#we've been in those trenches

[beecampbell]

everyone being so surprised to see the kendrick/drake beef on here is getting kinda funny like isn't this the praying on drake's downfall website?

#i havent forgotten the millie bobby brown thing we used to call for that man to be hanged on the daily out here #we've been in those trenches #drake #kendrick lamar #kendrick diss

[still-nix-d-goffic]

"On Repeat" Shuffle Game

You know, with music.

Rules

Play your "on repeat" playlist (Spotify; under "Made for You", or I guess you can choose your most listened playlist if you don't use that service.) on shuffle and tell us the first ten tracks that come up! Then, tag 10 people to share their musical shame! (or pride I guess if you're normal, but let's be real, you're a Tumblr user! And I'm feeling social today so I'm talking to much.)

---------------------------------------------------------

I was tagged by @tinx-methinks! You can see their post here!

The Distance - Cake

Tourniquet - Marilyn Manson

Helter Skelter - Rob Zombie

Good - Better than Ezra

Be Wherever You Are - Steven Universe

Hawaiian Surfin' - Hawaiian Island Paradise

KILL4ME - Marilyn Manson

Águas De Março - Elis Regina

High and Dry - Radiohead

Devil's Haircut - Beck

Hey! @lulu-honey @trans-gothic @liciapocalypse @gorewound @unwontedfemme @hellworldprincess @hare-majesteit-aurelius @emmily-xo @the-reading-owl

I would do ten but the mobile tag system said fuck you be specific so here we are at an impass of technology and my internal memory stick. If you want to give it a go you know damn well no one's stopping you.

#i will always be done dirty by the generated playlists lmao. #took me a minute to get around to this cause i wasnt in a music mood #im surprised theres only one SU song that slipped in cause we've been down in those old trenches for weeks now #tag game #self #playlists #three songs for each of my three vibes plus a secret forth thing

[lady-raziel]

and alright, here's my last (let's hope) and boldest take yet. lots of people have been talking about the level of staff (around 25-ish people) at watcher, and whether downsizing that number could have been a potential avenue of reducing costs before just jumping to a subscription model. at first i was like yeah, i'm not sure that there needs to be 18 people involved in making a lets play. i was in the fucking trenches in the unus annus days and i'm still amazed how markiplier and ethan nestor managed to put out pretty well edited videos every day for a whole year with only a handful of editors and a couple people filming. what unus annus was trying to do and what watcher is trying to do are obviously pretty different, but the point is that you really don't need a whole crew of people to make lots of different types of content and do it well.

i still think there probably doesn't need to be a whole production crew involved with the creation of some of the simpler types of content watcher puts out. however, i don't think the size of the staff is the real problem. in fact, i think the staff of watcher probably should have been larger.

let me explain. if i begrudgingly go to one of my most detested websites (linkedin. *bleeegh*) and look up watcher, i can see that pretty much every person on staff is in a creative role of some sort by their own admission. at first glance, its like, oh, that makes sense. they're making creative products, it's natural that they should all be in creative roles. however, once you think about it for a little longer from a business perspective, that fact is really concerning.

after all, by watcher's own definition, this is a production studio. this is a company. So in this sea of creative roles, who's doing corporate planning? Who's managing finance? Who's doing payroll? Or brand outreach? Or human-freaking-resources??? you can hire outside groups for all this. i'm aware. but those services cost a lot of money to contract too. i'm just finding it concerning that there is pretty much no one on full time staff that is there to at least do some of this stuff. if watcher wants to be a big-boy company, that's fine, but that means you have to pay some people to be part of your company to do the not-fun business stuff like accounting. or resource management.

if they want to be a real company, they should actually have a lot more people on staff to deal with all the non-creative parts of running a company. even if they contract out most of it, you want at least a few people that are your people and don't actually work for someone else. that's how you don't get screwed over or end up in a contract you can't get out of.

which leads me to my last train of thought. like, as i go through the staff of watcher and look at what they do, it really seems like one of the ONLY people who's job it was to look at the business side of things WAS steven lim in his role as CEO. and thinking about that, i'm like god, can you imagine?? here's a guy who just wants to create cool stuff too but as one of the few people who has to think about the realities of Brand and the Business, HE has to be the one to burst the bubble. He as CEO has to say no to people and make decisions to make sure the company survives. In a group of creative people who just want to make things they're interested in, no expense spared, he was probably the guy who had to stay at least a little tethered to reality.

I'm not about to say that steven lim isn't to blame here. everyone involved in making the decisions that have led up to this point is part of this. but shit, it absolutely sucks to have to be the person at the end of the brainstorm session when everyone is coming up with their best ideas and to have to say "guys, i don't think any of these things are possible unless we make some big decisions."

is that what happened at watcher HQ? i don't know. at this point, with radio silence from everyone, speculation is all we've got. but if you follow the thread of a bunch of creatives striking out on their own to make their own business after being burned by their former employer, despite not knowing really how to run a business, and then only hiring fellow creative people and not other people who actually run business things... well, all of this starts to make slightly more sense in WHY none of watcher's actions make sense. everybody wants to stick it to the man and be their own boss with their own business, until it actually comes to the hard parts of doing that. at that point people start to realize, "oh, maybe some of the things that existed at my old job were there for a reason, actually."

all this is why lots of creatives striking out and starting their own businesses don't work in the end. they're thinking about in terms of creative products still, when they really need to be focusing more on the "business" part of the "creative business." it's sad. it sucks. it destroys a lot of good ideas and good people, because one person in every company like that has to be the one who thinks practically. could this have been avoided if watcher had been hiring people all along to manage this business and not just adding people to add to the creative output? maybe. even then it might not have been enough to curb other predictable impulses that led us down this path.

i feel bad for watcher, and i feel bad for the fandom. but i can't help but wonder if this was always the kind of situation we were going to end up in, and we just missed some of the warning signs because ALL of us were thinking, "well, that could never happen to us. we're different. not the Ghoul Boys."

#watcher #watcher tv #two stupidly long thinkpieces in one morning? wow! what a bargain! #just don't ask which of my responsibilities i'm ignoring by typing all this out

[half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk]

Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part 2!

HERE WE GO!

Clone Wars 7x02

Rex and Anakin arguing like a married couple in front of Hunter 💀

Not only does Anakin use Rex's room, but he walks over to his bed 🥺

PADMÉ MY QUEEN 💕💕💕

Rex cannot lie I will never get tired of this scene 🤣🤣

Obi-Wan knowing and Anakin just pretending he doesn't lmao

Hunter saying he's lost count of how many missions his squad has been on when they literally record it on their wall 😂😂

Hunter's hair is so short 🥺

"One of those reptiles" 💀💀💀

They're all too chaotic I can't

Anakin saving Rex + Rex with Anakin's lightsaber

The batch don't even need to speak to know what each other is doing I miss them so bad + Tech's head tilt so Crosshair can lean his rifle on him 🥺

Wat Tambor 🤢

Trench 🤢 again

Hunter and Crosshair immediately looking at Wrecker when they're talking about being afraid of heights 👀

They're all so shitty with eachother 😂😂

"He's just another reg" ~ Crosshair we've all seen you at the outpost 👀

Anakin's hand on Rex's shoulder

Rex defending Echo with his life 🥺

"That was Echo's voice" shoutout to the legend himself Dee Bradley Baker !!!

"Yeah, it's a lift" LMAO

The sibling energy again, it's perfect

Wat Tambor facetiming the clones 💀

Tbb theme 💕

"I don't like the look of this" me neither babes

Rex 🥺🥺🥺 holding Echo so gently 🥺🥺🥺 holding his hand 🥺🥺🥺 telling him he's going home 🥺🥺🥺

Thank y'all for joining ilysm 🥰

#star wars #star wars clone wars #clone wars #the bad batch #bad batch #louk's bad batch rewatch #captain rex #hunter tbb #bad batch hunter #hunter bad batch #clone captain rex #crosshair tbb #tbb crosshair #crosshair the bad batch #tbb wrecker #wrecker bad batch #tech bad batch #tbb tech #bad batch tech #anakin skywalker #clone trooper echo #obi wan kenobi #anakin and padme #padme amidala #obi wan and anakin #tcw #tbb #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #clone force 99

[captainofthetidesbreath]

I'm thinking through Sean's, Marion's, and Nathaniel's time during the war since the finale clarifies some things about the order of events, and there's some interesting potential implications in the sequence of events there. So, we know:

Nathaniel was a recruiting officer at some point. He was the point of contact that drew the Finnerty boys into the war, such that Beatrix blamed him for all that happened to them during the war.

At some point, he was transferred to fight in the trenches of Westwreck. Sean and Marion served together at Westwreck under him.

There is no mention of Sean and Marion serving together in a second unit, so this all must've been in Echo Company.

During a rout in which both lines of battle collapsed, Sean carried an injured Marion back to safety. It is not clear if this is the same retreat during which Marion began having premonitions.

Following a battle, Sean was promoted, and Marion was simultaneously "kind of demoted" to guard courts-martial away from the front lines.

Marion believes "somebody was looking out for me that got me out of the front lines".

Marion is not sure where Sean got promoted to, but we can infer that it was to NoMAD. Sean says that he hadn't seen Marion in a year and his brothers died while he was away, and Marion's demotion resulted in him guarding Jimmy's body after he was court-martialed. So, NoMAD had to have come after Echo.

There's lots of other stuff during their time in the war, but those details are not relevant to the point I'm about to make. It's worth remembering also what Nathaniel says to Marion, "I know that you are special. We've known this for a while. And while it may be better to be a warrior in a garden rather than a gardener in a war, without gardeners, none of the flowers will grow."

So, given all that. First, this order of events makes very tidy an idea that it seems Sean and Marion possibly haven't spoken to Nathaniel since the end of the war. The last either saw Nathaniel would've been while he read them transfer orders. It's tidy for Sean's narrative especially, since the ease with which Nathaniel can get Peggy out of Grayslate is a major plot point; if Sean was transferred out of Nathaniel's unit early on, he would've lost contact because they were not discharged together. Asking Nathaniel for help was not a realistic option for three years, until Nathaniel re-entered Sean's life about two hectic months ago. It makes tidy Nathaniel being unaware of Sean's entire situation. That line of possibility already existed from the beginning, but this sequence of events makes it a stronger case for it.

More interestingly, the possible narrative that can exist here is that following that battle in which Marion was injured, Nathaniel decided it was better to send Marion away. He arranged to have Marion demoted and transferred from the front line. For carrying Marion to safety, Nathaniel awarded Sean a citation, fairly standard stuff, causing Sean to be promoted and transferred to NoMAD. Inadvertently, Nathaniel set in motion events that put Marion at Jimmy's execution and Sean in Otherwhere shooting children. Nathaniel has zero responsibility for either event, but it makes him incidental to their unfolding in an unwitting ripple effect that ends in the events of the chapter happening the way they do. Which, is interesting as a chain of events, especially given how often Nathaniel is the unwitting catalyst of tragedy.

#Nathaniel be like.... local man does his job and exists in any way: 43 killed‚ 7 injured #Candela Obscura #Circle of Needle and Thread #Nathaniel Trapp #Sean Finnerty #Marion Collodi #Candela things

[dontfindmerain]

HOLA ITS ME AGAIN-

Making out with revivebur-

That’s it.

okay now this i can do ;)

revivebur is the same as wilbur. you know this. just your average, psychopathic, former president. the man you had served through countless battles and never saw as anything more than a good friend.

so why is he so goddamn hot?

maybe it was how roughed up he was, or the smell of cigarette smoke he now seemed to carry with him, or maybe even the trench coat that was folded over his arms, which of course were showing due to the rolled up sleeves of his button down. always those fucking button downs....

so.. how did you end up pinned against a wall of his stupid burger van with his gorgeous lips against yours?

quite easily really, all he had to do was say your name with that authoritative tone and you were already dumbed down. he took note of that immediately of course, softly cooing at you sweetly and luring you into the van before roughly slamming the door shut and shoving you up against the nearest surface. he kissed you with a hunger more intense than anything you had ever seen, which seemed fair considering he's been deprived for thirteen and a half years.

he takes his time at first, simply enjoying the way your lips feel on his. he could do this for hours, gripping your waist and pushing himself against you every so often. It's too bad that he's just too desperate.

