#break-in

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Break-In 4

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Warnings: this drabble includes elements which may be dark. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

The man’s presence is enough to drive you away. You’re better for it as you’ve been procrastinating on your errands for far too long. Groceries, bills, all that sort of living business. When you get back to your apartment, he’s gone. The only trace left of him is a neatly folded cluster of bills. Your home is starting to feel like a hotel. 

Like the shadow he drifts in and out like, the man fades into the background of your life. Your day off shoots by too quickly and you’re back at work. You slog through the days and each night come home to an empty apartment. Your life rolls back into the usual pattern. 

The only blip on your radar is a work party. Nothing big, a small get together to send off Kendra to her new job. You go down to a bar just around the corner from the office and have a round of beer and well wishes. You’ll miss the bubbly new graduate but you’re happy for her nonetheless. Better than staying six years, working and living the same day in and out. 

Randy and Darren leave first, they have families. You stay behind with Morgan, Kendra, Aaron, and Jill. It’s easier to limit yourself when you’re the one paying but your coworkers are far too generous and you won’t refuse a free drink. It’s been so long since you let yourself indulge. 

After you polish off a shared plate of greasy nachos, you disperse. It’s late. After eleven. This is going to do you now favours tomorrow. You foresee a painful morning beneath fluorescent lights and the glare of a spreadsheet. 

As you turn onto your street, the soft haze of your drunkenness recedes. You’re suddenly very aware of your surroundings. A woman, drunk, walking home in the dark. You should have had some water. You can’t tell if the echo of your steps is in your head or a drunken illusion. 

You turn your head and check your peripheral. You are not alone. Your heart beats picks up. You’re paranoid. Other people can be out on the street. Even so, you hurry to get to your building. 

The second pair of steps don’t follow you inside. You get past the interior door and the heavy clunk of the lock comforts you. You head upstairs and drag your feet down the hallways. You shuffle inside and slide the chain into place. 

You drop your purse and your keys and yawn. You don’t make it to the bedroom. You fall onto the couch, ready to pass out. You’re saved from falling asleep with your shoes on by a clatter. Your head pops up in the lull that follows and you listen.  

The balcony door clicks and grinds. You sit up, bobbling, as it opens from the other side. A screen claws in your chest but you can’t get it out. That man enters. He doesn’t look happy. 

You blink and stare. He slams the door and you wince. He looks around the apartment without expression. 

“Hi?” You blabber. 

He looks at you. He doesn’t say a word as he comes forward. He passes behind the couch as he unzips his jacket. To your surprise, he hangs it over yours by the door. He picks up your purse and keys and puts them on the square table. 

He unties his boots and leaves them on the mat. He turns and nears the other side of the low coffee table. He stands across from you as his hand goes to the knife sheathed from his harness. You gulp. 

“You’re drunk,” he accuses. 

Your eyes round and you nod. 

“And late.” 

You nod again. 

He doesn’t say anything else. He disappears into the kitchen and you watch him over the counter. You shake your head and giggle. This isn’t real. You’re that drunk. You’re probably still face down and dreaming. 

He comes out of the kitchen but turns down the hall instead. Your bedroom door opens on its squeaky hinges and you hear a heavy clink. When he returns, he nears you. You have no time to react before he scoops you up. 

“Woah! Hey!” You can’t help but giggle again, this time nervously. “What are you doing?” 

He doesn’t answer you. He carries you to your room and puts you on the bed. He grabs the glass of water beneath the glow of the bedside lamp. “Drink.” 

“I’m fine.” 

He moves the glass closer, hovering it in front of your face. You relent and take it. He's right. You drink, still convinced it’s some twisted dream. 

He backs up and goes to your tall dresser. He opens a drawer and you choke. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” 

He ignores you again. When he approaches the bed, he tosses down a pile of fabric. You glance down at the plain white tee shirt and checkered pajama shorts. You grimace, “thank you?” 

He taps the side of the glass. You sigh and finish the rest of it. He retreats to the door and stops in the frame. His broad shoulders fill it easily. 

“Sleep on your stomach.” 

He leaves you with those words and an open door. You set the empty glass down. It’s helping dilute the alcohol but being sober means being aware. This is strange. It’s like he’s mad at you for not being there. He said you were late? For what? 

