Or Ellen De-freakin-I’m-a-Lesbian-and-married-to-another-Lesbian-Generes and her “what, this is totally what friends do” snogging…
It would seem that everyone in the vicinity of Colin Farrell manages to somehow be deadass straight-faced adamant that “appropriate platonic behavior” = “whatever lets them get their hands on Colin Farrell.” Consequently, it’s entirely possible that Colin Farrell really did mean for his behavior around Credence to be interpreted as nonsexual. Problem is, at this point he has absolutely no concept of what normal friendly physical contact is supposed to be like, due to 20 years of everyone around him insisting that “no, second base is totally the new fistbump.”
- thanks to @seasons-gredence and @ameliacapricorn for some of the pics.
Hey Omni! I’m so thankful you’re able to keep up with these Friday requests for now! I know you’ve got a lot of work probably so I don’t wanna overload you, but what about Deckard and Luke dragging around a little newbie agent that’s terrified of their banter?
Aw! Thank you for your consideration! It means a lot to me! And this is going to be fun 😈
Jacob stared shell shocked. How was he supposed to work with these two?!
Standing before him were Luke Hobbs and Deckard Shaw. Two of the most elite agents Jacob has ever heard about
Hobbs' track record of catching criminals was legendary. He almost never didn't catch his man. He wouldn't stop for anything
Shaw was a legend in several ways. In his agent life and criminal life. Jacob had heard many urban tales about Shaw. Specifically one about him killing a loud of guys with a shoe.
Both men were extremely scary
And currently throwing insults at each other like third graders
"You think I'm scared of you, you pint sized shitzu?" Hobbs snapped. "Go back to whatever Hobbit hole you came out of and leave the real work to us."
"You're call me a dog, huh jolly green? You're the one who goes around yapping his mouth like a bitch in heat!" Shaw hissed
This went on for some time
Jacob had no idea why these two were working together
"Um, sirs?" Jacob spoke up when Hobbs was about to open his mouth to retort. "I'm not entirely sure what mission we're doing."
"Who the hell is this sad sap?" Shaw asked, looking Jacob up and down, and didn't seem to be happy with what he found
"Some rookie Nobody wants us to train. Just ignore him."
"It's already bad enough working with you, numbnuts, I don't want some kid following us around! I already have to save your arse enough!"
Jacob flinched at that. He knew he was still pretty green, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready to learn, especially from two of the most experienced agents around
"Oh, you have to save my ass? Now that's rich, princess!"
Frank is gay and Tarconi is his boyfriend! Nothing anybody can say will change my mind. The Transporter trilogy is really the progression of Frank and Tarconi’s relationship.
In the first film, we have the meet cute when Tarconi goes to interview Frank about the police chase and bank robbery. Tarconi reveals that he’s had a thing for military men since he was a boy. What a coincidence! Frank is ex-military. After some playful repartee, Frank invites Tarconi for coffee.
When Tarconi shows up at Frank’s door again, he is met with Lai, a strange woman wearing Frank’s clothes. Tarconi’s face was rather unamused and stern compared with his easy-going demeanor in the previous meeting. Perhaps sensing Tarconi’s unease, Lai successfully drives Tarconi away from the house and the suspiciously damaged Mercedes by cuddling up to Frank and presenting themselves as a united front.
Ultimately, Tarconi has to put aside his hurt feelings in order to help Frank save the trafficked Chinese people in containers.