"So pretty and all for me, right darling? Yeah? All fucked out and I've barely even touched you, gods you're pathetic," he breathes, harshly pressing his lips against yours, his long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck and squeezing. when you gasp into him he takes advantage and invades your mouth with his tongue. he fucking adores the sounds that pour out of you, so much so he doesn't even realize that his hips are twitching and bucking against yours.

how unfortunate that humans need oxygen, but of course as he pulls away he bites your lower lip, relishing the whine you let out, drawing blood and licking it up before he moves his attention to your neck.

"Well, look at that, it appears there is empty space here. We've got to do something about that, wouldn't you agree, my love? cant have you walking around without everyone knowing that you're mine." the smirk on his face is smug and his tone condescending as he coos, "Oh but don't worry, dear. I have all night."

#mosslovestherain #moss writes #moss answers <3 #lillyyyyyyy my love #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #revivebur #how do i tag things #im not the best at this lmfao #and wil ofc

[takerfoxx]

I'm not traditionally a poly shipper (though I've been delving more into it as time goes by), but if there's one that I'm absolutely gaga about, as if in makes my personal top five ships and might even slot in right beneath KyoSaya and SuleMio, it's the one that almost certainly could not and should not happen in canon, but the thought of it still kinda makes me rabid with what could have been.

I am of course talking about AsuReiShin, AKA the Israfel Special.

Evangelion shipping is often a bizarre experience, especially amongst the core trio of pilots. There is just so much material among these incredibly fucked up characters, so many things that ought to be drawing them together, and yet they are all damaged in such specific ways that drive them to behave increasingly toxic, avoidant, or even abusive toward one another. They're all such hot messes of trauma and hangups that, hate to say it, the Rebuild ending of everyone essentially just making peace with one another and fucking off with Shinji hooking up with the controversial new girl that he at least doesn't have any baggage with was probably the healthiest choice, if not the most satisfying.

But even so, the reason I dig this triad specifically is because if you change even just a little bit about each character, you find the same traits that drove them apart suddenly drawing them together, and each individual pairing makes so much sense. Asuka and Shinji is the most obvious, with Asuka's aggressive bullying suddenly becoming proactive encouragement, and Shinji's meek avoidance now becoming the calm, stabilizing force that she needs. With Asuka and Rei it's similar, with Asuka's hatred of Rei's passivity now being being a drive to push Rei to experience and enjoy life and establish an identity, while Rei's gentle observation and lack of a filter would be give Asuka a much-needed source of self-reflection. And with Shinji and Rei, we've already seen how Shinji's kindness has encouraged Rei to step outside of her sheltered world and seek human connection, while also providing Shinji someone he felt was worth stepping up and fighting for.

Now, take all three of those dynamics and combine them together. You've basically got the perfect Id, Ego, and Superego situation. It's practically the adolescent Kirk, Spock, and McCoy dynamic!

Plus, there's also the other factors that would bring them together, even beyond the whole being hormonal teenagers in a stressful situation. Despite having wildly different personalities, they all had their lives destroyed by NERV, from Shinji losing his mother and being neglected by his father, to Asuka's mother losing her mind and taking her life thanks to the Evangelions, to Rei literally being created by Gendo to serve a terrible purpose and thus being robbed of ever having a life. That sort of "in the trenches" experience is exactly the sort of thing that would cause them to form bonds and seek comfort with one another, especially if they were all to learn of each other's past histories, and motivate them to stand up for one another against NERV's machinations, but ah, I'm delving into AU fanfic territory.

Point is, no, I don't think it would be wise for these three to seek out romance with one another, either as couples or all three of them together. But man, if they each just had just a little bit changed about them, can you imagine the pure emotional catharsis?

Note: I didn't really say anything about Kaworu because while I feel that he's probably the healthiest singular choice for Shinji, it's basically only with Shinji, making him his own separate deal entirely.

#neon genesis evangelion #nge #shinji ikari #rei ayanami #asuka langley soryu #asushin #asurei #reishin #asureishin #israfel special #poly shipping

[mlmxreader]

Yessir/No, Sir | Alfie Solomons x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Alfie

Playing Strip Poker

Sir kink ❞

: ̗̀➛ The trenches are difficult enough as it is, and sometimes, emotions run far too high to be able to be dealt with properly.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ death, graphic depictions of war, swearing, smoking, Sir kink, strip poker, heavy adult themes

↳ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The sound of mortars and shells flying overhead made you flinch and duck down every time, and Alfie would have been stupid not to realise it; he regretted the day you decided to join the army. He knew how much Cymru meant to you, and he knew how much you wanted to protect your boys - the very same as he did.

If you died, then you would die protecting them and have nothing more of it.

He understood that from the first day, he had done the same; but while he had risen through the ranks - now a Captain - you were still stuck at Corporal. You couldn't pull strings to get your boys home, not like he could.

Now you were the only one left, and Alfie hated it. The look in your eyes changed when you left; there was a dead light behind them, something had been snuffed out and ripped out through the soft pool of your irises.

Something inside was missing, and Alfie would have been an idiot not to see it. Kiệt died that day, and Alfie was sure that part of you died with him. It wasn't like Alfie didn't see it, he knew you well enough that he could always uncover every lie you told him.

The day that Kiệt died, you had changed. You used to be snappy with him. You used to challenge his authority and mess around.

Now you followed every order diligently and threw yourself into the line of fire as if you were hoping that Jerry would put a bullet in your brain. You used to laugh loudly, now you didn't even smile.

You used to love him, now you hardly met his eyes.

Kiệt had been the youngest in your regiment, at only twenty years old, he was so hopeful and so full of life; he had told his mother that he would bring her chocolate from Belgium and bread from France.

He told her that he would send her a postcard wherever he went and that he would pick her flowers from the cliffs of Dover before going home. He had his entire life ahead of him, the poor sod. Practically just a child. He hadn't even finished university. He was going to be a lawyer.

He promised his mother he would be home for Christmas.

"The fuck did he die for?!" You exploded suddenly, slamming your fist on the table.

For a moment, fear flickered in Alfie's eyes as his breathing grew heavy. "Easy there, Corp."

You sneered at him. "Every fucking man I vowed to protect is either dead or dying in a fucking rotting hospital! And for what?! What are they fucking dying for, Alf?! What are we gonna fucking die for?!"

Alfie lit a cigarette, and tossed the packet your way as he glared at you. "Don't start chattin' like that, now. You'll get yourself in shit."

You smacked your hand on the table again in frustration, your growl almost as loud as the roaring mortars. You lit a cigarette, and sat down, sniffling loudly. "We're not fucking fighting for anything. Are we? I mean, be fucking honest, Alf - men like us? What'd you think'd happen when we get back and they find out what we've been doing?"

"They'd fuckin' shoot us now if they knew," he huffed out. "They'd fuckin' shoot us, then, too."

"So what the fuck are those boys dying for?" You hissed out. "We was fucking told that the Germans were gonna fuckin' invade - but what's so different about them and us, eh? Why the fuck are we killing their boys? What's the fucking point in them killing ours?"

"Shuffle these," Alfie said as softly as he could, pulling out a packet of burned and stained playing cards. He tossed them over to you, and leaned back in his chair. "Keep rantin', Corporal - get the whole lot out, yeah? It's fuckin' good for you, might even help that fuckin' shellshock."

You grunted out, smiling a little as you took the cards and started to shuffle them. "Yessir."

Alfie shot you a glare as he clenched his jaw. "Beg fuckin' pardon?"

"I said," you huffed out. "Yes, sir."

He swallowed thickly. "Out with it."

You shrugged, turning your attention to the cards for a moment. "Just figured, y'know, it's probably worth a shot. Didn't that fancy shit doctor tell you that sex was good for all this shit?"

Alfie shrugged. "You just fuckin' bit me head off, now you want me to suck you off?"

You shrugged. "Think it'd help?"

"Tell you what," he bargained, swallowing thickly. "Ain't no one 'round... fuck, if it weren't for you, I'd be on me jack jones... so - why don't we play a game?"

You quirked a brow. "What kinda game?"

"Strip poker," he told you. "That way, we can stop whenever, yeah?"

You nodded, shuffling the cards again. "Fuck it. Alright, Sir."

Alfie clenched his jaw again, his breath going shallow; whenever you called him sir, it was like something animalistic stirred in him.

He could feel the heat rising as he tugged at his shirt, clumsily unbuttoning it so that you could just about see the outlines of the tattoos on his chest. Covered in dense, coarse hair.

Your breath hitched as you dealt the cards, hardly able to take your eyes from the exposed skin; frustration, anger, everything starting to bubble up and over already and he hadn't even touched you.

"Your go, sir."

Alfie let out another shallow breath, squirming in his half rotted chair as he swallowed thickly. Fuck. If you kept calling him sir, he was going to ask you to hurry the fuck up and get on his lap. He bit down on the inside of his lip, clearing his throat despite how clogged and thick it was.

"Say it again."

"Your go," you leaned over, raising your brows. "Sir."

"Shit," he murmured. "Alright, fuck it - have my shirt."

You nearly fell from your chair when he tugged it off, exposing his upper body; you had seen it so many times before, felt every inch of skin. But that didn't matter. You were too fucking needy for some release from everything around you that you moved, sitting on his lap and bucking your hips slightly.

"Shirt," Alfie told you with a soft growl, licking his lips and letting out a soft cough when you removed it and tossed it onto the table. "We ain't gonna make it to the end of this, are we?"

You shook your head. "No, sir."

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

if you made it to the end of this fic and you enjoyed it, then please, if you have any cash to spare even just £1 or 2, please consider donating to help Deyaa and his family escape Gaza and get to safety

#mlem writes #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x y/n #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fic #tom hardy

[delicatenightfury]

Such A Gentleman

2022 Month of Writing: Day 15

Pairing: Killian Jones x reader

Prompt: I'll walk you home & Take my jacket, it's cold outside

Word Count: 2,967

Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work

y/n huffed as she rolled her eyes. She had been traveling all day and had stopped for a break at a local bar and inn. She was hoping to get a room to rest for the night but those hopes were shot down. Not because there was no room or because the place was unbearable, but because of the men. Ever since she entered the bar, eyes had been trained on her. The feeling was making her uncomfortable.

y/n finished her drink and paid the bartender, thanking her with a nod and small smile. The woman rose from her seat and started toward the door. She slipped into the cold night, shivering slightly before walking away from the bar. y/n walked down the road, ignoring the few people she saw.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her into an alley. y/n grunted a little when she was pushed against a wall. She looked up to find herself looking at a tall blonde man. He smirked down at her. Glancing behind him, y/n could see nearly half a dozen other men grinning at her, causing her to roll her eyes slightly.

"Nice of you to join us," the blonde in front of her said. "It's been awhile since we've had visitors." He moved closer to y/n, pushing her closer to the wall. "You know, you were quite a distraction in the bar earlier this evening."

"Is that so?" y/n responded.

"Oh, you have no idea."

"Would it help if I said I wasn't meaning to?" y/n hated talking like this but she wanted to get out of this situation as soon as she could, which sadly meant playing along.

The blond smirked as he leaned closer.

