#her and john are so sweet 🥹

[bisupergirl]

kara 🤝 nat being 3 apples tall

[missescalientee]

In n2 explorer au john dory is going to be so happy when he not only finds out that jade is alive but branch and floyd are also alive

Lots of hugs and long talks ensue!

JD is ECSTATIC

I have two diff versions of Jade and JDs reunion

This one that’s httyd inspired and also a fun bit XD

And then this one almost made me cry cuz I’m very emotional about this song cuz to me ITS THEIR SONG FOREVER AND ALWAYS

I’m so insane about them

[teletubbyinlipstick]

More Hybrid!Poly TF141 x Reader pleaaasseeeee? 🥹

(ps, love your writing!)

OwlHybrid!Poly TF141 X Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading. You're all so sweet for the support! I'm negl. I didn't expect people to read it, haha. I'm so shocked by the love.

Thankyou @bina-passion-fruit for the morning after idea! See her reblog of the first part for the gist. And please feel free to send in scenarios you could see these birbs end up in!

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The next day IS tense. The atmosphere has never been this suffocating.

Not in their own home.

Gaz sits curled up in Johnny's frame at the breakfast nook, head resting on the older mans shoulder, a deep frown setting into his face. His eyes are crusted a little, nose still deep red and cheeks puffy. He looks thoroughly exhausted, like he hasn't slept.

They all do.

Johnny has a cuppa sitting untouched. It's luke warm by now, but he can't bring himself to drink it. Face mirroring Gaz's, glaring down at the coffee like it has personally offended him. Every couple minutes, he huffs deeply, eyes darting away from the cup to glance around as if in thought, but he inevitably ends up gazing lost into his cup again.

Price and Simon are at the stove and counter. Quietly discussing things that need to be done for the day. There's lulls of silence in their convos, moments where their minds wander to the dove sleeping down the hall. Price feels guilt eating him alive. He's hunched a bit, chin tucked down in a clear sign of forlorn. Simon continues to run a hand up his spine soothingly, pressing closer to offer as much comfort as he can. But he can't deny the stabs of agony he, himself, feels.

It's raw. It sucks.

And Simon feels so fucking lost in this moment. He wants to gather all his mates in his arms (even you) and shush, coo, and coddle until there's nothing but purrs, chirps, and preened content lovers piled into a nest. He wants to scent you and rub you in their things to let you know you're safe and cared for now. He sees the trauma, the fear when Johnny reached for you. The self soothing you do by rubbing your arms.

He sees you. And in doing so, he sees himself. A scared fledgling unsure of the world, burned and bitten, spat upon by those who swore to love them.

Someone hurt you.

Tore at your feathers until you were too scared to take flight. And if Ghost ever gets a name he'd tear the motherfuckers wings from their spine.

The pitter patter of footsteps approaching the kitchen lifted them from their haze, four pairs of eyes snapping to you as you sleepily shuffled in. You wore a simple oversized t shirt and sweatpants to bed, hair rumpled from sleep, eyes and cheeks red and puffy from sleep. They can see the tear streaks dried from last night and it breaks their heart all over again.

Price makes the first move, taking a small step towards you with a plate held out. Buttered toast, sizzling eggs, and red srawberries sit on top.

"G'mornin' sweetheart, hope you slept well. 'Ve cooked some breakfast. There's coffee in the pot. Help yourself." Soft eyes gaze down at you. He's hunched inwards a little, head tilted down and the sweetest smile gracing his face. You feel very flustered, keenly aware of the 3 other sets of eyes intently watching.

Taking a deep breath, you offer a half smile, grasping the plate with slightly shaky hands.

"Uhm..t-thankyou, sir"

"John."

Wide doe eyes peer up at him, shock clear on your face. He feels his lips quirk at the sight.

"My mates call me John. Not sir. We're equal here, okay? You call me by my name." When his hand reaches out, you don't swat it away this time, only watching in marvel as he tucks hair behind your ears, crows feet aligning his kind eyes.

Taking a shaky breath, a soft, geniune smile spreads across your face, eyes darting to your feet and back up as you turn to the table. Johnny and Gaz are staring right at you, wings perked up. Gaz is quickest to his feet, pulling out a chair, a handsome grin settling on face. Pretty boy, you muse to yourself. Sitting down with a grateful smile and a hushed thankyou.

A hand reaches past your shoulder, jarring and unexpected. You whip your head up to see Simon offering a placate smile down at you, other palm face up to soothe. You tilt your head owlishly, blinking at him. It causes the older mans lips to quirk up on one side, brown eyes softening as he gazes down at you. He nods his head towards the table, and upon looking back to your plate, you realize he sat down a fork...oh.

Tears welled in your eyes, and a sniffle broke through. Simon's eyes widened a fraction, quickly backing away with both his hands raised, palm up.

"'M sorry luvie, didn't mean t'startle you."

It was sincere, filled with guilt. A small sob breaks past your lips. Johnny whines high in his throat, reaching out for your hand across the table, only to stop short, unsure if you'd appreciate the contact. His lips are once again pulled down, eyes saddened.

"Bonnie?..." Murmured so quietly into the air, the boys hold their breath, pulling their wings in to appear smaller. You wipe at your face again, sniffling, eyes glossy and cheeks rosy. And when you finally lifted your head, the last thing they expected was to see the brightest grin painted across your face, pure happiness shining, tear streaks lined with joy.

"No one's ever been so kind to me...thankyou. All of you."

Oh, dove, you haven't seen anything yet.

[elysianightsss]

Hi Elysian! I love your Poly 141 x ND reader! Please please please write about how John is with her at work🥺🥹

Hi lovely! Thankyou so much🥹💓

John is oh so sweet with you, after hearing about you just from Johnny and Simon’s reports for a few months he couldn’t stand to just listen anymore. He had to be a part of your life.

Being your boss wasn’t exactly ideal and after promoting you twice because quite honestly he didn’t understand how you hadn’t been already, you worked harder than anyone at the company. He didn’t want people to think you only got the promotions because of any relationship with him, so he had to remain professional in order to keep your life easy.

But he managed to slip some moments with you in there. Usually when you stayed late to work, he would order food and the two of you would eat together. He would always find some way to make you laugh, even if it was with his dry sense of humour or his terrible dad jokes. It felt refreshing for you.

Bringing you in lunch everyday too after he noticed you work through lunchtime without eating. He couldn’t have that. John did try his hardest to be subtle but it was just so hard. Being around you was all he wanted to do, taking care of you was all he wanted to do.

You even noticed how affectionate he was with you, but you played it off. There’s no way your boss could like you right?

Right. But you liked John though. He was kind and made you laugh. He noticed when something was wrong and always tired to help. He was handsome and very well built. Those blue eyes that had you enraptured and those muttonchops you wanted to reach out and feel. You couldn’t help but imagine him in ways that had your thighs clenching just like when you saw Johnny and Simon kiss.

