pope runs away with his girlfriend and leaves his family behind. Years later he reconnects with deran bc that's his baby brother, he's shocked to see a little army of kids when pope invites him to visit
GIRL the way i could not stop thinking about this… i was just going to write a lil’ paragraph and then suddenly it got way too long so i put everything under a read more.
warnings: mdni, pure domestic fluff, pregnant afab reader, silver fox pope cody.
word count: 1.2k.
you’re the one that convinces andrew to track down his brother. he tells you a lot of stories — both the good and the bad ones — about their childhood and you think it’s a shame that deran isn’t around to meet his nephew and niece; you understand why they broke contact, of course you do, but you really believe that now that they’re both out from underneath smurf’s thumb, things will be different. so, because andrew would do literally anything you ask, he tracks down deran and gives him a call. deran is in bali with adrian and it takes them a while to set up a proper meeting but the two of them talk every week after that initial call— it’s stilted and awkward, both of them wanting to reconnect but unsure how to go about it; they were never close, pope tells you one evening after a particularly uncomfortable call. no. deran and craig were close. pope was just… their big brother. the one they ran to when they needed someone beat up, not the one they would go to for small talk and human connection.
deran flies home three days before christmas. you don’t live in oceanside anymore, but you’re still in california: up north, where the beaches aren’t as crowded and twice as beautiful; deran comes by himself and he makes a joke about not wanting to spend the holidays with adrian’s parents but you’re fairly certain he was just looking for an excuse to be with his own family for the first time in years.
to say he is surprised when he steps through the airport lounge to find three little kids waiting there with a WELCOME UNCLE DERAN sign is an understatement. The sign is big and messy, much like your home life— there are hand prints in red and green adorned around the words, crudely drawn christmas trees adorned in glitter and the ‘e’ in deran is written backwards because each kid wrote one of the words and julia is still learning her letters.
you’ve never met deran before. pope kept you away from his family when the two of you first started dating and, while you’d been offended at first, it was easy to see the level of damage that his childhood had done to his psyche, so you stayed away. it’s been almost a decade since then though and, apart from andrew, deran is the only one alive— so you pull him into a hug as if you’ve known each other for decades before introducing each of the kids: the twins, theo and ethan, who are both six and absolute menaces and then julia, at just four years old, that looks so much like your andrew as she shies away from deran’s greetings.
“andy told us so much about you.” you say, unable to hide your smile when andrew himself pulls deran into a long hug; you know how hard it is for him to initiate contact and, although it has mellowed out with the children, it still takes a lot for him to stiffly wrap his arms around his younger brother’s shoulders.
“three kids, huh?” deran asks that evening, long after the children have gone to bed. the three of you sit on the back porch of your home, pope and deran side by side while you sit perched on pope’s lap. deran is on his second beer while you and pope share a glass of iced tea— andrew stopped drinking years ago, before the twins, after he finally managed to find a psychiatrist he could trust.
“four.” pope says, big hands sprawling over your stomach. “her due date’s in may.”
“holy shit.” deran shakes his head, but the smile that curls around the bottle is a fond one. “pope cody, family man. who would’ve guessed.”
“i knew from the day we met.” you say, then, turning a little from your spot so you could look down at your husband. andrew’s head tilts back against the beach chair and you bring a hand up, tucking a stray curl — more grey than ginger, now — behind his ear. “knew it from the moment i saw how good he was with lena.”
andrew’s face blushes hard, bright red as it always does whenever you compliment him. he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and whatever he’s about to say is drowned out by a loud, whiny ‘daddyyyyyy’ coming from the living room. pope is out of the chair before you can even register julia’s voice, his hands gently cradling your hips to guide you back into his seat before he disappears into the house.
“he’s happy.” deran breaks the silence the two of you fall into. you bite your bottom lip, watching through the window as andrew throws julia over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen pope unclench his asshole before.”
you giggle, finishing your tea, knees to your chest— as much as your hardening belly allows you to, anyway. the night sky is bright with silver stars above you, the ocean breeze just enough to make it chilly. you know what deran means, you’ve met the uptight, overvigilant version of andrew, but it’s so far in the past you can barely remember what he was like before.
“he’s loved.” you say, eventually. “i think that’s the main difference.”
“thank you.” deran tells you. you take your eyes from the stars to look at him, blinking in confusion. “for loving him.”
you don’t know how to answer that. it doesn’t seem like the sort of action that requires a thank you, it’s not the sort of thing you could ever stop and it surely isn’t labor; but you think you understand, deep down, what deran means. pope hasn’t had people love him — truly love him — before.
“pope didn’t even tell me he has kids.” deran groans when you don’t say anything, rubbing his forehead. “i’m gon’ have to run around the mall on christmas’ eve to get gifts for the damn brady bunch because the motherfucker didn’t warn me.”
you bark out a laugh. “it’s alright, deran.”
