he doesn't like because storm is coming

anonymous asked:

Tf2 headcanon: Spy actually gets over protective/mother hen of Scout (sometimes in front of others). Also, Scout doesn't *really* like it when someone else than him insults Spy (it's his thing)

Spy is really protective of Scout all the time. For example, he’ll invisibly pull Scout out of harm’s way instead of getting a kill on a Heavy. And in the base, he’s always making sure that Scout can call back home and has everything he needs, but in a way that Scout barely notices. None of the people on their team dare lay a finger on Scout because they know Spy will come storming out of nowhere like a Hornet’s nest.

And Scout may insult Spy as often as possible, but if anyone else hurts Spy the way he does, he’ll just turn into the kind of guy you never want to mess with. 

anonymous asked:

For the love of all that is Hulkeye PLEASE CONTINUE WITH THE FLOWER SHOP/TATTOO SHOP AU

I WAS HOPING SOMEONE WOULD SAY THIS BECAUSE LEMME TELL YOU I LIKE THIS IDEA

Because Bruce would be some hippie-dippy guy who loves his chai and does yoga in his shop every morning, who plays soft Buddhist chants or puts Bollywood musicals on while he’s working, and every hipster and hippy in the state would flock to his little flower shop, where he’d happily sell bouquets for weddings and funerals alike. He’d grow all of his own flowers, prune and preen and care for them, and he’d adore the job, absolutely adore it.

And next door would be Clint’s space, a dark little tattoo parlor that plays old rock ballads at all hours of the day, where it smells like pine, with a slight tinge of fear, and Clint himself would be a menacing man, tatted and pierced, though he’d be a huge dork at heart, smile like the sun and try to comfort any newbies when they came for tattoos. He’d be notorious for his game of darts—because of course anyone dumb enough to bet against him in a game of darts left with wild stories to tell—and he’d have his bow up on the wall, behind the front counter. When someone once tried to rob him, they were arrested with an arrow in their leg.

And Bruce and Clint would have been working beside each other for a while before they ever really met (why would Clint ever be caught dead in a flower shop? Why would Bruce go into a smelly, scary tattoo shop?) but when they finally officially meet it’s because Clint has to buy flowers for a reference on a tattoo—realism sucks, it really does—and he strikes up a conversation with Bruce while he’s meditating, and can’t help finding this hippy-dippy little man adorable, with his big, Harry Potter glasses and his floppy curls and those freckles that look like constellations across his cheeks. And, of course, since Bruce was meditating, Clint only got very witty, sarcastic replies as he tried to interrupt him, and couldn’t get enough of that cynical little mind.

So he came back. Again and again and again. He brought coffee—found out Bruce drank tea (of course he drank tea just look at him). He came over with burgers—found out Bruce was a vegetarian (again, duh). He’d bring books and talk about them, sketch while sitting on Bruce’s counter and smelling the flowers, asking their names and meanings—and Bruce would know every single one, would know exactly what they could do if put in a tea, would know which one’s were bad for you and which one’s you could actually eat—and he’d absolutely fall in love with this little nerd next door.

And Bruce wouldn’t know what to do with the attention. There’d been a few people in the past, who’d come to his shop and picked him as the prettiest flower, but their interest had been wilting at best, and he hadn’t lasted long once they’d plucked his heart from his chest. So Bruce would be cautious of this tall, muscular blond, who had beautifully intricate tattoos lacing up his arms (monsters and men and circus figures and so much more), roses curling up half his neck, fanning peddles out like the sweetest bloom, and an arrow tattooed on each palm, like some sort of tribal art. He’d be wary of the smiles from those pierced lips, the wiggling of that pierced brow; he’d be wary of the kindness and the chai he’d bring him and the jokes he’d make.

Because Clint would pluck a flower sometimes and put it behind Bruce’s ear, some lazy sort of smile on his face as his hand lingered a bit too long, and his eyes became a bit too intent. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re the prettiest flower in this shop?’ And Bruce would be so flustered that Clint would just chuckle, looking away to wonder around some more. ‘Fine, fine, be that way; but it’s true.’