You felt terrible. How could you not? You liked three guys, two of which were in a relationship. What was your problem? Why did you feel this way. You suppose it was good that it was only three and nothing would ever happen with your neighbours or your boss. And no one else was part of the equation only your mind knew about.

But it was only three, you could get over your crushes. Right?

[red-doll-face]

I loved ur fic abt having to warm up with Arthur. He was so cute in it hehe. Imagine if he picked you flowers and brought them to you and was all shy and embarrassed about it ahhhhhhh🤭🤭🤭

hiiii !!! thank you so much for this wonderful ask!! ive had this in my inbox for forever so, soo sorry. 😳😳but i wrote something for this and a little self indulgent detail bc im on my period and was craving something super fluffy for my boy... i for sure included what you wanted but i added more situational stuff. I hope you like it!!!💖💖💓💓😭😭🥹🥹 @emerald-ranch thanks for giving me such a good idea for this piece queen, love you sm 💓💓 tags: fmc, periods vaguely mentioned, arthur is sooo sweet so fluffy, not quite an established relationship yet but theres something there 👀

(high honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

Arthur shares his space with you when you aren't feeling well.

It was only a matter of time before you could stop hiding this little problem of yours. Before, you had hidden away; Abigail had let you stay in her big tent but when she got into a severe spat with John and she stopped sleeping there, you had lost your solution to this problem. You had told Ms. Grimshaw. You asked her if it would be alright if you stayed away from chores today. She raised her brow, the line of her mouth turned skeptical. She laughed at you, like she would a child faking a cough.

“What are you, the only woman in the world? You ain’t special. Now, get back to work! I don’t want to hear anymore of this belly achin’,” She seethes and you look down after you give her a weak nod. You look around nervously. You know that today will be bad. You just feel it. The squeeze in your lower belly and the nauseous unease in your stomach tells you so. You walk to the cutting board, bidding Pearson a good morning. 

“You look… pale,” Pearson asks suspiciously but you brush him off with a tight smile. You go back to chopping vegetables. The morning develops into a sweltering noon. The overwhelming smells of the camp and the morning chatter only put you in a precarious state. The last person you’d like to see you like this comes by, tells Pearson he’s going out. “That’s good, I was this close to ripping the leather off the boots around here,” Pearson jokes and Arthur scoffs before passing you, where you continue working sluggishly behind the chuck wagon. 

“You alright?” you slowly lift your head to look up at him. You don't even have it in you to shyly avoid eye contact with his sharp blue eyes and his look of real concern. You trail up the length of his body, up his gun belt and to his brown hunters jacket. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask, clinging to the edge of the wooden table. You turn your back to the produce you had been chopping, resting briefly against the support of the surface. You face him fully, even if it’s not the best idea if you want to keep hiding how much the pain is crawling down your thighs. It sears into your muscle, dripping like hot wax down your body.

“Asked if you was feelin’ alright,” he wants the truth out of you but you bite your lip. Ms. Grimshaw said she didn’t want to hear it, you aren't sure how much you’d like to discuss this with him. Disgusted or dismissive, either or both would only serve to make things worse. Arthur dismissing you like Ms. Grimshaw would have you about ready to cry, overcome by the disrupting emotions that always come over you at times like these. He looks you over, assessing your wellness maybe. It certainly isn’t in the wobble of your knee under your skirt or the pallid color of your face, a cold sweat breaking over your forehead.

“No — I mean yes! … I’m feeling ok,” you mutter, but you aren’t convincing anyone, especially not Arthur. He tilts his head and stares down at you. He’s absorbing details (the half chopped carrot you’ve been taking way too long to finish up with, your nails digging into the grain of the wood) and you do your best to smile and dismiss his badly hidden worry. You can still see the way he hesitates to walk away, shuffles his boots in the dirt, shakes his head just slightly. He’s right not to believe you. 

Weakness in your body begins to form, building up inside of you the longer you’ve decided to ignore this pain. It’s been burrowing holes through you all morning, for hours, you’ve stood upright, trying to keep yourself from slipping. But just as Arthur is about to wish you a good day and head to his horse to ride off, you clutch at your abdomen, bent over. As if you’ve been flayed open. Your pained moan makes him put a hand over your shoulder. 

“Jesus, girl, what’s wrong with you?” you can’t muster a response, too busy trying not to fall backwards. “You need to lay down?” 

“Please, I can’t…”

“Like hell, you can’t. C’mon,” he tries to guide you but your legs hardly move like his, and he doesn’t linger a second longer. He has one of your arms around him to help, holding you up. The other camp members watch curiously but you pay them no mind. Another wave of clenching ache, like a lance through your midsection, has you doubling over again. You shuffle along with Arthur who lets you sit on his bed. He urges you to lay down. 

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on wit’you but reckon some rest might help,” you clutch at your stomach, curling in on yourself. Arthur glances around, hands stiffly at his sides, unsure what to use them for. You can’t pretend not to enjoy the comfort his mattress offers, to lay down on something soft. Embarrassment has no place in your mind as you let yourself follow his direction. Surrounded by his things and his scent, you collapse ungraciously on your side. Every moment of agony makes you whine, close to tears. 

“You eat somethin’ bad? Pearson’s stew finally get the better of ya?” You shake your head, you gasp and let your eyes glaze over, unable to really converse with him. Your fingers tangle in his sheets. He cusses, calling for help. Abigail and Tilly rush over when he says your name. Abigail nods at Tilly. 

You can make out some pieces of their conversation, it’s all muffled as your pain drowns everything out around you. Bits and pieces of the people surrounding you filter in and out. You're sweating under your skirt and you have half a mind to feel bad for putting your shoes up on Arthur’s bed. His own kindness isn’t lost on you. 

You catch words here and there. Abigail mentions your monthly. She looks at you, as if thinking better of it. Perhaps you should be ashamed but all you can do is pant and wail. Tilly returns with a cool cloth for your forehead and something pleasantly warm to place gingerly on your stomach. The brief pleasure it brings you makes you relax a little. You fall asleep to the sun's glow through the thin canvas over Arthur’s bed and the smell of the earth, the lulled tobacco scent that soaks into his sheets. The smell of his hair on the pillow, the summer sweat. 

When you wake, sleep is a stone tied to your ankle, pulling you down until you wiggle free. You feel awful as you turn to see Arthur slumped in a chair at your bedside. His hat is pulled down low and he snores quietly. How he sleeps like that, you don’t know. It brings a small smile to your face, watching him doze off in the light of the candle lit at the table next to his bed. 