"You want an honest answer?" he said against her ear. y/n held her breath, smelling the alcohol radiating off of him. "That just makes you much more attractive."

Okay, I'm done with this, y/n thought before headbutting the blonde.

The man cried out in shock and stumbled back, giving y/n room to breathe again. She smirked when the man grabbed his head, groaning in pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry," y/n said with a fake voice. "Did I hurt you?"

"You're going to pay for that," the blond growled. "Get her!"

y/n rolled her eyes and ducked when a man swung his fist at her. She grabbed his arm and used him momentum against him, slamming him into the wall. As he dropped to the ground, another man lunged for her. y/n spun out of the way, avoiding a third man in the process. She stepped back from them to face the six of men. They had all pulled out swords or knives.

"Is that how we're playing?" y/n asked, putting a hand on her hip. "And I thought you all were gentlemen."

The man closest to her lunged, swinging his sword at her head. y/n moved out of the way, twisting his arm so his grip loosened on his sword. As soon as the sword was in her grasp, y/n punched the man in the face, knocking him to the ground.

y/n brought her sword up to block another blow that was aimed for her side. She spun quickly and kicked him in the head, rendering him unconscious. y/n turned to face off another man, avoiding blows that were coming from other men as well.

Suddenly, one of the men grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back. The man's other hand grabbed her other wrist, keeping it from moving. She struggled when she was pulled against the man's body. Glancing behind her as much as she could, she could see it was the blonde man.

"Drop your sword and we'll make this quick," he told her. The hand holding her extended arm slowly began moving up her arm. y/n's eyes darkened when his hand reached her shoulder, his fingers ghosting over her collarbone and neck. "Then again, I kinda like it when a woman fights back."

y/n growled when she heard a sudden cry. She looked in front of her to see that a man in a black trench coat was now fighting one of the men off. With the new distraction, y/n slipped out the blonde's grip. She quickly took out the man closest to her before leaping off of a crate and kicking the blonde in the head. She watched as he collapsed limply to the ground.

"And what happens if that woman wins the fight?" she asked before throwing the last man into a stack of crates.

y/n glanced at the man in black, seeing that he was finished with the man he had been fighting. y/n threw her weapon to the ground, stepping over the unconscious men as the mystery man put his own sword away.

"I could have handled him," she stated as she approached him.

"Based on what I saw, I'm sure you could have," he said. "You alright, luv?"

"I walked out of there in one piece, didn't I?" she replied, stepping out of the alley with the man. "Thank you, by the way."

"It's not a problem, luv." He gave her a smile. "Killian Jones," he introduced.

"y/n," she replied.

"A pleasure, milady."

He gently took her hand and placed a kiss on top of it. As he straightened himself, y/n glanced over him. He had dark hair, along with some stubble on his face. His eyes looked like the sea, filled with adventures and wild tales, but there was also pain hidden under their waves. He wore dark pants and boots with a red vest covering his black shirt. A silver necklace hung around his neck and his right ear was pierced. There were several rings on his right hand while his left was replaced with a metal hook, though she didn't question it.

"How did you manage to know where I was?" y/n asked, curious as to how he knew she needed help.

"I will admit that I followed you out of the bar," Killian replied with a small smile. "But, I did so after I saw those pinheads walk out. I noticed they had been looking at you for most of the evening and I could tell you were uncomfortable."

"So you were watching me." He shrugged. "Well, I must say, I'm almost glad you were, or else it might have taken me longer to take those men out."

The two chuckled.

"I'm going to take a guess," Killian said after a minute, "that you wouldn't be interested in going back there and having a drink?"

"Probably not," y/n replied.

"Then can I interest you in some rum back at my ship?"

"Thank you for the offer, but I don't drink rum."

"We might have to change that at some point."

"At some point, maybe. But not today."

Killian laughed, making y/n smile a little. The pirate looked at y/n, noticing the way her body shook slightly. He shrugged off his long black trench coat and held it out to her. y/n raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

"Take it," he said. "You need it more than I do right now."

y/n slowly took it from him, waiting for him to change his mind. When he didn't, she slipped the coat on, sighing slightly at the warmth it provided. She had only worn pants, boots, a blouse, and a light vest. She hadn't expected it to grow so cold as the night drew on.

"Thank you," she said, causing him to nod. "Are you sure you don't need this?"

"Keep it," he told her. "I can always get another one."

y/n nodded. The two spent the next hour simply talking and walking around the town. Killian brought her to a different inn and bought her a room, even though she told him not to several times. Killian walked her to the room she would be staying in, saying goodnight and leaving a kiss on her hand. y/n said goodnight to him, going into her room.

She waited until she heard Killian leave to go to the window. She looked outside, watching Killian leave the inn. She couldn't help but smile and wave slightly when he glanced up at her window. He saw her and waved back before heading down to the docks.

When Killian awoke, he was greeted to the sounds of arguing on the upper deck. The man quickly got dressed and, grabbing his sword, stepped outside.

"What is going on here?" he asked in annoyance. He looked at his crew, noticing a few men that stood out. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"They've asked to speak with you, captain," one of the crew members stated.

"Oh? And why is that?"

A familiar blonde man stepped forward. Killian knew he knew the man from somewhere but couldn't quite remember where from.

"Where is she?" the blonde asked.

"Where is who?"

"Don't play dumb, pirate. You know who I speak of. You helped her last night."

Killian smirked, nodding when he recognized the men. They were the ones from the bar that had followed y/n.

"Ah, yes. I know exactly who you're talking about. What of her?"

"Where is she?" he asked again.

"And now why would I tell you that, mate?"

"We have some unfinished business we need to take care of."

"Is that so?" Killian stepped forward so he was only a few feet away from the blonde. "Well, if you want to get to her, I'm afraid you're going to have to go through me."

The blonde glared at him for several moments before pulling out a blade and slashing at Killian. The pirate ducked out of the way, his crew springing into action as the blonde man's friends started to fight as well. Killian pulled out his sword and blocked another attack from the blonde. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang through the air.

The blonde blocked one of Killian's attacks and managed to punch the pirate in the gut. Killian stumbled back, his left hand going to his stomach. He looked up as the blonde approached, smirking.

"Payback time," he said, raising his sword.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm, spinning him around. y/n smirked at his shocked expression.

"Nice to see you again," she said before punching him in the face.

The blonde fell to the ground with a thud, releasing his weapon. y/n stepped over him and offered her hand to Killian. The pirate smiled and let her pull him to his feet.

"I could have handled him," Killian said.

"Based on what I saw, I'm sure you could have." Killian chuckled, recognizing the line he had used the night before. "So what did these creeps want?"

"Information."

"About?"

"Where you were."

y/n rolled her eyes and glared down at the unconscious blonde.

"Some men are just plain disgusting." She glanced at Killian. "And yet some are gentlemen who decide to help someone they barely know. Thank you for that."

"My pleasure. Although it does help that you are an attractive young woman who happened to catch my eye."

"Don't push your luck, Jones," she told him with a smile.

"Worth a shot." y/n rolled her eyes. "What brings you down to the docks, luv? Have you decided to take me up on that rum offer?"

"Not this time. I'm here because of this." She held up a familiar black coat. "I came to return it and thank you for lending it to me."

"Not a problem, luv."

He took the coat from her. y/n gave him another smile before turning and walking off the boat. Killian walked to the rail of his ship, watching as she walked back toward the town.

Just like every other night, the bar was full of people. y/n sat at a small table off to the side, not wanting to draw attention to herself again. Every now and then she would glance up and look around the bar, rolling her eyes at the half drunk people before turning back to what she was doing. She held a piece of wood in her hand while she held a small knife in the other, using it to carve the wood.

y/n brushed a small shaving of wood to the ground, letting it join the other wood chips. Handling the knife carefully, she began to carve small details into the side of her creation. As she worked, she noticed someone walking toward her table.

"Anyone sittin' here, luv?"

y/n looked up to find Killian standing in front of her, a smile on his face.

"You've got eyes, Jones," she replied. "You tell me."

The pirate chuckled as he sat down. He glanced at the glass that was on the table, raising an eyebrow when he saw it was full of rum. Killian looked at y/n in amusement.

"I thought you said you don't drink rum," he said.

"I don't."

"Then what's this?" He motioned to the glass. y/n smirked and pushed it towards him. Killian laughed. "You got this for me?"

"Like I said before, you've got eyes. Take it as an extra thank you for what you've done for me."

Killian nodded, taking a sip from the glass as he watched y/n, who had gone back to her carving.

"You know, it's kinda funny how we keep running in to one another," he commented. He smirked at her. "Are you following me around, luv?"

"For the record, I was here first. I'm not sure how that makes me a stalker."

"What are you making?" he asked, motioning to the wood in her hand.

y/n held out the wood to him. Killian took it from her hand, looking over the raven she was making.

"I tend to carve during my free time or when I'm bored."

"It's very well done," he complimented, handing the bird back to her.

"Thank you." y/n slipped the figure into her small bag while she put the knife into her sleeve. "So from what I've heard, pirates don't normally stick around in one place for too long, yet you've been in town for two or three days. What's made you stick around, Captain?"

Killian shrugged.

"Let's just say that something here caught my eye and I wanted to learn more about it. Besides, I thought the crew could use a little time on shore."

"And how has your research been coming along?"

"Well that remains to be seen."

y/n smiled slightly. After a few moments, she stood up from her seat.

"I should get going," she said. "It's getting late and I could use the extra sleep."

"Why don't I walk you, luv," Killian offered, rising as well.

"Such a gentleman."

"I do try."

The two chuckled before heading toward the door. But before they were able to make it outside, a hand grabbed y/n's arm, turning her around.

"Where do you think you're going?" the man holding her asked.

"I'm leaving," she stated simply, glaring at him.

The man glanced at Killian before looking back at her.

"You could do so much better than a pirate, sweetheart. How about we get a drink and I can show you that I'm far better company."

"How about you let go of me and we pretend this never happened?"

"What makes you think that'll happen?"

y/n quickly ripped her arm away from him, punching the man square in the face. He cried out in shock and pain, falling to the ground.

"Never touch me again," y/n growled.

Without another word to anyone, she stormed out of the bar. She could faintly hear Killian calling for her to wait but she refused to listen as she ran for the inn. She dashed inside and up to her room, shutting the door behind her. y/n's hands went up to her hair, pulling at it slightly in frustration. Not even a minute later, a knock sounded at her door, causing her to jump.

"You alright in there, luv?" she heard Killian call from the hallway.

y/n opened the door so she could see Killian. The man offered her a small smile as he stepped into her room, shutting the door behind him.

"You ran out there in quite a hurry, luv," he said. "Plus I'm pretty sure you broke that man's nose."

"He deserved it," y/n muttered.

"That he did." He slowly stepped forward and reached toward her face. y/n closed her eyes when his hand touched her cheek, wiping away the tears that had unknowingly escaped from her eyes. "You alright?" he asked quietly.

"Not really," she admitted. "It seems like every guy in this town is trying to get me to go home and sleep with them." y/n sighed heavily, trying to hold back more tears. "It's frustrating. For once, I’d like to have someone want me for me.”

"Not every man." The woman looked up at Killian, who offered her a small smile. "I have an idea, luv," Killian said. "Why don't you come with me? My crew and I leave in the morning. Not exactly sure where we'll go or where we'll end up, but you are more than welcome to join us. And if you do, I'll make sure that no man shall ever lay a hand on you again."

y/n smiled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes as she laughed a little.

"I'd like that," she replied. "I would like that a lot."

"Well then, welcome to the crew of the Jolly Roger, luv."