The second film is the most overt in the expression of Frank and Tarconi’s relationship, even though they only shared on scene together. First of all, who crosses the mf Atlantic Ocean to visit an acquaintance for a weekend? No one! I see it as a romantic weekend reunion for the couple who have been separated by their jobs…
Secondly, the film itself toys with the idea of Frank and Tarconi being together. When Tarconi gets arrested by the police, the interrogator emphasizes “we found you cooking in his kitchen.” This is a humorous exchange because it implies a sense of domesticity that is incongruent with the genre of the film. Looking through my fangirl goggles, I’ll take that domesticity as canon, thank you very much. :) In response to the question, Tarconi concedes that “(Frank and I) have a relationship.” On the narrative level, the response is an intersection of Tarconi’s difficulties with English and the nebulous relationship Frank and Tarconi shared by the end of the previous film. On a stylistic level, this line is supposed to be funny to the audience because it invokes a romantic relationship between Frank and Tarconi. On a fangirl level, it means Frank and Tarconi have a relationship :P
Finally, the scene Letterrier mentions. After Frank rebuffs the advances of his employer’s wife, Audrey, she asks “is it because of who I am?” to which Frank responds with “no, it’s because of who I am.” I’ve seen many people interpret this as Frank being a good man and not taking advantage of a drunk woman, or not hooking up with a married woman. However, this interpretation ignores the significance of the dialogue. Being drunk and being married are both who Audrey was. So, according to Frank’s own words, he is not rejecting because she is drunk, or because she is married. So what part of Frank’s identity prevents him from hooking up with a supermodel who is throwing herself at him? …I guess it’s just another mystery of the universe…
The romantic weekend is a wash and neither gets laid :( but at least they parted on good terms having shared another adventure.
The third film opens to Frank and Tarconi fishing on a tiny boat. Clearly, they have moved past the stage of flirtatiousness and romantic getaways and have now settled into a stable relationship where they do boring old man shit together. In a true display of the lethargy of old men on a hot afternoon, Tarconi dozes off, which I find to demonstrate the level of comfort and security they have in each other’s company.
When Frank is kidnapped, Tarconi must embark on his own journey across Europe to rescue his damsel in distress. Of course, Frank is a strong independent white man who manages to save himself yet again.
After the explosions, Tarconi finds another woman hanging on Frank’s arm. Unlike with Lai, he seems much more magnanimous. Tarconi just looks at Frank with exasperated fondness. Perhaps he is secure in his relationship with Frank and does not feel threatened by her presence.
The film ends with Tarconi and Frank fishing in the same spot as the beginning of the film. Their lives have returned to normal… But wait! Valentina pops up from behind Frank and embraces him! If the boat is supposed to represent Tarconi and Frank’s peaceful life, the ending seems to suggest that Valentina is now a part of it. So maybe the conclusion is… Frank is bisexual and in a polyamourous relationship with Tarconi and Valentina??? The third film is made by a different director, so I guess we don’t have to include it in the canon of the Transporter if we don’t want to.
Yessssss! 👏👏👏 You convinced me when you said “Frank is gay and Tarconi is his boyfriend”. Lmao this is the in depth study of the first gay, in the closet, action hero icon that we all needed!
So just imagine: crumbling buildings, abandoned cars on the sides of the road, vines and plants growing throughout a ghost city while animals like deer and wolves run through them, everything is filmed in a golden filter with a warm hue that contrasts the direness of the human’s situation. Basically, what I’m trying to say, is a zombie au. A zombie au with the crew and the Hobbs and the Shaws all fighting for their lives with kickass suped-up cars and a score to settle. Thanks so much dude!
Sorry this took a second! I was working all day, but I hope this works!
Luke was never a fan of the city. He hated how loud it was, and that no one seemed to slow down enough to appreciate the world around them. Museums and parks were always his favorite part when it came to visiting someplace new.
He never expected the rest of the world to conform to his preferences.
But a zombie apocalypse would do that.
Luke sat on one of the many abandoned marble benches of the Nature and Science Museum and looked up at the t-rex skeleton. Most of the windows had been smashed in by either people or the elements. Too much time had passed to be able to tell which.
Vines and weeds had grown through the new entryways, coiling around the skeleton and hanging from the dinosaur’s teeth.
Time was a funny thing.
“Luke?”
He looked over his shoulder. Deckard was standing in the entryway. Sunlight reflected off of the broken glass beneath his boots.
“Toretto’s expecting us in ten.” Deckard said.
It had been by absolute chance that Deckard was in the states when the first outbreak hit. A fact that Luke didn’t even know about until weeks into the pandemic. When neighbors started to turn, and turn on each other in response.