But the only reason he’s there is because he had given you his bed. Even when he could be using it. You can’t see much past the canvas flaps that had been lowered to keep the chill of the breeze out but you sense the evening blue. The lack of voices tells you that it must be far past dinner already. Maybe even an hour after midnight, you can’t hear much but crickets and the snap of firewood burning at the fire nearby.

Looking around more, you focus on Arthur’s tent. How strange, you had never noticed all of the little things he places around himself. Photos of people, a small flower. An honorable little picture of an older woman, his mother, you think. Your mother had always told you to look for men who loved their mothers. That detail twinges at the strings attached to your heart. 

You sit up carefully, a blanket that's been tugged over you falls away. He wakes as you make the smallest noise. Startling, he looks up a little, straightening his neck out. He clears his throat as he rolls his shoulders out, his jacket hung on the wooden chair he sits on. He puts his hat on his head, placing it back on top instead of tugged over his eyes. 

“Feelin’ better?” his voice is a little gruff with sleep and you don’t trust your own not to falter so you nod. You feel all of your memories come back, the pathetic whining and whimpering, like a kicked puppy. You sigh. Arthur nods as well. 

“I’m sorry, I took your bed,” 

“Ain’t takin’ if I put you on it. If I didn’t want ya on it, wouldn’t’ve put you on the damn thing,” he pulls a cigarette from his side table and strikes a match. He holds it delicately between his lips before he lights it, you watch as the flame flickers, to the tune of the wavering candle. He watches you from the corner of his eye. 

You try not to read into how he worded that. Want. You smile softly. “Thank you for… helping me,” your voice is nothing much but a whisper. “And thanks for letting me lay down here. I didn’t want to cause so much fuss,” the rags that Tilly prepared for you sit next to a bunch of flowers. Red and pink, little bunches of petals gathered around the stems, wreaths of blooms at the end of the stalks. You’d like to say something about them but you bring your attention back down to your hands in your lap. 

“Didn’t put me out or nothin’, I was out most of the day anyway,” He puffs on his cigarette, wavy mists of smoke coloring the air between you. “What was goin’ on with ya, looked like you was ‘bout ready to put your breakfast all over my shoes,” he chuckles, a playful glint in his eye.

You cover your face, rubbing and heaving a big breath. “I thought I remember someone telling you,” 

“They did… Abigail did. If it’s all that business, how come you don’t get like this all the time?” He seems genuinely interested in the habits of your menstrual cycle. You’ve never had a man take an interest in such a taboo topic. But you suppose most of the girls are open about their privacies, most feel comfortable sleeping in their underwear in the evening. You continue despite the warmth that rushes to your cheeks.

“Well— usually, Abigail hides me in what was her tent. But now John is in there and she can’t keep me from Ms. Grimshaw anymore. I’m sure she had something to say about my sleeping here today,” he shakes his head. 

He adjusts his legs to relax them further, leaning back and kicking them out. “She’s tough on you but I told her to leave well enough alone. You wasn’t gonna go back to choppin’ carrots like that,” you feel like you’ve thanked him enough. Where all of this comes from, you haven’t decided. The men here don’t pay you much attention and Arthur is always rather soft on the girls, all of you get greetings from him. But perhaps he does linger with you a while, asking if you’re okay. If you need anything; his low voice feels like his calloused fingers when it touches your ear. And you do give him sweet smiles. Everyone seems to think Arthur Morgan isn’t much more than a bitter old soul. But you watch and you see fluttering moments of his kindness. Like bursts of sunlight through a canopy of trees. 

He reaches behind himself to the flowers on the table at the back of his chair. He sniffs before handing them to you. “Brought these for you, saw ‘em while I was out huntin’, thought they might cheer you up a bit,” You take them from him, briefly touching his own hand. Shock gathers at the corners of your lips before they push back into a smile. The stalks are fresh and stiff, the scent of them naturally brightening. 

“Arthur, I… thank you, really,” he hums. Arthur plays with his cigarette, fumbling at it. You play with the thin velvet of the flower petals. “What are they?”

“Yarrow. Grow just about anywhere,” he means to humble them, to bring them down. But you hold them tighter. 

“They’re beautiful,” you catch his stare but you can’t drag your eyes away from him. Arthur doesn’t look away as he flicks the butt of his cigarette away, grinding it beneath his heel. Every second feels like ten and the minute could be an hour, ensnared by him. 

When he’s walking around camp, he squares his shoulders, marches with purpose. Now, he slumps forward. Tired or weighed down. He takes an uneven breath. “I- I think I should leave you to your own bed, shouldn’t I… But thank you again, I really do mean it,” you start to lift the blanket off of yourself. He opens his mouth. Like he wants to say something. You pause a moment. 

“What’chu talkin’ bout, you’re sick,” he says as if he thinks you’re being ridiculous. He motions to you with his hand vaguely.

“Arthur, I’m not- I’m not sick. It happens all the time. I think I’ve caused enough trouble today,” 

“N’ you can promise that you won’t go startin’ up again? Cryin’ and rollin’ around?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Avoiding his eyes as you say that isn’t what you should have done if you wanted him to believe you. 

“You’re lyin’,” You bring your shoulders up before dropping them. Twiddling your thumbs, the flowers in your hands become your focal point.

You give an idea some thought. Sharing a bed with Arthur Morgan isn’t the worst idea you’ve had in your life. The rumors that would circulate make you think twice. Neither of you would hear the end of it. The camp in which the Van Der Linde gang resides isn’t a place without a gossip mill. But… you trust Arthur. If any of the men, you trusted him. With your life, you knew you could.

Putting Arthur out of his own bed isn’t something that appeals to you at all. 

“It doesn’t seem right, taking your bed. I’ve been in it all day, I could move over if you like,” it’s your clumsy attempt at humor poking fun at your own imaginings. But he doesn’t smile. 

“You mean that?” As if you pressed the very air from his lungs, he dips his head low, hardly breathes. He stares down at the dirt, before he sits all the way up. He turns to you, something you’ve never seen pulls at his features. Makes his brow scrunch and his cheek pull in like he’s chewing on it. 

“Do you want me to? To mean it?” Your head is full of hot air, dizzy at the thought. You set the flowers down on the crate behind you. Your hips lift and scoot to make what little room you can for Arthur’s frame. You had always known he was quite big, wide shouldered. Nothing makes you realize that more than the way you turn on your side to fit him. You’re in a dream, you must be. 

One you don’t want to wake from. You soak up his warmth, listen to the sounds he makes. Arthur arranges himself so awkwardly it could make you laugh if you didn’t fear breaking this trance he’s in. You bunch your hands up close to your chest, tucked into his shoulder. The wind playing with the flaps of canvas around you distracts you enough to let him settle.

The black hat he wears everywhere sits on the table, he rubs one of his hands over his cheek, down his jaw. “You’re alright with this?” 