And how was he supposed to react to that? How was he supposed to deal with that smile, those touches? He couldn’t, of course he couldn’t, he was going to break eventually if it kept up.

And Clint would keep flirting, so intent on this little florist, so desperate to win his heart, because Bruce would have won his heart, stolen it with all the finesse and grace that a hummingbird steals nectar from a daisy.

And they’d dance around each other like the fools in love they are until they got in a fight, got in a fight after Clint teased Bruce, called him a delicate little flower, said he wouldn’t be able to handle the pain of getting tattoos like Clint had—and, god, it had been a crappy joke but he hadn’t meant it—and Bruce wouldn’t speak to Clint for weeks. Not until one night, once Bruce’s shop is closed and Clint’s last customer has left, Bruce would come storming in with a beautiful purple orchid, the kind Clint loved to put in Bruce’s hair the most, and he’d shove it at Clint before pulling out his wallet.

‘I want that, right here,’ he’d say, sounding so upset as he pulls up that big fluffy sweater and points at his hip, and he would be upset, because he’d come to the realization that he really likes Clint, but Clint thinks he’s a flower, a delicate little china doll, and Bruce doesn’t like that. Bruce isn’t weak. And he wants to prove that before he even thinks about starting something with Clint.

So Clint would just stare at this little hippy in shock. ‘You want me to do this?’ And Bruce would just get into one of his attitudes, glaring Clint down from behind his glasses and huffing, and Clint would usher him to the back, feeling nervous and slightly turned on because hell yeah he likes it when Bruce gets into his pissy moods.

And when he has Bruce laid down, and he’s got an actual photo of that flower in hand, ready to be drawn, and he gets Bruce prepared, he can’t do anything but think ‘holy shit he’s got freckles down here?’, and he’d try and keep professional but holy hell is this little guy hot.

And of course Bruce just toughs it out the whole time, sits through the process without making a sound, watches Clint curiously as he works, because he’s never seen Clint work before and for someone so strong and tough he’s surprisingly gentle, his lines soft and flowing, his hands steady, his face completely focused. But, even Bruce can’t tell what Clint’s really thinking the whole time—'God I wanna sink my teeth into this mans hip dear god’—and when all is said and done Bruce would look down at the painful area on his hip, watch as Clint swipes at it gently with a swab, cleans it and bandages it, and looks up to smile at him, and Bruce would just think ‘Holy shit i got a tattoo to impress someone.’

And then he’d pull a flower from the folds of his sweater, like he was a magician, and he’d give it to Clint, lean forward and put it behind one studded ear, and he’d smile, wincing as the throb in his hip increased. ‘Thank you,’ he’d say, feeling suddenly empowered, feeling excited, grinning. ‘Maybe next time I’ll get an arrow, like yours.’

And of course it would be down hill from there because Bruce, Bruce with that freckled face, flushed, grinning crookedly, his small hand just barely touching Clint’s ear, after having sat through who knows how long of pain without making a single protest, and Clint would pounce on him, grab him up and kiss him desperately, and from there you can imagine where they’d head—from a tattoo chair to a counter-top to the little back room with a old couch in it—and the rest would be history.

Because everyone would know about the lovebirds in the tattoo/flower shop, since they joined their stores together. They’d be a real hit with hippies and punks alike, that’s for sure.