#month of writing #writing prompt #killian jones #Killian Jones x reader #killian x reader #ouat killian #ouat #once upon a time #enchanted forest #captain hook

[hereforthefunnyguys]

okay okay marik ishtar getting psychosexual in the club brain time. (Sorry in advance for the bigass text block. also if you are an ace/aro marik truther then A) I can see it but also B) this is very much not that. be forewarned.) I know things along these lines have been said before, but I truly cannot picture him being some kind of crazily sexually/romantically liberated flirt like you see a lot in fanon. Feel free to argue with me if you want in the reblogs or comments or whatever I am not sure about what I'm saying here. (+1500 words of Help Me under the readmore!)

He grew up underground, with no one else around but his abusive highly religious dad, personal manservant/extremely protective brother figure, and what seems to be the only even somewhat normal family relationship he has with his sister that's almost as isolated and frankly seems moderately socially awkward outside of telling mysterious prophecies. I do not think he was not getting Helpful and Informative Sex Ed, to say the least, and also if/when he started going through puberty he would have functionally nowhere to project those urges. Maybe he can get a crush on a particularly well-drawn wall carving or statue idk but the point is that he doesn't have any actual human reference for what the feelings mean other than his immediate family which is a uhhhhhh different and much more uncomfortable conversation!

Also, even when he and Rishid finally get out of there and start up the Ghouls, I don't think Rishid would bother with telling him about sex and romance as he gets older - if anything, he would be less likely to tell him, because if there's one thing Rishid would want to do as little as possible, it would be to allow more opportunities for Marik to act out in more "depraved" ways - I mean, come on, the guy already forces people to commit suicide, brainwashes them to fight in death matches, and do weird little dances in public for his entertainment (I know that one isn't as intimidating as the other ones, but I do think it's important to establish the sheer level of pettiness and self-indulgence he's at by this point.)

We've already established by this point that his ability to empathize and sympathize with other people is currently somewhere at the bottom of the Marianas trench, assuming he may not have had low empathy before then, which he might've judging by how he treats his siblings (diversity win! the arc villain has low-functioning empathy!), though that may also be due to being the "favorite" and getting what he wants all the time and not being raised to consider them real people on par with him and his father. But I digress. I do think Rishid would be at least considering the ways that those behaviors would intersect with teenage hormones, to say the least (plus the whole Yami Marik thing, which I'll discuss. Later.)

But by contrast, I don't think it makes sense to say Marik's completely innocent to the concept - he may be a very socially isolated 16 year old, but he's still like. a 16 year old. He regularly pries inside of peoples heads to manipulate them, and if you go by anime canon, he is definitely aware of very strong romantic feelings (and therefore possibly sexual ones, though maybe not? arkana ace king ig) in the form of arkana/pandora's little anime lost love scenario. Also, I think its fair to assume a Good Number of the Ghouls would possess sexual or romantic feelings as well. However. However. I am going to go out on a limb and say that learning about sex from people's personal fantasies is to sex ed what learning about how to cook from Hell's Kitchen is to chef college; everything you absorb is overdramatic, unrealistic, extremely emotionally charged, and often involves a surprising amount of violence and degradation for a day-to-day activity.

I'm going to say Marik then is Aware of sex, but doesn't fully "get" it. Like. It makes him uncomfortable to think about it for too long, and in general, it's just something Other People do. It's something he can use to get close to people (sign that says ASK ME ABOUT FEMME FATALE MARIK ISHTAR PROPAGANDA), but its not really something he fully accepts as something he would do just for the sake of it. He's aware of it, but it's still a moderately alien concept to him, at least that's how he would think about it.

Additionally, I don't think his vision of romantic love is going to be any better. In between societies massive effort to romanticize (ehehe) those specific feelings as the end-all-be-all of affection and the fact that, again, he didn't really grow up with anyone (and still really doesn't have another outlet) other than his dad and siblings as who he "loves" - I do think he loves his siblings, and, tragically enough, probably his father as well. (Thats something else people ignore a ton. We as The Audience do not like Peepaw Ishtar but Marik himself has NO clue what he did was wrong or bad or unforgivable. If anything Marik considers himself the problem for not being able to take it. But that's another convo. God I'm going all over the place today.) Anyways what I'm trying to say here is that Marik probably sees romantic love as something that's present and he should Want but doesn't quite fully understand the emotional implications of it or investment necessary to make it work. If anything he would know less about romance since while old Egyptian myths do mention sex and sexuality with fair regularity - albeit not with much that would help a clueless 12 year old that associates said myths with his imprisonment and doom - there is very little talk of True Love in there. The fact that his knowledge of marriage extends to "my mother died a horrible painful death in childbirth having me and my dad didn't really care" probably is not helping matters!

Also tying this all together is the fact that Marik seems to have a Fraught and Uneasy relationship with his own body, to say the least. Like. I'm just going to go out on a limb and say he seems to consider it just another damp, dark prison he's stuck in, one that has done nothing other than provide an easy way to hurt him and keeps him tied to the Tombkeeper legacy. And who wouldn't? The guy has a massive scar carved into his back permanently reminding him of how trapped he really. Additionally, that's another barrier to intimacy, since there's no way on Earth he's letting anyone touch his back without an INSANE amount of trust - I imagine even Rishid is somewhat suspect in allowing him to touch his back.

The only time he seems really happy is when he gets to extend his mind outside of himself, into other people's brains and giving him a sense of power in an otherwise very controlled life. So that's definitely one barrier there! How do you even begin trying to make your body feel good when all your body has felt like all your life is completely awful? Especially when it would involve letting another person have access to it in a very vulnerable state??? Nuh uh no way thank you sir but we're staying repressed forever and shoving any and all Perverse Urges into a box deep deep in our Mind Room and ignoring them until we die, which we never will because we're Special. This is to say nothing of the fact that one of his tombkeepers duties is theoretically to procreate and create a new generation of keepers which is. Wow. Another conversation entirely but for our purposes means that he already is not going to have a good relationship to that! (Bonus points if it turns out he's homosexual. I'm not saying he is gay, but layering the Problems with "not attracted to women" would be an interesting intersection.)

Anyways the cherry on top of this miserable sundae is the Existence of Yami Marik, the Good-Times Ruiner. Point number one: in between the weird sadomasochism thing he has going on and the fact that he seems significantly more physically and emotionally liberated than Marik, I think it would be fair to call him a moderately sexualized character, though not a straight-up succubus (yes I am aware the term for men is Incubus. quiet).

Point number two: Yami Marik is generally seen to represent Marik's repressed urges and grudges, so we can pretty easily make the assumption that Yami Marik being sexualized comes from an attempt to absolve Marik of such uncomfortable distractions. So there is the thought there that he considers his sexual urges on par with or at least related to his violent and vengeful ones.

Point number three: You would have thought that at least partially realizing this by the end of Battle City would result in Marik realizing he should stop repressing his emotions. But it won't! Because that's not how that Highly Functional Ishtar Brain works! It goes "I now associate sexuality with one of the worst and most publicly humiliating and traumatic times of my life, so I now consider it an Active Problem to get rid of instead of just a uncomfortable quirk of mine." So no actually I think he would be getting worse! Someone send him to a therapist please or at least figure out a way for him not to simultaneously hate himself while still hating everyone else More.

anyways tl;dr: Marik ishtar knows about an extremely warped version of sex but good lord he is repressing it fifteen feet underground. Again feel free to argue with me if you want I'd like to hear other opinions. Anyways hope yall have a nice day and thanks for reading thru all of that!

#In summation: kazoo cover of paradise by the dashboard light plays while Marik miserably stares into a mirror with smudged eyeliner. #Marik ishtar #malik ishtar #yami marik #yami malik #ygo #yugioh #yu gi oh #if nobody likes this I will be Very Sad jk it just means ill post more about it. Well I will be sad but also Filled With Determination. #my stuff

[nexusnyx]

to my sweetheart

40s!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader  [2.6k] Summary: Each night Bucky gets some sleep, which is not often, he dreams of two things for certain: The first, of course, it's you. The calm before the storm. The second, and this was as weird as everything else, was falling. He hated every second of it and hated the first second he woke up the most—when he felt that weird sense of deja vú. 📝 this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. I hope you enjoy this sweetheart Saturday. | 🏷️ established relationship, letters, angst, longing, love declarations. warnings⚠️ mature content—depictions of sex, so minors dni. age-typical topics— war, drugs, violence, death, depression & alcohol consumption... etc.

masterlist | series masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤAugust, 1943.

Somewhere between England and Italy, Bucky lost track of time.

Days weren't the same now and he wondered if they ever would be. The empty gaps between horrors and the eerie quietude of bars in towns he's never heard the name of—they make him queasy.

Bucky's lost in time, but not without a compass.

Your words guide him home.

In spilled ink that he sees in the corner of the pages or the coffee stains on pages two or three, Bucky can see you crouched down behind your work's balcony, writing with one hand and nursing your mug of pure caffeine with the other.

Those things.

The memories. They're what keep him grounded at first.

Any memory from that Sunday before being shipped back is his safe place. Dum Dum called those days a "mind palace". Bucky laughed at him when he did, and Morita said, "you say the wildest fuckin' things, Dum Dum," but he'd been right.

Bucky needed a fortress to hide.

Somewhere no war could reach, or sink its claws inside.

Everything around him shone lights on the most twisted things and ideals—he buried himself in the memories.

In you.

The letters were only a bridge.

He noticed that having a head on his shoulders helped the others, too.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ"In a way, sweetheart, you're like everybody's guardian angel here, y'know? They say 'Sarge, it's easy to not go crazy when we've gotta fella like you around', but most of them don't know that you keep me not crazy. So they owe ya one, even if they don't know it. If When we all make it out of here, I'll let 'em know, and that way, they can pay ya. DumDum already knows you don't like anything with lem I hope it's soon."

ㅤㅤㅤ

As he buries the safe parts of his mind in a random Sunday day, Bucky realizes a lot about himself.

They're traveling from London to a city in the countryside of Italy when he notices that he's sturdy. The word strong is intimately attached to the idea of Morita now—a tall, broad fortitude of a man whose presence is twice bigger than himself. But Bucky's sturdy—like a good structure, a firm base.

His unity gets a mission.

He doesn't think about it. If you're being logical, he told his reflection, this is better. No trenches. No open air.

(It wasn't better. It was unknown, uncharted territory.

Bucky remained with his head held high. Told his men—"we'll work it out.")

The letters are his safe boat, and he floats in the warm waters of your fountains for as long as the damned mails allow him to.

It's a chilling shock when the boat is pulled from underneath him.

The cold waters of reality suck—and the government provides the aid for it.

Bucky re-reads the letters tucked inside his metal box when the mailman tells them about the mess up.

He feels himself slipping when his hands are shaking—the repeated words stop being enough with his mind lost in scenarios of you back home, alone.

The lack of replies from Steve is the last straw. Or the final pull.

Bucky allows the morphine to numb him.

He didn't keep his men from tobacco, prostitutes, alcohol, and the cheap morphine provided by the ones that wanted all soldiers placated the most.

It was... needed.

That's what he told himself.

You need this. If you wanna make it back to her and him, you need this. But you better be fucking smart about it, too, 'cause they will both whoop your ass if you come back fucked up.

Bucky's morning prayer: you need this. if you wanna make it back to her and him, you need this, but you better...

As long as it kept him microdosing as much as possible, all should be fine.

Right?

Not right.

Nothing was right, but fuck.

There was nothing human about staying alive like this. Nothing humane about how the people up top handled the world and played with everyone else living in it, and Bucky made the skin between his thumb and forefinger bleed trying to organize those thoughts as he wrote them to you.

Pages, so many pages of the inside of James Buchanan Barnes, and all because someone answered from the other side. When mail wasn't intercepted—when things weren't fucked.

Bucky could almost hear the disappointment in your voice every time he put something in his mouth that he shouldn't.