“I trust you.” There isn’t much room in his bed, you don’t even know how he sleeps in it comfortably with him being as long as he is. But maybe he doesn’t. He comes back to it most nights though. He came back to it tonight, even if he knew you were sick and that he’d want to make you stay in it. You squeeze into Arthur’s side. 

He scoffs like he has something funny to say about your words. In the dim candle light, his chest rises steadily. This close to his neck, you can feel his pulse pick up, like yours as you come to your senses. You are sharing a bed with Arthur. There's a tightness in your belly, fingernails dig into your palm. 

“Thank you again, for letting me stay,” you whisper but you forget that you’re facing his ear. He hasn’t once turned to look at you. The smallest tremor goes through him. The tiniest details of him become more apparent to you. A nicked scar on the bridge of his nose, sweat beading on the tanned skin of his throat. His brow pinches and his eyes stare at the bottom of his make-shift roof. 

“S’ no problem, now… jus’ sleep, will ya?” you nod, trying to keep what fraction of space you can between you but you give up, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you murmur, humming as you sink comfortably next to him.

“Night,” his stiff response makes you stifle a giggle. Relaxing into his bed, you sigh. Even if you’ve been sleeping for most of the day, you still find it again quickly. 

In the morning, the bed is still warm but you’re alone in it. In the haziness of sleep, you can hear scratching and some shuffling, the jingle of Arthur’s spurs as he pulls the flap open and slips out. You open your eyes more when you’re sure he’s gone, the quiet command he gives his horse to go.

On the table, is a note, white smooth paper, smudged with black powdery pencil lead. You pick it up gently before reading it, the gray morning light lets you read. You touch gently at where he started and crossed out his words twice before starting again.

‘Hope you feel better today. You can hide in here if you need to.’ 

You smile as you go back to your small space amongst the girls with your two prizes. A bouquet of yarrow and a pretty note signed by Arthur Morgan. 

just what the doctor ordered for meeee so sorry if this isnt really your thing but thanks for reading !!💓💓💖💖🥹🥹

[civilbucky]

I saw thunderbolts today 🥹

NON SPOILER OPINIONS!

i think for starters the casting was done BEAUTIFULLY!

lewis pullman did an amazing job as bob and i would actually die for him. 10/10

this movie was such a breath of fresh air. marvel i feel like actually listened to what fans wanted and did a great job.

laughed way more than i expected??? had my ass giggling so much omg.

i feel like people saying this movie sucked or was mid missed the point IMO

it was sooooooo nice seeing accurate super soldier strength and little details pertaining to them being super soldiers. *chefs kiss*

THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS AHEAD

I WAS SO FUCKING FERAL I CANT BELIEVE HOW MUCH SCREENTIME BUCKY HAS

YELENA AND ALEXEI???? OH MY GOOOOOOOOD WHEN ALEXEI SAVES THAT LITTLE GIRL AND IMMEDIATELY GET SMOKES WAS SO FUCKING CRUEL HE SAW YOUNG YELENA AND I COULDVE SWORN SHE WAS GONNA DIE LIKE SOME TWISTED ASS FORESHADOWING 😭 their relationship in this movie actually hurt me so much i loved getting more from them!!! also the thunderbolts being named after her soccer team was so sweet. alexei was such a dad and SHOWED UP! even after being torn into by yelena.

i loved wyatt russell. i think hes such an amazing actor and i feel like we get so much more walker that shows his true color. i love that marvel doesnt try and make him a hero nor do they try and make him "redeemable". he truly is himself and selfish in ways where he puts himself first and then others second. his wife leaving him and taking his child are the consequences of his own actions, and we can empathize with him without feeling like they were trying to make us love him. he is such an interesting character and i loved him in this movie.

WHY WOULD THEY KILL TASKMASTER SO EARLY ON?!?! SHE HAD SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND IT WOULDVE BEEN AMAZING TO SEE!!! i get its more comic accurate but she was such a fascinating character. wish i couldve seen her more.

i feel like ghost didnt have as much depth in this movie compared to quantumania. i still loved her character in this movie and she was quick as shit on her feet talkin mad shit to john which KILLED ME they were all so funny 💀 she was so useful and brutally honest and i could gush over her all day.

and now to bucky... my main MAN 😫 PERSONALLY WOULDNT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO HANDLE HIS VOID I WAS CRYING ENOUGH IN THAT MOVIE!!! i wouldve loved to see it but it was so nice watching a movie where he wasnt constantly suffering. he is such an amazing character and i was sobbing at the fact that he never truly wanted to fight and was always thrown into wars, and now he was saving people and working with a team to try and help people rather than killing them. their faces when people were cheering for them had me losing it in the theater. i feel like to a point valentina did rope him in to be the new avengerz (hehe thank you alexei) but he seemed genuinely happy and i feel like itll be so good for him to feel like he can do good and prove it to himself.

alSO HIM AND SAM FIGHTING AND BEING BORDERLINE ENEMIES???? COME FUCKING ON NOW!!!!! i feel like sam shouldve been supportive but i completely understand the anger about the name. but my baby is doing so good leave him alone!!! he wants to do good!!!! (i dont truly believe they are enemies. i think they have such a solid foundation they will come back from this but it broke my heart)

personally could talk about bob all day. the way his back story was set up and his home life??? DAMN!!! he was an anazing character with such a range and depth that lewis pullman really hit it out of the park. sentry was so haunting to see and the void really had me crying in the club. showing how much it can help you to just lean on your friends around you was such an amazing touch. after the post credit scenes of him not being sentry/the void anymore i am so excited and curious for what they do in doomsday!!! GAHHHHHH BOB I LOVE YOU!!!

all in all 100000000/10 the mental health and leaning on people for help was so beautiful and well done. yelena taking responsibility and telling bob that she was wrong about shoving it down was something to BEHOLD. i absolutely loved this movie and i think all characters being their authentic self really made it.

[blippymilk]

Brozone (+ Poppy & Viva) x Touch Starved Fem! Reader

Ok the request is that the reader is a touch starved, easily flustered, insecure yet passionate female. Her hair can change based on how she’s feeling. She likes to rant and info dump a lot. She likes drawing herself and her loved ones, and gives small gifts as a form of affection or to make them feel better. There will be a friend and s/o version.

(I’m also really sorry if this is not to the liking of the request, I kind of struggled while making this 😭)

John Dory:

Friend:

- As your friend he’s a little concerned for you

- Like he knows your fine but sometime he worries 😭

- But nothing JD can’t handle

- Genuinely enjoys your little gifts but he never makes it obvious at first

“Hey JD look I made you a little gift.” :)

“Oh that’s sweet. Can you put it on my desk? I’ll look at it later.”

