Comment!Bribe!Fic :D
For the sanity purposes of our archivist, and also all around amazing beta sansets, a post of the two bribes-for-icons.
You too can be bribed for icons, and for fic. And you will be. Everyone has their price, never think you don't. I just have to find the right price. AND I WILL.
I almost never use "The Cut" so here's hoping I get it right.
A Frank snippet.
There are times when he's meeting with everyone else at a scene, or standing outside with his men, that Frank thinks he should be chewing on the end of a cigar. When he blows through a wall, or sights down a scope, or unloads a few rounds into a target, and hears shells exploding in the background, the echoes of 'Medic!' in his ears. Too many war films, he thinks, and moves on, tries to ignore the sensation that tells him these are memories, and not just his imagination.
But it's hard. There's the twinge in his shoulder. He's never had any injury even near there, but it doesn't stop it from hurting sometimes, and fuck, phantom pain is right. It's like a ghost, shoving something into his shoulder, and when he runs his fingers over that spot, he almost feels the scar that isn't there.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he meets Charlie's or Matt's eyes, and he sees in them a haunted look, something that he sees in his own eyes when he wakes up after a bad night. It's more than having to shoot someone, or spending years in solitary, or dealing with HTs all the time. He's not really sure what it is, but when he sees it he stands straighter and listens more. And at the end of it he goes home and throws on a sweater because those are the days that the cold doesn't go away.
Because some people can make fruity alcohol drinks SAD but I CAN'T. Happy boys :D
They're sat in the corner giggling loudly by the time he gets there. And, no. Charlie laughing is good; Charlie giggling madly is just, it's creepy, and disturbing, and Matt's fixed to the spot for a moment, staring as Charlie leans closer to Cheryl, hand on her shoulder, and whispers something that makes them both laugh harder.
A waitress moves past Matt, two tall drinks on her tray; brightly coloured, umbrellas, fruit on the rims, and they match the empty glasses in front of Charlie and Cheryl. “Excuse me,” he says, stopping her. “How many have they had already?”
She rolls her eyes and smiles widely. “This is the third round. They're a cute couple, aren't they? Friends of yours?”
“Cute couple?” Matt's eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah.” She smiles, but there's some confusion there now.
“They are not a couple,” Matt snaps and stalks ahead of her, over to the table. “Cute couple?” he says to Charlie, who is grinning up at him.
“Hey, Matt. Cheryl was telling me why you're afraid of dogs. Before that she told me about the chocolate pudding. I always wondered why you freaked out when I dumped that pudding on you and tried to lick it off,” Charlie says, breathless from laughing.
It's the way Charlie sounds, out of breath like he's just collapsed on the bed after sex, that makes Matt grab Charlie by the arm and pull him to his feet, nearly knocking the waitress over as she sets the drinks down. “She thinks you and Cheryl are a cute couple.” He shoots the waitress a glare.
“We would be,” Charlie says thoughtfully. “If I weren't in love with---”
Matt shuts him up with a kiss, one hand cupping the back of Charlie's head as he presses his lips to Charlie's, licks over the crease in the centre of the lower one. He stops thinking when Charlie pulls him forward by the hips - or maybe he wasn't thinking when he kissed Charlie in public in the first place - and then he's licking the taste of fruit and alcohol off the inside of Charlie's mouth until he can only taste Charlie. By then Cheryl's clearing her throat loudly and it finally gets through and Matt lets Charlie ease the kiss and pull away, and he's still grinning, and he looks so fucking happy that Matt has to step away before he does obscene and maybe illegal things to him in front of the entire restaurant.
He licks his lips and turns to the waitress, who's gaping at them. “Get me a few of those,” he says, indicating the drinks on the table. “I need to catch up.”
You too can be bribed for icons, and for fic. And you will be. Everyone has their price, never think you don't. I just have to find the right price. AND I WILL.
I almost never use "The Cut" so here's hoping I get it right.
A Frank snippet.
There are times when he's meeting with everyone else at a scene, or standing outside with his men, that Frank thinks he should be chewing on the end of a cigar. When he blows through a wall, or sights down a scope, or unloads a few rounds into a target, and hears shells exploding in the background, the echoes of 'Medic!' in his ears. Too many war films, he thinks, and moves on, tries to ignore the sensation that tells him these are memories, and not just his imagination.
But it's hard. There's the twinge in his shoulder. He's never had any injury even near there, but it doesn't stop it from hurting sometimes, and fuck, phantom pain is right. It's like a ghost, shoving something into his shoulder, and when he runs his fingers over that spot, he almost feels the scar that isn't there.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he meets Charlie's or Matt's eyes, and he sees in them a haunted look, something that he sees in his own eyes when he wakes up after a bad night. It's more than having to shoot someone, or spending years in solitary, or dealing with HTs all the time. He's not really sure what it is, but when he sees it he stands straighter and listens more. And at the end of it he goes home and throws on a sweater because those are the days that the cold doesn't go away.
Because some people can make fruity alcohol drinks SAD but I CAN'T. Happy boys :D
They're sat in the corner giggling loudly by the time he gets there. And, no. Charlie laughing is good; Charlie giggling madly is just, it's creepy, and disturbing, and Matt's fixed to the spot for a moment, staring as Charlie leans closer to Cheryl, hand on her shoulder, and whispers something that makes them both laugh harder.
A waitress moves past Matt, two tall drinks on her tray; brightly coloured, umbrellas, fruit on the rims, and they match the empty glasses in front of Charlie and Cheryl. “Excuse me,” he says, stopping her. “How many have they had already?”
She rolls her eyes and smiles widely. “This is the third round. They're a cute couple, aren't they? Friends of yours?”
“Cute couple?” Matt's eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah.” She smiles, but there's some confusion there now.
“They are not a couple,” Matt snaps and stalks ahead of her, over to the table. “Cute couple?” he says to Charlie, who is grinning up at him.
“Hey, Matt. Cheryl was telling me why you're afraid of dogs. Before that she told me about the chocolate pudding. I always wondered why you freaked out when I dumped that pudding on you and tried to lick it off,” Charlie says, breathless from laughing.
It's the way Charlie sounds, out of breath like he's just collapsed on the bed after sex, that makes Matt grab Charlie by the arm and pull him to his feet, nearly knocking the waitress over as she sets the drinks down. “She thinks you and Cheryl are a cute couple.” He shoots the waitress a glare.
“We would be,” Charlie says thoughtfully. “If I weren't in love with---”
Matt shuts him up with a kiss, one hand cupping the back of Charlie's head as he presses his lips to Charlie's, licks over the crease in the centre of the lower one. He stops thinking when Charlie pulls him forward by the hips - or maybe he wasn't thinking when he kissed Charlie in public in the first place - and then he's licking the taste of fruit and alcohol off the inside of Charlie's mouth until he can only taste Charlie. By then Cheryl's clearing her throat loudly and it finally gets through and Matt lets Charlie ease the kiss and pull away, and he's still grinning, and he looks so fucking happy that Matt has to step away before he does obscene and maybe illegal things to him in front of the entire restaurant.
He licks his lips and turns to the waitress, who's gaping at them. “Get me a few of those,” he says, indicating the drinks on the table. “I need to catch up.”