Be that a cigarette, alcohol, drugs.

He heard, "Jay... that shit's nasty, c'mon."

It made him smile.

When he heard, "You better not think I'm gonna kiss you if you keep using this crap," the smile left, though.

Even you weren't immune to the dark, intrusive thoughts.

(Sometimes, they won. The ugly thoughts devoured if he'd been obligated to pull the trigger many times. If he kept hearing the sound of something exploding, or his eyes stumbled upon worse than bits and pieces flying here and there.

On those nights, he went either to Morita or Dum Dum. The three of them understood each other better. Talked things out, sometimes.

"This has to end at some fuckin' point," Bucky pleaded. To what or who, no one fucking knew. He turned to Morita, "how stupid is this? Just—how fuckin' stupid is this, Jim?"

"The stupidest," said Jim. Bucky liked hearing him pissed off. "But that's who rules this world for you, Sarge. Stupid men.")

Each night Bucky gets some sleep, which is not often, he dreams of two things for certain: The first, of course, it's you. The calm before the storm.

The second, and this was as weird as everything else, was falling. He hated every second of it and hated the first second he woke up the most—when he felt that weird sense of deja vú.

When he asked Dum Dum about it, his reply was as helpful as not hearing from you and Steve in longer than Bucky could care for:

"Eugh. Put a cup of water next to ya before you sleep, Sarge. That''s like hair and teeth fallin' and shit like that—a warning for ya to wish the evil eye away."

Bucky loved the guy with all his heart, but he wasn't sure what was stupider: The notion that a glass of water would help at all (or not freeze in the fucking cold they were facing these days), or that someone could 'wish away the evil eye' in the middle of the war.

If only.

ㅤㅤㅤ...

—didn't even try to hide it. I think the boys get a thrill from that. They respect me and follow my orders, which is more than I can ask for.

But for now, never mind them. I can't even fathom thinking about the words you wrote that got lost somewhere; crumpled under dust, debris, and nothing nice. Your words deserved better than that. How fuckin' primitive is it that we still gotta rely on papers to even hear from one another, hm? I think all the things you said at the Expo are so true it hurts, and that's a bit sad for me to think about. I always liked technology. You know that. Surely I thought at least some of the people who controlled it were better at optimizing everybody's life qualities, but, hey—you were right about that, too. I think evil lizards just took over long ago, and we never climbed up high enough to know it.

You asked me what I think it'll be the hardest part when I'm back, and I dreaded writing the answer to that.

Truth is—I'm terrified of you. Not as a person, sweetheart, but, the idea of you, d'you know? Nowadays I'm not sure when I'm makin much sense or not so I apologize if I did it again because of The thing is... What if I'm no good? What if my company gets an expiration date because I'm in touch with all of this shit, y'know?

Sometimes it feels like the smell of death and blood is ingrained in me. It's fuckin' disgusting, I know, and I'm sorry to even say it. I just wanna take so many showers and the mere idea of gettin' one is so far-fetched and ridiculous that one of these days I cried because of how hard I wanted it. Please don't think I'm a kid. Fuck what am I saying you'd never judge me for this shit. I'm sorry sweetheart I keep second-guessing things I haven't gotten much sleep. I promise I'll try today

Remember us waking up on Sunday morning?

That's the part of my Sunday I go to whenever I just wanna cry. I head to the bit where I woke up with you in my arms. Your naked body still laying against mine. So soft, baby. So right. The little sighs you make when you turn around always made me smile. You toss and turn like a hurricane all night long, but it's fine—I'll buy us a big bed when I'm back, so we can have that mornin' but even better. Can you picture that? 'Cause I do. I can't wait to say to you this one. Can't wait to whisper BURMA in your ear just so I can hear you laugh at our secret codes. Giggle and moan because I can't keep my mouth to myself when I'm around you.

I keep thinking about how hard you were sleeping. I know you only slept that hard because we were up all night. (That's the part of my Sunday I go back to whenever I need to feel some heat in my body again, or just to know that it's made for more than bad things. That it can be good. Soft. That it's touched someone with tenderness and been touched with love back.) The way you slept even as I kissed your legs, from your ankle all the way up to your inner thighs. How you only opened your eyes when I pulled your knees apart with my head.

I think about that precious morning, that part of my Sunday where everything was just perfect. Waking up to you was fucking perfect. Touching you lazily until your body woke up, getting to know your body with sleep still holding onto the last shreds of darkness in my brain, and the utter perfection of finding out pleasure even without the burning, scorching fire you leave as a trace whenever you touched me. I felt like we'd been married for ten years, that morning, and I could feast on my beautiful wife without a care in the world for what comes later... just because.

I loved spending hours on your body. I'll never thank you enough for trusting me with you the way you did it. Do it. Jesus Christ I can't even fathom not havin' you anymore. No past tense here. I love the sounds you make and how loud you are for me. I love how you let me please you, and tell me just how you want it. I miss that right now. The most comfortable I've ever been was buried deep inside of you as you sat on my lap, your arms wrapped tight around my neck and your lips on my ear telling me every filthy dream you had in my absence. That's my 'mind palace'. Tell no one, though. They think it's something much sweeter.

What are the parts of our golden Sunday you think about the most? Tell me. I wanna know what parts make your days, just as that morning makes mine. I know you hate when I keep babbling about the way I see you — and shyness suits you very well, no matter what Steve says — but I'm gonna do it for a while longer before we talk about the other thing.

(Speaking of your Blond half, can you please tell me where the fuck has he been? I'm drivin' myself mad convincing Steve didn't put himself in a stupid ass position again. I don't got enough morphine in here to withstand this level of worry, I swear to fuckin' god.)

ㅤㅤㅤ...

A lot of shit changes in only a few months, but one thing remains certain: his stubbornness.

He is Winnifred's son, after all.

When his superiors tell him about the mission in Azzano, Bucky shakes his head sharply. Inside his mind, he silently apologizes to his missus before lighting a damn tobacco. Then he argues with his superior.

"That ain't happenin', sir," he says. There's as much confidence in there as he can muster.

His Captain leans with one forearm on the table, and exhales every ounce of air in his chest. "And why not, Sargeant?"

They've been through the 'why' before. Bucky explained in the most cohesive and short way possible the reason why his mission would fucking suck — "you really need to learn how to sweet-talk your superiors, Jay; bad-mouthing them can only be done in your mind; it ain't their faults they think they're special. they're the bosses. as stupid as the rest of us, if not more, and still human, unfortunately. just butter them up" — he stops.

She's right, he thinks.

I often am, your voice replies.

After a deep breath, Bucky goes over it again.

Points at the maps hung in the guy's walls to see if visual aid can help his clear cognitive fucking issues, and drags his fingers through the landscape, running over the plan.

The holes. The improbabilities.

Bucky has this annoying, grating scratch that seems to be attached to his spine. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, bed, or every basic human need in general, but it's made him more cranky.

Less open to be cordial, but he tries.

Eventually, the Captain groans out loud, explaining, "Well, that does check out," as if Bucky would spend minutes talking nonsense in the middle of a war, "but—there isn't much I can do, Barnes. I'm trying my best here—"

We're all "trying our best."

"—and if I'm being honest with you," says the Captain. "I know that this is a hard thing I'm asking of you."

Bucky holds in the scoff. Keeps his eyes in check, and not photographing the back of his skull.

"It really is, sir."

So they compromise.

After over one hour and a half longer of discussing tactics that still contain as many holes as it can fit in an ant's colony, they reach a 'compromise'.

Their unit's 'special mission' is a go-to, and Bucky leaves the base office with that scratch making every muscle in his body hard. Tense.

He shivers, willing away that stupid feeling that hovers at the back of his neck.

When he gets back to his secluded location, the boys all welcome him with tired eyes. Morita hands him the bottle of whiskey and, before he does his duty and fills everybody in, he picks up a piece of paper and your last letter.

"Gonna write, Sarge?" Dum Dum asks.

With Bucky's nod, he switches the gun from the left to the right side and sends him an encouraging smile. "Tell the missus I said hi. I'll keep watch."

"Thanks, Morita."

He starts:

ㅤㅤㅤHi, sweetheart.

First of: I've got some news to tell ya that you're not gonna be fond of. (And oh—Morita says 'hi, missus'. I think he wants to have your babies now that you supplied him with Gudang. Just so ya know.) Now take a deep breath, a really long one—actually, go make yourself some tea.

ㅤㅤㅤ...

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[nerdieforpedro]

Do you know that hippo?

Part Three of the Rock & Doc Series

Tim Rockford x plus size OFC - Doc

Rating: Explicit for ending

This blog is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 5.5k (things are moving along)

Summary: The engagement party of Doc and Kim's friend leads to some surprising discoveries. Gold it seems is Doc's color and keep an eye on those hippos. They've got major clues. Big things are happening at the precinct.

Warnings: disco, drinking, hippos, family dynamics, mutual pining, swooning, bad pranks, panic/anxiety, trench coat mention, blood, fatal injury, murder

Notes: We've got the more to the plot in this one! Keep an eye out for a mention of a Pedro character and the introduction of another. I've gotta thank @lady-bess (on Tumblr) for beta reading for me. Bouncing ideas off of @maggiemayhemnj always leads to good things. I hope everyone enjoys the twists. 😘

Main Masterlist/ Tim Rockford Masterlist / Rock & Doc Series

Saturday of the engagement party:

You already want to go home. You’ve just been dropped off by Tony, Kim’s beau of two years. She’s wearing a blonde wig, orange star shaped shades to match her orange strapless dress that she’s pulled up at least the fourth time after complaining that she doesn’t have enough to keep the dress up. The orange complements her mocha skin and since her dress is strapless, she was happy to show off her rose tattoo she had on her right shoulder.  The heels of her white thigh high boots click as you both make your way to the large double doors of your mutual friend’s home. Samantha had gotten engaged to some producer who was filthy rich or had enough money to rent a space like this. 

You didn’t need a wig. Your hair, when not slicked down with grease and tied with two different scrunchies, expands enough on its own to look like a seventies wig. It’s just not curly, your hair never did hold a curl to save its life. Kim thought it would be a good idea to pin a gold disco ball in your hair and wear tiny gold disco ball earrings to match. She also did your makeup which included gold eyeshadow, soft pink cheeks and a vibrant red lipstick. You wore a shimmering gold dress that tied behind your neck and had a gold chain that connected from the tie in the back down to where the dress hit your shoulder blades. The back of the dress was longer than the front with it hitting the back of your ankles. The front stopped mid-thigh and your gold bangles that donned both wrists jingled each time you attempted to pull it down. Thankfully, the dress wasn’t bunching anywhere that you felt. Kim told you to stop fiddling with it and to let the people see since you wouldn’t let your cherished detective see anything. You pinched her arm and the two of you bickered until you met the guests of honor. 

Sam and her producer fiance were happy that you came and that you brought gifts, though you weren’t sure if they really needed a stand mixer since you were sure Sam didn’t know how to boil water. Maybe the producer…whose name you did hear three times but it never stuck, cooked or baked. The party ended up being fun though, there was delicious food, excellent music and the other costumes were a sight to see. At one point there was a disco ball that came out of the ceiling and everyone did the electric slide. 

After the dancing when things took a weird turn, you stepped outside to get some fresh air. As the night went on, you started smelling weed and some other substances you usually tested for. You thought maybe you inhaled too much of the air inside but it called you miss a few times ... a man-sized hippo.

“Hey Miss! Lady! Ma’am!” The hippo keeps trying to get your attention and you scan the area to see if there's anyone else out here and if there’s anyone else they could be talking to. You see no one. Just you and this hippo, at least you can tell that it’s a costume. This has to mean you don’t have more than a contact high right? You’re just slightly dazed you hope.