- One day him and his brothers were rough housing around while you Poppy, and Viva stood by cheering them on. Bruce gets a little too rough with him and knocks something out of his jacket, it was your gift

- This man stops everything

- Like everything

- Like everyone’s frozen in place no matter what stance they’re in

- And picks it up and places it gently back in the pockets inside his jacket then lectures the boys about how he could’ve gotten his belongings crushed 😭

S/O:

- Still worries about you even after being together

- Sometimes the way your emotions change with your hair startles him

- And that’s mostly because your emotions can change rapidly

- But he also finds it really funny

- So prepare for his scare attacks

- Your hair gets so spiky, and you get so mad

“Oh come on I was only playing around babe. Tell you what, I’ll find a better way to mess with your hair.”

- And he did, which was by flustering you with comments that boost your confidence

- Your face turns red and your hair poofs up then falls around your head

- You’re always muttering a lot just like Viva and Poppy and JD finds it hilarious that him, Branch, and Clay are in the same boat (not saying Clay and Viva are not dating jus to clarify 😭)

Floyd:

Friend:

- Loves having a friend that’s the complete opposite of him

- He’ll listen to you rant all day

- With feedback on every question and statement

- Also finds your hair amusing but won’t abuse it’s power on purpose like John 😭

- Shocked by your passion to draw

“Is that me and you?”

“You know it.”

“I love it.” 🥹

S/O:

- Absolutely head over heels for you

- Still would be into listening to you rant but he’s helping you calm down a bit more

- Now your drawings had a more romantic reference behind them and he loved them even more

- No matter where he goes he always has one of your pictures on him

- He carries it around and values it like cash

- And absolutely none of his (little) brothers are getting their hands on it (yes he’s aware that they’re all adults now)

Spruce Bruce

Friend:

- He’s an expert on hair so he’s not too shocked or anything

- I mean look at that fluff on his head

- Seeing as Bruce could handle so many kids in the movie I believe he could deal with a ranting partner just fine

- He knows how to avoid frustration with you

S/O:

- Finds everything you do cute (c’mon it’s Bruce)

- He loves your arts & crafts

- Probably more than you

- Just like John he likes to you see you flustered with that big frizz on your head

- Your hair is constantly poofy because this man never stopsssss

“Hey (____) did it hurt when you fell?”

“Huh?”

“When you fell. From heaven?”

“Bruce you’re litteraly gonna kill me and my hair…”

- Definitely helps you get the knots out afterward 😭

Clay:

Friends:

- He hangs around Viva so the rambling is nothing new to him

- Always tries to hide you from Viva because he knows you two would be a unstoppable force ( plus poppyyyyy?!?)

- Hates when you feel insecure in any kind of way possible

- So just like you leave him little sketches, he leaves little notes of affirmations for you to read

- And makes you read them

- Outloud

“I am so pretty, beautiful, smart, talente- Clay do I have to keep-”

“Keep going.”

“Ok but-”

- Extremely intense eye contact

sighhhhhhhh “I am talented, I am kind, I am loyal…”

S/O:

- One of the most respectful boyfriends in the world

- Eventually gives in and let’s you and Viva mingle (possibly a bad descion!!??)

- Astonished by what your hair is capable of (can’t show his excitement tho cause he’s not a fun boy anymore right?)

- He is a words of affection (and physical touch sjejkemsjks) kinda guy so as your boyfriend he’s all you could ask for

- So now your attached to this man like glue and it’s kind of his fault

- Has to pry you off sometime but he will never stop loving you the same

“I love youuuuuu.”

“I love youuuuuu too.”

Branch:

Friend:

- Just like Clay he’s friends with Poppy so he’s used to the talking behavior (no Boppy in thissss 😔)

- You guys didn’t exactly hit it off at first either

- You met him during his “no color” era so that makes most of the sense

- ntgl when he first finds out about your hair he’s thrown off

- And the other trolls had so much fun with it that he considered you a distraction from the bergens soooo he wasn’t too fond of you

- And it takes a while but eventually you both become inseparable

“You hated me for no reason, and now I’m your favorite.”

“Yeah yeah.”

S/O:

- He’s growing as in character development

- So now instead of getting upset he uses your hair to read you

- He never really knows when he’s doing anything right or wrong as far as the relationship so he depends on your hair to know which path to take

- Your info dumping soothes him, wether he likes it or not

- He plays it off subtly but he knows how to fluster you and he takes pride in that (*AHEM* SINGING)

Poppy:

Friend:

- Doesn’t even realize that you’re rambling cause she’s doing it too

- You both are a special duo that at one point drove Branch up a tree (no pun intended)

- As much as the trolls like you, they don’t realize how actually dangerous you two could be together 😭

- And you can imagine the fear on Branch’s face when he finds out Viva and Poppy are sisters

S/O:

- Everyone knows Poppy is a scrapbooking master so when she begins to receive little arts and crafts from you she’s in love

- Like she’s bouncing off the wall excited

- Literally (it’s Poppy)

- She’s superrr touchy-feely so your living your best life

- Your hair is so fun and amusing to her

- Like JD she might try to scare you a couple times to see your hair spike up for fun but cuddles you after

“I’m sorry sweetieeee you know I can’t help it. Your hair is just so fun!”

“Poppyyyy you say that everytimeeee!”

Viva:

Friends:

- Basically Poppy’s doppelgänger so what can you expect?!

- Always rambling but somehow always manages to do it more than you

- She might just be you plus Poppy times five

- Clay tried to help you hide your hair for the sake of you and Viva

- Unfortunately she popped up out of nowhere startling you both and causing your hair to go erratic

“So so sorry guys I didn’t mean to…OMG YOUR HAIR!”

S/O:

- Everything you could ask for from a girlfriend

- Like she literally could not have given you anymore

- She loves your art works

- She loves to hear you talk and join in with you

- She loves the touchy-feely type

- She literally can’t find a single flaw in you whatsoever

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap��� You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[rebelcaptain4life]

This episode felt straight out of a fanfic /pos

BOTH OF THEM THINKING OF THAT NIGHT

Not Tim telling Nolan to pick out a fight on the job to blow off steam 🤦🏻‍♀️ sir I thought you'd learned your lesson about doing that in s1

Ever since I heard Tim was going to therapy this episode, I was imagining him saying he accidentally slept with Lucy and his group being like "nooo dude". And it's basically canon??? He talks about her enough that the whole group knows about her???? And finally Tim was told to STOP 👏 TAKING 👏 AWAY 👏 LUCY'S 👏 AGENCY

I literally read a fic today where Seth went UC with Tamara at a college party to get drugs. He fcked up and it got Lucy and Tamara injured which led to Tim cursing out and firing Seth. I know Seth's not fired (yet) but Tim basically said he'd get rid of him if he put Lucy in danger 😍

Also Tim being Lucy's immediate pick for back-up and him immediately saying he'll get someone to switch with him to go help instead of sending the people to her 🥰

I'm so happy we got Tamara back!!! And she canonically still has a key to the apt 🥰🥰🥰

How did Nolan not get into more trouble for leaving the shop with both doors open and unlocked?