He, Toretto, and their families had been driving from town to town looking for resources, and they’d stumbled into a nest while exploring an abandoned department store.
Luke was on his back, a zombie bearding down on top of him and trying to bite its way through the metal bat that was the only thing keeping Hobbs from becoming lunch.
In fact he was just about ready to say his final prayers when Luke heard a sickening crunch, and then the zombie collapsed. Deckard stood over him, an ax propped up on one shoulder.
‘Am I ever going to be done saving your ass?’ Luke never thought he’d be so happy to hear that voice.
From then on, Deckard became an invaluable resource on their team. Having more hands to search for food (and help cook it afterwards) helped alleviate some of the stress that surrounded their new way of life. Plus Deckard was good with the kids.
“Luke.” Deckard said his name again. And Luke found himself contemplating their slow journey from Hobbs and Shaw, to Luke and Deckard.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” He rose from the bench and slung his rifle over his shoulder.
Deckard easily fell in step beside him as they exited the museum.
“Find anything?” Luke eyed the full backpack hanging from Deckard’s back.
The Brit shrugged. "Some of the fruit trees in Central Park were ready for picking."
Luke felt his mouth begin salivating. "God I can't remember the last time I had fruit that wasn't out of a ca--"
Deckard raised a hand, cutting Luke off. He soundlessly pointed to their left.
Expecting to see a zombie mindlessly bumping against a car or stumbling after a rat that was much too quick for it, Luke was surprised to see a gazelle.
This wasn't their first time seeing wildlife not native to their current state. Zoos all over the country (and world, Luke assumed) had fallen apart once people weren't around to maintain them. Which meant that sometimes you came across an occasional big cat or African vulture.
As Luke and Deckard watched, a herd of deer lazily stepped into view. Apparently the gazelle found a new herd.
Deckard slowly knocked an arrow into his bow. Hunting with the rifle might have been easier, but it would attract a lot of attention and they only had so many bullets. Besides, they could always make more arrows. He drew up, and aimed for one of the bucks.
Luke held his breath until Deckard released the bow.
The arrow cut soundlessly through the air, and buried itself in the deer's skull, killing it instantly.
They waited until the gazelle and the rest of its herd scattered and disappeared down another crumbling intersection before going to retrieve the kill.
It was always a somber thing. As much as they needed the food, animals felt like the last pure thing left untouched by the virus.
They didnt know why the animals seemed unaffected. And no one in their group had the scientific background to run tests on the matter. It didn't stop Tej from trying when he could. But they didn’t often come across safe and still-functioning labs. And when they did they usually weren’t able to stay for long.
“Dom’s going to wonder where we are.” Luke said as Deckard gutted and cleaned the deer. But he knew there was no delaying the task. So he stood beside Deckard, rifle at the ready just in case some zombies tried to sneak up on them. “He’ll probably swing by with the cavalry.”
“Good.” Deckard muttered, carefully removing the organs they couldn’t use and preserving the ones they could. “I wasn’t planning on transporting this back to basecamp all on my own.”
Luke thought back to the gazelle. Considering what kind of journey it must have experienced between the time that the outbreak struck, and it finding and integrating into a herd of deer. He wondered what must have happened to its original herd.
“Do you think your family’s doing alright?”
Deckard had stilled the moment the words were out of Luke’s mouth.
It was a stupid thing to ask. Deckard spent hours hunched over the radio they salvaged, telegraphing morse code into the airways. He hadn’t gotten a response yet. But it didn’t stop him from trying.
“Sorry.” Luke said. The thoughts on the gazelle had just made him think about Deckard’s own ‘herd,’ since they were in England at the time of the outbreak.
Deckard seemed to sense both the sincerity of Luke’s apology, and why he’d asked it in the first place.
“It’s fine.” He shrugged.
Just as he’d finished preparing the deer, the sound of engines roaring tore through the abandoned city.
Luke looked up to see Toretto's Charger appear from behind a building and nearly pass their street before screeching to a halt. Letty and Roman followed close behind in their souped-up cars.
They'd had to raise the cars’ suspension to make room for the oversized all-terrain tires. And they’d also added a makeshift plow in the front in case they needed to clear a path fast.