“Yes sir? Or ma’am? How can I help you? I specialize in humans and not animals.” The hippo fails their arms and groans at your answer. You weren’t sure how else to put it without coming out and saying you’re an ME. You don’t know this hippo, they don't need to know that.

“You’re not too high right? I’m not an actual hippo. I need help getting this damn head off. You’re the first person I’ve seen who isn’t high as balls. Help a guy out, yeah?” You nod and watch as the hippo bends forward so you can reach the head. You pull and it comes off with some force with you stumbling back but thankfully not falling. The owner of the hippo head has fluffy brown hair and is shaking his head. “That feels so much better! Thanks! Fresh air! I missed it!” He has a beard that’s patchy but it doesn't quite have the gray that you like. He looks like he could be Tim’s younger cousin. The mischievous grin is one you’re sure you’d never see of the detective’s face though. 

“You look familiar. Do you know-”

“Now just because you helped me get this head off, doesn’t mean I’m going to give you an autograph. You seem nice but you gotta pay for those. I have back taxes.” You cackle at the last part of his sentence and he raises an eyebrow. “That's not funny. It’s why I have a new manager and accountant. I hated that my damn brother was right. He’s always right, damn perfectionist. Like his shit doesn’t stink sometimes. That’s why his wife left and all he has is murder. Whatever lady.” 

“No, no. I was going to ask if you knew a homicide detective, you look like him. A lot. I work with him so I was curious.”

The Tim-look-alike runs his eyes up and down, a fuzzy mitt on his chin. He seems to be thinking something, you're not exactly sure what. Some people just look like others and they’re not related. You could be wrong.

You adjust your glasses nervously and he points at them. “They’re blue! He mentioned a woman with blue glasses! So you’re her…he’s mentioned you quite a bit. You do the autopsies right…medical…specialist…something like that? Mentioned something about pens and menus. I didn’t really get that part.” You close your eyes. He told someone about the pens? Who was this guy? “You’re sexy. My brother’s an idiot or maybe he’s not. He loves his job too much is the damn problem. You’re already a lot nicer than his ex-wife, you single pretty lady?” 

Blinking is your initial reaction. So this man…is Tim’s brother?! Your hunch was correct and he was related. You were thinking of a cousin maybe but not his brother. “Did you just ask if I was single? You’re wearing a hippo costume and couldn’t get out of it.” Your hands are raised like you’re pushing away the very idea of him hitting on you. The man in the hippo is not amused.

“That was a design flaw in the costume. Wait, I’m Dieter Bravo, I don’t need to explain myself. I see why he likes you, the sense of humor matches up. If you’d ever like to get to know the more fun of the two Rockford brothers, you should look me up. But definitely watch my movies, I need those royalties. I might paint about what happened here tonight. Thanks again sexy MD. My brother is a bit of a stick in the mud, but he is very nice to the ladies. Wait, what’s your name?” A fuzzy arm wraps around your shoulder and it’s not bad considering the cool night air. You tell Dieter and he comments that it’s sexy for a sexy lady. Your eyes roll as the pair of you decide to head inside where there’s heat and grab some punch. It’s warming you both from the inside out. Dieter and you chat about Tim and Dieter’s lives when they were both younger. Dieter took to the arts early while Tim focused on police work like their dad. 

A fun fact you did learn about Tim: he enjoys photography. 

Dieter explained it’s a hobby he enjoys because he can’t paint like he can. But he also admits that if his brother wanted to, he could have been a photo-journalist, but the call of shield was too great and it went on the backburner. Apparently one of the many reasons Tim and his ex-wife split was due to him wanting to make one of the half baths into a darkroom and expand it a bit. Bravo also informed Doc that his ex-wife was about as fun as putting on a wet blanket while you watch grass grow on a cool spring morning. That made Doc give Dieter a solid belly laugh.

You mentioned that you’d heard rumors of how this woman was but never really asked about her directly to Tim or anyone else. Bravo shrugged and sipped his punch taking stock of what you’re saying. It appears you don’t just like his brother but you respect him by leaving his personal business alone. As smart as he knows his brother is, he’s kind of an idiot. The fact that he knows something his brother doesn’t is a wonderful feeling. Bravo will make sure to remember this.

Dieter explains that he took his passion for art from their mom. She also taught English part time and loved Greek mythology especially which led to his legal first name. He didn’t believe it fit him until he became older and really leaned into the latter part of the Greek god of wine and revelry’s purpose. 

“I’ll tell you pretty lady if you agree to do something fun.”

You squint your eyes at the younger Rockford brother. “What do you consider fun for me?”

“I think you should send Tim a picture of yourself in your outfit. Show him what he’s missing out on by sitting at home in his boxers or sleeping in his office gazing lovingly at his murder board.” This elicited you to choke on your punch and put a hand to your chest.

“I-I- who is that fun for exactly?! What is wrong with everyone this week?!” Knocking back the rest of your drink and pouring yourself more, you’re holding onto the table to keep yourself upright. “First the damn notebook, a bone song, now I find out and meet…”

“Name’s Dieter. Don’t say my real name.”

“Tim’s brother Dion and now you’re telling me to…to…why won’t anyone just let me fantasize?!” You take out your phone and shakily text Kim but she isn’t answering. You want to leave. NOW. Dieter pats your shoulder.

“Hay calm down. I dunno what set you off, but I was half joking. I think you might wanna call someone to take you home. You’re a bit too drunk.” He suggests as he guides you to a quieter room with a couch. You’re able to sit down and call Kim but she’s still not answering. You lean your head back on the soft fabric of the couch and close your eyes. Who else could you call? Just an Uber? No…you’re not alert enough for that. You could doze off at any moment. Alcohol tends to make you sleepy. Your phone slips out of your hand and Dieter grabs it before it falls on the floor. 

Bravo has a bad idea. A very bad idea and maybe a bit mean. He texts Kim who has sent four texts asking where Doc was, that she’s okay and she had liquid courage to call Tim. He’s going to pick her up. Kim then sent various emojis with eggplants, bones, water drops and peaches. The second part of his plan had Bravo texting Tim from his phone that:

Hey bro, I met a very nice lady, maybe a few years older than me. She seems a little shy but the punch is very good. She might want to hang out a bit more after a Power Nap. She’s got some full lips and thick thighs, who knows? She might make a pretty third wife, third time's the charm after all.

Dieter snapped a picture of a dozing Doc and sent it to Tim. He waited. Maybe the text was a bit over the top but based on her outburst, his older brother has likely been a huge closed off idiot. Sadly he’s been like that since he divorced his ex-wife, he should have put more laxative in that woman’s coffee the one time he made it for her. 

Rockford was in his office finishing up reports. Did he want to be? No. But it was this or do it Monday and Mondays sucked enough without extra paperwork. Plus he didn’t have anything else going on, only that his small black notebook was missing. He’d turned his trench coat inside and out three times and searched his desk, office, car and where he thought it might be in his house. He was going to do another sweep of the office before he left tonight.

His phone lit up but he paid it no mind and kept typing, putting the finishing touches on the fourth report of the night. A small smile crossed his face when he saw Doc’s name for the autopsy of the victim. His mind is drifting to thoughts of you again. He remembers meeting you when you first came. Hands cup the back of his head as he leans back in his chair. Tim’s eyes drift to his murder board and his ear itches. That’s odd. 

He hadn’t been sure about getting a new medical examiner three years ago after Old Loaf, the previous ME had retired. His nickname came from his van which he put bread stickers on (not ever the identifying ME logo though) and he usually played classic rock and his favorite artist was Meat Loaf. Weird man, but ME’s usually are. When Doc arrived, it was an adjustment. The precinct had been used to that old bread van riding around and arriving to crime scenes. When Doc started she was first confused for an intern and not the new medical examiner, to be fair, they weren’t told anything about gender or appearance. But they could have at least asked, Tim happened to hear about Doc from the Captain and his wife over dinner. They had him for dinner from the times he used to double date with them along with his then wife.

Tim interceded between a senior detective and Doc because he kept calling her ‘young lady’ and Rockford could tell with Doc’s hands on her hips and her in his face, something was going to happen. He was pretty confident it would be the senior detective hitting the pavement as she wasn’t budging an inch. Slowly she started winning over the officers with her humor and knowledge, she even kept the loaves on the ME van and added stars, a mermaid and a catfish decal to it as well. They enjoyed the new flair of the van.

Rockford had thought her to be confrontational from her interaction out in the field but quickly grew accustomed to spending extra time in the autopsy room and office. Asking her questions, bouncing ideas off of her and at times, watching her work gathering evidence in the field and her lab. Tim had long reasoned that he spent time with Doc because of work. Over the years they worked together, however, he denied that their relationship was changing. 

They’re colleagues obviously, but he knows the times you’re most likely to be in your office, learning about your music, trying to make you laugh, maybe doing a quick check of a few databases to see if you had any skeletons in your closet. There was some threat you made against your medical preceptor which is why he knew the detective was in more danger than you were. That didn’t bother Tim though, he can have a violent streak in him too if pushed. It was comforting that you’d understand some of the darkness even if it wasn’t quite in the same context. The pen thefts were weird but he enjoyed your eyes on him, watching him to see how he’d react. Now you’re in his car half the nights a week and he should ask you on a proper date but… you seem wary of him and not in the same way he is of you. Rockford could be reading into it too much, he tends to do that a lot more now. Maybe you’re actually wary of him in the same way? He could review his notes he took if he could find his damn black book.

“Rockford! What the hell are you still doing here? Go home!” Tim sits up and looks in his doorway. His balding Captain is there with his crooked toupee. He should just shave it off. Now that he thinks of it, he could dress up like Kojak. His wife would need to pick out his suits though, the Captain puts too many patterns together. The man is wearing a zebra print button-down, red pinstripe pants and a yellow tie. That’s what the Captain wears when not in uniform. His wife might be helping her sister with her baby again, he clearly picked his own clothes again. Tim finds himself thankful that he can match his own clothes without help.

“Sir, I’m almost done with some reports. Didn’t want to leave them for Monday.” Rockford responds. He picks up his phone to snap a quick picture of the Captain’s outfit, knowing Doc’s eyes would go wide before ending up face down on her desk in tears from laughing so hard. Tim swallowed. A quick flash of another thought flashed in his head of Doc face down in an entirely different situation. “Shit.” He muttered. The Captain nodded and left as Rockford saw some text messages from someone he didn’t expect. “He better not be asking me to stream any more of his movies. I’ve seen all of them three times. I told you to fire those two con-artists….” Rockford has finally opened his messages and it didn’t have to do with any movies.

Tim’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He called his brother, seething and confused. When Dieter answered, he didn’t allow him to speak. “You tell me right now where Doc is. What the hell have you done…” The detective growled, making Dieter reconsider his plan. He knew Tim might be mad but had only heard that tone come out when he broke a guy’s arm for stalking Dieter early in his acting career before he blew up and thankfully before Tim graduated the police academy.

“Now see…what had happened was…I had a bad idea. Which I realize the full extent of now.” Bravo paused. “Your lady friend is fine. It seems she’s a sleepy drunk. I was going to poke fun at you but you’re clearly not in the mood-,”

“Dion. Stop. The. Bullshit.” Tim stated each word in the same simmering tone. He shut down his computer, put on his coat, and headed for the door to his office. “Address. Now.”

“Ahh…Okay let me just ask someone real quick. I was dropped off, you know.”

“Two minutes Dion.” 

“Yup. On it.” Dieter is fully aware that per his request Tim calls him Dieter even when it’s just the two of them. The last time Tim called Dieter ‘Dion,’ he may have had one dumpster full of compost dumped on Tim’s ex-wife’s lawn. It was a gift since she liked to garden and constantly prune his brother’s dreams. His card had said so. Tim did not appreciate the gesture at the time. He did later though.