Preferences #9: He Comforts You
  • Michael: You had just gotten off the phone with your Mom who had told you that your uncle had died. You were rendered speechless and curled up in a ball on the floor, unable to do anything but cry. You lay there, memories of him flashing through your mind and you eventually fell asleep. "Y/n?" It was the first thing you heard when you woke up. "What's the matter baby?" Michael, your boyfriend who had just returned from band practice, asked. He picked you up and sat down with you on your lap.You sobbed into his shirt. "Talk to me baby," Michael whispered. "My...my uncle...died," you stuttered. "Awh baby," he said. "Why didn't you call me?" he asked. I just shrugged. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked. You shook your head. "Okay. Tell me if you do. I love you," he told you. "I love you too," you mumbled, and sobbed into his chest again, thinking about your uncle. You really couldn't believe he was gone.Michael played with your hair and rubbed your back until you fell asleep. It made you feel a lot better just to have him hold you.
  • Calum: "I hate you!" you screamed at your sister. You had been fighting with her right through the night and into the early hours of the morning, about some stupid reason neither of you could even remember now. "Like I care!" she retorted. "You're just a stupid little bitch who thinks she's so cool because her boyfriend is a rich guy in some weirdo punk band but he doesn't even love you!" You stood there standing at each other. She had took it way to far. You stormed out of your house and into the rain, getting as far away from her as possible. The rain didn't even bother you, you just wanted to get to Calum's house. You eventually did and stood there crying in the rain, waiting for him to come to the door. "Babe?" he asked once he had opened it. "Do you love me?" you asked. "What are you doing here it's 3 in the morning and it's raining! You're freezing come inside!" he yawned. "Do you love me?" you repeated. He stood there, shocked. "Of course I love you y/n, what are you saying? I love you more than anyone in the world," he told you. "I just really needed to hear that," you whispered. You had stopped crying but you were still shaking from the cold. "You're gonna get sick baby. Take your clothes off and get in the shower. I'll find some clothes for you," he said. You did what he told you and you felt a lot better after a shower, in his sweats and a hoodie that smelt just like him. You sat in the kitchen, having milk and oreos (he knew they were your favourite) and you told him all about the fight with your sister. Later when he carried you up to bed and cuddle with you, he whispered in your ear, "I love you y/n. Don't worry you'll sort everything out somehow."
  • Lukey: Since you started dating Luke you had been getting hate and it usually didn't bother you, because you knew how much Luke loved you. But lately, you had being getting a lot more, you had no idea why and it was really hurting you. "Fans" tweeted you a lot, saying stuff like you were a "fat, ugly whore" and that you were just using Luke for fame. You decided to last out and tweeted: @randomtwittername Why don't I just break up with Luke if you hate me that much? Is that what you want? For him to be sad?. I got a lot of responses to that, some begging me not to, but some were encouraging me to. A little while later, Luke tweeted: @y/t/n I'm coming over baby :(. And 15 minutes later he was at your house, holding you tightly as you cried into your shoulder. "I love you baby," he told you. "And I will love you, no matter what my friends think of you." You believe him, but you were still upset about the hate so he tweeted: @y/t/n and I are not breaking up. I love her more than anything and she is my whole world, so all of you hates can just go and fuck off and leave my baby alone. The amount of hate you got decreased rapidly after that.
  • Ashton: Being Ashton Irwin's girlfriend, the other boys naturally mocked you a lot. You were used to it and usually didn't take much notice. But then the boys started mocking your accent. You had a strong accent and when ever you said something, one of the boys would stay it back in your accent or they would snigger. It was funny at first, but then it got really annoying and it even hurt you. What was more annoying, is that you were on tour with them, so it was constant. One day, you were all eating pizza and watching TV when you said something, which really showed your accent. Calum repeated it, mocking your accent making Luke and Michael collapse in laughter and even Ashton giggled. "Shut up!" you yelled, turning the room silent. "I can't help how I sound! It's my accent! Get over it!" You stormed out of the room and collapsed on your bunk, pulling the covers up over your head. A few moments later Ashton came and laid down next to you and cuddled into your side. "I love you and I think your accent is perfect. I love how your voice sounds and I think the boys are stupid assholes!" he told you. You spent the rest of the night in your bunk watching movies, eating ice cream and cuddling and when even another one of the boys tried to talk to you, you ignored him.
  • A/n: I had to write this twice. It was better the first time. Requests are open as always.