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mccall-muffin · 7 months

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The Lady and the Major - Part 1/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Major Bucky Egan is on leave in London, and what else is there to do than to drink, sing, have a good time, and... of course, ladies. But then he meets Liz, a Lady of the Court, and Bucky is immediately entangled in her net.

Warnings: Language, teasing, use of alcohol - soldiers being soldiers

A/N: Okay, wow... I thought today: "Uh, I have an idea for a OneShot with Bucky Egan," and now I'm sitting here with a three-part story. Jeeeeeez... Uh, but what you gonna do. (I've only seen the first two Episodes of MotA as of now, but... I just love Callum)

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere

(Sorry mates, you just have to be tagged ;))

The Ritz, London, 1943

The opulent bar of the Ritz in London, brimming with the raucous laughter and chatter of soldiers on leave. The air is thick with smoke, jazz music fills the background, and the atmosphere is charged with the night's excitement.

Major John "Bucky" Egan, surrounded by a rowdy group of fellow American soldiers, is the life of the party. His laughter is loudest, his stories the most captivating, and his gaze roams freely, appreciative of the scenery—particularly the women who add a touch of glamour to the smoky room.

Bucky, with a glass of whiskey in hand, leans back, surveying the room with a smug grin. "Gentlemen," he boasts, "London's no match for a Yank with charm. Watch and learn."

His eyes, however, catch a sight that stops him mid-sentence—a vision of elegance seated across the bar. Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, unbeknownst to him, sits alone, her posture the epitome of grace, a long, slender cigarette holder elegantly poised in her hand. The soft glow of the bar lights catches her blonde hair and the sparkle in her blue eyes, making her seem almost ethereal.

Bucky's usual confidence wavers for a moment, his friends noticing the sudden change. "Well, I'll be damned... Who's that?" Bucky mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the British soldiers, a man who has seen his fair share of high society, leans over, a knowing look in his eyes. "That, Yank, is Lady Elizabeth Cavendish. The Duke of Wellington's daughter. I'd tread carefully if I were you. She's out of your league."

Bucky's grin returns, cockier than before. "Out of my league? Buddy, there's no league I can't play in. Watch me."

With a swagger in his step, Bucky makes his way over to Elizabeth, his comrades watching eagerly, some with admiration, others with skepticism, and some with knowing faces.

"Evening, miss. Can I say you light up this room brighter than the London Blitz," he says cockily, letting his charm play.

Elizabeth doesn't even glance up from her drink at first, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. When she finally turns her gaze towards him, it's with an air of amusement. "And can I say that's the most American pickup line I've ever heard?"

Bucky, undeterred, flashes a grin. "Major John Egan, at your service. But for you... You can call me Bucky. And you are?"

Elizabeth finally offers him a small, knowing smile. "Elizabeth Cavendish. And I'm quite aware of who you are, Major Egan. Your reputation precedes you."

Bucky, leaning against the bar closer to Liz, his confidence seemingly unshaken. "Is that so? And what have you heard?"

Liz, taking another slow drag from her cigarette, eyes Bucky with a mixture of interest and challenge. "Oh, just that you're quite the charmer. A real ladies' man. Or so you believe."

The air between them crackles with a mix of tension and intrigue. Bucky, for once, finds himself having to work to maintain his usual smug demeanor. "And what about you, Lady Elizabeth? Do you enjoy games?"

Liz's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, Major, I don't just enjoy them. I excel at them. Care to play?"

The challenge hangs in the air, a silent dare that Bucky, despite the warnings and his better judgment, finds himself unable to resist. "You're on. Let the games begin."

As Bucky signals the bartender for another round of drinks, his fellow soldiers exchange glances, some shaking their heads, others betting amongst themselves on the outcome. What none of them realize is that in the game of seduction and wit, Liz is a master strategist, and Bucky might have just met his match.

Bucky leans closer, his confidence unwavering. "So, Liz, you don't mind me calling you Liz, right?" he starts, the smug smile never leaving his face, "I've flown some of the most dangerous missions over Germany, you know. But I must say, navigating this conversation with you feels like my most thrilling challenge yet."

Liz lets out a soft, amused laugh. "Major Egan, I've met many men who believe their war stories could sweep a girl off her feet. And maybe it actually does some. But it's going to take more than tales of aerial feats to impress me," she replies, her voice laced with a teasing sarcasm that only someone of her breeding and wit could perfect.

The night progresses, and with each drink, Bucky becomes more audacious, his hand finding its way to the small of Liz's back, a bold move that, in any other circumstance, would have guaranteed success. Liz, however, is not any woman he's encountered before. She plays along, leaning in as if captivated by his charm, her lips tantalizingly close to his, only to pull away at the last moment, leaving him wanting more.

Their conversation ebbs and flows, with Bucky regaling her with his exploits, each tale more daring than the last. Yet, Liz remains unimpressed, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement rather than awe. It's a dance they're both familiar with, but in this instance, Liz leads, her every move calculated to keep him on his toes.

As the night wears on, Liz finishes her drink, placing the glass delicately on the bar. She rises from her stool, the movement graceful and deliberate. "Well, Major, it has been... interesting," she says, her tone implying a myriad of things left unsaid.

Bucky, taken aback by her sudden desire to leave, scrambles to his feet. "Wait, Liz, why don't you stay for another drink? The night is still young, and I feel we've barely scratched the surface."

Liz turns to him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I'm afraid I have other engagements to attend to, Major. But I must thank you for the entertainment," she teases, her gaze piercing through him with a challenge that silently says she's not one to be easily conquered.

As she walks away, Bucky watches, a mix of frustration and fascination written across his face. For the first time, he's encountered a woman who not only matches his wit but exceeds it, leaving him in uncharted territory. Liz, with her aristocratic poise and undeniable charm, has turned the tables on him, making it clear that if he wishes to pursue her, he's in for a game unlike any he's played before.

Returning to his comrades, Bucky's expression is a mix of irritation and resolve, a stark contrast to the confident swagger he had before approaching Liz. The British soldiers, having observed the entire exchange, can't help but wear smirks of "told you so" on their faces.

"Well, Major, looks like the ice queen has claimed another victim," one of the Brits comments, clapping Bucky on the shoulder with a laugh that's both sympathetic and mocking.

Bucky, undeterred, shoots back, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Another British soldier chimes in, swirling his drink, "Mate, many have tried to climb that mountain. From viscounts to earls, not a single one has reached the summit. Lady Cavendish is... well, she's a fortress."

"Yeah, heard she loves to make sport of men, seeing who can try and fail the most spectacularly," adds a third, his tone laced with a mix of admiration and warning.

One of Bucky's American friends, attempting to find a solution, suggests, "Did you pull the pilot card? Chicks love pilots." The suggestion hangs in the air until another British soldier, who had been quietly listening, interjects, "Her brother's Captain Edward Cavendish, Royal Air Force war hero. Your pilot card might as well be a library card."

The revelation doesn't dampen Bucky's spirits; if anything, it fuels his determination. His jaw sets firmly, the challenge now more personal than ever. "So, she's used to high-flyers, huh? Well, she hasn't met anyone like me. I'm not just any pilot; I'm Major Bucky Egan. And I don't give up that easily."

The group looks at him, a mix of skepticism and intrigue in their eyes. They know Bucky for his tenacity, his charm, and his unwillingness to back down from a challenge. But Lady Elizabeth Cavendish is not just any challenge—she's a high-stakes game that many have lost.

As the night winds down and the group disperses, Bucky's mind races with plans. He knows winning over someone like Lady Cavendish won't be easy, but he's always loved a challenge. The thought of her, with her piercing blue eyes and that untouchable aura, only makes him more determined. He's ready to prove that he's not like the others, that he's someone who stands out, even in a crowd of heroes.

The stage is set for a captivating game of wit, charm, and strategy. Bucky's resolve and Liz's cunning promise a tale of intrigue, where each move could either draw them closer or push them further apart.

In the soft morning light filtering through the hotel's dining room windows, Bucky and his fellow soldiers are halfway through their breakfast, the air filled with the light-hearted banter typical of men who've faced much together. The sudden approach of a concierge, bearing the unmistakable posture of formal importance, silences the table. With a discreet cough to announce his presence, the concierge presents a silver platter to Bucky.

Bucky, eyebrows raised in surprise, picks up the envelope resting on the platter. The envelope itself is a work of art, the calligraphy on the front flawlessly executed, hinting at the significance of its contents. His name, "Major John Egan, US Air Force," is inscribed with elegant flourishes that speak of a bygone era of meticulous attention to detail.

As he carefully opens the envelope, the anticipation among his comrades is palpable. They watch as Bucky's initial confusion shifts to an understanding smile, a silent acknowledgment of the ongoing saga that had captivated them since last night. He pulls out the invitation, and it reads:

Major John Egan,

It is with great pleasure that Arthur Cavendish, Duke of Wellington, and Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Wellington, extend to you an invitation to a gala being held at our family estate, Wellington House, on the evening of this day.

This event will assemble distinguished individuals from various sectors of British and Allied societies in a celebration of unity and resilience in these challenging times.

Date: This evening at 7 o'clock post meridiem

Dress Code: Formal (Black Tie)

Location: Wellington House, Kent

We anticipate the honor of your presence and look forward to an evening of meaningful exchanges and spirited fellowship.

Kindly present this invitation at the entrance.

Sincerely, The Duke of Wellington

Bucky's grin now spread wide across his face, confirms the unspoken thoughts of his table. "Looks like I've got plans this evening," he announces, his voice a mix of amusement and intrigue.

The soldiers around him, well aware of the story behind the invitation, erupt into a mix of cheers and playful jeers. Bucky's encounter with Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, a tale that had quickly become legendary among them, was evidently far from over. This invitation was not just a call to a social event; it was the next chapter in a story that promised to be as unpredictable as it was entertaining.

As the concierge departs, Bucky's mind races with possibilities. The gala at Wellington House was not just an opportunity to step into the world of British aristocracy; it was a chance to see Liz again, to engage in their game of wits and charm. With a sense of adventure stirring in his heart, he knew one thing for sure: the evening promised to be unforgettable.

House Wellington, Kent, 1943

As Bucky steps into the grandeur of the Wellington estate, the opulence of the gala immediately envelops him. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes mingling with the faint aroma of quality tobacco. The chatter of the high society fills the room, a mixture of refined British accents and the occasional foreign dialect. Bucky, in his crisply pressed formal uniform, stands out—not just for his attire but also for the aura of confidence he carries with him, an unmistakable mark of a man not easily intimidated.

He navigates through the crowd, champagne flute in hand, his eyes scanning the room until they find what they've been searching for: Liz. She's a vision in her gown, embodying the grace and elegance of her status, yet with a glimmer in her eye that hints at her spirited nature. As he approaches, he can't help but admire the way she holds herself, the center of attention yet seemingly uninterested in the adoration she commands.

"Seems like I can't go anywhere without you showing up to steal the spotlight," Bucky teases, offering her a playful smirk as he closes the distance between them.

Liz turns to face him fully, her expression one of amused defiance. "Oh, Major Egan, I was under the impression that an officer of your caliber would know how to read a simple dress code," she retorts, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gives him a once-over. "But I suppose we can't all have the luxury of choice in our evening attire, can we?"

Bucky chuckles, unphased by her jab. "Well, Lady Cavendish, it seems I'm at a disadvantage here. While you dazzle the room in that stunning dress, I'm stuck in this old thing," he says, gesturing to his uniform with a mock sigh. "But let's be honest, we both know I could show up in a burlap sack, and you'd still find it hard to keep your eyes off me."

The air between them crackles with the tension of their banter, a dance they've both come to enjoy. Liz takes a slow drag from her cigarette, held elegantly in a long holder. "Confident, aren't we? Just don't let that confidence get you into trouble, Major. This isn't the front line, and the battles here are fought differently," she says, blowing out a stream of smoke, her gaze locked with his.

"Then consider me armed and dangerous," Bucky replies with a grin, his eyes never leaving hers. "But I'll admit, this is one battlefield I'm looking forward to navigating, especially if it means crossing swords with you, Lady Cavendish."

Their exchange, filled with the playful yet pointed jabs of two individuals equally matched in intellect and charm, sets the tone for the evening. Around them, the gala continues in its whirl of music, laughter, and conversation, but for Bucky and Liz, the rest of the world fades into the background. They are each other's focal point, engaged in a game where the stakes are undefined but unmistakably high, each moment building on the tension and attraction that simmers just below the surface.

As Bucky and Liz continue their verbal dance, the arrival of a British Captain momentarily shifts the atmosphere. The Captain's demeanor is one of polite curiosity mixed with the protective scrutiny of a brother. When he inquires about Bucky, there's a brief tension, a moment where the social games of the evening meet the reality of wartime alliances and personal connections.

Bucky, with the straightforwardness that military life has ingrained in him, extends a hand. "Major John Egan, US Air Force," he introduces himself with a respectful nod, recognizing the familial resemblance in the Captain's features.

Edward's expression warms slightly at the mention of Bucky's service. "Ah, a fellow pilot then. And where might you be stationed, Major Egan?" he asks, a hint of camaraderie entering his voice upon learning of their shared skies.

"With the 100th Bomber Group," Bucky responds, his answer earning a nod of respect from Edward. The reputation of Bucky's outfit precedes him, known even among the British ranks for their bravery and contributions to the war effort.

The conversation takes a turn when Edward's attention shifts towards his sister, curiosity piqued. "And how did you two come to meet?" he inquires, his gaze bouncing between Liz and Bucky, searching for a glimpse into his sister's enigmatic social life.

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, perhaps a little too eagerly, ready to dive into the tale of their first encounter. However, Liz, ever the master of her own narrative, interjects with a grace that belies the quick thinking behind her words. "We met at a charity event just last week," she states, her voice carrying a tone of casual innocence. "Major Egan was kind enough to share some fascinating insights into his experiences in the war so far. It's not every day we have the honor of hearing such stories firsthand."

Edward's expression softens, a mix of brotherly concern and pride evident in his gaze as he looks at Liz. It's clear he's unaware of the full extent of his sister's adventurous spirit and her propensity for finding herself in the company of intriguing characters. "Well, I'm glad to hear our allies are not just brave but also charitable. It's important, especially in times like these, to remember what we're fighting for," he comments, directing a respectful nod towards Bucky.

The moment passes, and Edward excuses himself to greet other guests, leaving Bucky and Liz alone once again. Bucky raises an eyebrow at Liz, impressed by her quick thinking and ability to weave a story that protects her reputation while not entirely dismissing their actual encounter. "A charity event, huh? You're quite the storyteller, Lady Cavendish," he teases, the corners of his mouth turning up in an amused smile.

Liz, taking a delicate sip of her champagne, meets his gaze with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "One must always be prepared to tell the story that needs to be heard, Major Egan. Besides, I couldn't possibly let you ruin all my fun with the truth, now could I?" she replies, her tone playful yet laced with the underlying thrill of their shared secret.

Their exchange, now even more charged with the thrill of their clandestine understanding, continues to weave a complex tapestry of attraction and intrigue, each moment adding to the layers of their unfolding story.

Next Part

#Masters of the Air #MoaT #John Egan x OC #Bucky Egan x OC #John Egan x reader #Bucky Egan x reader #John Bucky Egan #BoB #Callum Turner #Sorry not sorry

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tsukimefuku · 6 months

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Driving lesson

You asked Ijichi for some driving lessons.

Tags: platonic Ijichi & OC/Reader. Friendship. Fluff. Comedy. Crack taken seriously. Ijichi deserves more appreciation, he’s so precious.

WC: 600

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :)

Disclaimer: these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this one fits in the timeline, please refer to the masterlist above.

Also, this is barely proof-read. I apologize for any blunders 😅

The car jumped, jolted and stopped. Then, it jolted, sped up for a few meters, and halted violently again. You and Ijichi were getting savagely shaken inside the car at your less than ideal abilities in driving it. He had his seatbelt on, and held his glasses on his face, afraid they might take flight the next time you moved your feet.

“Ms., what are you doing?” Ijichi asked, concerned, as you gripped the steering wheel like you were holding onto it for dear life.

“I don’t know!” You exclaimed, in a mix of frustration and desperation. “I have no clue.”

You had asked on a day off for ijichi to help you learn some driving skills, if it ever were something you needed. He agreed, a little suspicious and anxious as to why you would ask that, especially from him, given you seemed to be close to other people like Nanami or even Gojo, who could actually aid you in finding somewhere to get a proper driver’s license.

In reality, you just wanted to learn the basics, so here you were, in an empty parking lot, nearly heart arresting the poor man every time the car moved.

He sighed softly, thinking that going over the instructions one more time would be helpful. “Let’s go back to the beginning. You need to press the brake pedal. Then, you push the button on the gear shift, and slide it from Park to Drive, still pressing on the brake pedal.”

“Right, that’s where I’m at right now. I’m holding the brakes.”

“Then, you let go of the brake pedal slowly, and begin pressing the gas pedal softly.” Ijichi was emphatic when he uttered the words slowly and softly.

“At the same time or do I let go of one pedal and then press the other?” You asked, earnestly.

Ijichi was very confused, and you noticed it.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He silently tilted himself to take a look at your feet, and that was when he realized that you had your left foot on the brake pedal, and the right foot on the gas pedal.

