#4o77

THE "WE’RE ALL STILL EMO AF LYRIC" STARTERS

@4o77: "I got the point that i should leave you alone, but we both know that i’m not that strong."

"You’re persistent."

The Terminator—going by Dutch for the sake of the mission—complains, his tone hovering between neutral and annoyed. He doesn’t look at Hawkeye while he speaks; he just keeps scanning the perimeter of the camp with machine-like precision,  occasionally shifting his gaze to unimportant things so that the “machine” part isn’t so obvious.

"You’ve got wounded to poke, jokes to recycle, a war to complain about--so why me?"

He finally turns to the surgeon, narrowing his eyes slightly, just enough so that it reads as irritation. Hawkeye has been circling him since the moment he stepped into camp, tugging at the seams of his story with endless commentary and sideways questions. It’s making the act harder to maintain. Being Dutch means restraint, with fewer calculations and more unpredictability. That alone makes Hawkeye’s questioning dangerous.

@4o77 asked: Now, do you want to vent, you want to scrapbook, you wanna get revenge?

"Arts and crafts has never been my forte. If you're the, ah...scrapbooking type, you'll want to talk to that feisty little thing over there—yes, her, with the funny pink hair." She points directly to the girl in the distance calling herself Cherry Martini, who in turn points at herself in surprise, then waves a little too enthusiastically. Naux shakes her head and sighs.

"And talk, well, that's cheap." Ironic, considering her own motormouth. "'Oh, woe is me. My life is a tragedy.' No, that does nothing for the constitution, and I won't stand for it." The assertion is punctuated by the stamping of one foot. She tilts her head and studies him a moment. Her lips peel back into a sardonic smirk.

"It seems we've only one option left then, eh?" She rolls her shoulders, then cracks her knuckles. "Suppose there's a reason revenge is classic: it transcends language and culture."

» "there's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

❱ [ 'this is the last straw' prompts ] ❰

He stood there in his stupid, spotless, branded uniform, hands in his pockets like a kid outside the principals office. The press had cleared out, mostly-- now it was just him, a table of scattered juice boxes, and a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with this stunt.

"I wasn't trying to change your mind," John said, a little too late to sound convincing. "Look, they're gonna spin this as a PR thing no matter what. But I asked to be here."

The blood drive hadn't been his idea, but he hadn't fought it: John was itching for a chance to actually help. (Or, more cynically, to be seen helping.)

It seemed childish now, but he had felt a weird flicker of excitement when he overheard the name Hawkeye. Not the archer --John wasn't even sure if he was still around-- the other one, someone the medics in his old unit used to swap stories about between deployments. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, but… maybe a little respect. Recognition.

TUMBLR TEXT POST PROMPTS

@4o77: "I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual."

"Well, neither is a requirement to save lives--"

@4o77 | oblivion

a solid right hook sends an outfitted drunk (asking for it, bunching up his big shoulders and spitting like a caterwauling cat over a spilled beer) sprawling across a corner table, the spread of dominos skating across the floor. bucky had an inkling before it happened--he was exceptionally observant, and even a bit of leave couldn't temper down the scout in him. he was unnoticed outside of the uniform, and that's the way he liked it: anonymity always felt better, easier, than the shining spotlight of being seen and known.

' i, uh-- ' bucky gets a look at him. he looks... young. around his age, maybe a little older, now that he's up close, trigger-roughened hand clapping into bucky's shoulder. (it was strange--his bloom into adulthood had come slow, despite a rapid sprout before his pa died.)

"fuck, fuck, fuck."

he didn't plan on sticking around the emergency room long enough for the doctor who would supposedly be 'right with him' to show up, but unfortunately for logan, the nurse hadn't been kidding about that. his fingers are hovering over the needle stuck in the crook of his arm, poised to yank it out. huffing a sigh through his nose, he tries to think of some sort of excuse that will get him out of there without any fuss.

     𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃   "  𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒  “   𝐅𝐎𝐑   𝐌𝐘   𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄   𝐓𝐎   𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑   𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘   𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒.   𝐍𝐎   𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃  .

❛⠀oh, uh —  ❜

he's taking this more seriously than he should.

❛⠀i got it. a polar bear walks into the bar and says to the bartender: i'll have a rum ...  ❜ and here, wilson pauses. with the hand and everything to suggest to the joke is, in fact, still on-going. and then, dramatically, he continues: ❛⠀.... and coke. so the bartender asks, what's with the big pause ? and the bear says, i was born with it.  ❜ well, okay. wilson likes to think it isn't terrible at all. it's pretty brilliant actually, and the oncologist slowly smiles, until it widens so much that his crow's feet deepens and the plump of his cheeks rise. hell, he's even laughing – wheeze, and all.

if house is here, james bets he'd smile along. maybe a little.

❛⠀get it ?  ❜ he asks between his laughter. ❛⠀pause ? paws ?  ❜