men don’t wear facial hair and keep their face quite clean (aside from a nice handlebar above the lip), which gives Damien an excuse to not have facial hair at all

It also makes his clean reputation very attractive to all the ladies in town

All in all, he feels very empowered when he becomes Dark, who (in my headcanon) can shape himself however he sees, giving Damien the liberty to make himself as big buff masculine.

But also, in my headcanon, Damien and Dark are two separate spirits, so this leaves some times where Dark has taken a more feminine form that day, it catches Damien off guard when he’s in control and leaves him dysphoric.

Yancy

TW// mentions of mvrd3r and transph0bia

Yancy I feel more strongly about. He is trans. 100%

My entire interpretation is that him being trans the reason he murdered his parents (paraphrasing)

Essentially, Yancy got incredibly bullied in the small town he lived in, and it only got worst as his best friend Jay ran off to become a geologist (iykyk)

Eventually it got to a point where he couldn’t take it anymore, and when he got home one night after rehearsal, he ran to his room for an hour, and went downstairs, had a screaming fit at his parents from built up anger and sh0t them when they tried to soothe him.

Thing is, there was a sudden surge of acceptance from his fellow prisoners when he arrived at Happy Trails

Despite being surrounded by big burly tough men, he was treated as the head of the pack essentially.

I don’t know if it’s a thing that prisoners can get operations while in prison but since this is the MarkCU lets say at Happy Trails they can.

Yancy has some badass top surgery scars, which he has tattoos around for decoration

Going back to his childhood, there were a lot of “transmasc theater kid” things he did

(What im not projecting nooo)

For instance, he would exclusively play the male parts when he sang songs from his favorite musicals (specifically “Maria” from West Side and “Johanna” from Sweeney Todd”)

He would do a lot of one man plays on the school playground sometimes, and clearly wouldn’t like singing the female parts

It’s also in my headcanon that he’s (in this current year) 29, which would make him a teen between 2007-2013. Definitely believe he had a quirky transmasc ukulele phase.

Not theater kid related but when he was little, he was definitely the “girl who always offered to pick up chairs when a teacher asked for a strong boy to help” type transmasc

Back to prison

When he first got into prison, he used binding tape for so long until he was literally wheezing any time he ran so the warden was like “look son let’s just get you top surgery and that’ll do it.”

Absolutely made a joke about giving himself top surgery with a shiv he found

Warden was not too happy abut that

Another defying the logic of reality thing, but after he got top surgery, he gifted his chest to Tiny who is transfem

Now that he’s out of prison, he bought a lot of greaser-type manly man things to fuel his euphoria (a motorcycle, smoking a lot more, a lot more piercings)

He also returns to his hometown every now and then to spite the locals and steal their wives.

He’s just such a bad boy >:) /j

#markiplier #yancy ahwm #yancy #a heist with markiplier #damien #damien the mayor #who killed markiplier #markiplier headcanons #tw murder #tw transphobia

13 notes · View notes

eucatastrophicblues · 3 months ago

Note

🪖 and ❔for the Christian ask game

🪖 Favorite piece of the Armor of God: so this is kind of a funny one, because of how intimately it’s tied into myself and my self-conception, but I’ll try and put it into words.

My first word as a baby was “Hi”, and not ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’. I didn’t have any speech delays like my father and his (all at the time undiagnosed autistic) siblings did; I was talking before I was a year old. I also didn’t have any speech impediments or baby talk, but I did have a phenomenally prodigious vocabulary and a quick grasp of how language worked. I’ve obviously never been able to prove that my choice of ‘hi’ for a first word was about trying to engage in verbal conversation and recognizing that this was the sound that started it, but I do suspect it, knowing what I know about myself.

I had a child-friendly tape player in my room, and because I was an insomniac (and still would be if I didn’t manage my sleep schedule as aggressively as the Allies managed the logistics of D-Day) I had child-friendly music that I was allowed to listen to as part of the “aiding Red in falling asleep” project. The earliest tape, one that I remember because I still had it by age 2/3, was a collection of Christian songs for children, sung by children and adults and interpolated with recitation of Bible verses. I have many memories of lying in bed trying in vain to become tired and listening to a song that began with “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path”, from this tape. I am assuming that I had this tape from infancy because of what I am about to tell you.

now, I cannot prove this, but my mother and father both were present for what they claim turned out to be my first full spoken sentence, which was when I was roughly a year old. They were grocery shopping, and I was in the cart seat, and they had turned away from me briefly to look at something, and while they were turned away I attempted to get up on the cart seat (presumably by holding onto the handlebar) and then followed up my failed attempt at bipedal locomotion with a declaration of “Be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Ephesians 6:10.” They turned around; I was in a convoluted position in the cart seat and then said it again.

so anyway I’ve had the Armor of God hanging over me my whole life, but my favorite piece has always been the Sword of the Spirit. realizing I didn’t get a literal sword from Jesus made me very annoyed as a six year old whose favorite movie was Mulan (1998). I’ve since made my peace with the fact that God hasn’t called me to be a warrior, but it was a long time coming and was the focal point of a seven-year-long domestic argument between us about whether or not He was right when He said I wasn’t a warrior (spoiler: He was)

❔ Something you want to talk about with other Christians / something you want to learn more about: this is kind of a twofold answer, but I’ll try and give both?