Angela knowing Tim is lonely and depressed. I love Angela&Tim bestieism

Very sweet applause for Celina! Much more pomp and ceremony for her than for any of the previous Rookies but I give that to Nolan for actually giving praise

Idk how I felt about the "female cops drooling over the hot criminal" gag. Once with each of Celina, Lopez, and Harper would've been enough. But it was just waaay overdone esp with having all the female cops (+ 1 guy) coming to check him out... Esp in an episode with another plot about giving your partners agency and about dv...

I love Miles 😭😭😭

Tamara x Seth uhhhh??? But also Chenford being Tamara's parents 🥹🥹🥹 "do you want me to put the fear of Bradford into him?" Jsjsjsjsjsjsj

So uhhh Seth actually has cancer 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

Still annoyed at Bailey blaming Nolan for like not talking to her when she literally left the house for a WEEK???? Glad she got there in the end but bffr girl. Also is this the end of the malvado story??? Is John gonna let the plot to murder go???

So glad Nyla and James worked it out, too. And hopefully we'll get to see some of the work of her group!

Wopez being the only couple not having problems 😭

So basically every couple is more or less back to normal except Chenford!!!

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Okay I'm back from a whirlwind zip through London and Florence, heart full of love and eyes full of Benophie so let’s make a breakdown of my errant unhinged thoughts on the season 4 sneak peek!

Benophie: They are somehow both my parents and my children 🥹

Goobie hurts either his ears or his delicious slender fingies and then tries to play it off hoping no one saw

Beneloise are going to continue to be the best, obviously

Violet. VIOLET 🥵 Mama is ready to SLAY. Marcus better be disguised as a cat at this party because that man should be on all fours ready to lap up whatever treats she gives him.

Also: don't even get me started on Eloise of Arc there in the background and how the show dressed her in the coolest possible iteration of this costume. Holy shit, season 4, slow down. I’m starting to think this is a quality tv show…

LOOK at the masquerade! LOOKADDITT!! This is not the cacophony of metallic technicolor vomit season 3 taught me to expect. This is not chintzy flowers and sequins. This is a reversion to season 1’s muted palette. This is dark fantasy. This is the masquerade in The Labyrinth. It’s spooky, it’s moody, and it’s better than I had ever hoped for from Jess Brownell. She said herself Bowie covers may make it onto the soundtrack. I’ll start to pray now.

Uh, Jess Brownell...is that you?

The unicorn-head lady is absolutely sending me 🤣🤣

My sweet, beloved, beautiful John all returned from Scotland and having fun 😭😭😭 why do you do this to me

So clearly costuming decided both to grant mercy to Penelope and bypass her Leprechaun-ification (presumably problematic given Nic is Irish) and give Pirate Colin his Behemoth-Hatted Pirate Wife, Penelope the Blonde. I think Pen has just become Nicola at this point. It's...a lewk and I'm here for it. But who exactly wants to speak to Mrs. Bridgerton now that she's a known mole for the Queen is beyond me.

There she is, the people's princess, absolutely radiant 🥹🩶

Benedict being a smart ass: "Please enter my mother's domicile to begin your tenure of servitude while I begrudgingly permit you to have free will, all the while intending to grabass you in the halls and woo you into being mine forever."

Cinderella era, here we gooooooo

God, they already look like bitches. I'm going to love to hate them.

*screaming, crying, throwing up* as he holds her like she's made of glass; like she's a dream that will evaporate if he looks away, as he touches her for the first time and teaches her to dance 🫠 The way I have DREAMED of this for YEARS 💙

MY COTTAGE MY COTTAGE MY COTTAGE MY COTTAGE WET MY COTTAGE

EX-FUCKING SCUSE ME, WHO INVITED CLIVE OWEN ONTO THE SET? I legitimately had to pause to realize this was him because I saw both Clive Owen and EDMUND first and now I'm remembering how a critic ages ago described the similarity to Clive and also how good the casting is that he looks just like his father and I fucking CAN'T and he's not the only thing that's soaking wet and heaving 😰 giving her those fuck me eyes right from the get

Apparently because his disguise is so shit, his masquerade tekkers is to whip out his gravely Batman voice. Okay, Bruce Bridgerton, calm down. You won't tell your mother? I recall this was also your concern three seasons ago. Always sneaking behind Violet's back, aye? Just kidding, baritone daddy. Let's keep our dirty gazebo secrets together uwu

They did it. They fucking did it. They gave him the phaeton.

THEN WHY DON'T YOU GO AHEAD AND RIP MY OVARIES OUT WITH YOUR BARE HANDS SHONDA? GO RIGHT AHEAD AND SHOW ME CANON PAPA BEARDTHONY AND WATCH ME DIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY COMPUTER SCREEN. THANKS.

So, in summary...

Season 4 already looks waaaaaay better than I had dared to hope for. The palette. The vibes. The obvious book accuracy. I have...no notes, other than to squeal in barely-contained excitement for *checks watch* about 18 months. Here's hoping it ultimately does satisfy. I'm at least grateful for the very juicy crumbs we're getting in the meantime 💙

[iz-star]

These glasses making Zayne to remember Zack 🥹❤️

I think it's especially endearing to me cause when Zack at first was introduced, it was as a troublesome patient. However, when Zayne entered the room and calmed him down, it was easy to realize that Zack only felt alone and needed someone to treat him with humanity.

The nurses and other doctors got kinda scared at his outburst that their first reaction was to tie him up to try to take back the access card he was trying to swallow. He just needed someone to talk to, to pass the time with, so Zayne not only showed his commitment by talking to him with calm but also coming to the hospital to play chess with him on his day off.

We constantly talk about how Zayne saves lifes, but we don't talk enough how it's always mentioned that his patients love him. He treats them with so much patience and humanity cause let's remember that being in a hospital is for the most cases a sad or exasperating experience.

Zayne spending time with Zack because he felt alone, Zayne softening his voice to try to comfort Taniah with so much tenderness, the way he's been voted the favorite Doctor by most patients, the way it's mentioned most patients follow his orders, the way even the kids are so comfortable around him to draw him laying on the grass and also asking him to peel apples for them.

We also knew that he liked animals but with his last solo banner event we just learned how much he likes them, to the point of getting ready as if he was going to meet another person, studying what to do in order to treat them correctly or not doing or give something to them that could be bad for their health.