You shake your head and grab the tee shirt. You can’t sleep in your work clothes. 

[lifewithdedee]

Neighbor's Home Finale

[thejagged1]

Apex - Lonely World 03

Remember her? :D   Jamie has a very strong resistance to silver, that's the special trait of his strain. Most Wolves collapse even from a small amount injcted into their blood, Jamie has to be practically dripping with it to be affected.  

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[nigelgraz]

I am happy because everyone loves me

[sixofclovers]

hecate

[redrook]

I spent a lot of time handcuffed and in a cage in high school, for a charity bit the grocery store I worked at would do

the bit was that I was "put in jail for having too big a heart" and customers could donate to my bail to get me out (and the money would go to a children's hospital or something)

now. I was very clearly a teenaged employee handcuffed inside a large cage. and I would honestly tell people that I had been in there for hours. and people would say, that's terrible! that's awful! and I would show them my wrists red from the tight handcuffs, and say but I'm sooooooo close to making bail.

and then they would dump some cash in the basket, I'd thank them, and they'd walk away.

and every so often, one of the managers would come by and collect some of the cash, so I could keep being soooooo close to making bail.

I was very good with this bit. Parents with small kids would pay $5-10 if I told their children I had been placed in jail for not cleaning my room/doing my homework, etc. For people in their 20s, I'd threaten that I was very bad at playing the harmonica, but I WOULD play it and we'd all suffer unless they paid me. and for the most amount of money, older men in suits would almost always pay $20s if I avoided eye contact and stammered a lot.

eventually, the managers started to feel bad because I was in the cage so fucking long and often, that I'd need someone to brace me when I got out because I'd have no feeling in my legs. wobbling like a newborn giraffe.

but I would also rake in at LEAST $100 an hour in charity.

so they were like, hey champ. can we, uh, give you a pillow to sit on. in the cage. would you like a pillow so you're not just sitting on a cold metal slab. can we give you a pillow.

and I had to explain to them that if they gave me a pillow, people would think I was more comfortable, so they wouldn't feel as bad, so I'd bring in less money.

the compromise was that they'd bring me a nice coffee every couple hours, which I would have to try to block with my body from the customers.

all this money went to charity. that's what the money was for. it's what was on the sign. but how much they were willing to pay was very contingent on how comfortable I looked, never mind the fact that I was still a teenaged employee handcuffed inside a cage.

and out of the dozens of shifts I did this on, not ONCE did ANYONE say, hey kid I'm going to go talk to your manager because what the fuck is going on here. they would just drop money in the basket, and I'd thank them and sip from my secret drink.

I actually had people get MAD at me that I told them I was far away from bail, they donated like $15, and then 20 minutes I got let out because my shift ended.

again. the money was for charity. it was on the sign that was very clearly placed on the upper half of my cage.

so yeah. even when people think they mean well. people can be really, really fucking stupid.

[imagedescribed]

[ ID:

A 4chan post with an attached image of Lisa Simpson lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The post by Anonymous reads:

>get used to talking to myself because I live alone with two cats

>Say dumb shit constantly, really awkward jokes and non-sequitur threats towards the cats

>Wake up early one morning to creaking sounds of what I assume is a cat pushing shit around on the kitchen counter

>Yell down the hallway

>"SOMEBODY'S GOING TO BE REALLY UPSET WHEN I HOLD THEM DOWN AND STAB THEIR ASSHOLE WITH A KNITTING NEEDLE!"

>Hear my back door open and close and my chain link gate clatter shut

/end ID. ]

[spongebobssquarepants]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Break-In 3

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Warnings: this drabble includes elements which may be dark. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

A day off is exactly what you need. Still, your internal clock doesn’t register the break. You wake up at the same time, make your coffee, and contemplate the meaning of life. When the single-serve finishes its churning, you claim your mug and yawn over the brim, blowing away the wisp of steam. 

You cross your apartment, the air stuffy with the damp spring evening melding into the warmth of the rising sun. You go to the balcony door and watch the haze of orange behind the cityscape as the dark blue ripples to shades of cerulean. As you let yourself out onto the narrow balcony, you find your way impeded.  

Your coffee splashes over the top of the cup and splats onto the figure slumped across the concrete. You sigh and take a sip. The man always shows up when you’re in dire need of caffeine. You look down at him, perplexed at what to do next. He’s too big for you to move on your own and you have the humanity to wonder why he’s passed out. 