Bravo sent Tim the address and he plugged it into his phone. He knew the neighborhood, on the richer side of the county. Why was she there? How did she meet his brother? Why is she drunk? Now he knows she’s a sleepy drunk, and that picture… He’d seen it. How could Tim not think about it, sure she was asleep but she looked radiant in the gold against her skin. It would be a lot better with one of his cameras he had at home instead a stupid phone camera. Not now Tim you need to drive. Dieter can barely care for himself, how is he going to look after Doc? He can’t fight at all, no matter how the stunt team tried to work with him. Let’s just hope she’s only drunk. What kind of party would she go to where he would be there too?

Your head is spinning a bit but you see the fluffy hair and the hippo suit. You’re sitting…that’s right! You fell asleep. With all these people, at a party. 

“I'm an idiot.” You groan sitting your head up, your body still feels heavy.

“Sleeping beauty is awake, your trench coat knight is coming. Could you tell him not to maim or murder me? Please? I gotta go to Milan to meet this screenwriter who might be able to get me in a Nic Cage movie he’s doing. It helps if I’m not dead.” Dieter gives you very pathetic looking eyes, but you’re not sure why.

“I don’t know who my knight is. What did you do?” You’re not entirely sure what Dieter is talking about. The room is still spinning a bit. You’ve sat up but you’ve hung your head to help with the dizziness.

“Why did I have to do something? You don’t even know me Doc.”

“Doc? You don’t call me that. It doesn’t sound right.” Your entire face contorts and Dieter holds his arms out whining.

“Tim calls you that. That’s your title, you’re a doctor. Or is it like a weird pet name between you two? I’m gonna ask him when he gets here. If he doesn’t harm me.” You pay no attention to his head tilt. Your body goes rigid, you’re hoping Dieter is just talking out of his ass.

“Wait…Tim is coming here? No, no, no,no,no!! What did you do? You insane weirdo hippo! Why haven’t you taken that off? You’re wearing something under that right? You’re not one of those….I mean. I’m not into it, but you do you Dieter.” Your surprise masks your panic for a few moments before it returns and to shoot to your feet. “Forget that, I’m not…I can’t see him like this. This isn’t…wait there hasn’t been a murder here has there?” A second wave of panic sets in, if Tim is coming here, there’s been a murder. You’re at a scene of a murder while drunk, wearing less clothes then you might wear to bed most nights and you’d have to explain not only to Rockford but the other detectives and officers why you’re here. Not a bad reason, but they don’t need to see you dressed like this. You’ve finally got everyone to call you ‘Doctor’ or ‘Miss Doc’ instead of ‘young lady.’ They’d never let you live this down.

Bravo rocks himself up off the couch and places his hands on your shoulders. You can’t take him seriously in that hippo suit.  “You spun pretty fast. I sent him a picture of you while you were dozing and he’s coming to pick you up. Your friend Kim knows you’re going with him. He’s not happy that I took a picture of you so could you just, make sure I live? I mean think of it as doing your brother-in-law a solid.” You’ve closed your eyes while he’s talking and are shaking your head. 

“This is…a nightmare…a damn nightmare…” You start laughing at the absurdity of it all. You almost wish Kim was here to sing her bone song and it would be a perfect nightmare. Dieter mentions that you should meet Tim out front, that way he won’t need to look for you and it may earn him a point or two. He also put the hippo head back on. If all else fails, he tells you to pretend to not know him as a hippo and he’ll just watch and then waddle away. You decide it doesn’t matter what Dieter decides to do, this is going to be so weird. 

On his way out, Tim went down to Doc’s office where he got a spare key from the maintenance guy Joe six months ago. He had told him at the time it was for when Doc was off and that had a sub-ME come in who he had to double check behind. Or course, that’s not at all what Tim does, but Joe bought it because like his younger brother, Tim might be able to pull off some acting when he needs to. Based on what she was wearing, she needed something to put over herself. It’s way too cool for her not to and despite the alcohol she drank, she’d feel it when she got a cold later. On the drive over, he tried to plan what he would say, sure he was pissed at Dieter and he’d yell at him later about that. Would Doc be weirded out that he’s coming to pick her up? Should he have called Kim? She's Doc's friend but he can’t stand her. Kim’s good at her job and keeps things organized, but she’s a damn…well he wouldn’t say block. Just, she always interrupts with that smug look like she knows how he feels about Doc and makes little comments. Doc’s oblivious but eventually with enough of Kim’s words, she’ll understand that he likes her as more than a work friend. He’s sure he can’t have that conversation with her, especially if she didn’t feel the same.

Dieter leads Doc through the house, getting lost in a few rooms before they finally reach the main entrance. In full hippo costume, Bravo waits near the double doors, just in case Tim comes at him, he can hide behind one. He knows the stairs will slow him down. Doc stands in front of the stairs and holds her breath as she sees the brown Crown Victoria she consumes large amounts of Chinese food in pulls to a stop next to her. She walks toward the passenger side door, but Tim puts down the window. “Hey Tim.” Your voice is hushed. 

“Wait. Don’t get in yet.” Something unexpected happens. It’s not that he gets out and opens the door for you or even that he has your lab coat, though you are curious how he has it since you lock your office before you leave every night. Tim says your name softly before helping you put your arms through the sleeves and he pulls on the collar so it’s a bit snug around your neck and by extension your chest. You’re left to look up at the man you’ve admired for the past few years, the same one you keep lying to yourself that it’s only admiration you feel for him. 

“Tim…I’m sorry you had to come. I-I’m not usually… Thanks for coming. And don’t kill Dieter, just rough him up a little.” You give him a weak smile, you’re ecstatic that he’s driving out to pick you up, but feel horrible that you’re hungover and in a flashy gold skimpy disco dress when you see your detective outside of work. You wanted to have seen him in a more elegant outfit or at least something that didn’t have all your thighs and breasts out. Why couldn’t you have heard him say you name over a nice dinner? Hell even some Chinese food in your office would have been better than this, you’ve got the beginnings of a hangover and it’s not how you wanted Tim to see you outside of work. You’re not sloppy, messy and a tad obsessive sure, but not sloppy.

“Don’t apologize Doc. You’re entitled to fun after-hours. Just keep it safer next time. I was worried.” Rockford tells you quietly. His hands are still on your collar and run down to pull the lab coat snug around your middle which you flinch from his knuckles grazing your stomach. He calls your name again in the same soft tone as he smiles, “I’ve got one too. Not as soft as yours, mine’s a hard spare tire. Um…” Tim realizes he may have said something odd. He shouldn’t be referencing your body in any way but he has now. He feels like he put his own foot in his mouth, it’s not what he meant to say. “I..the gold looks perfect on you.” Rockford is making an effort to focus on your face, but his eyes drift to your lips, a bright shade of pink and even though he’s pulled your collar tight, he can still see your cleavage. There was more of it than he assumed was under those scrubs of yours. “I didn’t mean to mention…You’re a beautiful woman. You look good in anything, let’s get you home.” 

If you could melt and fade away you would, where is this tender side of Tim Rockford coming from? Is it from pity? You could care less. It’s clear that he was looking at you, seeing past your usual scrubs, his eyes had scanned your form. Maybe this outfit wasn’t as bad as you thought and he’s seeing a fair bit of the goods as Kim would put it. Tim’s staring at them in fact after calling you beautiful. Does he… Is he attracted to me? I don’t think I ever thought this far ahead…dammit I’m thinking of that stupid bone song again. But I mean…

As Tim motions his hand for you to get in the car, the hippo who supposedly was worried about life and limb has a sudden outburst, “For the love of..?! What is this? You suck Tim!” A waddling hippo is coming toward the both of you continuing to berate his brother, “You’re going to do all that with her coat you damn tease? You didn’t even hug her or kiss her! No wonder Doc drank so much punch!” Dieter then turns to you, his large stuffed head bobbing about. “Is this how he is all the time?! I thought maybe you were being dramatic but I see you weren’t. This is swoon-worthy but you need to make it count big bro. Like she’s right here!” He points his gray mitts at you, your face feels like someone has put it under a lamp and it’s burning. 

“Dieter, Shut up! Now!” You scream and get in the car, slamming the door. “Tim, we should go. Take me home please.” You’re mortified looking straight ahead in the car, hoping that he won’t ask. Tim’s a detective, of course he’s going to ask. What will you tell him? He ruined the moment…can I get another take without the damn hippo?!

Rockford shakes his head and pushes Dieter’s hippos head enough so he stumbles back but doesn’t fall. “Go back to the party, dumbass. This isn’t one of your movies.”

Dieter regains his footing and yells at Tim as he gets in his car, “You’re right it’s not! In one of my movies, she’d be a lot more satisfied than she is right now!” Tim flips the bird toward Dieter out of his driver side window and over the hood of his car. 

As Tim drives off he sighs and turns on the radio. He has questions, but knows you're way too uncomfortable to answer any of them now. ‘I’m In Love’ by Evelyn “Champagne” King plays and Tim mumbles under his breath, “Of all the times…” Any other time I’d enjoy this song. It’s way too on the nose.

“Tim, I don't want to go home.” You’re watching the houses pass by as you speak. It could be the rum you drank, the fact that you spoke at length with a hippo who said he’s your ‘brother in law’ or that you’re now aware of how Tim sees you, at least in this outfit. “Can we stop and get something to eat? To soak up the alcohol, unless you’re not hungry?”

Rockford squeezes the steering wheel tighter, “Yeah we can. You feel up to talking while we eat at the usual place or you have somewhere else you want to Doc?” He’s keeping his eyes forward. If he looks over, his eyes will linger again and he needs to focus on driving. Supposedly. 

“Where we can get a burger and milkshake.” Is your request and Tim agrees, making a few turns toward the diner you’ve both talked about going to but haven’t been yet. It was supposed be for when another big homicide case came through but, well this could be considered a large case of a different nature. 

Back at the precinct, there are a few officers on the night watch milling about and taking calls. Things are calm, they’re looking forward to eight in the morning when their shift will end. One officer notices that the mascot for their precinct, ‘Sergeant Roderick Hipops’ named and gifted to the station by the Captain’s daughter when she was four, isn’t on the podium in the command room where the Captain will give updates and assign cases for the day. A couple of the officers decide to track the hippo down so they won’t be the ones that lost it. Their search leads them to the corridor outside of the morgue, where they find Sergeant Hipops, but he’s dipped in red paint. He’s wearing a navy police coat and a small hat in his permanent seated position. One officer points out that it’s too thick to be paint, it’s blood. Their search expands and crimson drops on the floor lead them to the morgue, where they discover a body.

Stevenson, Detective Tim Rockford’s partner, had a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead on the slab where Doc normally performs her autopsies.

Part Two Part Four

Peeps who would let Tim take their photo 📸: @alltheglitterandtheroar @sin-djarin @morallyinept @yorksgirl @bitchwitch1981 @heareball @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @yorksgirl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @avastrasposts @clawdee @pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing @rhoorl @inept-the-magnificent @pamasaur @agentjackdaniels @pedroshotwifey @tinytinymenace @anoverwhelmingdin

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #Tim Rockford x plus size OFC #Rock & Doc #trench coat #A Nerdie fic #pedro pascal characters x plus size

[agbpaints]

I like a lot of battlemechs. Some of them look really cool, some of them play like absolute fiends, some of them are absolute piece of shit graft boxes. The Hammer isn't really ant of those, I like it because of its name.