“Ms., you need to operate both pedals with your right foot. Just rest your left foot on the opposite corner.” Ijichi said, pushing his glasses back into position once more, incredulous you’d be doing that and thought it was just fine.

“What?! I have to use only one foot?!” You grunted, tilting your head back on the rest. “Who the hell conceived this death contraption?!”

“An American entrepreneur named Henry Ford.”

You sighed. “Ijichi, I know that. It was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” He answered, slightly embarrassed.

“I mean, I think I should actually go get some lessons and get my driver's license?” You thought out loud, scratching your head with one hand as you put the car in Park with the other.

“Heaven’s, no.” Ijichi let out instantly, by accident.

You looked at him surprised, and he tensed up, ready for the scowling he was already very used to receiving from sorcerers.

You were actually amused at his unrestrained sincerity, and began cackling, much to his confusion. Your laughter was wholehearted.

“I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, my expertise needs to be fighting and exorcizing curses,” you began, “and with no false modesty, I feel like I’m pretty good at it.” Your eyes then met Ijichi’s. “I think I should leave navigating this grim machine for people who are good at it. People like you.”

He looked at you a little taken aback, and feeling somewhat proud at the compliment.

“Yeah, ‘heaven’s, no’. That sounds about right,” you said, chuckling again at it. He began laughing with you, feeling his concern subside.

“So, let’s go get something to eat? All these near death experiences made me hungry.” You chirped, light-spirited.

Ijichi nodded. “I’ll drive.”

You started removing your seatbelt so that you could exchange seats. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk ijichi #ijichi kiyotaka #jjk drabbles #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk imagines #jjk fic #jjk x reader

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gentlelass · 2 months

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Hey there.

I know this isn't mainly a social platform of writing, and if you don't care for reading my long-ass bullshit, you're free to scroll. But I was very eager to post here a summary of my Oc, Marjorie's Ford life since her birth to when she first joined the Marigold Gang, at least for that couple of people who will care enough to bother reading, since I've always left you in the dark about most of her past up until now. I will make a storyboard with actual drawings to make it more interesting to the eye at some point, but it'll take long, so for now, enjoy what I have to offer.

The recurring year is 1894, and yet another baby girl is born under the prosperous (not for too much longer) Kingdom of Italy. But not just any child, falling short of aristocracy in terms of wealth: daughter to the Opera singer Caterina Casiraghi (Ford) and the handsome but opportunist American notary who snatched the Italian beauty as soon as he saw her, Christian C. Ford. Second to nobody in her own home but her older brother, Malcom Ford, Marjorie was still spoiled and pampered from all sides, and for a while, they were happy.

But of course it was too good to be true, and soon enough Christian's misdeeds came biting back to him, after a life time of biting more than he could chew: the notary and most of his official possessions burnt to ashes in a fire, and although the cause was officially concluded to be an accident, his family knew in their hearts it was nothing but arson: between what remained of the man's belongings, in fact, the wife found multiple letters of a minatory nature coming from some unspecified shady client of the man's, that he had evidently proceeded to ignore. The widow, left on her own with a man to bury and two children to raise, had no choice but to roll up her sleeves, and the broken family spent the next six years of their lives incessantly hopping from place to place, partially for the matron's role she played in different courts across all Europe as a requested and appreciated soprano, partially to avoid meeting the same early end as the late father and husband may his killers spot them if they stop in a single place too long.

Such circumstances weren't the most normal for the youths to grow up in, and the siblings came out as... not any normal really: while the weight of responsibility hung on the eldest's shoulders, stuck in the role of the "man of the house" and becoming gloomier with each day, the younger could only long to receive that much attention. Daughter unsuitable of inheriting anything, too young to get married to another rich man, and with a voice too small to follow her mother's footsteps into the world of Opera, she soon veered towards theater, her frame, just as small as her voice, nimble and agile, her movements graceful, her scenic presence lovely as she had learnt to emulate from her mother. Still feeling the psychological pressure that was truly only inside her own head from being both female and the younger child, where she couldn't follow her mother's footsteps she instead followed her late father's, soon adopting less-than-savory methods to get ahead in her career, eliminating the competition before it even got the chance to become such.

All prestigious careers however have as much of a raise as they are doomed to have a fall, and in 1914, when the Great War officially broke out, the entertainment business collapsed, specially fields as frivolous as dancing and singing, and the next thing which dropped at dizzingly fast speeds was... the Ford Family's bank account.

The Ford widow, ever the loyal mother and wife, used the last funds she had to send her children to their fatherland America like many other immigrants of the time to seek luck and a better life, and we all can imagine what happened to her, next.

The sole survivors of the Ford Family, at this point aged respectively 21 and 23, were soon separated yet again, however: not any more than a few weeks after they had successfully disembarked in Mexico, in fact, the Italian government spotted them, demanding that Malcom came immediately back to motherland to fight in the army along all other male, able-bodied Italian citizens of age. The boy, after a lifetime of accepting responsibilities, had it drilled into his very subconscious by this point to always answer the call of duty without question, and so he did one last time, taking leave from his sister and all the money they had left. He wrote his sister letters and send her more money for some time, directing them to Mexico City where he had left her. After a while however he stopped receiving answers from her altogether, an no sibling ever heard from the other ever since.

This is because Marjorie after some months of permanence in Mexico, working some gigs here and there, plus the money she was receiving from her brother, finally saw an opportunity to build a new life all for herself, where she would be the sun, the star of the scene, rather than a mere moon in the backlight of not one, but TWO suns in her case, both mother and brother. Having been a nomad all her life Marjorie never learnt to truly form bonds and emotional attachments to people, always knowing she'd lose them as soon as she had to move yet again; hence the loss of her mother and the betrayal she inflicted on her brother never weighted much on her mind, or so she tells herself. She traveled all the way up to Missouri, where she soon started working as a maid at a certain Maribel Hotel, where a "kind", if sorta odd fella by the name of Asa Sweet welcomed her in his den in exchange of a mere few favors which would cost Marjorie nothing but a constant smell of bleach on her person, due a variety of reasons, and the sanity she had already long lost anyways.

Opportunist sociopath born out of heritage, of circumstances and most importantly of the intrusive thoughts of inferiority inside her own head nobody ever bothered teaching her the strength to fend off, the rest is history.

#lackadaisy #artists on tumblr #oc #lackasona #original character #marjorie ford

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dragonnarrative-writes · 23 days

Note

super curious about your wip ‘honeybee’ if no one’s asked already? 👀

For the WIP Ask Game!

You know how I lament, constantly, that I can't just write smut? That there's always gotta be a long setup? Well Honeybee is/was a story where I tried to cut that down as much as possible by doing a brief intro and then jumping into smut. I was unsuccessful, but mostly because I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to write. I don't know if I'll ever come back to this concept, but please enjoy the little bit I have.

CW: Discussions of sex, established GhostSoap, established PriceGaz, barracks bunny oc, no smut!

The 141 on leave and a couple of drinks in is probably Soap’s favorite version of the team. The captain always buys the first two rounds before settling down with two fingers of whiskey for the rest of the night, grinning around his cigar. Gaz likes to get fancy beers and ciders, keeps track of what he likes on an app, but three drinks in, he’s just a happy guy, leaning in being generally tactile. Even Ghost lets loose a little bit, hood up but face unmasked as he sips at his beer, then straight bourbon. But tonight, his third drink is a cocktail, of all things.

“Since when do you drink cocktails, LT,” Gaz asks before Soap can. He’s grinning, gives a Ghost a slap on the arm that he normally wouldn’t dare.

“I’m a man of many tastes,” Ghost says before sipping his blackberry bourbon smash with the tiniest of straws. “But I like blackberries. Reminds me of a girl.”

Soap can’t stop himself from making a questioning noise, “You got a girl in Manchester, then?”

Ghost snorts, “If I had this girl in Manchester, you think I’d be here with you fuckers? Nah, this was years ago.”

Soap gulps his drink to drown the reflexive hurt he feels at the declaration. What he and Ghost have is new-ish, but it’s certainly not exclusive. What happens on base and what happen on leave are two different worlds. He must not be as subtle as he thinks he is, though, because Ghost sways in to knock shoulders with him and squeezes his knee.

“Well go on, tell us about her,” Gaz pushes.

Ghost thinks about it for a moment before speaking. “American, contractor. Don’t really remember what we was workin’ on, but she showed up on base one day to assist in medical. Fit as fuck. Brown skin, dark eyes, curves like you wouldn’t believe. Great tits. Could pick her up by the waist easy, but I would’ve needed an extra pair of hands for her arse. Called her Honeybee.”

“Wait,” Price cuts in, pointing at Ghost around his cigar, “Honeybee with the tattoo?”

Ghost smirks, “Oh, so you’ve met her.”

Price huffs a laugh and wipes a hand down his face, “Mary and Joseph, that woman…”

Soap grins, jealousy completely washed away. He’d leave Ghost on base for a weekend with a woman that makes Price sound like that. “A barrack’s bunny?”

Price rubs his face, “I wouldn’t call her that. More like a hurricane.”

Ghost laughs and takes an actual sip of his drink. “Think that was the first time I woke up sore two days in a row from sex. Slowest run time of my life the next morning.”

“Two man job,” Price said around his cigar, “at least.”

Soap knows the stars in Gaz’s eyes are mirrored in his own. He’s never heard the captain talk about his exploits, let alone Ghost. Soldiers brag, of course, he’s done his share of big talk to impress his squad. But this is Price and Simon, cream of the crop, best of the best and the backbones of the 141.

“Sounds like it was,” Ghost snickered. “Saw her every other night for two weeks, pretty sure she was just trading between our rooms the whole job.”

Gaz makes a skeptical sound, “Two weeks with the both of you didn’t wear her out?”

“Oi, yeah,” Soap says. “Yuptae that she needs two tadgers?”

“Some day,” Ghost says, putting a gentle hand on Soap’s shoulder. “I’m going to send you to school to learn English.”

“Fuck off,” Soap laughs.

“He asked why she’d need both of you,” Gaz says gamely. “And I know how Price fucks, and I’ve heard Ghost fuck, so it’s a damn good question.”

“Ghost has a type,” Price says with a chuckle. “Energy for days. Could barely slow her down. But she was a lot of fun.”

“More fun that me?” Gaz asks, face stricken and voice full of mischief.

“No one’s more fun than you, sweet boy,” Price assures him.

“Gross,” Soap declares. “Tell me more about Honeybee.”

#wips are like tribbles #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #all 141 of them #if I do move forward with this it will likely become poly 141 #I want to flesh Honeybee out some more as a character

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http-paprika · 4 months

Text

GOLD RUSH / ALEX KELLER

oh shit, I haven't written in ages. apparently all I needed was the be reminded that the golden (no pun intended) american boy exists, a Taylor swift song and suddenly i'm out of the biggest writing slump i've had in a while. well, enjoy this rambling shit and enjoy the introduction of my new call of duty oc, Beau. xoxo, paprika

alex keller x original female character / 512 words / sexual implications, but never actually expanded on

HOW could she not fondly watch him, the way his skin stretches over his broad shoulders, the marks, scars, and tattoos that tell their own story? It didn’t matter that Beau had emails to respond to or deadlines to reach, and a conference call with foreign allies in an hour, the sight of his tan line that peeps out from his waistband caught her eye every time. Encroaching in on her decisions and logistics, terrorizing her in the longest minute to ever exist.

The moment breaks, Alex runs his hand through his dirty blond hair and down to his neck before turning to look at her as she collects herself from the trance. God forbid anyone see that Beau wasn’t the cool girl she pretended to be.

“I’m going to shower and hit the road. Hate to keep you from all your important, top-secret work.” Alex tells her, the early sunlight gleaming in his blue eyes. He had places to be, she told herself, work to do, and other women to charm. It wasn’t personal, just his way of living that she didn’t have the courage to disturb. If Beau asked him to stay, would he oblige and waste another day by her side? Would he leave his Eagles shirt hanging from her bathroom door knob again?

“Okay.” She nods, making herself look back down at her laptop that’s perched on her lap, with an unfinished email drafted to Laswell waiting for her to press send. It was so unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but Beau was determined to make it seem like it meant the world to her at that moment. Anything to keep her from asking for more.

“Okay.” He repeats the statement, standing and searching the room for where he’d discarded his jeans the night before. Boxers snug around his waist when Alex bends over to pick up the pants and throw them over his shoulder. His eyes never look back over at her, an air of disappointment plaguing her as Alex grabs the old t-shirt from the bathroom door knob.

Somehow navigating hostage situations, convincing militant leaders to agree to terms, and diving headfirst into warzones is less intimidating than this. A feeling of anxiety knotting up her bowels as he hums to himself the song Beau had played in her car the night before. It shouldn’t be this serious, shouldn’t cause her to stumble and falter. But his easygoing laugh and infuriating charm have hooked onto her, the line pulling her into a place she hasn’t been in a long time.

“Hey, why don’t I make some coffee for the road?” Beau finally offers, the words spilling out of her mouth quicker than she can stop. It’s said in a rush, often synonymous when having a crush. But she’d never tell him that, Alex didn’t need to know every part of it.

“I thought you’d never offer.” The look he gives her is golden, etched inside of her mind like her favorite song. Suddenly she understands the envy and desperation of the California Gold Rush.

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw22 #cod mw #cod mw19 #alex keller cod #Alex keller #alex keller call of duty #alex Keller x oc #alex keller x original character #cod cod #call of duty oc #original female character #original character: beau summerlin #call of duty modern warfare

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thomasschabot · 8 months

Text

bet all i have on that furrowed brow

jakob chychrun x fem!oc

isobel has a workplace crush and healthy dose of loneliness that jakob is more than willing to cure

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of spending the holidays alone, cursing, partial nudity, alcohol consumption

a/n: for @wyattjohnston 🩷 thank you so much for putting together yet another incredibly successful event, and for giving me the best gift of all - getting to write for you! i hope you enjoy x (we're just pretending hockey works like american football and the sens have a bye week over christmas okay? okay!) many wonderful thanks to @matthewtkachuk for singing my praises via text and fluffing up my ego

The string of days between Christmas and New Years always feels like purgatory. One holiday bleeds slowly into the next, and there’s a general consensus no one knows what day it is or how long it’s been since they ate something moderately healthy. For most it’s time well spent with family and friends, but for Isobel it’s a sentence to near solitary confinement. She has no family remotely close, few friends, and is much too stubborn to take up her co-workers’ invitations to join them on holiday getaways to ski chalets or sandy beaches. Isobel refuses to be more of an inconvenience than she already feels like she is, but it isn’t necessarily best for her mental health.

She spends as much time as possible at work, researching rising social media trends to present to the team and making sure all paperwork is up-to-date. The team will be able to start with their best foot forward in the new year, something Isobel is extremely proud of, and it keeps her going into the office even when she’d much prefer to stay in bed and wallow in the intense loneliness she feels. There isn’t a pressure to produce new deliverables, which is a slight stress relief. The analytics department isn’t needed as much with the bye week and most of the incoming reports can be run by Isobel alone. A number of years ago the NHL implemented bye weeks in addition to the all-star break, which allows each team to not have scheduled games during the regular season. This year Ottawa got lucky, with their break over the Christmas holidays, and players and support staff alike took the opportunity to get the hell out of the snowy capital.

As far as Isobel’s aware, very few members of the Senators organization stayed in the area. From social media she could see co-workers posting from almost every continent, enjoying all the world has to offer. Many roster players were in tropical destinations, hungry to get away from the ice and snow that ruled much of their daily lives. Claude Giroux has taken his family to the Caribbean and posts a rare snapshot of his young boys enjoying the water. Brady, ever the gracious captain, has taken what seems like half the team home with him to St. Louis in order to cheer on his sister’s university tournament being hosted in the same city. Only Jakob’s whereabouts are unknown, his absence from her life palpable, but Isobel’s sure he isn’t in Ottawa. Why would he be? There are a thousand different people and places vying for his attention, and one of them was sure to be the lucky winner.

It’s her most guarded secret, the fact that Isobel has an almost debilitating crush on who is technically a co-worker, but she’s also sure everyone has figured it out, even Jakob himself. Working with professional athletes means there’s a serious lack of personal boundaries, and one’s private life isn’t exactly private, no matter how well guarded they may be. The boys Isobel works with will stop at nothing short of blackmail to get information out of her, even if it’s only ever used for in-house teasing. No one has said anything yet, which she’s incredibly grateful for, but Isobel can’t help but think it’s the main topic of conversation when she’s not around.

The suburbs of Ottawa are desolate as Isobel winds through the streets to the Canadian Tire Centre. No car is on the road except her own, and there is only one in the parking lot when she pulls in. Badge in hand, Isobel treks up the steps and pulls open the large door at the back of the arena, one that isn’t used by anyone except members of the organization. Jamie, one of the building’s security guards, is face down in a book — it must have been his sedan parked beside her own sensible compact SUV.

“Isobel Walker,” he says, surprised to see another person. The offices were open upon a technicality in contracts that is now grandfathered in, but it’s likely Jamie hasn’t seen anyone since he started his shift. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready with friends? The New Year's festivities start in a few hours.”

Isobel shakes her head. “Just wanted to square away a few things before the weekend. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. It’s just me this year.”