“no, it isn’t— i can’t have these kids thinking i’m a shit uncle on our first christmas together.”
“i’m sure you’ll find a way to get him back for it.”
“oh, i will.” deran turns his head to you, a small grin on his lips. “did he ever tell you about the permanent marker incident?”
“he did.” you point a finger at him. “and you will not ruin my christmas pictures, sir. go sow all of his leg pants shut or something like a normal brother.”
“what’re we talking about?” andrew says, coming back through the sliding glass door.
“julia alright?” you ask, getting up just so you can crawl back onto his lap.
“blankie went awol, she dropped him in her sleep. ‘s all good now.”
“we were talking about how much of an asshole my big brother is for not telling me there would be kids in the house on christmas. do you have any idea how much cheaper it would’ve been if i bought their presents from home?”
“deran’s going to get revenge on you for making him fist fight all the other deadbeat uncles that are buying kids toys on christmas eve.”
andrew snorts, a hand running up and down your thigh. “i know where all the permanent markers are in this house.”
“absolutely not.” you waggle a finger at the both of them. “no permanent markers anywhere visible on photos.”
would Wanda or Natasha be fucking r in the cunt and then “accidentally” slip in the ass?
oh so this sooo depends! you didn’t mention a specific fic, but i think we’re all very clear on the fact that there is mean wandanat™️, and then there’s… condescending cruel wandanat™️.
condescending cruel wandanat is prime beginning stages of yail to really set the scene. expectations are firm, consequence’s are strict. whole nine yards, whole shebang. that wandanat? the wandanat that talks you up so sweetly, but they’re fingers are hammering into your cunt, their pressing into a plug that’s been stretching you all day, preparing you for this moment that they’ve allowed you to think wouldn’t come. but then natasha would get between your legs, eager and desperate to finally get a taste of you. she breaks you down. just whines and cries. she lets wanda have a turn, a taste, a piece of you. but they’re sweet. they manhandle you, but then they kiss your clit, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and ‘why are you crying, baby girl? it’s supposed to feel good, no tears’ and then nat gets out the strap, and she’s plowing you good, chest to chest, her weight keeping you grounded, her arm wrapped around your head as she keeps you tight to her and the bed somehow at the same time, all while wanda works at your nipples that natasha’s meticulously arranged to spill between how her arms hold you down so wanda doesn’t have to reach and suffer. and they’d pull the plug out, work you through it, talk you through it, shush you through it, and natasha would be so gentle, sooo condescending about how you’ve done this before, she’s taken this tight little hole, but it never seems to stretch you any tighter, it never gets any easier and you refuse to breathe for her, refuse to let your body relax, so wanda takes initiative and grabs a handful of your hair and her eyes are so green, so bright, and you don’t even realize you’ve gone limp beneath her strict attention until you’re halfway arched off the bed grappling for anything and everything that can ground you as she bottoms out in you
mean wandanat? mean wandanat doesn’t give a fuck that you’re already crying, so fucked out that you’re babbling and drooling and so out of it that you think for a single second when the strap slips out of your cunt after your fourth orgasm that your all done, that they’re finally calling it, but wanda doesn’t care to be all done when she hasn’t cum nearly enough to satisfy her own need. so she bottoms out in you with one thrust, no lube, no preparation. she knows your cunt got the strap wet enough. she knows that the way arousal drips down your thighs and your ass is helpful enough. so she laughs with natasha while you whine and writhe and try and convince her it doesn’t feel good, but by the third thirst you’re moaning louder than you were before trying to get natasha’s fingers in your mouth because you have enough sense to know only sluts let the entire neighborhood know they’re getting fucked good and well at noon on a tuesday
@commonmonsters SAID: ardan kisses frankie in the ocean.
frankie had warned ardan the place was secret for a reason. the path down to the water had been half-hidden by stone and tangled greenery, the tide tucked away beneath a narrow strip of moonlight where no tourists, fishermen, or drunk late-night wanderers ever seemed to find it. she’d looked almost nervous before she dove in, which was ridiculous given everything she was (given everything he was) but the ocean swallowed her up before she could take it back. dor a few seconds, there was only black water and silver ripples. then the surface broke around them like the sea itself had decided to show off.
she was different in the water. not less frankie by any means, but more. their red hair clung wet to their shoulders, their skin catching bits of moonlight, and beneath the surface, their tail moved in long, iridescent sweeps of color — blue, green, gold, and violet, all shifting like watercolor spilled into saltwater. her eyes had gone fully strange and stunning, too wide and too bright to ever pass for human, colors blooming through them like tide pools under sunlight. when they smiled up at him from below the dock, sharp fangs slipped into view, and for once, they didn’t try to hide them. maybe that was the terrifying part. maybe it was the thrill of being seen and not immediately regretting it.
frankie swam closer and lifted herself up to the edge of the little dock, arms folding over the worn wood as water streamed off her. they barely had time to say anything before ardan leaned down and kissed them, and the surprise of it made them go still for half a heartbeat before they melted right into him, kissing him back with a delighted little sound. when she pulled away, she was grinning so wide it made her fangs show again, giddy and proud and a little breathless despite not needing the air the same way he did. their tail flicked beneath the water, sending a splash against the dock. “so?” she asked, tilting her chin up at him like she was pretending not to care, even though her eyes gave her away completely. “what do you think?”