Designed by Gibson Federated Battlemechs in Free Worlds League space and first rolling off production lines in 3053, the HMR-3M Hammer was intended to serve as a direct competitor to the Federated Commonwealth's popular Valkyrie battlemech in the light fire support role. It packs the same throw-weight in missiles, though it splits it into a pair of LRM-5s equipped with Artemis IV Fire Control and fed by a 2 ton ammo bin instead of a single LRM-10, drops the jump jets (though maintains a ground movement profile of 5/8), and carries slightly less armor than contemporary Valkyrie designs like the VLK-QD. It uses this saved weight for a fairly beefy set of sidearms- three medium lasers arranged in a vertical stack up the center torso and into the head. Interestingly, the arms of the design are free of any weapons, implying it has some want to be in melee which the missile racks really do not want it doing. As far as base models go, it's not super inspirint- as a Valkyrie competitor it lacks the mobility to quickly move to firing positions and as a fire support platform it basically serves as a budget Trebuchet, a mech that already sits firmly in Discount Dan's bin of mostly competent missile boats. It's biggest boon is likely its double ammo bins and low BV cost, which easily allows you to add weird LRM ammo like smoke and thunder rounds to a force without sacrificing an archer or something, and even then you waste the Artemis, tonnage which I think is kinda wasted on LRM-5s anyway.

Now, onto the thing that drew me to the Hammer, the variants. You see, each variant of the Hammer has a fun little nickname instead of just a variant code. That's character most mechs don't get outside customs and I think it's kinda cute. Anyway, the HMR-3S 'Slammer' is our first variant and by far the worst. This one pulls two of the medium lasers on favor of *another* 2 tons of LRM ammunition. This allows the Slammer to keep up its fearsome 10 damage barrage for 48 turns, long enough that someone else might have the sense to wander over and kill it dead.

Next, we've got probably the funniest variant, the HMR-3C Claw-Hammer. This is the compulsory 'oops all medium lasers' version of the design, pulling an LRM rack and its attendant ton of ammunition in favor of four more medium lasers. The heat sinks have been upgraded to double strength freezers to cope with the strain of being roughly 40% of a Nova, and to its credit it can more or less handle the heat of its guns.

Finally, we have the HMR-3P Pein-Hammer. Unlike the previous variants which had some long range firepower (even if it was only token like the Claw-Hammer), the Pein-Hammer is 100% a forward unit. It carries a pair each of ER medium lasers, small pulse lasers, and Streak SRM-4 launchers, along with a TAG laser designator for guided munitions and enough double heat sinks to more or less carry the load of its guns. This Hammer has a sort of annoying, weird anti-synergy with the rest of its ilk- despite being obviously a forward observing unit that LRM boats could benefit from, the TAG system it carries is wasted when combined with the Arty-IV every other model has. It does, however, pair fairly well with contemporary ANV-8M Anvil, spotting for the heavier mech's Arrow IV artillery piece.

I decided to get in on the action and make a pair of my own variants. The HMR-3ASC 'Sledge-Hammer' is an extremely low cost iteration on the 3M- rip off the expensive guidance systems of the LRM racks, along with a laser and a heat sink, and just add more missile tubes. 4 LRM-5s means that with Kerensky's blessing, you can deliver a knockdown at long range, while the lack of inbuilt guidance means special munitions are less feelbad.

The HMR-3AT Trench-Hammer is intended specifically for hunting battle armor. 4 jump jets keep it ahead of most of its prey. While the double SRM-6 rack can be loaded with Inferno munitions to make Toads die a firy death, or just regular missiles to soften them up before they get whacked by your force's bigger guns.

#light mech #hammer #mech talk #battletech #battlemech #kills you with hammers

[dusted-star]

My Analysis of Mori Ougai, Part One

I'm writing this mostly because I think a lot of people miss the point about him. I've been seeing a lot more character studies and "deep dives" recently but I honestly think many people are too blinded by their hatred of him to see the full picture. I'm not out here claiming I'm an unbiased person, but I've spent quite a lot of time thinking about him and his actions, so here's what I've come up with.

Mori Ougai does everything for Yokohama. Every decision he makes is for the greater good. He doesn't care about what happens to himself, the people close to him, or anything like that. The greater good is all that has ever mattered to him.

We first see this through his usage of Yosano to try to create the Immortal Unit. The "Greater Good" in this case was abilities being used in warfare by the Japanese. The Great War had been brought down to a single island with "primative battle[s] fought in close combat." Both the manga and anime describe how in this war, the Japanese are losing, badly. They're outnumbered and outgunned, and they don't even have the firepower to reach a trench close enough to theirs to be called "mocking."

Mori wants to prove that special abilities are useful in war, which would greatly assist the Japanese in winning if more ability users were drafted. His own ability, Elise, while strong (ish) would not be helpful in this case. We've already seen that she can be destroyed (Fukuzawa and Mori's fight during the cannibalism virus arc) and while it seems she can be remade, not much is known about the specifics of that. Elise, since her destruction, has only been seen once. Besides that, since she has been destroyed, it's an easy enough conclusion to come to that the firepower the European side had would be enough to kill her.

Therefore, Mori needed an ability that would not only prove to the Japanese government that abilities were worth something in a fight, but also win the battle of Tokoyami Island. Those two things go hand in hand, but they're not the same. Winning the battle would prove to the Japanese government abilities were worth something in battle, but only if the battle was won using an ability. And, in my opinion, a singular ability. He meant to show the government just how powerful one ability can be.

There's where Yosano came in. One person can be injured in battle, and killed. Even an ability user. But Yosano, who can keep a whole squadron alive forever? She was the ultimate weapon. Nevermind her age, nevermind her willingness, she was the key to the Greater Good. So he used her. It's cold, ruthless, and wrong, sure, but in a war? Wars do not care for wrong, ruthless and cold.

That's not to say that he wasn't affected by the war, though. During young Yosano's introduction, he's seen smiling and joking. Although it may not have come across that way in the English translation, the lines where he calls Yosano "his" is teasing. He ends his sentence in "だよ" which is the informal or friendly ending to a sentence. (Fun fact! adding "よ" after "だ" is like adding a "you know?" to the end of your sentence, so even more friendly.)

((Also… don't take "My Yosano" out of context. Yosano is described as a "sponsored medical student." Mori is her sponsor, most likely. She's his student and responsibility. That's all ya weirdos.))

When Yosano starts breaking down, Mori also has a personality shift. He goes from finding her antics cute, to being even colder and more ruthless. He went from threatening the soldiers to shooting one of them in the stomach. He was, at this point, obsessed with getting his Immortal Regiment to work. It doesn't, and while we don't really see how that affects him, it's a probable cause to his wanting to get Yosano back after the war, and subsequent fight on the rooftop with Fukuzawa.

Now, let's move onto the Underground Clinic Arc. While this arc is very short, it's another look into his what he's willing to do to achieve his goals. I mentioned at the very beginning his self-sacrificial nature. This is proven when he allows himself to be captured and beaten up by a group. Their goal was to get information out of him, and he knew that it would happen. Still, he allowed it to happen because he wanted to know where their base was so he could launch "retribution and [a] counter attack". He did this while putting himself at great risk.

(Alternatively, he could just be a masochist.) ((this is a joke ignore this))

That too was for the Greater Good, although this time, the Greater Good was acquiring a reputation as both a reputable underground doctor and as someone who knew everything. Both of which would be required to become the Port Mafia Boss' doctor, which was his "in" to becoming Boss himself. In doing that, he fulfilled his part of the Tripartite Tactic, which assured a safer city.

As for being the Port Mafia Boss, he does it well. He secured a successor, someone he could train from a young age to be the next Boss, leading him to continue keeping the city safe in the way the Port Mafia does best. He secured loyalty, which is one of his greatest strengths, in almost every single member of the Port Mafia. Every Mafia member we've interacted with so far has an incredible respect for Mori, barring Dazing, of course.

Even with Dazai, I'd argue he respects him.

I've heard people say that Oda was Mori's great failing and I disagree. Mori did know exactly what he was doing in killing Oda. There were two possible outcomes to the scenario: Oda dies, killing Gide in the process, the Port Mafia gains the Gifted Business Permit, and Dazai toughens up, learning that nothing but the Greater Good mattered, or Oda dies, killing Gide in the process, the Port Mafia gains the Gifted Business Permit, and Dazai leaves, too "soft" to be the next Port Mafia boss.

All for the Greater Good.

He took an organization, which was, for all intents and purposes, a terrorist group, and turned it into one of Yokohama's protectors. Yes, he is a bad person. His individual morality is horrifically dark. However, as a leader, he does what is best for the organization and city.

Everything for the Greater Good.

#bsd #bsd mori #mori ougai #bsd meta #bungo stray dogs mori ougai #bungo stray dogs meta #Star's Mori Meta #bungo stray dogs

[backyardcoop]

Finishing Touches & Chicken Chases

We've come a long way since Bobcrow stood sentinel over an empty orchard. Since we covered our exterior in the last update, for this final post in the series, I added the finishing touches to our coop mansion.

Using leftover T1 siding and 2x4 scraps, I crafted a rustic door. It's less "artisanal farmhouse chic" and more "function over form", but it does the job of keeping the elements at bay.

Inside the coop, the leftover T1 got a new lease on life as decor. But the pièce de résistance? The nesting boxes. A little privacy for the ladies while they lay breakfast.

Stairs were next on the list. Let me tell you, stair-making is more art and math than one might think. It might've been the trickiest part of the project, right behind laying that foundation. But after some measurements and this guide I found, I managed to carve out a stair stringer and lay down those steps. No more using a ladder to access our wine-and-chicken hangout spot!

Protecting the chickens took some heavy-duty trench work. I buried welded wire a foot deep and a foot out to deter any would-be snack-seekers. Coyotes and bobcats might be cute, but not when they're eyeing your egg-layers.

Once everything was set, my dog gave his seal of approval by, well, trying to herd the chickens (as seen above). It's his new daily fitness routine!

Thanks for joining me on this coop-building adventure. If you're ever itching for a hands-on project, love daily fresh eggs, and want to share wine with chickens (and a scarecrow) in your backyard, give coop-building a whirl!

Cheers to fresh eggs, cozy fires, and Bobcrow's everlasting vigilance!

#chickencoopjourney #chicken #diy #chicken coop #homestead #home projects #update log

[scrapironflotilla]

Under the conditions of this campaign no attack has any chance of succeeding without a large numerical superiority. At least 4 or 5 to 1, and one must also have the effective support of a large number of guns, provided with a great quantity of ammunition of the right kind. With these conditions it is possible to gain ground at any given place but that is not sufficient to break the line, force the Germans to withdraw, or obtain a decisive victory. Unless the attack succeeds on a large front at once, the subsequent fighting develops into a desperate struggle for villages, networks of trenches, fortified points, and so on, and the progress made is so slow that the Germans are able to bring up local reserves, and even reserves from forces in front of other parts of the line many miles away, by train, and by motor transport. The attack in the same way is obliged to bring up every available man to attack and to relieve the men who have been attacking. In consequence a situation is produced by which you have a great assembly of troops in the immediate area where the attacks are being made, and a line held comparatively lightly in other places. This would produce a favourable opportunity for the Allies to attack on a large scale elsewhere, and two or three such attacks delivered simultaneously at the present time would probably achieve the object of “breaking the line” and forcing the Germans to retire. An extract from a letter Major John Grant, a staff officer on the headquarters of the British 36 Corps, wrote to his father in law Lord Rosebury 11 June 1915.

This is really interesting to me because what we've got here, less than a year into the war, is Grant clearly identifying the military problem facing everyone in the war, and then explaining how the allies ended up solving in it in 1918.

Grant clearly had good insight and in letters as early as March 1915 is already saying the war was one defined by attrition and would thus go on for years. Prescient ideas, but as a major it's not easy to push them up the chain of command. And there's the whole issue of not having an army or industry capable of carrying out those ideas.

#my research #ww1 #british army #john grant