The attentive man doesn’t miss the sad downturn in her voice, or the longing for companionship in Isobel’s eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get invited somewhere.” Jamie sounds resolute in the statement, but she knows it must be easy for him to think when once his shift is over he’ll return home to a wife and kids. When Isobel is done putting in work there’ll be no one waiting at home.

The elevator dings then, signalling its availability to deliver a human to the floor where the data and analytics department is located. Isobel waves goodbye in an almost timid fashion, insisting she’ll take good care of herself and promising to at least look into doing something. Nothing will come of it, this she’s sure of, but a small white lie has never hurt anyone. In fact, Isobel deals almost exclusively in little white lies, whether it be to scouts who want to hear a specific player is doing bad so they feel less guilty about not advising the general manager to draft them or to teammates when they ask what she’s doing on the weekends. Telling Jamie one more won’t cause the world to fall apart. Isobel is sure of it.

Her cubicle is tucked just inside the glass doors that shelter the front office from the rest of the floor, but Isobel doesn't head there. Instead, she tiptoes through the space until the corkboard of Senators and their individual season stats is right in front of her. The photo of Jakob immediately catches her attention — not an official headshot but instead a picture from the charity gala last season — and Isobel notices it’s a cropped version of one she has on her desk. In the photo he’s posing with the analytics staff, goofy smile plastered on his face as he stands three people from Isobel. She also remembers that in the photo she’s not looking at the camera, but at him. Eventually she forces herself to stop looking at the gorgeous specimen that is Jakob Chychrun and accomplish what she intended to do. Taking one last look, Isobel places a distant memory that their eyes had locked seconds after the camera’s shutter went off.

⭑⭒⭑

It’s long past sunset when Isobel returns home, and there’s no sense trying to scramble downtown to an overcrowded bar. She hadn’t been planning on it anyways despite what she told the only person she’s interacted with in a week. Things at the office didn’t take long to complete, despite the frequent distraction of Jakob’s gorgeous portrait in the background, but Isobel couldn’t bring herself to return to her empty home. Since the conversation with Jamie in the lobby she’s been dreading the silence that would greet her when the door rocked on its hinges. Instead of immediately returning home, Isobel drives eastward towards more connected areas of the city and marvels at the tourists in town to ring in the new year surrounded by history. Each street sign passed amalgamated into a mushed series in her brain, and once she could no longer tell what was real or imaginary Isobel turned and headed for home.

As expected, the modest craftsman house Isobel occupies is dark and silent and lonely, as well as a million other words she can’t think of to encapsulate how isolated she feels. If she had been thinking clearly Isobel would have picked up take out on the drive back, but she wasn't in a completely sound frame of mind, therefore being resigned to heating up three day old broccoli pasta and drinking room temperature beer. She can’t even be bothered to change into comfortable clothing, instead throwing her blouse and slacks over the back of a dining room chair seconds before crashing onto the worn leather sofa inherited from a college roommate nearly a decade ago but that she can’t seem to get rid of.

The television turns on at the press of a button, and Isobel briefly watches the sports highlights for updates on potential trade targets before deciding she’s done more than enough work for the day and switching to a New Years special. This one seems to be taking place in New York, a place she’s never been nor cared for, but at the moment Isobel would give anything to be there amongst the suffocating crowd. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so earth-shatteringly alone.

Hours pass by and more beers are consumed, but Isobel can’t seem to reach the buzz she’s so desperately chasing. The performances and countdowns meld together but if questioned there wouldn’t be a detail missing from her recollection. No one could do that inebriated, further proving that getting drunk isn’t in the cards for her tonight. A chill settles over the room and Isobel struggles to wrangle a throw blanket free from its perch on the back of the couch. Though comfortable, sitting in only undergarments doesn’t provide much protection against the drafty windows she should call a repairman about. Some pop star, whom she doesn't particularly care about, is thanking fans for helping them reach a milestone this past calendar year and she zone out. Nothing and everything floats through Isobel’s brain all at once, swimming in circles and causing a beautiful confusion.

The dull thud of a fist against the front door shakes Isobel from her stupor and possible slumber. Panic encroaches and her sharp survival instincts set in — the baseball bat normally kept in the corner of the living room grabbed and work clothes are haphazardly tossed over frame. The person on the other side of the wood slab is the last person she’s expecting to see, and the fact he’s standing there with a sheepish smile is astounding. Jakob Chychrun is on her doorstep, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and carrying a large bottle of expensive champagne and a bag of garlic bread.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you, Jakob?” she asks, but immediately backpedals when she realizes how ill-tempered the tone of the words made her seem. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors and am wholly unprepared.”

He smiles even more, as though Isobel can actually solve a problem he’s been faced with, and gestures to the objects in his hands like it’s obvious. “Jamie mentioned you were spending the evening alone when I went into the rink this afternoon, and I had no plans, so I thought we could watch the dumb special programs and drown our sorrows in alcohol.”

The answer is so Jakob, so perfect and friendly and warm, Isobel can’t help but return his grin. “I told him I’d look into going out. What are you doing in the city?”

“I wanted a relaxing week.”

Isobel arches her eyebrow. “The beach isn’t relaxing?”

“Not as much as staying at home.”

“Oh.”

Jakob doesn’t skip a beat in bringing conversation back to his original proposition. “Well sweetheart, what do you say?”

All the air leaves her lungs at the pet name, but she manages to nod semi-enthusiastically and move to the side. Jakob slips off his shoes while Isobel closes the door and treads into the living space carefully, inspecting-without-inspecting the decor. She quickly plays the role of gracious hostess, getting her handsome guest a crystal flute and asking if he’d like anything to eat. Jakob declines, saying he had leftovers before coming over, and urges her to sit down and ‘stop fluttering around like a hummingbird’. She obliges, turning to face him and tucking her legs underneath her center of gravity.

Jakob rakes his eyes over Isobel, once, then a second time, before coughing rather aggressively. It rings through the quiet like a gunshot and nearly makes her jump. Unsure of what could have caused such a reaction, she looks down to find the previously hastily buttoned shirt has shifted, revealing a rather large patch of red lace that hints at what’s underneath. Surely that can’t be the reason the normally suave man across from her is a blushing mess?

He respectfully looks away while she adjusts, and Isobel finishes quickly before placing a tentative hand on her shoulder to let her know everything is back to normal. She’s desperate to dissuade any awkwardness. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Jakob laughs, but it comes out a little strangled. “Happens to the best of us. Well not me, in that exact way, but I’ve been caught in my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions.”

Isobel focuses extremely hard on not thinking about what that means, and unsure of where to go from the moment that was somehow vulnerable and impersonal at the same time, she reaches across Jakon to grab the bottle of champagne and doesn't even bother getting a glass. The cool liquid does wonders to soothe the fire in her insides, exacerbated by the fact that Jakob came to her, wanted to spend time with her. Some alcohol misses Isobel’s mouth, dribbles down her chin, but before she can even lift the bottle from her lips it’s being wiped away.

It’s Jakob, she realizes, stroking his thumb across her skin tenderly and making sure there isn’t an opportunity for the champagne to stain the silk button up that she can never remember to take to the dry cleaners. Clouds immediately form in her mind and Isobel closes her eyes — this has to be a dream. An incredibly elaborate fantasy. Under no circumstance is Jakob Chychrun sitting on her couch staring at her with longing and centimetres away from her lips. She must have fallen asleep, and her dreams are vivid due to the beer.

“Iso, sweetheart, hey,” Jakob says barely above a whisper, eyebrow furrowed with concern and the slightest bit of amusement. “You alright?”

Her eyelids flutter open, a bit heavy from all the alcohol she’s consumed, but her gaze is met with his blue eyes so close to her own and his fingers fiddling with the hem of her pants. Apparently this is in fact real life, and while Isobel had been trying to convince herself otherwise she’d missed Jakob inching closer and resting his forehead against her own.

“Yeah,” she sputters, nearly choking on air for the second time that evening. “I drank a bit before you got here and I think it’s all catching up to me.”

Jakob smiles softly, like he already confirmed this, and it’s then she clues in to the fact there are four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”

Laughter trickles from her lips. “I wish,” Isobel confesses, “It would make the loneliness a lot easier to ignore.”

Again, Jakob smiles like he understands. It’s a bit surreal, the way the two of them are so similar, but Isobel can’t help but enjoy learning about him through these small glances. If she could keep her cool around the man for longer periods than the handful of minutes long interaction they’d shared, Isobel is almost sure they’d be friends, but the universe is cruel and unyielding. She’s destined to never know Jakob all that well, watching from the sidelines as he jokes with Brady and Tim, marvelling at his beauty and resigning herself to the fact he’ll never be yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question steals every ounce of air from Isobel’s lungs. Jakob is looking at her intently, studying her features for clues or transgressions he unknowingly committed. She’s never been good at keeping her emotions steeled away, and Isobel knows everything is splayed on her face for him to decipher if he wants to. The most prominent one is shock. Isobel is beyond surprised he’s asking the one thing that’s been on the tip of her tongue and whispering in her mind for years.

“Are —” she struggles to find the words she wants to say. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

It’s Jakob’s turn to laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, his deep rumbles as he nods his head, and Isobel does her best to imprint it to memory. If this is the last time she’ll ever hear it she wants to give herself the best shot at remembering.

“Pretty damn sure, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to do it since I joined the team.”

Isobel is now beyond shocked. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for three years?”

Jakob smiles in a way that allows it to reach his eyes. Beautiful, Isobel thinks, but doesn’t allow herself much time to focus on it, too eager to catch his next words. “Four if you count the time I got lost when Arizona was the visiting team and you held the door for me to get back to the locker rooms. You were wearing a black turtleneck that made your eyes look even more angelic than normal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, but I did know I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

“Fuck me, you never thought to say anything when I was so clearly pining after you?” she whispers, emboldened and growing more confident under the confession and moving even closer until her lips are so close to Jakob’s she can feel the breath he inhales.

It takes a moment, but Isobel gains the courage to tilt her head slightly upwards and slot her lips against Jakob’s. Time stops with the flourish of a cheesy romance novel, though she can’t find it in her to groan internally even if she would under normal circumstances. Nothing about what’s happening is normal, however. Kissing Jakob is perfect in ways Isobel could never accurately describe — all plump lips and gentle touches and whispered sweet nothings. She never wants it to end, but eventually he pulls back.

He doesn’t stray far, just tucks her into his side with a hint of possession if Isobel squints , and cards his fingers through the matted ends of her hair. Jakob seems to have quite an affinity for the strands, allowing them to keep his attention while Isobel processes the fact that the man she’s been secretly in love with for years has also been in love with her for just as long.

“You know,” she says breathlessly, still in a surreal state from the kiss, “Maybe ringing in the new year won’t be so lonely after all.”

Jakob giggles in the same warm and gleeful way that made Isobel fall in love with him all those years ago. “I hope not.”

The pair of them spend the remaining hours of the night eating, drinking, and talking about what the future holds. When the television program begins the countdown Jakob looks at Isobel with a gleam in his eyes, and waits until the ball drops to kiss her into the next year.

⭑⭒⭑

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :)

#jakob chychrun imagine #jakob chychrun x oc #jakob chychrun fic #ottawa senators imagine #ottawa senators fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #cwrites

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kentdreaming · 1 year

Text

Ribs: a Roy Kent story

Series: Ribs

Pairing: Roy Kent x OC

Summary: Natalia's past is now quickly becoming her present. Might as well try to make light of it all.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: swearing but that's about it

A/N: I'm so so so grateful for all of the love already for the first chapter! I'm pretty rusty in the writing world, so be patient as I get my footing again. I just love Roy Kent so much, yall. Also, yes I used an old Lorde song for the title of this series in the year 2023, nature is healing

gif from @winterscaptain

Chapter 2

His eyes were so dark. A deep warm brown bore hard into her sharp green for a moment. Natalia blinked hard, hoping, wondering, if this was a dream. A glimmer ghosted across his eyes before it disappeared behind some furrowed and bushy eyebrows. “Natalia,” He nodded quickly. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could even utter a sound, Roy had pushed past her and quickly through the photographers giving them obscene gestures and a slew of “Fuck off”s. Natalia scoffed, dumbfounded. She quickly shook it off and squared her shoulders before stepping onto the red carpet. The cameras and reporters roared when she stepped into frame. “Talia, Talia, who are you wearing!?” “Talia, over here!” “Talia–”

She squirmed under the flashing lights and cacophony of sound. Talia tried her best to soothe herself in the moment, playing it off with her hard rocker energy and striking a few poses to appease the cameras. After a pose with devil horns and her tongue out, she began her descent toward the ballroom.

“Is it true you’re now a minority owner of AFC Richmond!?” A reporter yelled. She stopped, flipping her hair over her shoulder for one final money shot with the response, “Yes, darling. It is true. But I must be off to donate to children in need, toodles!”

Natalia stomped into the ballroom and was quickly overwhelmed with the crowds. Not wanting to bother Rebecca as she was clearly in her own groove, she found Ted at the bar. “I’ll have the same as him, love,” Natalia rapped on the bar beside Ted as she heard him order a triple of whiskey. “Well I’ll be,” Ted smiled, quickly admiring her outfit, “You sure do clean up nicely!”

“Thank you, Ted,” Natalia smiled, leaning over to fix his tie. Quickly she felt eyes on her from somewhere else in the room. “Everything alright, Mr. Triple shot?” “Oh y’know when you just see through someone?” Ted shrugged. “Ah, I see you met Rupert,” Natalia nodded as their two drinks were delivered. “You know him?”

“It’s hard not to know him in these circles, but I only know him to be particularly fucking disgusting. You ever heard how Rebecca found out about his cheating?”

“Mm mmm,” Ted shook his head as he drained his whiskey. Natalia raised her eyebrows, taking a long slow sip, not breaking eye contact with the American. Ted took a moment to register what she meant. She felt the eyes again, but she ignored it.

“You?” Ted finally put two and two together.

“Yup,” Natalia nodded, knocking the bar and ordering another round, “He extended me an exclusive invite to Bones and Honey, thinking he could win me over that way… Little did he know I’m already a fuckin’ member. So, I promptly showed up, squashed a morsel of that ego of his and then quickly left to find Rebecca.” “Well, I sure am happy you made that call,” Ted smiled, clinking his glass with yours, “otherwise I never woulda had this opportunity. So I s’pose I have you to thank then.” Natalia smiled, relaxed for the first time all day and patted Ted on the shoulder, “Pleasure is all mine, Ted.” The two enjoyed some chit chat at the bar and seemed to be having a good time. Roy Kent, however, was not. Not only was he sitting at the table with Jamie fucking Tartt, but everytime he had glanced in Natalia’s direction, she seemed to have been getting closer and closer to the gaffer. His hands clenched into hard fists under the table. He hadn’t seen her in decades and there she is chatting up that annoying American. He couldn’t understand why he was getting so angry. But then he saw her and Ted rise from their spots at the bar and make their way toward the table, just as he was getting ushered off to be brought up on stage.

Natalia reached the table as Keeley Jones was making her way back. A small squeal emitted from both the small women, the two quickly hugged each other.

“Talia! You looking fucking incredible, babes!” Keeley squealed, running her way to her in her golden gown. She kissed Natalia’s cheeks and ogled her.

“Your tits are fucking fantastic,” Keeley breathed staring at the deep cut V in the front of her dress. Natalia just laughed, rocking her head back.

Keeley quickly dismissed the young woman named Bex before having a quiet but heated discussion with Jamie. Roy was the next player to be auctioned off. It soon became clear that Keeley was now playing Jamie’s game from earlier at the auction. Frankly, Natalia was sick of it. Sick of seeing Roy being in the middle of it all. Plus, she wanted to have fun anyway. Right before Rupert auctioned off Roy to an old bitty who was promising to make his night one to remember, Natalia stood up with a paddle. “10,000 pounds,” Natalia proclaimed, the crowd quickly filled with commotion and whispers. Roy’s eyes widened underneath the spotlight. “Well, well,” Rupert smiled, a hint of distaste in his features as he realized who it was that bid, “Sold! To Miss Talia Forrest! Just a couple of Sunderland natives out on the town, then? Tell me, what does £10,000 unlock in the Roy Kent Dating Package?”

“Who knows, but what else is a ‘washed up rockstar’ to do with all this royalty money? For the children, right Rupert?” Natalia quipped back, eliciting a scattering of chuckles in the audience, a challenge in her eyes, “Plus, Roy’s been put through enough having to consider a night with Cheryl over here. Hi there, Cheryl, darling.”

“Natalia Forrest, everybody,” Rupert announced, “Don’t you hurt his ego too much,” gesturing to Roy to exit the stage. Roy promptly rushed off stage, moving at bullet speed, he stormed past the crowd as the auction came to a close. Without much acknowledgement, he grabbed Natalia by her arm, dragging her along with him. “Whoa, Roy–” Natalia stammered as he dragged her off to the quiet area of the abandoned sidebar.

“Don’t fucking do that again,” Roy growled.

Natalia’s eyes widened in shock, “Roy— I was just—“

“Between Keeley using me as some stupid fucking jealousy game with that prick and you auctioning out of fucking pity— I fucking hate it.” he bit out.