It makes sense that he's a Doctor and even in battle his skills are more for support and healing. It's not in his nature to hurt others (even if he can clearly do so) and when he has done it, it's been bc he was asked to and bc it was a mercy kill (William). He's obssesed about saving lifes that I can only think how devastating having to kill William was for him, even if he didn't show it.

(Kinda want to read a fic where Dr Noah comforts him after losing William 😭).

The way he values life and respects its course is something that I appreciate deeply.

I think his first anecdote it's a good example of what it's like getting to know Zayne. John was pretty scared about him and most players also misjudged him as "cold" and "doesn't care about MC" initially. But paying attention to these details, you could clearly see how much tenderness and consideration he holds for other living beings (He's even a plants man!).

They say good things don't come easy, so I knew that it would take some time for Zayne to loosen up, but that didn't really mean that he was cold or uninterested in MC. Even to these days, I still laugh whenever he roasts MC or me (cause sometimes when he roasts her, it's about things it's easy to relate to, like sleeping late ahaha).

But my initial point is: I love the way the devs have put special care in show his humanity. He's not overly kind to the point of looking fake, neither heartless. He's patient, he shows his concern sometimes in a sweet way and sometimes in a way that can be annoying for the patient (like MC or that Hunter that was being a specially difficult patient in one Zayne's anecdotes). Zayne is good at doing lots of things but his weakness are carrots, he's always telling MC to follow doctors orders but he easily says "Doctors exaggerate all the time" when you play the same cards on him. He's so etheral and at the same time so human too, and I love that of him. His little sins are what make him so endearing.

I love that he mentions Zack in the café and the devs deliberately made him show a kinda sad or concerned face when he mentions him. He doesn't complain, doesn't mention Zack's childish tantrums.

I think one of my strongest obssesions about him being kind and patient as a Doctor is that I live in a country where the medical sector is not given enough resources to work properly so the medical staff most cases gets underpaid, ends up exhausted and lose sensitivity when treating patients. Being a Doctor is not easy, we all know it but Zayne has never made it a problem for him to treat everyone with the respect (for their life and autonomy) that they deserve.

Of course, it's way too easy to be like that in fiction. But it's so comforting and ngl sometimes when my patience is running thin, I just think I'd like to be just as kind and patient as Zayne.

(Side note but Zayne decided to wear the butler kitty costume again lol he's trying so hard for me to like this card xD).

[babydollmarauders]

FOREVERMORE — JOHN MARINO

part of the Maraschino Cherry! AU

y/nmercer

liked by john.marino97, nhl, and 5,743 others

y/nmercer sorry daws, i think john’s gift has your stuffed dino present beat

i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, i love you forevermore, my sweet cherry 🤍❤️

tagged john.marino97

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dawson1417 he one upped me!

y/nmercer i think he triple upped you, bubba

dawson1417 that bitch 😒

dawson1417 but fr, i’m happy for you guys! congratulations, bubby ❤️ you’re getting the happily ever after you deserve

y/nmercer DON’T MAKE ME CRY AGAIN, PLEASE! I CAN’T KEEP FIXING MY MAKEUP

john.marino97 so enchanted by the thought of forever with you 🤍

y/nmercer stfu and kiss me before i cry into your pillow and leave mascara on it

john.marino97 why MY pillow?

y/nmercer so that every night you have to sleep with the reminder that you made me cry

john.marino97 GOOD tears! but i’ll always kiss you regardless

user87 did they not JUST start dating?!

y/nmercer we’ve been together for 8 months, known each other for 14! but when you know, you know 🤍

user63 shotgun wedding???

y/nmercer haha no! not pregnant! just hopelessly in love and eternally grateful to be able to marry him!

user90 your love is so pure 🥹

jackhughes WHAT?! WHY DIDN’T I KNOW HE WAS PROPOSING??

naterbastian i did

jackhughes @/john.marino97 YOU TOLD BASS AND NOT ME??

john.marino97 you would’ve let it slip in 0.5 seconds

jackhughes congrats, i guess 😒

y/nmercer thanks, i guess ?

naterbastian congratulations, can’t wait to be the best man!

john.marino97 i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Paul is gonna be my best man

naterbastian that’s chill, i’ll be the man of honor!

y/nmercer well this is awkward…. dawson will be being my man of honor 🫶🏻

naterbastian damn twins

naterbastian fine, i’ll settle for groomsman

john.marino97 THAT, you can do!

nicohischier congratulations ❤️ wishing you two nothing but happiness

y/nmercer oh buggaboo 🥺 thank you!

njdevils A CHRISTMAS ENGAGEMENT!! WE LOVE TO SEE IT!!

user12 imagine meeting your future husband through your twin brother… brb crying

nhl congratulations to the future Mr. and Mrs. Marino! 💍❤️

user28 a quick engagement…. either she’s a gold digger or she really moves fast

user93 he’s the one who proposed?? also, she wouldn’t need to gold dig, she’s an independent woman with her own job. and even if she wasn’t, it’s pretty obvious she and her brother (who is also in the nhl!) are super close and he would probably be more than happy to pay for everything for her lmao. she and john are obviously just in love and know that they’re it for each other. and for all we know, they could have a long engagement, but even if they eloped tomorrow it would be none of our business

liked by y/nmercer

jesperbratt does this mean i have to call you “little Marino” instead?

y/nmercer well, eventually yes! but not yet!

lhughes_06 MRS. MARASCHINO CHERRY COMING 2k24???

y/nmercer we’re not sure on when yet, but MRS. MARASCHINO CHERRY!!

john.marino97 my future wife 🤍

lhughes_06 @/john.marino97 are you my new dad?

john.marino97 i don’t know how to answer that

y/nmercer yes he is! be kind to him!

john.marino97 so our first child is… a 20 year old that already has parents of his own?

lhughes_06 daddy!

john.marino97 don’t.

