#spiiinninginfinity

DEAD BY DAYLIGHT STARTERS

@spiiinninginfinity​​ said:  ❝ i promised to keep you safe, and that’s exactly what i plan on doing. ❞

Glancing up from the grenade belt he’s straightening on his shoulder, John meets Tarasov’s gaze with his own. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised by the statement, yet he is ( just a little ), though not unpleasantly so. “Don’t tell me it’s because I shot that giant spider before it could get to you last week,” he teases gently. Despite his quiet humor, John’s quite sure it’s not the reason. Tarasov has seemed intent on doing so since shortly after they met, and that was some time prior to the ‘ arachnid incident. ’

Declan hummed softly, leaning back into his lover with a warm smile. He smoothed his hands over Ilya’s arms, feeling utterly content. He tipped his head back against his love’s shoulder, then to the side just enough to bare his throat to the kisses he received. Busy was an understatement. It felt like it had been months since they’d gotten any proper time together. 

It wasn’t often that Matt had chance to spend time with friends, given the demands of his job, however when he had been invited to an old military friend’s birthday, he couldn’t resist - even if he didn’t know anyone else there. The smell of the barbeque was amazing as he stood in the garden, beer in hand and eyes scanning the crowd until he spotted another man stood alone nearby. 

Continued from here.

headcanon meme 

Winter! 

Star Destroyers are cold and stark already, both as a method of cleanliness as well as aesthetic appeal, so it’s the environment that he has grown up used to. Less chance of disease, or bacteria, a more controlled environment that keeps him from having to worry about the myriad of difficulties that come with plant growth or moisture. 

Not to mention, he prefers atmospheres that require more clothes than less, because he’s not exceptionally comfortable with showing too much skin, and he prefers heavy wool uniforms and overcoats. Gloves and hats, etc.

@spiiinninginfinity​ said:  The wolf leans into the neck and chin scratching John busied a hand with, rumbling with content. For once, the day was quiet and no apocalyptic crisis was being triggered. So Ilya's wolf decided to come out, relaxing in his nest of pillows and blankets with his pup, who brought some paperwork along to work through in the quietness. The wolf snuffles into John's hair, licking the strands to groom him as John didn't wear any hair gel that day. //fluff :))

Although John’s right hand is occupied with shifting through the papers in front of him, his left has taken up a rhythmic scratching motion beneath the wolf’s chin ( traveling at times down to the neck or up to a furry ear ). It had begun almost automatically, before he’d even allowed it much forethought; those simple ministrations are akin to habit now, on days when the mundane wins out. He likes the way the wolf presses further into his fingers and the satisfied sounds which accompany it, the subtlest of smiles settled upon his lips even as his gaze remains fixed upon his work. John starts, however, at the sensation of a rough tongue lapping gently at his hair.

@spiiinninginfinity​ said: "Took ya long enough, kid," he snickers, unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Ilya was deep in the sewers beneath the city, dragged off by cultists who saw him as a promising hostage to lure Hellboy into their lair. Ilya had put up quite the fight, but he didn't expect for the cultists to have a fucking werewolf who nearly tore his arm off. It lay limp by his side, silver dagger embedded in the wolf's jugular. "You missed the party, John," // let's get some angst started :))

Relief, vexation, and unalleviated trepidation all war with John as he quickly closes the remaining distance between he and Tarasov. Kneeling beside his fellow agent, he merely shakes his head for a moment, his eyes assessing the injured arm, which currently looks as though it would be more at home on a lifeless ragdoll than on a human being. He can’t quite find it within himself to proffer a witty rejoinder in response to Tarasov’s; his mind is elsewhere.

“You made me worry,” John murmurs, though his fear hasn’t lifted in full. After all, Tarasov’s arm looks bad, and too much blood has surely been lost already. “We should’ve stuck together, instead of you running off.” In the midst of their chaotic surroundings, he had lost sight of Tarasov before he’d even had time to register that the other man was no longer by his side. Then, he speaks into his comm, alerting the others that aid’s required as swiftly as it can possible be dispatched. 

@spiiinninginfinity​ said:  The wolf's fur was a mess of mud and leaves, panting hard in his break from a romp through the preserve. He was clearly pleased to see that John is accompanying him, the moment the enforced garbage truck's doors opened and the sight of the smiling agent welcomes him. He was careful at first, treading behind John into the unfamiliar woods, but as the agent lazily threw the piece of stick he found into the bushes, the wolf's attention snapped to said object with the overwhelming urge to chase after it. He almost toppled John over as he leapt with powerful legs above the agent, clawed hands digging into the demolished bush in search of the stick.

“Hey, careful!” The exclamation betrayed just how startled John was by the wolf’s sudden bound after the stick he’d tossed. When they’d first arrived, an air of uncertainty had pervaded his companion, despite the open air and freedom to roam he’d gestured. It’d left him a little sad, even if he hadn’t allowed it to appear upon his countenance; the wolf was still so hesitant, likely from the long period of confinement which had followed Tarasov’s return to the BPRD. Regardless, they were here now, and John intended for it to become a routine, as long as the wolf found it enjoyable.