“I-“ Natalia started, ready to be defensive. Instead she just looked at him. She hadn’t seen him in so long, and even though she wanted nothing more than to wrap him in a hug, she sighed, “I’m really sorry, Roy. I was just sick of Jamie and Keeley’s stupid fucking game.”

Roy took a moment, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit. But all he saw were big, apologetic soft green eyes staring back up at him. With heels, she only stood about 5’5”, but there was a time he remembered where they were roughly the same height. A pang of sadness pulled in his chest.

“Thank you,” he nodded.

As he turned to leave, Natalia caught his arm, “Roy wait.”

He paused, turning around to face her again, the feeling of her hand on his arm sent a long forgotten shock through his body.

“You owe me a £10,000 date,” Natalia said smirking up at him, “So you better make it fucking worth it.”

He gave a soft growl and stormed away. Natalia’s heart sank into her gut again as he disappeared. She was quickly distracted by the sound of Rebecca introducing a very last minute musical guest, a street busker, and she was immediately blown away by the young man’s performance. Natalia rushed into the crowd and bounced around to the music with who she was assuming was her team, and by the description Rebecca had given her earlier, danced hard with Coach Beard.

As the night wound to a close, Rebecca found Natalia speaking with Cam Cole, Ted, and Beard. Talia had just finished handing Cam a few business cards and took a photo with him for her personal social platforms to promote the performer when Rebecca approached.

“Hello gentlemen,” Rebecca smiled nervously, “Natalia, I was- uhm- wondering if you would care to join me and–”

“I’m fuckin’ in,” Talia responded.

“I didn’t even finish–”

“I will do anything with you,” Natalia reassured, “Plus, something tells me Keeley is involved.” Glancing over Rebecca’s shoulder to see Keeley trying to wave with two champagne bottles cradled in her arms.

Natalia turned back to the three men, “My chariot awaits gentlemen. It’s been a fuckin’ blast. Cam, please do give me a call, I see a lot of fucking potential in you.”

“Jeez louise, Nat,” Ted laughed, “You swear just like Roy. Hey, have you met Roy?”

“I have, Ted,” Natalia said a bit sharper than she meant, recovering, “I bid on him, remember?”

Beard gave Talia a pointed look and a feeling went down her spine. He seemed to know something “Anyways, see you lot around, yeah?” Natalia asked, hugging and leaving a kiss on each man’s cheek.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ted beamed, “It’d be fun to have you around more.”

With that, Natalia dashed over to the increasingly impatient women and they found their way to a bike taxi where they squeezed close together and drank the night away. Once they had made it to Rebecca’s flat (which was one hell of a workout for that poor bicyclist), Natalia left him enough money to pay rent twice over and the three stumbled inside. “Get these bloody fucking things off me,” Rebecca groaned as she kicked off her heels, giving her ankles a soft rub. Keeley and Natalia soon follow.

“Shit I forgot how tiny you both are,” Rebecca laughed, “like a couple of elves.”

“Oi!” Keeley and Natalia yelled together. Immediately the two started cackling.

Once the women had settled down, they drank away at the wine and all cozied up on Rebecca’s couch, which was somehow even more comfortable than the one in her office. In true teenage-girl-sleepover fashion, they all huddled around and turned on a movie that was quickly discarded for immediate gossip of the night.

“God, Rupert is such a dick,” Keeley groaned, throwing her head back.

“Amen,” Natalia drunkenly lifted her glass in agreement.

“Say,” Keeley swiveled, her big eyes a bit droopy, “What’s the deal with the $10,000 bid tonight.”

Natalia was taken aback by the sudden switch in topic. “For the children?” She mumbled unconvincingly.

“Oh bullshit,” Rebecca rolled her eyes, “£10,000?”

“Rebecca, when have I not thrown money out for donations?”

“Natalia,” Rebecca lightly challenged, a knowing look, and a raised brow, “Only when it benefits you.”

Fuck. Keeley gasped, “You wanna shag Roy!”

She couldn’t tell which was the culprit, but between the sudden and drunken interrogation, and the obscene amount of alcohol running through her, she couldn’t help the faint blush that tinged the tip of her nose and ears. Keeley and Rebecca let out a couple of squeals jumping in their seats. Natalia quickly rolled her eyes, giving her the best scowl she could muster. After a moment, however, she softened, her fingers lighting dancing around the rim of her wine glass, eyes intently looking at her own movements.

“It’s not like that,” she mumbled, a soft smile on her lips. God, why do I go so soft around these two? Both other women noticed Natalia’s shift in demeanor. They also immediately scooted closer, worried but aching to know more. Talia gave a quick glance up to two pairs of very expectant eyes. With a sigh and a slight roll of her eyes, Natalia finally responded.

“Roy and I grew up together,” she admitted. It felt good to let someone else know. Their eyes widened at the new knowledge. Natalia continued, the liquor prompting the words, “Grew up in the same, shitty and rundown flats– the community would always joke that no matter how poor we all were, the place was magic to be able to produce two famous kids."

At this, Natalia let out a soft chuckle, mind a million miles away as she rambled on, “Due to both of us being just wee kids, we were expected to continue on in schooling. We were both put into the same tutoring system.”

“Oh my god, childhood sweethearts!” Keeley squealed gently, earning a side look from Rebecca.

Natalia responded with a dry laugh, “Hardly. A few years past and we were closer than ever,” she explained, “but then between Roy’s hard fuckin’ work paying off in the football clubs, and my music career exploding into my first tour, we drifted apart. I haven’t seen him since I was 16 during his debut game. The next time I saw him was today.”

Rebecca and Keeley sat dumbfounded, and grateful that she was so open with them. They stared at Natalia dreamy-eyed with the childhood nostalgia. “But that ain’t the Roy Kent I fuckin’ know,” Talia stated. A deep sadness tugged at her gut, as she finished the rest of her wine. She shook her head, “Nah. The Roy I know was soft, and gentle, and always tried to make me laugh.”

After a beat, Talia shrugged, looking at the time. Rebecca and Keeley had eventually received the message and they all proceeded to get ready for bed as they all managed to sleep quite comfortably in Rebecca’s bed.

Roy laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t fucking sleep. Anytime he’d close his eyes, she should pop up behind his closed eyes. It was driving him fucking crazy. He growled, reaching over for his phone. He pulled her name up from his contacts and started to draft a message. He had tried and failed multiple times writing out something simple.

“Fuck it,” he growled, slamming his phone back onto the nightstand before rolling over and tried to force himself to sleep. Trainin’ is going to be a fucking bitch tomorrow.

#roy kent x reader #roy kent x OC #roy kent drabble #roy kent fanfic #ted lasso #roy kent #roy kent insert #fanfic #ted lasso drabble #slow burn #fluff

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brynnterpretations · 2 months

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LOVED the the boys ship you wrote me (went anon at first bc i'm shy and new to tumblr lmao) so wanted to ask one for my the boys oc since i saw you do ocs too!!

her name is veronica daumas, she's in her late 30s, brazilian (speaks portuguese and english) and has been living in the us for 10-ish years (faceclaim is taina muller). she was a private eye in brazil before messing with some big corporations (aka vought), giving herself a lot of trouble, and having to fake some documents and burn some bridges to move to the us. she was recruited for the first mallory team due to her investigative abilities and, of course, is brought back to the team for the s1 shenanigans. during the years between the first mission and the start of s1, she was working as a sort of particular investigator for a brazilian-american crime boss in nyc.

personality-wise, veronica is a nosy bitch. she loves fucking around and finding out, prying for information, discovering things about people. a bit grumpy and snappy, but who in that team isn't? brutally honest too, not in an edgy, wanting to be a bitch way, but in a comically careless disregard for if something would be rude. her own crazy drive to pursue the truth makes her not realize some people might not want the whole truth at all times. it's not like she doesn't lie ever, she actually controls information very well when she wants/needs to; she really wants to be the one who knows things more than other people do. she's in a weird middle ground in the insane-to-normal spectrum: if butcher is one side and mm's the other, she stands aside with a cigarette to film whatever will go down between them. she's not one to stop anyone though — your problem! chronic bailer: if it's gonna go down, she'll leave. addicted to getting away with things. will absolutely back off and save her own skin, which is a conflict she has to grapple with when she inevitably comes back in contact with the boys, and starts getting attached to them as they slowly realize they actually are a team. she has left a lot of people behind in her life and it's something that's slowly coming back to haunt her — oh shit, she cares about the people she loves. and bailing won't solve her problems if she still feels for the things left behind.

i originally ship her with frenchie but wanted to see your input, hcs, and any other opinions since i absolutely loved your writing!! thanks in advance <3

I am so glad you liked your ship, and thank you so much for sending in another! I love Veronica so much and if you ever post a fic of her I'd love to be tagged in it. I hope you're well and again, I'm so glad you enjoyed! This brought a smile to my face. ♡

I ship Veronica with...

Frenchie ♡

Boyfriend

GIF Source: @yocalio ★ (link)

I agree with your pairing — Veronica definitely seems like Frenchie's type of partner, and vice versa. Dark and varied past? Check. A love for drama? Check. Wanting to be independent, but becoming attached to a group of fucked up people just trying to do the right thing day-by-day? Check.

I've mentioned this in a few other HCs, but I don't see Frenchie as a person to move fast romantically at all, so it would definitely start with a lot of interesting conversations and a healthy dose of playful flirtation. If Veronica is someone who's comfortable with hookups, I feel like it would be likely for she and Frenchie to be sexually intimate with each other before catching romantic feelings.

Once in a relationship, the two of them would be quite the chaotic duo, and would always back each other up. Sometimes, Frenchie will not know what she's talking about, but if anyone (*cough* Annie *cough*) tries to push back on any of Veronica's ideas or input, he will fight for her like a guard dog.

Generally, Frenchie really trusts Veronica's decision-making skills and intuition — he's always been more of a tactile person when it comes to work in the coup, so her investigative abilities are incredible to him — and always makes sure she's properly heard by the group, even when they're all yelling over each other, which is... a lot.

Frenchie is very fascinated by Veronica as a person, and would always make time to talk to her in-between missions. It would start as very run-of-the-mill questions, at least by Frenchie standards (her work in Brazil, how it was transitioning to life in America) before slowly becoming more personal. However interested, though Frenchie will always be patient — he knows how personal people's pasts are, and always respects her if she doesn't want to divulge information.

The two of them would definitely balance each other out. Frenchie is endlessly loyal, to his own detriment — Little Nina called him little doggy for a reason — and Veronica's ability to know when's the right time to bail would help him gain a lot more self-awareness and respect, while Frenchie would be able to show her that sometimes, not every time is the right time to bail.

During missions, he would always make sure he has a line of contact with Veronica, even if they weren't directly working together, just to give her words of encouragement and check in on how she's doing. He knows she's capable, yeah, but he just wants to hear her voice (and know what's going on, because he, too, is a nosy bitch). Sue him.

Frenchie is not shy at all with PDA, and would always be very physically close to Veronica, whether it's a hand holding hers, an arm wrapped around her shoulder, or just standing by her side. He also lives for sleeping with her, no matter who's the big spoon.

Frenchie loves hearing her speak Portuguese, and will often ask her to read to him.

Tons of cute, silly nicknames for her, such as mon bijou, mon trésor, and ma chouchoute.

As for the rest of the coup...

The Boys ☻

Teammates

GIF Source: @yocalio ★ (link)

Butcher really likes Veronica, finding her to be funny, competent, and very, very funny; the man could not deal with another moral compass on the team. Even when he's not a hundred percent down with an idea of hers, he'll back it up just to start shit with Annie and M.M. The guy's gotta get his fun in somehow.

He also definitely would invite her out to drink a lot (strictly platonically, though, because our boy is not a homewrecker).

However, it wouldn't be without its stressors. Considering Veronica's bluntness and lack of hesitation with calling out bullshit, I could see some pretty gnarly arguments happening between them, especially if it concerns Frenchie

On the topic of M.M. and Annie: M.M. does quite like Veronica and doesn't snap at her, but can get annoyed with her pretty quickly, especially when he senses that she's about to bail. Still, though, he finds her extremely intelligent and invaluable to the team, and believes her to be a very good person, even with her guarded exterior.

And, for Annie — I hate to say it, but Veronica and Annie would not get along at the start. Annie is very much an endlessly hopeful and loyal person, to a rather damagingly "go down with the ship" mindset, and would find Veronica to be flaky, selfish, and a hazard, likely having a relationship with Veronica similar to her relationship with Butcher.

That doesn't mean there wouldn't be room for improvement, though. Annie's decently intuitive, and as she senses Veronica becoming more and more attached to the team, would begin warming up to her and holding far more respect for her as a person.

Hughie would be quite wary of Veronica and probably wouldn't interact with her too much — sorry, he's a nervous little fella — but, like M.M., would also hold a lot of respect for her.

Kimiko would love her, finding her to be an extremely funny, interesting person. Like Frenchie, Kimiko is someone who highly values honesty, and would find her to be a refreshing person to be around, especially since Veronica isn't afraid of standing her own.

Additionally, Kimiko is admittedly pretty drawn to gossip and other "nosy" things that she wasn't able to pick up on or enjoy during her time in the Shining Light Liberation Army, so if Veronica dispels any information she's picked up on to Kimiko? The woman will be sold.

So... welcome to the team. She's one of the boys, for sure.

#this is a bit less descriptive than the prior ship bc i didnt want to overwrite your own character >_<#i hope you like it!! thank you for being so sweet :3 <3 #the boys #the boys ship request #annie january #billy butcher #frenchie #hughie campbell #kimiko miyashiro #mothers milk the boys #mm the boys #marvin t milk

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homiesondaweb · 1 year

Text

I WROTE SOME HOBIE BACKSTORY FLUFF

Been writing too much angst lately🥲

anyway this is based of my previous head cannon on Hobie's siblings. Quick recap (might make a OC post about em) Hudson and Hendricks(yea name change) are the eldest twins about 12 years older than Hobie and are 21. Henry is in the middle he is 9 years older than Hobie, he is 18. Harley is only 5 years older and she is 14 going on 15 (she helps run the community garden). Hobie is 9!

I am Black but also an American from the midwest. So if I fuck up some of the UK vernacular or whatnot y'all can correct me in the replies or reblogs. If you see this fic floating on AO3 that is also me!

______________________

1966 Chevy C10 aka the ugliest truck known to fucking man aka Harley bedroom away from home. Given to her by her old dirt and hay supplier before he moved to Wales, the dark green vehicle that lives parked in their ground floor garage was her escape from a house full of her lanky and, damn-right charlie brothers. She has the bed of the truck softened with a scrap fabric mattress and tens of thrifted comforters and pillows. Her portable record player crones with a Betty Davis record riding the groove with a whining guitar. Harley uses a chunk of mirror propped against her stage trunk to watch herself as she sections her hair into lazy cornrows for the night.

The sky slowly crumbles into a sunset, unfurling into a cool moon, shifting the world to a soft grayscale and sepia. Streetlights outside the garage flicker on and the human officers switch their patrol lights to a slow strobing blue and yellow. Harley gives a big yawn that pops her jaw and hums along to the guitar's riffs. The sound rests really low in her throat, it nearly drowns out the sound of steel door creaking and small steps that padding in. The 14 year old pauses her humming and stretches over to see the interruption of her night routine.

It's shaped lika palm tree, outlined in muted pink with their bare feet slapping around on the cement. Sleepy gray eyes met hers before they lighten to hazel for a moment, then back to sleep gray.

"Comin' ta bed?" Hobie whispers, voice all low and raspy. Harley helps the wire of a little boy clamor over the raised gate, he settles his head on her shoulder after. She chuckles and smears some leftover mango butter on his nose before her hands are back in her head.

"Inna bit. Thought I might sleep down 'ere though. Let my Baney Bart lil brother have the whole bed. You've got ta start wearin' yer socks to bed, ice foot." Harley teases and Hobie whines, then snuggles against her side.

Harley thought that now with Henry moving in with Rembrandt to the Canal flats would have given her the incentive to claim his room for her own and finally stop sharing both room and mattress with her baby brother. It wasn't easy though, ever since she came on the scene when the twins 7 and Henry was 5 the Brown siblings instinctively cuddled. Like cubs or kittens of some kind.

Hudson and Hendricks would sleep on their stomach, shoulders piled on top of each other or an arm around the other's back. Henry uses somebody's calf as a pillow and his foot always ends up in Hudson's face. Harley found her spot cuddled over Henry's stomach and when baby Hobie joined the mix she always woke to her shoulder being smothered in his drool and soft snores. They were like cats in that way, if one sibling saw the other napping, they were gonna share that sleep.

It has peter off some, Henry started sleeping over in the art alley with his mandem. Hendricks working overnight security with Pa. Hudson staying with Imani more days out the week(they all wait for the couple to announce the true reason why she was getting rounder). Harley sleeps in the truck when her band mates sneaks over after the city curfew because their fam is off it or someone is sick with radio or the flu.

But even with growing apart. A cuddle wassa cuddle and baby Hobie was gonna get his full of them. Of course Harley was still gonna share a bed with her little Barty when requested. Hobie starts to fade down to their true colors as sleep wraps him up,

"Oi! No sleep yet lil boy. Gotta put the 'fro up." She whispers tugging at the puff on the top of his head. Hobie grumbles, going cut yellow with crankiness. Harley counters it with a pink kiss to the top of his head and lets the stocking-band out that release his coils. Hobie blinks blearly in his slumped sit as Harley sloppily parts then flat twists them down into four rows. He gives a little sigh at the cool feeling of mango butter to his scalp but grumbles when she ties a scarf over them. Harley chuckles as she releases his ears from under it and scoots the front back.