“Ughhhhhhh,” the catlike intruder groans as he rolls onto his back and you flinch, nearly spilling more upon him. 

“Hi,” you peer down dumbly. 

His blue eyes flit side to side then angle to the glimpse of the sky beneath the next floor’s balcony. He lets out a deep breath as his brows furrow and ripples line his forehead, “morning.” 

Is he saying good morning or is he stating the time? For as little as he’s ever said to you, you’re not certain. You sniff and let it out in a heave. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask, giving in. 

“I am wounded,” he answers and grits his teeth. 

You nod. That doesn’t really help either of you.  

“Can you move?”  

He grimaces and plants his hands beside him. He pushes himself up with a growl and leans heavily forward. He’s panting from the effort. Shoot. 

“Yes,” he puffs. 

“Got it,” you cluck. 

You back up and reach to set your mug on the ledge that stands under the rows of windows looking out over the balcony. You keep the door open with your foot and come back out. He hugs his stomach as he rubs his bruised temple. 

“Do you need help?” 

He shakes his head and shifts, reaching for the railing. He hauls himself up with a suppressed grunt and hunches before he can stand straight. His eyes meet yours as he faces you, dragging his foot as he limps forward. 

“Concussion, bruised ribs,” he hobbles closer, “foot might be fractured.” 

His diagnosis is cool and detached. As if it isn’t his own body. You step back out of the way and he enters the dark apartment. Only the kitchen light and the slowly blooming sunrise glow in the space. He staggers onward and you claim your mug. You’ll wait until you see the bottom to figure this out. 

As he falls onto your couch, you go into the kitchen. He sits with his head tilted back and takes straggling breaths through his nose. You take out a second mug, a pod, and tap the brew button. You languish in the tension as you wait for the long grind. 

You continue to nurse your own coffee as you bring his out and place it on the square table beside the armrest. He rumbles as he opens his eyes. His pupils are dark pits. 

“Thank you,” he mutters. 

“Mm,” you push your tip against your teeth, “you know, I’m not too good with blood so...” 

“Coffee’s fine,” he sits forward and stymies another groan. He grabs the mug and drinks, sighing in relief. “You got a bed sheet I can ruin?” 

You consider him. This is strange. You’ve just accepted that he’s going to come and crash on your couch and there’s nothing you can do about it. Why? It’s probably that knife. He hasn’t hurt you and you don’t want that to change. 

“Sure,” you agree with a shrug. 

He takes another sip and brings his other hand up to feel the heat through the porcelain. He focuses on the mug and you back up. He isn’t even asking you to help, you just assumed. As you go to grab an old sheet out of the linen chest, you can’t help but wonder what happened to him. You don’t think he’ll be any more chatty about that than anything else. 

[seashellronan]

the person who realised you could rearrange the letters in gossip girl to read “go piss girl” truly one of the great minds of our generation, madam your legacy

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

This song has single-handedly taken over my life and it’s only been like a week

[ghostdeals]

No bcus the implications of the Saja Boys are so funny like??? Jinu is the only one we've seen has a confirmed music background so did he have to research, train, style, and manage the group by himself???? Did he also have to come up with the concepts and the marketing or is there like a demon thats rlly good at photoshop? Or if its all Jinu that means he had to teach himself fucking adobe after effects and how to use tiktok. Also how did he even research how to make a boy group was he in the trenches of BTS comment sections??? God the more I think about the Saja Boys the funnier it gets

[strawlessandbraless]

What an unsurprising & completely expected turn of events that literally everyone saw coming 😮

Source 🔗

Free 🔗

[isabela-merceds]

i'm crashing out lmfao

[alexaloraetheris]

Being ace and hot is a nightmare sometimes, I met this guy in my neighborhood, we live literally 200m away from each other, he's funny and witty and a genuine delight to talk to, and YESTERDAY he makes it clear he's flirting so now I'm trying to figure out how to turn him down and also throw my single friends at him because he really is a great catch, but I don't eat fish so he's wasted on me.

So now I have to figure out how to say 'I think, based on your tastes, I have some girlfriends you might like and they'd love to take you home, doggy walking same time next week?' in human speak.