first, something I wish I had more space to talk about is the lived reality of bridal mysticism. it can get incredibly lonely caught between Christians of all stripes who don’t really understand what it is I’ve found myself called to and pagans + “folk Christian” quasi-heretics who have a lot of familiarity with this kind of divine relationship but who make it significantly more sexual than it is. it’s very jarring to be adrift in my own faith while several pagans who believe they have godspouses get me immediately; I wish there were an easy way to change that.

second, something I want to learn more about is Orthodox Christianity. I’ve been blessed to know many kinds of Protestants, and of course I’m currently Catholic and was formerly Protestant, and I’ve even had a family friend who was a former Coptic priest, but I’ve had markedly little exposure to the Orthodox tradition and Orthodox theology.

#ask meme

3 notes · View notes

gremoria411 · 2 years ago

Text

Just for fun, let’s think up a list of reasons as to why Mcgillis chose not to use the Fareed Family Gundam.

It was destroyed/lost in the calamity war.

It reminds him of Iznario, and he wants to reject that connection.

It’s got a very specific way of fighting (like Flauros) and he wants something with a more generalist bent.

He feels a greater kinship with Agnika Kaieru than he does the Fareed family founder.

It was the 72nd Gundam frame built, and was completed postwar, thus running counter to Mcgillis’ ambitions to be like his idol.

It’s been chained up in a similar manner to how Bael eventually will be.

It was scrapped to repair another Gundam frame.

It’s biometrically locker to a blood member of the Fareed family for some reason.

The previous pilot was an amputee, and didn’t so much pilot the Gundam in so much as they were “plugged in”. (Think Gundam Thunderbolt).

Iznario (or a prior member of the Fareed Family) sold it, or parts of it, for bread money (as the Warrens did).

It was stolen by Gundam thieves.

It requires three pilots.

The colours clash horribly with his hair.

Despite their great combat skill, the Fareed family founder was just kind of a prick, and nobody looks on their history with much fondness.

The Fareed family founder was very small by modern standards, and the cockpit’s uncomfortable to sit in for any length of time.

The hands were damaged, and are now in the permanent pose of throwing up gang signs.

Bael’s just, like, so much cooler.

It’s really, really uncomfortable to look at for a significant period of time.

Any time it’s activated, the Fareed family founder’s custom mixtape of post-calamity rap starts playing and nobody knows how to turn it off.

It’s haunted.

Iznario lost it in a poorly conceived bet.

It’s likeness was bought out by a prominent snack food corporation some years back, and as such it legally is not allowed to be viewed by anyone.

The door to it in Vingolf is stuck, and nobody ever noticed until Mcgillis came along.

Somebody spilled drink on the controls, and now they feel weirdly sticky.

The cockpit’s stuffed with body pillows, and nobody can bring themself to clean them out.

It’s lying at the bottom of the ocean after someone took it for a joyride.

It’s got an absolutely awful paint job that Norba Shino would be proud of.

It’s uninsured.

It was mounted on the prow of the Fareed family ship, and it’s exceedingly difficult to remove.

It’s stored in multiple separate locations. All Vingolf has is a pair of legs and the right hand.

It’s currently being used as a soundstage for a prominent punk-rock band on Jupiter, and no-one’s sure when the lease ends.

It has the words “free ice-cream” prominently painted on it somewhere.

It achieved sentience and promptly grabbed some popcorn.

The Fareed family never had a Gundam, and just killed that many mobile armours with conventional tactics.

It’s covered in rust.

It doesn’t have nanolaminate armour for some reason.

It’s being used as a power source for Gjallarhorn’s premier health spa and resort.

The Fareed family threw it into the sun when the war ended, believing they wouldn’t need it anymore.

It’s been repaired really badly, and the duct tape and welding really doesn’t inspire confidence.

It’s off starring in its own, less successful show.

It’s got a hit play on broadway.

It runs off a subscription service, and nobody’s been paying it for the last 300 years.

Mcgillis has really poor gatcha rolls, so he just got 26 common rarity grazes instead.

It’s really a Leo somebody scotch-taped a v-fin to.

The entire Gundam is made of cardboard.

Mcgillis forgot the password to get into the hangar, and he can’t ask Iznario.

Somebody doodled angry eyes and a handlebar moustache on it, and nobody can look at it without cracking up.

It was taken apart, then reassembled incorrectly. (It’s got a leg sticking out of where it’s head should be, and nobody’s sure where the sword ended up)

He can’t activate it without deleting the entire Fareed family’s Doom highscores.

It’s currently being used to hold a massive tv that the rest of Gjallarhorn use to watch the hockey.

It is currently on fire.

When he went to pick it up, two of the engineers were using it to hold a romantic candlelit dinner and he felt awkward interrupting so he hasn’t been back since.

A head of the Fareed family used it as the site of a drunken party and when everyone came round from their hangover it was just gone, and nobody could remember what happened to it.

It looks exactly like the Gundam Dantalion, and records have been lost as to why this is the case.

It’s currently being used as a scarecrow.

Feel free to add any more in the comments!

#gundam #gundam ibo #iron blooded orphans #Mcgillis #Gundam frame #Fareed Family Gundam #ramblings

32 notes · View notes