They both know that damn scarf will be half way across the room and on the floor with her bonnet by morning. He cuddles into the front of her, stuck lika kola instead of a boy, smushing his face to her shoulder. Harley rubs his back and hums out the Buddy Miles intro that is stuck in her head as she feels around for her phone. Hobie blinks again as he watches her raise the antenna on top of it then pop in the code for someone. It rings loudly and they both wince before she lowers the volume and tilts the antenna to the right.

"Headin' ova?" She asks and a voice hums a soft no. Hobie sighs, that was Donovan.

"Dottie and Kirt's gots lead or radio. Feelin' weak me-self, keepa eye on ya water, yeah? Think OsCo is doin' flushes again." He warns softly.

Harley tenses at that. She sits back some and uses her free hand to inspect Hobie's face. She blinks hard and they both revert to true colors. All warm brown skin, black hair and steely eyes. She gives a sigh of relief at seeing that the whites of his eyes as fine, not any spots of yellow. No dryness to his pallor, just sleepy.

"Where you in the fountains today?" She asks and Hobie shakes his head.

"Wit Pa tuday." He mumbles to her, she lets him relax back and resumes petting his back.

"Thanks for the heads up Vonnie. I'll come by wit some bone soup and a filter from Hud in the mornin'.

"You're a dove Harles. Oíche mhaith a chroí."

Hobie gives a fakes gag as Harley blares pink then clovers sketches, Gaelic love poems and the expert of Romeo and Juliet having it off etch over her skin in cursive for a moment before she simmers back to sepia.

"Bon lannwit, Mon kè." She says back and hangs up. Harley stashes her phone back under the mattress before turning off her record player. With a practiced ease she carefully slides Betty Davis back into the paper sleeve, then lays the mirror chunk down on a quilt.

"Ann kouche, pinèz." Harley yawns and clamors out the truck bed with Hobie still clinging to her. They make their way up to the flat and to their room. Hobie is nothing but soft breath so it startles Harley when he speaks.

"You gonna live wit Donovan one day? Like Henry and Huddie?" Hobie asks. Harley kisses his cheek and lays them down in bed. She lights a lavender incense cone, then pops it in the holder.

"Maybe one day."

"Gonna marry 'em?"

"Can't get married. He's too Irish. Laws will bang us."

"You don't care." Hobie giggles and Harley smiles real big at that.

"Who said me and Van ain't gonna bang the laws back bruv? Don't worry bout it Barty Bug." She tells him when she lays down fully and loops an arm around his shoulders, Hobie puts his head over her heart.

"You gonna runaway? You two go off?"

Harley hums.

"Where imma go, bug?"

"... Cuba or Panama, like uncle."

"Too much sun for Donovan. He'd cook."

"Uhm… Canada. Like Erika's family?"

"Too cold. I'd freeze to death."

Hobie pouts at this point, turning into her elbow so he doesn't have to see the sleeply mirth in his older sister's eyes. Her black nails gently grasps his jaw and turns his face back to her. The both flare into blue and black ink and mapwork.

"What's with the questions. You think imma leave, love?"

Hobie nods in embarrassment but softens as Harley kisses his forehead.

"Not without you buggy. Same things goes for Hudson, Hendricks, and Henry. Same thing for Ma and Pa. No way I'm leavin' you even if the Queen, her corgis and the PM demanded it. Even if Von proposed right here. Which is stupid I'm 14, he's 15 and we've had lead poisoning on and off since we was little. So don't worry about Cuba or Canada, hell even Wales. I'm your big sister, we are Browns and some right punks. Labels are nothing but when you put in the care and obligations that comes with the title. Well, you're pretty fulfilled by em. And that means we stick together always. And care for each other always. So don't you worry your head about my crush. Don't worry about seeing my back out the door."

Hobie just snuggles her closer at that. Harley chuckles and cuddles back.

If there's one thing Hobie believes in, without a question, it is his sister.

-----

Oíche mhaith a chroí = Irish Gaelic - Goodnight, my dear

Bon lannwit, Mon kè = Haitian Creole - Goodnight, my heart

Ann kouche, pinèz = Haitian Creole - Let's go lie down, Bug.

#Hobie Brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown fanfiction #black oc #spider punk #spiderman across the verse #spiderman astv #astv hobie #black reader #getting ready for bed trope

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dejabluebabygirl · 2 years

Text

I See You - Chapter 1

Miles Quaritch x Fem! Na'vi OC

Summary: Vira Te Wou Auhew’ite, an albino Na'vi and future Tsahìk of the Tayrangi Clan, The Ikran Riders of the Eastern Sea, keeps needing to save the demon Miles Quaritch at Ewyas command. When she's given a sign to try to teach him The People's way, both she and Miles struggle with their growing feelings for each other.

Authors note: All Na’vi speech will be in BLUE because I honestly don't think I can keep trying to translate forever lol so whether the phrase is written in Na’vi or in English, just imagine its like jake who is now sooooooo used to the Na’vi language it's like English lol.

I looked up how Native Americans used to tell years part the most common answer I could find was the moon but Pandora is a moon so a year from Vira’s POV will be referred to as a “full sky cycle” so that's a full 12 months. For a month I’m going to refer to it as just “cycles” or “short cycles” unless anyone has a better suggestion!

Vira is also sister to Ikeyni (which is talked about in this chapter, https://james-camerons-avatar.fandom.com/wiki/Ikeyni ) but since she’s really not overall important to the movie lore I don’t think it matters much so I'll be taking liberties with the Tayrangi Clan Clan since honestly, James Cameron has left it all pretty bare bones, at least what I can find online.

I added a tag list if anyone wants to be added please just let me know! I didn't expect such a response on the prologue so thank you so much for being so kind! I cleaned up my manic writing so hopefully, you'll like this chapter, Chapter 2 is already partially completed too! Suggestions, prompts, and ideas are always welcome but can't be promised!

Oh and credit to @milknhonies for the idea to just bold the English after Na’vi, they’re the person I saw do it and their writing is amazing for Quaritch and I need to stop reading their stuff so I don’t borrow things on accident : �� )

Rating: T I think, nothing I would deem too spicy

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language/swearing, mild mentions of mating/sex, nudity, chase scene, aggressive behavior, some manhandling, and I guess manipulation too? I'm bad at this : ' )

Words: 5,797

Chapter 1

Vïra had a nearly sleepless night beside the sky demon, after she’d said it was Ewya’s will he live, he did not push her for more answers. She had sewn up his face in silence and soon after he’d fallen asleep against the tree. She’d found herself a small, soft patch of grass at his side and tried to get some rest. Close enough that she would hear if he needed anything but not close enough to touch,

In truth, Vira was tried. Tired of being away from home, tired of thinking she knew what Ewya wanted. She’d left her home twice now, trying to do what the great mother asked of her but it was hard when all she gave to Vira was brief images, flashes of the future when her kuru was attached to the large, white mushroom that thrived in her villages Glade of Echos. Their most sacred space to connect to Ewya.

She knew she should be thankful, the great mother was speaking to her in her own way but it was a burden to keep traveling far from home to save a demon. To see the destruction he left in his wake.

For reasons unknown to her, Ewya wanted him alive.

In total Vira had only ever received three visions from the great mother. She always saw things from her own eyes, things yet to pass. Her first as a child she had seen Toruk Makto come to their village, she seen so clearly her sister, Ikeyni riding off to war with the Sky People on the backs of their Ikrans. When she’d told her mother and sister they had laughed, thought it was merely a child playing a game but a day later Jake Sully, the dream walker who became Toruk Makto, came to them. Her sister flew off to battle without hesitation.

The second was when she saw the demon falling on the back of his royal blue Ikran. Falling from the Ikran rookery in Ayram alusìng used by the Omatikaya clan, she’d been shown in it in one of her visits to the clan. She saw she was on her gold Ikran Stiwi, diving down beside him, shouting at him to use Tsaheylu in English. The pink Na’vi fled from home right then and there and flew straight to the floating mountains. She perched on a cliff face and waited for the demon to fall and did as Ewya showed her.

Vira had gotten an earful from her mother for taking off without telling anyone and promised not to do it again. But she would. She did it again, she’s done it this very afternoon. She’d gone and connected her kuru to the large white mushroom and saw the demon flying on his Ikran, going down into the forest, then in a flash, she saw herself bandaging up his wounds. She knew what she needed to do and left immediately, following the coast of the eastern sea south for hours, closer to where the Metkayina villages were.

Then after feeling like she had traveled south forever, she saw the large royal blue Ikran going down into the woods just as she’d seen. She pursued on Stiwi, leaving her in a nearby tree as she quickly and quietly climbed down to observe the demon before assisting him. For being in such pain, he’d spotted her much quicker than she’d excepted.

For now, Vira laid and tried to focus on her breathing, the calmness of her breath, the softness of the grass and ignore the strange feeling from being around the demon. The weird pull that pooled her stomach. It got worse when she touched him, she had a hard time not thinking about how his hard, muscled abdomen had felt under her nimble fingers. She’d help heal Na’vi men amongst her clan but they had never made her feel like that. Her face and ears felt hot at the thought of changing his bandages tomorrow.

The feeling had gotten even worse when he’d grabbed her kuru, an act that both scared her and made her heart beat loud in her chest.

She’s never been touched in such a manner by anyone, let alone a male Na’vi.

Let alone a demon.

Went it just felt like Vïra had fallen asleep, she was awoken by a sharp tug on her tail. She screamed as pain shot up her spine as she was dragged over to the demon from her sleeping place. Her fingers left marks in the soil as she tried to get away but he was too strong.

“Morning princess,” the blue sky demon quipped, her pink tail still wrapped around his knuckles, he flashed a fanged smile.

“Not princess,” she grumbled while attempting to snatch her tail back. He held it tight for a few moments but let it go without warning after she gave a few hard tugs, causing her to fall back on the ground.

“Sorry about that sweetheart, just pulling your tail a little.” He let out a chuckle, amused with himself.

She made an annoyed noise but tried her best to remember her manners. He was a demon, she shouldn’t expect kindness but she’d do right by the great mother. Get him healed, send him away.

“Vira Te Wou Auhew’it,” she said adjusting herself as she sat back up, placing a hand on her chest as she gave her name. The demon looked at her like she grew extra limbs. “Vira is okay.”

“Miles Quaritch.” he cracked a small, fanged smile that she wasn’t sure if altogether friendly or threatening.

She repeated his full name back to him, testing it on her tongue.

“Just call me Miles, Vira.” He couldn’t quite say her name correctly with his accent but he tried, she let out a giggle and covered her mouth, flushed with embarrassment.

“What?” He asked, his ears down in disappointment he couldn’t hide.

“Your saying is off but it is okay. Your language was not easy to learn either. Still struggle.” she reassured him with a small, kind smile he didn’t deserve.

–

Vira left the alien to go find them some food and gather water after she’d checked his bandages, there wasn’t much she could do for his injuries, even as a future Tsahìk, there was a limit to her abilities. Maybe the Sky People would be able to do more, after regaining some more strength he’d be able to leave in the next day or two and she could go home.

The prospect of returning home filled with her excitement and nervous energy, after many years of prodding mother had finally gotten her to accept a betrothal, it was deemed that they would mate before Ewya in 2 short cycles of time when the seasons changed. It would be mating season then and while they could mate at any time, Vira has always hoped to make the bond during this sacred time.

Vira was an other amongst her people, while she was a part of the tribe, their leaders' sister and daughter of the Tsahìk but she was just different. Different in more than just her pink coloring but in her mannerisms and thoughts. Throughout her whole childhood Vira was quiet and inquisitive, she liked the arts and the songs of the past, always seeking knowledge. She didn't mind spending time alone and away, they were a tribe but she was happy to have solitude with Ewya in the Glade of Echos or to stay home making jewelry rather than playing games. When she wanted to be included or tried, she would be picked on for her looks, stature, or being strange. Many nights she remembered crying in her mother's arms, asking why Ewya had made her so different from everyone else. Things got easier as she aged, more of The People realized she was a valuable scholar and would be a good Tsahìk someday. Vira had made many friends with the women of the village, they found her sweet and easy to talk to, and they thought it funny to make her pink face pinker by talking of mating acts. Vira was quick to love those who gave her kindness and she especially found ap lace in her heart for the younglings she would teach when she was in the village.

But what Vira truly wanted from her tribe she could not have, acceptance was one thing but a heart match with a Na’vi man she felt was not in the stars for her. She knew the gazes of males danced over her pink skin every mating season since she came of age. Many worried her coloring would pass on or were concerned with how small her stature was, making them keep their distance. They didn’t even try to get to know her.

Vira could not deny that she was petite, small for even a Na’vi woman, some of the younglings girls in their teen full sky cycles were already as tall or taller than her. Many of The People thought small stature meant a sign of weak Na’vi children. The thought made her sad.

She'd heard story after story, song after song that talked about how pure and sure the love of a heart match would be but it was not meant to be for her.

But she could have children to love and care for.

Lately, Vira no longer felt the drive to hold out hope for a heart match, she had been holding out for but after 20 full sky cycles and Ewya did not grant it to her despite all her prayers. She knew it was time to start a family and have many children. When she’d helped the women of her village give birth and she held their babes in her arms for those few brief moments before giving them back to their mothers, she knew that was a love she craved. Vira had traveled far and wide amongst the clams and gained much knowledge, seen all their sacred animals, and observed many rituals. She felt fulfilled in this sense, learned all she could from The People, and was ready to finally stay home and take her fledgling Tsahìk duties more seriously. She’d gone to her mother after helping with a birth last cycle and asked her to inquire about betrothal matches,

Huärì had been the best match her mother returned to her with, he was a great hunter and great warrior. Much like her he had held off looking for a mate for some time but he was much older than her with 45 full sky cycles passing since his birth but he was still strong and capable. He was also kind to her and told her she looked like the eclipse sky, she knew he would provide for her and their future children. They would be content together and maybe they would grow to love. Surely they’d love the babes they had together.

Stiwi Viras Ikran, flew swiftly over the top of the jungle, bringing her towards the sea. She had not brought a bow or spear to hunt with but her net had been attached to her saddle. She would dive with her Ikran and bring their fill of fish, as she had done many times at home.

Maybe with some food in his belly the demon would also be less irritable. Why one so miserable was serving of Ewyas grace made her head swim.

—

Miles spent most of his time laid up against the tree, he’d tried using his neck communicator once Vira had left, hoping with being closer range to Bridgehead City and the RDA that something would go through but it didn’t, the thing was busted. He hastily ripped it off his neck and chucked it angrily into the foliage. Fucking junk.

The Recom Na’vi pulled his tank top back on but left his vest discarded, he couldn’t be bothered with it right now. He managed to stand and move around the clearing enough that he was able to take a leak and pat his dark blue Banshees head. He felt woozy though, weak. Either from his extended trip under the sea from fighting Sully or just needing food and water as the pink Na’vi told him, he couldn’t be sure but decided to rest would be the best way to save up some strength. He situated himself back against the tree and slept like the dead.

Quaritch woke up, bleary-eyed and disoriented to the smell of fish roasting over a small fire. The sunlight was deteriorating and Vira busied herself, stoking the flames and taking great care of the fish. He was a little surprised she didn’t tuck tail and run away from him, he hadn’t exactly been kind to her even though she’d done nothing but try to help him. She was pluckier than he first pegged her for.

“Smells good, Tiny.”

Vira’s pink ears perked when she heard his voice, dropping everything to check on him, asking about his wounds and his pain. She gently lifted up his shirt and checked under the leaves she’d patched him up with utmost care. Her small digits traced the stitches gently that she’d placed in his face, she left goosebumps in her wake as she muttered softly to herself in Na’vi. He was just taken by surprise by the gentleness in the most brutal environment known to man, that was all.

Miles was equally surprised by how much of what she was saying he actually understood what she said to herself, ‘strong heart, energy flow, no infection.’ He supposed he had Spider to thank for that, a little pang of sadness bloomed in his chest as he thought of his son. As he thought of all the events over the past few months, even in his relentless pursuit of Sully he’d felt quite close to the boy. He cared about him, and loved him as much as he could, even if he wasn’t really his father, they’d certainly formed a strange but strong bond over the months they were together. It didn't change that he had a soft spot for the kid. He’d taught him more about the Na’vi the science pukes ever did.

“How do you know all this healing stuff?”

“Mother is Tsahìk.”

“And where’d you learn English”

He watched her scrunch up her nose and brow in thought, her tail thumped against the ground a few times, trying to find the right word.

“Mother's sister, she taught our people.”

“Aunt, your mother's sister is your aunt. Where did she learn English?”

“Grace Augustine's school.” a sadness swelled in her orange eyes. “Aunt is gone now, she died in war against the Sky People when my sister fought with Toruk Makto”

The words hung in the air. Did she know exactly who she was dealing with? Did she know he was the one that led the assault against her people? The reason her family member died? He ignored it.

“Your sister, huh?”