[aliaology]

hi!! could i request a social media au where hughes!sister is a type of gracie abrams type singer and then she releases ‘dear john’ and i hate to say it but the non taylor’s version JUST for the fact that taylor’s voice is younger👍

but yeah if you can please do that it would be great but if you can’t that’s okay🫶🏻🫶🏻

btw your new quinn fic ATE😁😁

ofc babe!! and ty 🤭🤭🤭

this is not apart of my older sister!hughes au! this is all younger sister 🤍

do stream taylors version, but for this we are using the old one just for her young voice!!

hughes.yn

liked by jackhughes, trevorzegras and 387,736 others

hughes.yn hi everyone!! over the past few months, ive been radio silent to everyone, including my own family, and all for personal reasons that i felt i had to go through on my own. here right now, is the first time anyone has heard from me for awhile now. im here to announce that ive made another song! and its currently out now on all streaming platforms!

the song is called ‘dear john’ and i honestly put all of my raw emotions into it. i went through a lot these past months and singing, producing and overall making this song has helped me immensely.

i love you all. especially my brothers and my parents, all to the moon and back.

p.s im sorry this song isnt like my other ones. i took the even sadder root and dug to my core for this one.

comments

user OH MY GOD??

user her voice is HEAVENLY.

user LITERALLY

trevorzegras LIL HUGHES OH MY GOD.

trevorzegras im actually in shock cut it out

trevorzegras look at lil hughes go 🥹🥹

user no bc this song so perfectly shows how denial feels. how she immediately felt like whoever the boy was, was her soulmate, but ultimately wasn’t but she kept denying it. how shes finally accepting everything after realizing it wasn’t real.

user bro made it even MORE sad.

jackhughes come home please

jackhughes and tell me who tf did this shit

jackhughes i’ll literally bust his fucking face in ❤️

user protective jack 🔛🔝

user THIS IS SO SAD NOOOOOOO

user this is so lyrically genius for a nineteen year old, im actually in shock

gracieabrams gorgeous girl this is so good 🤍

user YOU ARE AN EXPERT AT SORRY AND KEEPING LINES BLURRY

lhughes_06 bub come home and tell us who did this

_quinnhughes ❤️❤️ proud of you kid

hughes.yn

liked by markestapa, edwards.73 and 276,287 others

hughes.yn you burnt me out, but he lit my flame right back up 🤍

comments

user WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY

user it should be me… holding your hand 😞

user dramatic ass

jackhughes happy ur happy sissy 🤍

user why does she not reply to comments?

user is she obligated to or sumn? hop off her dick

lhughes_06 still so upset abt this

edwards.73 you lied and you know it

lhughes_06 i know 😞

markestapa ❤️

user MARk?

user shes happy… so im happy… 🥹😭

_quinnhughes great, now come to vancouver!

user he paints her skies blue and keeps them clear 🥹🥹

liked by author, markestapa and 726 others

elblue6 so proud of you sweet girl 🤍

user i love the entire hughes family.

user SHES MINE NOOOOOO

okay so idk how i feel abt it but i hope u like pookie

tags (perm!) @hockeyboysarehot (text or wtvr if u wanna be added babes!)

[jade-green-butterfly]

'Stars In His Eyes~'🌌(💚John Dory x Amalthea🪐)

As promised in my recent post -> https://www.tumblr.com/jade-green-butterfly/739625758724685824/got-some-more-johnalthea-jd-x-amalthea-my-space?source=share I finally get the chance to share more goodness of my newest Trolls ship, John Dory x my Space Troll OC, Amalthea and...~ 👀👀👀 BEHOOOOLD~!! 😍🌟😍🌟😍

Done by the sweet and epic @fernistired~💕🌿

Done by the lovely and amazing @jaguardorado16~✨🔥 The true magnificent beauties of two stunning masterpieces you see before you~!!💖🤩💖🤩💖

They're both just so, so gorgeous - I could cry!!😭😭😭 I am absolutely love, love, LOVING them both to the stars and back~!!🥰🥹🌠🥹🥰

Speaking of stars, both commissions of this tenderly romantic scene were actually inspired by the famous Aristocats' sapphire eyes scene and a romantically exciting RP me and my dear bestie, @x-elyssa-x are doing of how JD and Amalthea met in an explorer AU - where Amalthea is experiencing life in Troll Kingdom for the very first time after travelling from her Space Kingdom, finds herself in Troll Village during a huge storm and is taken in by Grandma Rosiepuff (yes, she is alive and well in this AU, along with BroZone still together, yet living their own lives but still visit their dear grandma~😌) Amalthea and John's relationship begins to grow over time and JD, feeling love, finally plucks up the courage to propose to Amalthea, which she happily accepts, for she really loves him back for who he is~💚😊The two of them then travel with Rhonda, back to Space Kingdom so John can experience life there, just like Ama did in his kingdom✨ Hope you all like, my lovelies!👍🏻😁💞And a MASSIVE thank-you in a million to my awesome Fern and Jaguar for these wonderful treasures - you have both done such a fantastic job and I am ever soooo happy, over the moon and grateful for them both~!💝🫂🌟🫂💝Bless you both, my dears~!🌹😘💕🫶🏻xoxo.

*~Reblogs are also deeply appreciated as well, so please do reblog as well as like! Thank-you kindly!~*

Space Trolls (c) @x-elyssa-x~💜 Amalthea (c) @jade-green-butterfly (Me~!) John Dory (c) DreamWorks Trolls/DreamWorks Animation

[thecheramore]

Hey! I completely forgot to show y'all these two cute drawings that my dear friend Nastya drew for me as a gift 💗

That was so sweet of her 🥹🫶🏻

Billy & Black Dog and John & Nan! They turned out so sweet and cozy, I'm in love!!!

[sagesolsticewrites]

Does Vika have a best friend? How long have they known each other? What do they like most about each other? How did they meet?

Oh goodness, I am so glad you asked this! Thank you, it’s genuinely so much fun to ramble about my girlies 🥹🫶

Vika’s best friend just so happens to be my other OC, Juliet! They’ve known each other since middle school (a little over a decade now), when Juliet decided to befriend the sweet little brown girl sitting in the back of the class who was clearly struggling with this reading assignment. Vika— full name Ruthvika, she was going by her Americanized nickname “Ruthie” back then— was very taken aback by this random white girl talking to her, and very shyly and politely made as little conversation as possible, thinking that it was a joke or at the very least a one-time thing.

(It was not 🤭)

Juliet made a point of sitting near her in class and made small talk and soon enough they ended up sitting together at lunch and soon Vika’s pretty sure she’s made her first ever friend? It’s a true and genuine bright spot for Vika given how aware she is of how her family’s struggling— trying to run a hotel during the Depression is Not Fun.

They did drift apart after graduation, when Juliet went off to Cornell and Vika stayed behind to help her parents run the hotel. A couple years later, when Juliet’s boyfriend John Brady is shipped off to England as part of the Army Air Force 100th Bomb Group, Juliet is desperate for friendship and eventually reaches out to her childhood friend in an attempt to cope with John being an ocean away. Soon enough, it’s like all those years apart never even happened, and Vika finds herself with the sweetest found family to ever found family during wartime in Juliet’s friends Jean (@winniemaywebber’s oc!) and Jo (@blakelysco-pilot’s oc!)

As for what they like most about each other:

Vika adores how bright Juliet is— not just smarts-wise, although she very much is in that sense, but also how willing she is to see the best in people, how she lights up every room she walks into, how she’s just so genuinely kind to everyone she meets.

Juliet admires how selfless Vika is— she’s always willing to give for her friends and family, always willing to lend a hand or time or whatever they need at that moment, no matter what else she has going on, and she’ll always do it with a smile.