"you were the only person i could go to." Darby spoke through the mask he wore over the lower half of his face. He had his hood pulled up, the combination obscuring the young man's scarred face but doing nothing to hide his icy blue eyes. "Know its been a while. I thought I should let you know, even though its all different now." he managed. He wasn't sure what was about to happen, the riders might just finish the job the other club had failed to, it all depended on the reaction of the man in front of him.
If all Mox saw were those eyes, he’d still know on sight. Has them memorized like his own hands.
It’s all different now.
Yeah. Sure is. A fucking lifetime feels like it’s gone by. Mox, older, a little wiser, a lot more tired, bears his own scars. What does Darby know? Shit. Who’s he kidding? Everything, if he’s here. He tongues at a chipped tooth. He really needs to get that repaired.
The reaction, so far, is deflated. Wondering. Maybe a little scared, even. Rather than voice that, he asks, in his level, quiet way: “Why, after so long, am I your only choice?”
Why didn’t you tell me sooner, or maybe you couldn’t?
He’s standing behind his desk on the upper floor of the Riders clubhouse, like that’s any protection. Like he wants protection to begin with. (He doesn’t. Not really. He wants to reach out, wants it to be like nothing had changed.)
He doesn’t often make eye contact- not for long. He holds it with Darby for quite a while before his have drifted elsewhere, to the mask, the hood.
“…And how can I help?” There it is. An olive branch, for now. Helps they’re alone at this time of night.
click the source for 1,175 gifs of JACK LOWDEN in SLOW HORSES S01-03. please note that i do not approve of the 5+/- age rule. these were made from scratch and more will be added at my leisure. so please don’t edit, repost or claim as your own or i will eat you. tag me if you’re posting edited gif icons for public use. give this post a like or reblog if useful. enjoy !
this is more to the anon asking about discord servers / bots, so sorry for using you as the vessel and i hope this is okay! i run or help run several servers and some other bots I *personally* enjoy are:
sheep: allows users to change their name color
fluffy: app bot that allows you to have roles auto-assigned upon acceptance
gamebot: good for either ic or ooc fun, has games like Cards Against Humanity that are played directly in discord.
thread tracker: hard to explain, but once users set it up then can then add threads to track / can separate by categories you name yourself / can show the list of all tracked threads or show a specific category / can also show just the threads you owe a reply to.
statbot: allows you to track how active channels are / see what users are the most or least active / see activity stats for specific members or channels. you can black list channels you don't want to include in the tracking OR white list the channels you do want included
welcomer: useful for sending a welcome message (mine include links to channels i'd like new potential members to see) as well as sending a goodbye message (mine is sent to a mod channel so it doesn't clog the welcome area)
stickybot: useful for having messages "sticky" to a channel (ie when a new message is posted in a channel, the stickied message will automatically repost to the bottom. i believe you can have up to 4 or 5? stickied messages in a server on the free version)
hoshi: allows you to make multiple starboards in the server / use whatever emoji you want as your "star"
easy threads: automatically creates a thread in a specified channel when a new post is made (very useful for instagram-type channels)
remoji: allows you to upload emojis you have access to, or copy emojis you have only seen your friends use in other servers, to your own servers emoji list
omg thank u for chiming in!!! sharing for anon & tags <3
@metmydeadline SENT : sender and receiver sit around a bonfire.
the world keeps going despite its rot. a cool headline in claire's mind, if not for the fact that it describes a reality of life she would rather not witness come to existence. yet what she wants rarely becomes true, hence why she's silently begun to lose all hope - a part of her wanting to believe this trial against umbrella will do some good, bring some justice for those who can't demand of it anymore. her mind rewinds back to the memory of seeing little sherry birkin sitting on the windowsill of her new house while waiting for her new guardian to run med check up on her blood. who's going to give her justice?
"you guys seem more cohesive about this whole thing than us," she says after a while, hand vaguely gesturing at the bonfire in front of them. claire hadn't met any of these survivors during her stint in raccoon city, but is glad they managed to save themselves as well from that hellhole. "mine couldn't come, but say thank you for the invitation."