“Yes, she is Olo’trykan. She is great leader. I will be Tsahìk one day.”

That meant her sister was a clan leader and she would be their shaman, speaking to that damn tree god Grace herself had always been going on about. Said tree god that according to Vira, wanted him alive.

“So you are a pretty little princess,” Miles said with sharp sarcasm dripping from his words.

Vira half-heartedly bared her little fangs in his direction. “Not princess.”

He barked a laugh that strung his ribs at her little display, he didn’t know if he understood what a princess was but she didn't like being called it. That meant he'd never stop.

After she’d finished her examination she came back with a large leaf full of cooked fish for him to eat.

“Irayo” Thank you.

She looked a little startled at him for using her natural tongue but gave him a little smile as she got herself a few fish to eat. “kea tìkin.” No need to thank me.

They ate their fill and she put the fire out and disposed of the bones and scarps by feeding them to the Ikrans. She said it was to not attract the attention of the forest critters, no food or lights in the jungle after dark. He watched the two Ikrans with interest and she pat their heads and fed them. She seemed experienced with them. His royal blue Ikran one look a nasty snap at her gold one, asserting his dominance when they were introduced but they seemed to get along alright after, they even went up into the trees to nest together.

Vira came to sit near him, it didn’t go unnoticed by Miles how she’d angled her body so she was facing him, keeping her pink tail out of his reach. She was sharp, he’d give her that.

Miles and Vira chatted on, going back and forth and a mishmash of Na’vi and English. He found she very curious about the sky people and learned was from the Eastern sea. They traded little scraps of information to each other by bioluminescent light. She’d come a long way from home to save him. He surmised she was a teacher or some kind of academic since she was not Tsahìk yet. She spoke of how she often spent time traveling to other clans, learned their ways, and brought them back to her people, it was why she’d been in the Ocean Na’vi village that day he’d burned their huts. She’d been there to observe the Tulkun and tell her people of their bonds with the reef dwellers and sing their songs upon her return. Nothing was written, all knowledge was passed by word of mouth or song.

He’d told her how he was a warrior for the sky people, holding up his five fingers in the air to emphasize the point that he was not wholly Na’vi. Her orange eyes seemed captivated by them like they were the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. So strange and alien from her own four-fingered hands. Quaritch also told her of his pursuit of Toruk Makto, which she’d known anyways, clearly hearing him on the beach. He told her about his near drowning, her orange eyes sparkled in awe that he survived and flew all the way to this very spot. He tried to give her as little information as possible but enough to keep her hooked while she prattled on, happy to chat.

She passed him a crude, animal hide water bottle and he drank his fill, water dripping down his chin to his chest and shirt. Her orange eyes were downcast after that, Miles supposed he must have been quite the looker for a Na’vi as he watched her pink face and ears darken in the bioluminescent light of the forest. Maybe that would be useful later.

“Tomorrow I will take you to the river to clean, ” Her eyes were still politely averting his gaze. “Then you can leave the day after, your strength will return then.”

The idea of leaving the day after tomorrow and heading back to the RDA was promising, they could double-check his wounds and he could go back with a better, more prepared team to take out Jake Sully. That was his prime directive afterall, that was the mission. But he couldn't shake the feeling that leaving Vira felt like missing out on a golden opportunity to learn the savage's ways, the little pink Na’vi was by far the most cooperative he’d dealt with in either of his lifetimes. He’d learned some things from Spider, gained some insight but he wasn’t sure how much of the information was reliable, he’d been loyal to Sully all those months even though they bonded. Vira had loyalty to her own tribe. Toruk Makto was nothing to them except someone they went to war with over a decade ago, just a memory for her.

He knew needed to live, eat, and breathe like the enemy and learn all he could about their ways. That's how he would take Sully down.

—

There was no violence when Vira woke up the next day, the demon's eyes were still closed and he was breathing softly. She quietly sat up and stretched her long pink limbs and stared at Miles while he slept. He didn't seem so demon-like when he slept, Miles seemed so much like any other Na’vi but maybe a bit bigger, more muscled, and with more fingers too.

Vira’s mind and eyes drifted down to his large and strong 5 fingered hands, peacefully folded in Miles's lap as he snored softly. She thought of how just those hands seemed to be able to hold her in place, by either grabbing her own hands or her tail, how much power did the alien hold in his body? It send a little shiver down her spine and heat bloomed in her cheeks, just like last night when she’d seen the water drip down from his mouth onto his broad chest. It was a feeling she really didn't understand like there was a dozen tiny kenten flying in her belly.

The pink Na’vi figured now in the morning glow was as good a time as any to go and gather from the jungle, to fly Stiwi back to the ocean today would be foolish when she’d need her to push back home tomorrow. No, she'd save her Ikrans strength and collect food from the forest. Ewya would provide.

Vira walked the forest paths quitely gathering the bounty the great mother provided, easily filling her bag with Yovo and Tìhawnuwll fruits that were so ripe she was sure they would burst with sweetness. They would both go to bed again with full bellies, each ready for long journeys. Ready to go home.

It was midday when she returned to camp, bag, arms, and hands overflowing with bounty. Miles still slept, Vira rolled her orange eyes. He like a baby, slept all day, made too much noise, and would be useless in a clan. Except maybe he could be used to carry heavy things. She giggled at the thought of him being forced to pile firewood back home as she placed the fruit next to him.

Miles' yellow eyes cracked up at the sound of her laugh, which made her smile more.

–

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly, Vira led Miles to the river to drink their fill and bathe. When she’d given him a small bundle of herbs she’d bound together on her morning excursion so he could clean himself properly and remove the salve from his wounds, he had given her a look of confusion. She explained her best in a mix of Na’vi and English while doing washing motions. He seemed to understand as he began taking off his sky people clothing.

Nakedness was not shameful to the Na’vi but Vira couldn’t help but turn her head away when he began to remove his pants. She got up and walked towards the jungle while he cleaned himself, stomach aflutter as she heard the water splashing with his movements. For the briefest of moments, she thought to look back for a moment but held back the urge to peak. Her face felt flush again and wondered if she was getting ill. Back home she’d bathed many times with men from her village, as long as it wasn’t mating season there was no harm in the act. But Miles made her feel different, he was of the sky people, not a true-born Na’vi, she told herself it was just her natural curiosity getting the better of her. Was a demon’s body different than the others she’d seen?

Vira jumped when she felt his blue hand, large and heavy on her shoulder, she’d heard him get out of the water but hadn’t realized how close he was. Miles was half-dressed and wet with only his pants on. She took in just how much larger he was than her as he took beside her for the first time. The top of her head only just reached his shoulder. She felt her face flush a deeper shade of purple.

“Waters fine Princess if you want to get in, I’ll watch your six.”

Vira didn't understand exactly what he was saying but she understood it was her turn to get in the water, she headed towards the bank and reached behind her neck to do the animal hide ties of her beaded breastplate, its edge lined with Ikran teeth and clearwing sheddings from Stiwi. Vira went to set it on the bank behind her and saw Miles was watching her, standing relaxed against a tree with his arms folded over his broad, fully covered chest.

“Mìn.” Turn.

She made a rotating motion with her hand and he still didn't move.

“Ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before sweetheart, just making sure your little pink ass don’t get eaten on me.”

Vira rolled her orange eyes but didn't argue with the large blue demon. He was more likely to get eaten than she was but it was the last night she had to deal with him, with his sharpness and hubris. She turned her back to him and undid the small leaf covering on breasts and undid her tweng, keeping her tail between her legs to protect her scared place. At home she wouldn't have cared, back home there was no need for modesty but his yellow eyes felt intrusive. He was an other, he was not part of The People.

She wadded into the river and plunged herself beneath the crisp, clean water.

Any member of the Tayrangi Clan was just as comfortable on the back of their Ikran in the air or swimming in the sea. They were a coastal clan and utilized both the forest and sea both to their advantage. From a young age, they were all taught to swim and to be as comfortable in the water as they were on land.

Vira did everything quickly as she bathed. Normally she took her time and enjoyed her time in the water but with Miles's eyes burning into her back she felt the need to move, like prey under the eye of a skilled predator. She washed her hair and her body quickly with the herbs, quickly wrung out her long white curls, and quickly dressed so they could quickly return to their camp.

She met Miles's gaze once fully dressed. “Sreton’ong soon must get back.” Dusk.

–

Back at camp Vira gave Miles of the tihawnuwll fruits while she began to peel and dice the yovo’s. As she’d suspected when she’d picked them up, they burst the minute he tried to bite into the supple purple flesh. She laughed at him as blue juice dribbled onto his hand and down his chin, freshly washed and already dirty again. Definitely like a baby.

He shrugged his massive shoulder, unashamed of his mess, and continued eating, making undignified slurping sounds, determined to get every ounce of sweetness. She knew she should have scolded him for being too loud, that he’d attract the wildlife to their camp, but the sounds made Vira feel uncomfortable. Those sounds made her skin crawl and her stomach flip. Those sounds nearly made Vira nearly cut herself. It didn't go unnoticed.

“Jesus, give that here.” He barked, lazily resting against his tree, one leg sprawled and the other with his one keen up with his strong forearm eating on it, hand extended for her to pass the fruit. He looked so comfortable in the forest that she forgot for a moment he was an alien wearing the face of her people until her three fingers brushed against his four as she handed over the fruit.

There was no conversation, just silence as Vira watched Miles make quick work of the fruit. She was focused on his hands, the hands of a demon. Surely five fingers was too many, it would be clumsy and awkward but he was agile as a Palulukan with the horrible metal knife. Didn’t he, didn't these sky people know that Ewya forbade the use of metals from the ground? But she forgave the sin to watch his hands move skillfully like great blue Kali'weya.

“Hand me some leaves to put these on,” Miles ordered and she obeyed gathering several large leaves to serve the chopped Yovo fruit on.

Before long you were both sitting against the tree, enjoying each other company, exchanging stories as you had the previous night. He was nicer today, and more enjoyable, you’d maybe even miss him and his stories of the sky people a little bit when he was gone. Today he told you of the great and terrible machine arachnids that made their large, tall, metal dwellings in minutes.

Vira was hanging onto Miles every word as she bit into a tihawnuwll that promptly exploded over her. She hissed in irritation and flattened her ears in embarrassment, she’d been so captivated by the story she’d forgotten of their ripeness,

Miles laughed at her, his fangs gleaming in the glow of the jungle.

“Looks like you made a mess of yourself too, Tiny,” He tried to hand her a leaf but she batted it away out of humiliation.

“No, no, I’ll wash in the river. It's not far.”

Vira, a shade darker than normal, got up quickly and started to walk.

“I’ll come with ya.”

She just wanted a moment away, to clean the stickiness from her skin, to let the heat dissipate from her cheeks, to not hear her heart pound in her ears.

Vira flicked her pink tail in irritation and it hit his leg. The pink Na'vi was so surprised that he was already behind her and keeping pace that she stopped dead in her tracks, making him knock into her from behind. She nearly lost her footing.

She whipped around to face him and lashed out.

“You? You make too much noise, always making messes, like a baby, not knowing what to do. Useless Skxawng.”

He understood enough of what she was saying to know did not like it.

Not one bit.

–

Quaritch quickly backed the little pink na’vi against a tree trunk, her head hit the back of it with an audible thunk. She was surely seeing stars when her big doe eyes looked up at him, his face contorted in anger as his large blue arms caged both sides of her head and his legs on either side of her.

Why her mood soured so quick he couldn’t say but he wasn’t taking lip like that from anyone, let alone some petulant little native.

He leaned his massive Recom body down so he was eye to eye with her.

“Now, I’d say I’ve been pretty damn nice to you today so I won’t be having any of that” he gritted at her, his fangs gleaming in the low bioluminescent glow of the forest. “So I’m gonna need you to quit being so damn ugly, sweetheart.”

She hissed at him, barring her pearly white fangs like the little savage she was. Her pink face all puffed up and angry like a wet house cat.

This hadn’t been how he planned to have this conversation with Vira. He’d planned simply to ask her to teach him, she’d seemed to actually enjoy helping him with Na’vi and talking about the culture but she wasn’t playing nice tonight so neither was he.

“Now here how this is going to go,” he drawled, not backing away from her. “Tomorrow you’re not going home, you’re staying with me and you’re going to teach me everything about the Na’vi, do you understand me?” It was an order not a question.

She didn’t like that.

He saw defiance grow in her orange eyes like a roaring flame. It was that same pluck that made her bold enough to come back to him and take care of him earlier when he was cruel. Quaritch had seen enough faces all twisted up and angry at him that practically see what she was thinking about doing and he had to snuff that shit out.

Miles leaned in so they were nearly nose to nose. “If you spit on me Princess, I swear to whoop your ass so hard you’ll be just as blue as any other goddamn Na’vi.” He growled

Her eyes widen in fear and her features softened, he watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard. Miles backed his face away a few inches, taking her change in demeanor for compliance.

But he blinked and suddenly she wasn’t in front of him anymore.

He looked down as Vira dove between his leg, she’d dropped all her body weight, sliding down the tree, and was now making a break for it by diving between his wide open legs. He tried to stomp on her pink tail as it disappeared between his lower limbs.

The albino Na’vi was behind him, sprinting into the forest, ghosting a glowing trail at her heels.

He followed hot on her trail, within seconds he could see her. Vira was small and agile but her coloring made her light up like a Christmas tree in the glowing woods. His strides were impossibly big compared to hers, she couldn’t outrun him, even with his broken rib. Did she really think she was getting away?

But she kept going kept trying, even when he got so close her tail brushed his abdomen, she tried to pick her pace and take a different twists and turns but she couldn’t get away. Not from him. Quaritch swore he could smell her fear with his Na’vi nose, there was no mistaking he’d find her if she tried to hide.

The Recom Na’vi watched her break through the brush into a clearing and then just stop, for no rhyme or reason that he could see as he stared at her between branches. She was just stopped dead in her tracks a few feet in. Miles watched as her head slowly moved in all directions, wild white hair gently swaying. Was there danger? Was this surrender?

He took a deep breath to regain some composure and to try and get his pain under control, his blue and pink nose flaring as his left side bloomed with fresh pain from the pursuit. He broke through the foliage behind her and saw what she was staring at.

It was dozens, no, hundreds of little white floating lights.

He took a few steps closer to her and she didn’t move, she was mesmerized by whatever they were.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Vira breathed, back still to him.

“What are they?” He asked as one floated down towards him and illuminated his face. It was almost like a jellyfish crossed with a puffball dandelion that’d gone to seed back on earth.

He smacked the thing.

The albino Na’vi turned around, her stupor seemingly broken. He thought she was going to chastise him or yell or bolt again but she was calm. Not at all what he had excepted after he just chased her through the jungle. She was serene and unafraid.

“Gentle, they are pure” She instructed in a whisper. Her two small pink hands gathered up one of his large blue ones and had him open his palm, guiding it toward the glowing tuft. It floated into his hand.

“What are these things?” He asked again, normally not one to ask nicely twice but they were so beautiful, in an alien way, Miles forgot to be annoyed about repeating himself. His ears went flat and he furrowed his brow as he pulled it closer to his face to observe. She released his hand as yellow eyes filled with wonder at it.

“Atokirina” Miles’s eyes moved from the bright little light to her as watched her pause to think of the English. Viras face scrunched and tail twitced as she thought. A few more tufts floated down onto his arms and shoulders.

“Seeds of the Tree of Life, a sign of Ewya.”

Quaritch stood there still as a statute, if he moved he feared he might spook Vira and she’d to run off again, with the pain searing into his side he did not to chase her anymore. As he stood there more and more of the seeds kept landing on him until the only part of him not covered in them was his face. Vira seems content to sit there and watch the scene unfold, the Recom Na’vi could see she had tears in the corners of her orange eyes as she looked at him. He felt ridiculous covered in them, all the while the little pink savage was having some kind of religious experience. Utterly ridiculous. They were just seeds. Glowing, floating seeds.

“Did you mean it? That you wish to learn our way? To learn to be N'avi?” She spoke soft and looked into his eyes with such earnest it was almost painful.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. He needed to learn their ways, maybe not for the pure reason Vira probably hoped for but it was the truth the he desired to learn.

“Ewya help me,” she murmured what sounded almost like a prayer and started up into his eyes. “I will teach you, Miles.”

At her words, every single seed that landed on him all at once released themselves and floated up into the trees. His yellow eyes followed them as the bobbed away towards the tree tops.

It was beautiful and unexplainable.

Prologue - Next Chapter

Master List

Side note: Vira is only 7'8" just FYI, the average height for Na'vi is 8' to 10' so she's small. Here's the height comparison chart for Vira and some other Avatar Characters! I used https://www.heightcomparison.com/

Tag List: @bandomonia

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bradshawsbitch · 2 years

Text

international | bradley bradshaw x f!reader

disclaimer: y'hello, this is basically me writing down my maladaptive daydream so like yeah. this is somewhere between reader and oc cause I added some shit to the character. this is for my bilingual queens! 'reader' ain't from america, but u h h h yeah! hope you like it still!

word count: 3700.

warnings: cursing - a lot of cursing, mentions of eating meat, mentions of alcoholic beverages, a bit of self doubt if you squint.

plot: you're an international student, currently located in san diego. on a little sight-seeing tour you bump in to mr. hawaii shirt!

part 2

◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇

You almost couldn’t believe your sheer dumb luck. Was it years of hard work that finally paid off? Maybe. Was it divine intervention? Perhaps it was. But you could hardly believe that you had managed to go through the process of applying for an exchange from your University to the one you were currently sat in. Sunny San Diego had always felt like a perfectly good place to explore, and you had painstakingly went through many Universities’, reading their websites and the description of their international programmes. You’d looked at other countries as well, but you had secretly always been quite fascinated with the US - and when you received the e-mail that a university in San Diego could accomodate you, you’d almost screamed out loud back in your home country.