As the three cars turned and approached the duo, Luke turned to look at Deckard.
“You get to explain why we didn’t make the rendezvous.”
Deckard stood and used a rag to wipe off his hands. He leaned against Luke, looking up at him.
Goddamn if this isn’t the exact scene I was seeing in my head when I sent in that prompt! All I can say is you hit the nail on the head, Pogue. And your writing, as always, leaves me with butterflies in my stomach and a wealth of seratonin flooding my brain 🥰 I love the quiet, slightly ambiguous relationship that Luke and Deckard have and the way you weaved in that feeling of group survival was awesome! Also that little pang of sadness as Deckard thinks about his family was so gooodddddd 😩 not to mention the way the gazelle comparison just fit in perfectly!! Thanks so much for filling this request I loved it!!!
For the lovely anon who asked for the blessed combo Scamander brothers, Percival, and baking - here it is, at last.
Newt emerges from his case, in the sweet green darkness of early morning and sleeping creatures: he is alert enough, but groggy with leftover dreams of gentle pale girls taking his hand at the dock. He closes the case with his foot; walks down the hallway, in the direction of the ruckus of clanging and rustling and muffled cursing which prompted him to crawl out in the first place.
It is half past six: a tender blueness pouring across the hardwood floors in the square shafts of the windows, just shy of real light. He’s in curderoy pants and shirt, no shoes - a shade of rust-colored stubble he has not bothered to shave off just yet. One of the other two occupants of the house is his own brother, whom Newt has long since run out of ways to scandalize; and besides, the clash may be an emergency, and Newt will never forgive himself if he doesn’t there in time because he was busy making himself decent.
These are days of emergency: loud noises can be often gateways to pain, or rage, of the witnessing of both. The concern is legitimate. Which prompts Newt to think of the other housemate besides him and Theseus, who is so deeply intertwined with those emergencies and that rage, and who would care even less about his naked feet.
(He doesn’t seem to care much about anything, honestly: which paints his brother’s face with a startled anguish that always reduces Newt’s heart to the size of a crumpled tincan.)
As he moves down the hallway, Newt listens. The ruckus isn’t constant: it swells and cusps and dims again, like the bubbling of a kettle. The epicenter is the kitchen, tucked at the far end of the corridor: a room which has been left woefully underused for the whole time the three of them have been here, except for growing towers of dirty coffee cups and the scavenger-worthy remains of the sandwiches he and Theseus survive on, grubby and furtive as raccoons. As Newt crosses the threshold, the noise peaks with the crash of something falling to the ground - terracotta meeting floor, timidly suggests a part of Newt, a lifelong student of how to make things fall and the sound they make while falling. His brother’s voice follows on the tail of the clash, cursing: sonorous, whiskey-rich, tinged with weariness.
Theseus’s voice hardly sounds anything else, these days.
Newt stops just inside the room. At his feet, in a pool of yellowish goo which is rapidly spreading across the checkered tiles, a bowl - rolled here all the way from the counter at the center of the room. (Marble-tops, gleaming brass, state-of-the-art utilities reminding him more of Muggle science-fiction startships than of a vacation cabin: having met none of the specimens for more than five minutes, Newt has anyway concluded the Graveses’ fame of flair and expensive tastes is entirely justified.)
He bends down; picks up the bowl. His brother only looks up at him when he rests the bowl on the counter, nearby the war zone of flour and sugar and half-empty boxes. Theseus’s massive hands are sunk into a twin of the bowl. They are beating into submission some sort of foamy concoction.
Newt has to exercise a remarkable degree of control not to react at his brother’s state. Purple bruises ring his eyes; the skin under his patchy beard is livid, the unflattering hue of curdled milk. He is still tall enough to be towering, of course, the broad shoulders still brimming with strength, bulging under the undersized flower-patterned apron - pilfered from Mrs Graves’s kitchen attires, no doubt - but still, he looks diminished. When someone shines as bright as Theseus Scamander, any lack of light makes them hard to look at.