It had been a few weeks now. The semester had started, the weather was still warm as ever, and you had finally decided that today you would go sight-seeing. Spending the early morning at La Jolla Cove, you looked at the sea lions - marvelling at how cute (albeit smelly) they were, and enjoying taking the scenic route in the beat up, champagne colored, Honda you’d rented. It was automatic - something you weren’t really accustomed to (back at home you always drove a manual). Today was a day off for you, so you felt like you could really do all of the touristy things you hadn’t had the time for since you arrived before the semester started. Sure, you’d spent the first week seeing all the things you felt were important. You’d been to Cheesecake Factory (happily surprised with the hibachi steak you had), you’d been to a baseball game (it was fun! You’d gotten a little pin that said it was your first game), and you’d tried to understand american football - courtesy of a very drunk guy on campus who seemed appalled that you, an international student, did not already know the inns and outs of the game. The memory made you snort out a short laugh.

By the time lunch rolled around you’d gotten to Old Town, where you drank in the charm of the buildings, looking at trinkets in the shops, and stopping to gaze at the Whaley House. You’d never really been too into true crime, but even you knew about the Whaley House - and despite the warm weather, a chill ran down your spine. Shaking it off, you decided it was definitely time for some lunch. Milling about Old Town, you suddenly spotted a quaint little place that seemed to serve variations of tacos and burritos - which turned out to be the best damn burrito you ever ate in your entire life.

Continuing the day of sight-seeing, your little Honda puttered further down, weaving in and out of scenic routes and roads. You’d turned off your google maps when you left Old Town, wanting to have some spontaneity in your adventures. After quite some time driving (it was now afternoon, closer to evening), you found a parking spot to claim, where you figured you could continue on foot. Looking around, you’d managed to find a beach, where a small bar sat - music playing softly from within. Heading for the beach, you peeked inside. It seemed as if the woman inside was setting up for the afternoon and night, and it seemed rather empty. Perhaps you’d have a quick swim and have your dinner there.

You went for a quick swim, enjoying the way the waves cooled your body down and washed away the sweat and grime from having driven and walked around all day. Having a quick dry-off, you swiftly put your clothes on again (only stumbling once when putting on your pants, that’s a win!), and headed for the bar you’d spotted earlier. By now the sky had turned a beautiful shade of red, lilac and blue, as the sun set slowly. Making your way inside the bar, you managed to get the attention of the pretty woman in the bar - standing next to a man with dark hair that she had been talking to.

“Hi, do you serve food here as well?” you asked with a smile, nodding in acknowledgement to the man sat by the bar. As the woman confirmed your suspicions, you ordered something small and made your way over to the other side of the bar - you didn’t want to seem like you were prying. As your eyes scanned the shelves, seeing some familiar bottles and some unfamiliar bottles of liquor - you suddenly felt a strange need for a drink. You’d driven here though, so a coke would have to do.

As you waited for your food to arrive, more people were entering the (what you thought was a) quiet bar. Many of them were dressed in khaki. Now, you didn’t exactly have an impeccable sense of fashion - but khaki always made you think of Bella Swan. Her khaki skirt. Sexy, according to S. Meyer.

Your gaze roamed around to find a blond man throwing darts, his friend trying to mess him up by putting a hand in front of his eyes - to no avail though - it looked like it was a bullseye from where you sat. Looking around further, you spotted a group of people gathered around a pool table - and you almost wished you’d brought a friend, just so that you could play. Of course you could always ask to join, but you felt like you were too shy for that. You never wanted to impose.

Seeing a beautiful woman in a sleek bun walking in, walking with purpose towards the pool tables had you biting your lip. Why were all these khaki clad people so handsome? Was it a club? Your brows furrowed slightly at your own thoughts. Surely not.

As your head swivelled to thank the bartender for the food she’d just delivered to you, you noticed the door swinging open, and a tall form walking in. And boy, howdy, were you glad you’d decided to turn your attention to the door.

Never in your life would you have imagined salivating over a man with a hawaiian shirt over the top of a white wife-beater, let alone a man with a fucking moustache. But damn, this dude had obviously won the gene-lottery. A soft uttering of a curse word slipped past your lips in your native language, and the bartender, who had apparently hung around to witness your reaction, couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on your face.

But like honestly, you felt you were blame-less in this. The man stood tall, with broad shoulders and (when he’d removed his sunglasses) a face that would make a Vogue model envious. In other words, a man that would never in a million years go for you. You sighed, shaking your head slightly, picking up your jaw from the floor, you turned to order a drink from the bartender, only to find that she had moved on down the bar. You could only smile at your own behaviour. You weren’t a teenager anymore! Should a man really make you react like that? A man with a hawaiian shirt at that.

“That seems awfully dry without a drink,”

Perhaps you were having an aneurysm. A short-circuit. A power outage? The voice that spoke was soft, but the honeyed tone of his voice alone made you want to shiver. Turning your head yet again, your lips slightly parted in surprise, you were met by the face of Hawaiian shirt God, standing right there next to you. Blinking a couple of times, you took a quick look-around, just to make sure a Victoria's Secret model wasn’t standing right next to you with something dry that he could comment on.

“Uh, are you– are you talking to me?” it might seem like he was, but one could never be too sure. Perhaps he was talking on the phone. Without headphones. You never know! Hawaiian shirt God chuckled and nodded towards your food and your apparent lack of drink.

“Oh, I drove here!” you smiled “I was going to order a coke but the bartender was too fast for me,” you said in a jovial tone, making sure to not make it seem as if you blamed her. Hawaiian shirt God furrowed his brows, leaning his frame on the bartop, twisting his torso so it was facing you (was it getting hot in here?), with a bewildered look on his face.

“You know you can have a drink and still drive home right?” you could kick yourself. You were used to the slightly stricter laws from back home.

“Oh,” you uttered softly “I’m not from around here. I’m not used to being allowed to drive if alcohol has even touched my tongue,” you joked, shrugging your shoulders.

“Could I perhaps buy you something to drink? Coke is allowed,” he smirked and your breath hitched in your throat as you took in his words. He wanted to buy you a— you blinked and took a steadying breath.

“I– yeah, sure. What’re you having?” you asked, your mind suddenly becoming blank. What did you even like to drink? It was as if you had never had anything to drink ever in your entire life before this. How embarrassing. He answered with the name of a beer you’d never heard of and you wrinkled your nose slightly. The laugh that rolled from his lips was divine. If only you were a stand-up comedian and could make him laugh all the live long day.

“Not a fan of beer, huh?” he asked, smiling down at your sitting form. You smiled sheepishly, shaking your head as you took your bottom lip in between your teeth to think.

“Perhaps a glass of wine?” you looked up at him questioningly, and he smiled in response

“Red or white?”

“White, please,” you smiled. He nodded and managed to make eye-contact with the bartender, who swiftly helped him with the drinks.

“Thank you so much–” you raised an eyebrow, your tone insinuating you wanted a name for Hawaiian shirt God.

“Rooster,”

Hold on. What? Like the animal?

“R-Rooster?” you were trying your damn best not to laugh. Laughing would feel like an insult to this poor kids’ parents. You knew some Americans liked to name their children eccentric things, but you figured that was mostly Hollywood.

His booming laughter at the way you hesitantly stuttered his name had your cheeks warm with embarrassment, and you averted your gaze down to your finished plate of food.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, my name’s Bradley. I’ve gotten so used to being called Rooster so– I figured not too many civilians would find their way into the Hard Deck,” he smiled, and it seemed as if he was trying his hardest not to seem like he was mansplaining his name to you. Bradley. Alright, maybe his parents did love him after all.

“Oh, well thank you then, Bradley,” you smiled uncertainly “and uh- well I guess I am a civilian, I’ve been sight-seeing all day so you might even smack me in the face with ‘tourist’ as well if you want,” you joked. Again, that chuckle was endearing as all hell. You had no idea what he meant by civilian, but you didn’t want to seem any more dumb by asking what he meant by that.

He searched your face for a little while, letting silence fall between the two of you for a short moment - a moment where you yet again could hear the background noise, the drunk singing, the cheering for the people who played pool (you guessed this is why people were cheering, but you were also quite certain you’d heard a bell being rung as well). And in the midst of the noise, you could vaguely make out words of conversations that happened around you - catching words such as ‘naval’, ‘officer’ and ‘lieutenant’.

“Ohh,” you uttered softly, understanding, quickly checking out a person wearing khaki who passed by you. Of course. It was a uniform! You figured the woman who wore her hair in a tight bun was just a woman who wanted to flaunt her immaculate cheekbones, but now it seemed more likely that they were probably military. How did this always manage to happen to you?

“Are you in the army?” you blurted out, and he at first looked amused, but then borderline offended. Shit. Did you do the ol’ foot-in-mouth now? You knew absolutely nothing about the US military, you didn’t even know shit about your military back home.

“I’m a naval aviator,” he responded with a small smile, his body language telling you he wasn’t all too keen to brag. Even though it was undoubtedly impressive.

“I’m sorry– I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I know I joked about being a tourist earlier but I sort of am - I mean, I’m an international student–” you were struggling to find words that didn’t make you sound unbelievably stupid, but sometimes when you had to talk fast, it was as if all the english you’d ever learnt fell out of your vocabulary, and you wanted nothing more than to blurt out some familiar words from your native language.

“Are you old enough to be in here?” he asked as you mentioned you were a student. Now it was your turn to be offended. You were nearing your thirties thank you very much.

“I’m working towards a master of science, so I’m definitely old enough to be in here, thanks” you explained, narrowing your eyes slightly at him, a smirk playing on your lips. He smiled at you again before sipping his beer.

“I never caught your name, sweetheart,” he continued.

“You never asked,” you replied, only slightly letting your tone hint at flirting as you sipped your wine, keeping eye contact with him over the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m asking now,” God, the way his voice had lowered and became slightly husky should be illegal. You could feel your body react unceremoniously to the sound of his voice, and you had to lick your lower lip as you pondered how to answer. Should you say your name with like, an American accent? Should you say it as you would usually at home?

You settled on the latter. You didn’t have the confidence to pronounce it like an American would.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?” you repeated it, slowly, and jokingly said that he was allowed to call you your nickname if he was in a hurry. He laughed at that. You enjoyed making him laugh. His eyes looked so pretty when they lit up in the dim bar-light.

You smiled up at him, and you were just about to initiate another topic of conversation, when his name was called from across the bar.

“Rooster, is this how I find out you’re state-side?” It was the beautiful woman with a tight bun. Damn.

“I’m sorry, would you excuse me for a second?” he smiled at you, and seemed glad to have seen his friend. You nodded quickly “Absolutely!”

And he was gone. Fuck. That was the most exhilarating experience you’d had in a while and you’d let him slip away! It wasn’t as if he was going to drag you out back and take you against the wall (but damn if he wanted to you wouldn’t say no), but still - you had liked how confidently he’d approached you and how sweet he had been about buying you something to drink. You stared at said drink now, swirling the wine slowly in the glass that was now half full - you took a sip as your eyes wandered across the room. The bar had a warm, familiar feeling - even though this was your first time being there. You wouldn’t mind spending more time here. Perhaps they were looking for help - you had bartended before.

Shaking your head, you took another sip of your wine. Rooster had said you could drive home after a drink, but you felt like perhaps it would be wise to wait a little while after finishing your drink before you hit the roads. But now you didn’t have the company of Bradley to keep you occupied, and you heaved a small sigh as you brought out your phone to scroll through social media, checking your instagram story from earlier during the day.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of ‘Slow Ride’ was cut short, and you heard the soft notes of a piano being played. Looking up, you quickly found that the source of the sounds was Bradley, his shade having slid down to rest on his nose. Jesus, was he aware what the hell he was doing? Probably. He smiled as he spotted you, and you couldn’t help but smiled back before he turned his attention to the people standing around him as he started to sing.

This motherfucker needed to slow down. If he wasn’t careful he’d catch a wife. With a voice like that, his endearing approach and fucking insane looks he was surely very popular. If he even mentioned he liked literature or cuddling, you’d be done for.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered, downing the rest of your wine in one go, letting the glass hit the bartop with a bit more force than you’d first intended. A familiar laughter permeated the air, and the bartender woman was stood in front of you again - ready to collect your glass. No doubt she needed it clean for the next round of costumers.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” she smiled at you, and you could only nod.

“Is he always like this?” you inquired and she laughed again.

“Well, I haven’t seen him in quite a while but yeah, I think so,” she smiled at you “But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him buy anyone a drink quite this quick before,” she winked at you, making your cheeks warm up again.

“Hey, would you ever need help around here?” you found the courage to ask “I’ve bartended before, and I make a mean whiskey sour,” you smiled. She pondered your offer for a while before answering,

“Let me think on it. Why don’t you come in tomorrow and we can talk about it?” you nodded and thanked her.

The smile on the bartenders lips widened (Penny, you found out her name was,) as her gaze lifted from you, to something above and behind you. Furrowing your brows, you twisted around to see Bradley stood behind you again.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry about that,” he smiled at you. Damn. He found you again?

“Don’t… worry about it,” it almost sounded like a question.

“You up for a game of pool?” he questioned, before ordering another beer “More wine?” he asked you, leaning slightly over you, letting his arm brush against yours.

“I probably shouldn’t…” you trailed off, biting your lip in contemplation.

“Come on… stay a while,” he smiled softly at you, his brown eyes twinkling all prettily again.

“Alright then, but I can buy my own drink,” you insisted, but he just shook his head.

Spending time with Bradley felt as easy as breathing, and as the two of you played together, you made easy conversation. Turned out he was quite fond of literature (fuck), and that he was quite fascinated by your field of study (fuckin’ hell). As you missed your third shot, a colorful curse word slipped past your lips and Bradley laughed loudly.

“I can’t believe I missed that!” you complained, throwing your head back, agitated. You were not necessarily a sore loser, but you felt like you were pretty alright at the game and could do better.

“You didn’t have the angle quite down,” Bradley said with a shrug, and you narrowed your eyes playfully.

“Oh, show me how it’s done then,” you mocked him, offering him the table.

“Yeah, I think I will,” he smirked, grabbing a hold of your arm, and placing himself behind you - his chest pressed against your back. For the umpteenth time that night, your breath was hitched somewhere in between your lungs and your mouth. You could feel rather than hear Bradley chuckle against you, his lips now close to your ear as he whispered “More like this,” before stepping slightly to your side, one hand on your hip to lean you over the pool table. Fuck. Fucking fuck. With Bradley’s help, unfortunately you made the shot perfectly. Straightening up, you turned slowly, facing Bradley’s chest before looking up at him.

“That was good, sweetheart,” he praised. Jesus. Your thighs were clenching against your will and you had to swallow before an airy laugh slipped past your lips. You were so close. One of his hands still rested on your hips, the other now rising slowly to brush a strand of hair out of your face - helping it rest behind your ear. The tips of his fingers ghosting against your neck. Holy crap. You hoped he’d kiss you. His eyes searched yours, a small smile playing on his lips, and it felt as if he was inching closer to you.

Suddenly the cleaning lights unceremoniously lit up the bar. Damn. You hadn’t even noticed the last call. You swore you heard Bradley utter a soft “fuck” but you might’ve imagined it.

There was a general stir, as people hurried to finish their drinks and make their way out of the bar.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Penny called to you, and you smiled and nodded towards her before turning back to Rooster, who had taken a step away from you. Damn.

“You’re coming here tomorrow?” he asked and you nodded, smiling at him like he hung the moon.

“Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he inquired as the two of you made your way out of the bar and out in to the chilly night.

“But uh… just in case I don’t… could I maybe have your phone number?” he continued hurriedly. You blinked slowly, before a large grin found its’ way onto your lips.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed breathlessly, holding your hand out for his phone. He smiled as you put in your contact, and the two of you just smiled awkwardly for a moment before parting ways.

God, what a great adventure you’d had - you thought as you giggled and danced your way back to your Honda, giddy after having given Rooster your number. You were looking forward to spending more time at the Hard Deck if it meant meeting Bradley more.

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfic #rooster fanfic #rooster fluff #rooster imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #alex writes

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viaetor · 2 months

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hi everyone! i hope you're all doing well and taking care of yourselves and having good days. i haven't been very active here because of my surgeries, but i plan on being more active soon since i've been missing writing a lot. before that though, i need to state something very important for my blog going forward: i will not be interacting with any natlan characters/blogs or characters related/inspired by the region (including ocs), only if they're canon divergent. this will not change with the release of the archon quests. i will simply take whatever i feel is relevant to my aether and that’s it. my reasons for this drastic decision will be explained below. please take this post not only as an announcement but as well as a vent and an attempt to call for awareness, especially since many of us are not only roleplayers but writers, artists and content creators. i'd appreciate it if you could all read this post in full.

this post is also not directed at my mutuals or any people i have contact with. this is just me trying to make my boundaries clear, explaining them, and hoping you can understand (and perhaps relate to) my hurt. read this post and make your own judgement. i appreciate your time regardless.

i'm latin american, proudly born and raised. my parents fought in the dictatorship of our country, my grandparents were of indigenous settlements. i'm a history graduate with honours, and before that, i studied social and political sciences. i've been a part of political movements in my university to guarantee equality and education, and i only stopped being part of some of them because i received threats by alt-right extremists targeting my family. even so, i still continue to be a constant participant in assemblies and projects. i'm an avid volunteer worker in local schools, and i worked in hospitals, too. i speak portuguese, spanish, french and english with varying levels of fluency. i've lived most of my childhood and early adolescence in villages. i've participated in many religious rituals, invited by practising people of those beliefs, and i've shared so many wonderful memories with people from so many latin american backgrounds that i can't even make a cohesive timeline of all my adventures.

i'm saying all this to emphasise that i'm speaking from a place of experience, knowledge, and culture. my word is by no means the law, but i sure do believe it holds weight. you're free to disagree with me and think otherwise, of course. but i do think that, if that's the case and you have very strong positive feelings regarding natlan as a whole, it'd be best if you would unfollow and block me for both of our sakes.

i've been playing genshin impact since its launch, and ever since the release of inazuma as a region, i've been discontent with how the game has been progressing in design. i've also written and published scientific articles about the inherent colourism, racism and orientalism found in genshin, specifically in sumeru, while also nodding in acknowledgement to some of the research that the design team put in some characters—namely al-haitham, nilou and cyno. i know the issues we are seeing today are not new. however, it for sure has gotten worse.

with these disclaimers out, i'd like to put some of my grievances out in the open.

when you play genshin, you can feel that liyue is china. mondstadt feels like germany. inazuma resembles japan. fontaine is an ode of love to french steampunk and was very well designed. even sumeru, with all its issues of blending all of swana in one single region, has some research done when it comes to the islamic golden ages and pre-islamic mythologies. so if you see anyone arguing that hoyoverse is “just a videogame company”, know that they can and have done better. as their popularity and revenue grow, as players—free to play or otherwise—we are entitled to expect the same quality or more from them.

i don't feel the same way about everything we've seen of natlan so far, and i've been feeling more and more disrespected.

i was sceptical when natlan was first announced, and some leaks were happening. i expected the worst, and honestly, it sunk even deeper than i thought. the names of the characters we've got, alongside some leaks, suggest that the characters we will be getting are based on the north, central, and south americas, africa, and oceania. this worried me very, very deeply and today, with the newest released trailer, i just gave up hoping for anything good, really.

although some people may (ignorantly? optimistically? blindly?) claim that all these continents are connected—and they certainly have many influences on each other through religion, culture and economics, born from colonisation processes—, it's at best stupidly naive to believe that one single entire region in an online videogame will tactfully tackle complex non-western and non-asian cultures and customs. because, yes, those are non-western and non-asian societies: we are progressively denied a place in western politics and cultures, we are treated as lesser, and we do not participate in global economics. when did you last buy a chilean videogame in the united states or europe? or a fiji pair of shoes? or a nigerian movie ticket in your city theatres? if you've answered "never" to just one of those questions, you've proven my point that these countries and regions are not "part" of the west or even asia. we are outsiders. we have always been treated as outsiders. while these european and asian powerhouses were allowed to stand as their own regions, genshin muddled all these cultures and ethnicities into one melting pot that they are calling natlan. the game is quite literally a global phenomenon now. imagine the impression natlan will be projecting to an audience that is none-the-wiser to the cultures natlan is meant to be inspired from.

so, again: when it was announced that natlan would take inspiration from all these regions, my heart sank. it feels like we're all being put together in one single frying pan of "exotic," "distant," and "unknown." everything that is considered "tribal" (because that's how westerners and asians tend to see us) is being thrown in natlan. it's demoralising.

this is not to mention the clear money-grabbing and capitalist recycling of character designs going on with some of the characters—something never seen before in genshin impact’s history, by the way! they always came up with new concepts—and the abhorrent colourism that has been intensified.

the disrespect has been getting rampant. some of the already shown characters have tribal tattoos that are used by some of the indigenous people for important rituals. the patterns of clothes they've shown also mix many cultures and peoples (sometimes even historically rivalling ones, to top that off) that are disrespectful. they went for a streetwear/biker kind of look that looks completely soulless and unimaginative, instead of doing the bare minimum of researching beautiful contemporary indigenous-owned fashion companies. because it's easier. i think it’s also easier to hire voice actors who aren’t latines, right? we must be “scarce, barely existent”.

and, what kicked the bucket for me, after trying so hard to give genshin the benefit of the doubt: an important deity for the yorubá people, iansã/iansan/oyá, has been shown as a fucking child in the game. she… and olorun, who you might know as ororon if you play in english, even though in all other translations (japanese, korean and chinese), his name is written correctly as olorun. but of course, the english translation team for hoyoverse, as usual, couldn’t do the bare fucking minimum. because it’s a nigerian name, right? why do they/you care? but just so you know, in case you’re the least bit curious: iansan and olorun are two of the most important orixás/deities in african and african-latin american religions. they’re worshipped to this day. they’re real, representative religious symbols. not tokens. not your average dead gods. i want to ask you, sincerely: what would you think and how would you feel if genshin named a guy "mohammed", or "allah", or “jesus christ”, or a girl "mary magdalene"? what do you think happened when cod vanguard showed the quran's pages on the floor? people were pissed. and of course, people should be pissed. and don't try to "oh, but people do that with greek and egyptian gods". don't be disingenuous, i know you’re smarter than that and that you know there's a difference and creeping power dynamic here.

if this is not enough for you, then please, enlighten me. where are the beautiful forests of natlan that could have been inspired by the amazon? where are the amazing deserts inspired in bolivia or chile? how about the colourful cities of el salvador or cuba? is it truly enough for you guys to have something slightly resembling the aztec empire and its continuous fetishisation? wouldn't it be easier to play crash bandicoot or the old indiana jones games? why are we celebrating this?

i'm beyond heartbroken.

to my latine siblings, whether you’re celebrating/enjoying natlan in your own way and finding light in it or if you’re as disappointed as i am, we deserve better than this.

to my usamerican, canadian, european and asian friends, please, please, please listen to people who have lived and loved latam and all the other regions. i already did what i could: i've sent tickets to hoyoverse, i'll be muting natlan-specific words, and i will not be rolling on any upcoming natlan banners.

so this here is just the nail of the coffin: i will not be accepting anything natlan-related on this blog.

thank you for reading!

#❛ㅤ𓆩✦𓆪ㅤ:ㅤooc﹔ㅤㅤ/ㅤㅤchaos and aether simpery.#natlan /#vent /#negativity /#TLDR i still can't walk but natlan tripped me ASHDJHG #jokes aside i'd rly appreciate if you could read this in full #i admit i've been having less and less motivation to play genshin and just feel like free-winging aether as an oc BUT #i love the interactions and potential relationships and everyone's characters so i'm stuck here in this gacha hell #but fuck natlan. i'm putting that on time out for my own sanity #sorry for coming with this kind of negative post but i do feel it's important!#i plan on replying to some inbox stuff and plotting threads again to get things going. i need more fluff in my life #anyway i hope you all can understand and respect my boundaries!#mwah mwah

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lanaevyssmoved · 1 year

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NINE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW BETTER ❣️

tagged by @moonmothers @flymmcargo @kelemvorr @baldursgate2 !!!!!!! thank u so much.. u are all so sweet and thoughtful...

tagging @cetra @dandeyrain @princeofhags @mercymaker @lord-woolsley @hibernationsuit @alongtidesoflight @shadowcursedballs @tombtaker :D no pressure of course my friends! you may also consider this an invitation to talk to me more :3c

favorite color: wellow... ✨🍯🐝🌻💛⚡ i have loved yellow since i was very small my sister loved purple so everything she owned was purple and everything i owned was yellow.. and my room is still entirely yellow everything is YELLOW..... it just happens i gravitate

last song: uhhh spotify says i was last listening to last chapter in time, first chapter in eternity by VVN it absolutely fucks but bare in mind it might make you sad? tis music to make you feel and that shit always has different effects on people. OOP and spotify shuffle Just put on times change by umziky which is CUTE glitchpoppy stuff OH and spotify just put on higher by ia. which is vocaloid ur welcome.. this says how slow i am huh am i typing too much AND NOW ITS into the woods by phildel im making u a playlist

last movie: last movie i watched was godzilla king of the monsters with aisling teehee... every movie i've watched recently was with aisling... hehe.......

currently watching: WELL i was watching breaking bad but i burnt out around season 3 after i was binging it all day long and before that i binged all of desperate housewives all day long without any break so am i surprised i burnt out? no. also desperate housewives fucks

currently reading: uh i'm like always reading the six of crows by leigh bardugo i will open that book consume the Content and then close it whenever i feel like reading parts of it........ actually reading thru a full book currently no....not really but lets say crooked kingdom yeah

current obsession: mayhaps this question is pointless but i am deep in an autistic hyperfixation on bg3 which is showing no signs of dying down or stopping i will also say i am hyperfixating on gale himself and honestly my oc afhiri. and i think its safe to say illithids too i cannot stop myself from gobbling up information on them and i think about them just as much as the others ...........

sweet, savory, or spicy? i will sayy savoury!!!! i do like sweet but not as much . i am currently really obsessed with gravy..... not american gravy or whatever the bwi'ish kind.......... had to confirm that because i ain't got a fucking clue what american gravy is like . but i know its different!!!!!! due to my very english upbringing i never consumed spice ever in my life until i started to introduce it into my own diet a year ago and now i can eat things that say spicy just fine!! and they are very delicious. i really enjoy spicy noodles especially

currently working on: I HAVE TWO AFHIRI GALE FIC WIPS CURRENTLY ... :3c one of them is a cute domestic scene i'm writing through aislings influence and the other is a fat and large post game 3 years later fic that i cannot describe in any way than a psychological horror fic. :).....

#fray.txt #I HOPE THIS WAS GOOD.....#IVE NEVER DONE ONE OF THESE BEFORE

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oc-sickfic-central · 4 months

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Meet the OCs!

These are the main 5 that I will write for! Please feel free to send requests for stories or asking any questions to get to know them more!

Kougami (Koh) Takahashi

Age: 29

Birthday: November 13th, 1994

Nationality: American-Japanese

Appearance: 6'3, medium size build, around 160-170 lbs fluctuates from time to time, long black hair, brown eyes, ivory skin. Does have several piercings: a lip ring on the left side, right ear pierced, and his left eyebrow. Tattoos: two koi fish on his stomach. Various scars including a burn on his right hand that extends up his arm stops before his elbow.

Background:

Koh lived a rough childhood losing his mom when he was a baby to suicide his father became an alcoholic and often was aggressive and neglected Koh. At the age of 3 his dad remarried, he loved his step mom and things were getting better. Until one night he and his parents were in a car accident. Koh's stepmom died on impact while his father was in a medically induced coma and later died. Koh was taken in by his Aunt and Uncle on his father's side and raised a long side his cousin Mike and later Lucy was born.

While in highschool Koh met Allie and the two began dating not long afterwards. They spend their high schools years together and after graduation attempted long distance, while in college Koh began suffering from chronic stomach pain and began self medicating with heroin after the doctors couldn't diagnose him. The addiction got so bad Koh was forced to drop out of school, he then broke up with Allie rather than tell her the truth.

After dropping out of college he began running with an up and coming gang things started getting serious and worried he'd head up dead or in jail Koh bailed and headed back home. Hoping his Aunt and Uncle would help him they did the opposite, told him he needed to get clean before he could show his face again.

Feeling defeated Koh decided to live his life on the street, picking up odd jobs when he could to feed his addiction. Along the way he met Charlie, Amber, Duncan, and Bradley. They helped Koh however they could but deep down they wanted him to get help.

After living on the streets for nearly 5 years he was dumpster diving one night and reunited with Allie who owned a cafe. She invited him inside and offered him a meal.

Allie helped Koh get into rehab and once he got out offered for him to move in and start working at the cafe. The two got back together and through many ups and downs have remained together ever since.

Koh plans to purpose later this year.

Allison (Allie) Shepherd

Age: 28

Birthday: October 5th, 1995

Nationality: American

Appearance: 5'2, 110 lbs, short brown hair, brown eyes, and light freckles, lightly tanned skin. No tattoos yet but does have her ears pierced, nose and tragus.

Background:

Allie grew up with a big family. 2 siblings Ben (eight years older) and Chloe (five years younger) Along with her cousins Connor and James who were always around. Allie's parents supported her with everything she ever wanted to do. Her dad is a renowned heart surgeon and her mom helps with local politics as much as she can.

Growing up Allie was loved and cared for spending time with friends and family she was never a lone. Ben and her were close despite the age difference and even more when Ben was in a terrible motorcycle accident that nearly killed him.

While he recovered, Allie helped her mom and caretakers as much as she could after she got home from school. Little did she know Ben became an addict from the painkillers. When she returned from studying abroad in London Ben was supposed to meet her for lunch but didn't show. Allie found him unresponsive in his apartment. The paramedics brought him back and he begged Allie not to tell anyone. After he was discharged Ben stayed with Allie while they found him a rehab out of state. They told the family Ben went backpacking and they had no reason to doubt him.

As Ben focused on getting clean, Allie and her best friend Hannah opened up a cafe a life long dream for them both. The two girls worked endless nights and days between school and work and it all paid off. Their cafe became the hang out spot for everyone and it reunited her and Koh.

These OCs take place in a different universe think of it as Tokyo Ghoul meets Devils Line

Spawns: creatures that feed on human flesh and or blood. As they evolved they began to blend in with humans.

Indigo Walker

Age: 26

Birthday: October 31st, 1997

Nationality: European/Japanese

Appearance: 6'1, skinny for his height, turquoise hair, one blue eye, and one green, pale white skin, scar diagonal on his left eye, no tattoos and no piercings.

Background:

Indigo grew up in London for about half his life with his mom, his father worked in Japan. He was kept hidden due to him being a half-spawn. Half-spawns were seen as impure and dangerous most that were born were killed as infants.

When his mother gave birth she knew Indigo's father was a Spawn and afraid her son would be killed she gave birth in an undisclosed location. He was born with bright hair and two different eyes, a clear indicator he was a half-spawn. When Indigo was old enough she began dying his hair and telling him how important it was he keep this secret. Not long after his 13th birthday his mom got him contacts to hide his one green eye.

Unfortunately it wasn't long that Indigo's mother became sick and was no longer able to care for him so he moved in with his father. His dad was a Spawn detective. Indigo's father was never home causing him to fend for himself. At 15 his dad disappeared after allegations came out that his father was a Spawn and several incidents put him as a prime suspect. Indigo was taken in by a fellow detective and his wife where Indigo finally began to feel normal. He continued to hide his secret from everyone.

As the years went on laws were passed allowing for treatments to become available for all Spawns to control their hunger for humans and allow them to work alongside humans. Feeling safe he could trust his adoptive family he told them. They were shocked and scared but realized the whole time Indigo was with them he never hurt them. They helped him receive the treatment and for the first time in his life he was able to show off his hair and eyes though he received looks he didn't care.

Indigo enrolled in the Academy where he graduated as a Spawn investigator at the age of 24 he was partnered up with a high ranking officer named Mercury and began his career. He would later meet Mercury's sister Luna.

Mercury Evans

Age: 37

Birthday: July 8th, 1986

Nationality: Japanese

Appearance: 6'2, medium size build, clean cut everything, blue eyes, and raven hair, ivory skin color.

Background:

Mercury always looked up to his father, highly decorated Spawn investigator, top of his class at the academy. Loosing his parents was kick to the chest but he used it as fuel to be the best he could be and to find whoever killed his parents.

He also became guardian to his little sister Luna at the age of 17 with help from some distant family members as well. Raising Luna was challenging at times but he wouldn't have changed it for anything.

Despite all the obstacles he enrolled in the academy a year after his parents died and graduated top of his class he worked long hours but coming home to Luna every night was worth it. He would eventually meet Kari and the two would began dating. Mercury felt ease knowing Luna wasn't alone at night after Kari moved in. His love for her was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Luna Evans

Age: 26

Birthday: April 19th, 1998

Nationality

Appearance: 5'3, average size, long rose gold hair, blue eyes, ivory colored skin

Background

Luna was just 5 when her parents were brutally murdered in their own home, she watched it happen and despite the gruesome scene she barely remembers it. Mercury began raising her in the city after moving out of their childhood home and into a high rise apartment. Despite Mercury's goals it didn't stop him from being the best big brother he was.

Though Luna learned to care for herself at a young age she began mature and dependent so Mercury wouldn't have to worry. Once Mercury landed his dream job as Spawn investigator Luna spent a lot of time at the station.

One day after an infiltration she met Indigo while he was changing in her brother's office. It was a slow burn relationship until several events happened causing the two to fall in love and begin dating

#original character #my ocs #get to know the characters #luna evans #mercury evans #koh takahashi #indigo walker #Allie Shepherd

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