Theseus, his brother: his golden, confident, medal-wearing older brother, who is everything Newt has failed to be and whom he has nevertheless never envied.
Not for the first time, by far not for the first time, Newt feels the urge to pat his shoulder, to cradle him against his heart; to shove him and tell him to stop looking ready to fight with any fir tree in sight instead of confronting the real reason of his anger. He wants do all those things at the same time. As usual, he ends up doing none of them.
There are other ways to reach out to Theseus, though. Newt is daily struggling to find them.
“Can I help?” he asks, arching his eyebrows - like there is nothing more commonplace than two bachelors baking at the crack of dawn in quantities that, judging from the amount of bowls and whips and flour involved, are fit for a small Amazonian tribe.
Theseus hesitates; tension bleeding out of his shoulders in little shivers, the tiredness underneath deepening. Then, the reward: a small nod, a bump in the arm.
“Of course,” he says.
“What are you making?”
(Newt thinks it wise to pluck the verb trying out of the sentence, no matter how appropriate it would be.)
Theseus sniffs. “Muffins. And scones.” A vaguely belligerent glance. “You know anything about baking scones?”
“Do you?”
Theseus’s smile grows of a good half inch at that. Two things he will never do without - honor, and a certain appreciation for self-deprecating humor.
“Fair enough. Maybe you remember more of Aunt Marion’s recipe than I do, at least.”
Newt doesn’t waste more words; when he is handed a bar of chocolate to chop into bakable shards and a cutting board he sets to work in silence - the fragrance rising off the knife so thick and dark he feels it on his tongue.
He feels his mouth water, too, a low rumble under his ribs: he concludes it may not be such a bad idea, this making breakfast themselves, no matter the amount of felled crookery and swearing involved.
He recalls all the times he came down with some exotically miserable jungle fever during his voyages, and the mornings when when he would smell a cup of cocoa and gulp it down until he was licking at the bottom, and know he would pull through after all. He reminds himself the first test to check on a recovering creature is to offer them good food, sweet-smelling food, and see what they do.
It makes him flick his eyes to the ceiling, heartbeat-fast, and push his mind’s eye further up, into the room above: into the stink of healing potions and cold cigarette ashes no one bothers to air out, to the man waiting there. Awake. Recovering, perhaps.
This scene is otherworldly. The noise of amateur baking, the soft light of the rising sun, the dark circles under bright eyes, and the fragile yet reluctantly strong will that has been broken but yearns to be remade. There’s so much pain and so much beauty that it’s hard to distinguish between the two, but somehow you understand that you need them together in order to make Percival whole again.
I loved how this felt more like a quiet musing than a narrated story and everything just fit together so well to create this scene of hopeful healing. Such a great job! Thank you so much for sharing this amazing work!
For the Shobbs Summer Fic Exchange. My gift to @nix1327 I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! This was super fun and not something I think I would have done if not for your prompt. And a big thanks to @omnivorousshipper for hosting this!
I don’t have an AO3 currently but this helped me get back in to writing and I’m very thankful to you all for that ❤
Oh man this was so delightful to read!! I love the dynamic between Hobbs and Shaw and seeing it through Dylan’s eyes was just spectacular! But my dude, your sarcasm and dry humor honest to god sent me 😂 a couple of my favorite phrases include:
“‘Whatever, you rotten Earl Gray cup of crap!’”
And “‘How bout you go sit in the corner and have a nice banana like the gorilla you are.’”
I’m rolling 😂😂😂
This was honestly such a fun fic to read and Dylan’s adorable confusion combined with Ramsey’s all-knowing-girl-next-door personality was such a treat at the end! Not to mention that bit of silence where Luke had Deckard pinned down and you could feel the quiet all around you like you were in the story. Such a great job my friend! Thank you so much for this wonderful gift!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
This is for the Shobbs Summer Fic Exchange. Thanks so much to @omnivorousshipper for hosting this! It was super fun even though I procrastinated a lot! And this is for my lovely partner @my-dandelion-darling thanks for the awesome prompts of which I ended up choosing 2 instead of just 1 😅
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
