#do u know how often i fucking sweep

[cinnabeat]

honest to god ive never been one for cleaning but living by myself is making me irritated with dust on the shelves when ive honestly never given a fuck before

[chaotic-iguana]

how about a five where Javi rejects the reader, so the reader like gets really sad, but one day Javi hears she is going on a date (is not true, Murphy made it up) and he rushed to her apartment and confesses and reader is like ?? What are you talking about, super angsty but super fluffy? Pleaseeee

Out of time | javier peña x f! reader 

summary: javi rejects reader. repents like the idiot he is. (i love him) he is a FOOL in love. fight me. 

wordcount: 2.1k

warnings: rejection, angst and fluff, hurt and comfort basically, happy ending. 

A/N: i got you, anon. this promt is the perfect apology for the last one. repentance fr. love u ALL. let me know what you think. also nothing against “hippies” just giving murphy pov. i do however as an indian have a  bone to pick with fake white yoga gurus. it’s gotta be appropriation. 

masterlist

Javi had never been heartless before. Never been cruel before. Now, as you pointedly hunched over your desk in an effort to ignore the chortles and cheap jokes that kept sounding from the men crowded around his desk as they all stood around a nameless note someone -you- had slipped onto his desk. 

He laughed boisterously with them, before crumpling the paper in his fist and dropping it into the bin next to his chair. You refused to so much as raise your head and look his way, feeling the crushing wave of heartbreak sweeping through you. It wasn’t until you felt a tear on your cheek that you realised that you had started crying, and so you muttered an excuse about getting some coffee before rushing to the bathroom and sobbing in a closed stall. So much for Valentine’s day. 

It wasn’t until the end of the day, when you saw him walking your way in the parking lot, that you met his eyes. And you could see, with the set of his jaw; the arch of his brows, that he knew. Before you could scramble into your car, he was yelling after you. 

“Is your new hobby being extended to everyone or did I win the lucky draw? Cute note.” 

Oh, that bastard. 

You scoffed, looking him straight in the eye. “Call it a moment of weakness, Peña. Thought I felt something for you, and it was Valentine’s day. Pretty sure all I feel now is rage, you asshole.” 

A laugh from him. “Don’t be like that, hermosa. Let me know if you feel something between your legs for me, alright?”

Scowling, you turned from him and got into your car. You could have sworn he looked like a kicked puppy as you pulled out of the parking. These past few weeks, you had caught him looking at you more often. Finding excuses to touch you more often, too. A hand on your back, fingers accidentally grazing yours, his knee pressed against your thigh in Murphy’s backseat. Fucking idiot. You didn’t even know if you were madder at him or yourself. You know him. All of fucking Bogota knows him. God knows how you were foolish enough to think he felt anything except for between his legs. 

A few months go by, excruciatingly slowly. It’s as if time itself has decided to fuck with you. You miss his gaze on you, his hands, his smile, him. You’ve been avoiding him like the plague. Stopped looking at him even when he was in the same room, hardly spoke to him even if it was in the middle of a raid, declined Connie’s many many invitations to parties you knew he’d be at. It was just easier to pretend that February the 14th had been a completely normal day. You’re just tired of all of it. It would have been easier not to have said anything at all. 

What you were completely unaware of, however, was that you had a sneaky little shit for a partner. The fact that he had clocked what was going on immediately was completely unbeknownst to you. Both of you pining silently with what Steve dubbed “moony heart eyes”, the radio silence, and the fact that you had stopped talking to Connie just so you didn’t have to show up to her parties? Something had gone wrong. Initially, Steve thought that maybe Javi had made an unwanted move on you - and had damn near scuffed him to death - until he saw Javi’s eyes the next day. Haunted. It seemed that you had managed to take more out of the man than Escobar had. But you weren’t faring much better, either. Irritated and tired and grumbly all the time, refusing to so much as look in Javi’s direction. But you both were pretty much just staying out of each other’s ways, not causing any trouble, so he let it go. For now. 

But then Steve and Javi had to chase a lead down together, and Javi introduced him to an informant who - with a little imagination - looked like your spitting image. The same hair, terrifying similar voice, and a lopsided grin, just like yours. And it clicked. The day that had started it all, and the “anonymous” note Javi had gotten. The idiocy with which you both had handled the situation made him want to run unarmed into a sicario’s den, but he came up with another idea instead. 

Just before a weekend he knew on good authority that you had no plans except for lounging in bed, he started nudging and hinting to Javi the randomest shit about you. Just to reignite the interest. Almost like, you know - bait. 

“Man, her hair looks good. I wonder if she got it done?”

“Hey Peña, d’ya reckon that’s a new skirt? Connie’d kill me if I didn’t ask where from”

“Javi - look - she got her nails done. Before an op? Doesn’t that get a bit…impractical? Hey, I’m jus’ asking.” 

Each time, Steve was met with an irritated eyeroll, scoff, or just flat-out ignored. But around midnight on Friday, he ‘bust out the big guns’, so to speak, making an offhanded comment while jutting his chin out in the direction of your chair. 

“Good thing she left early. Never woulda made it to the date tomorrow mornin’ otherwise.”

Which, instead of being met with the usual options, was met with Javi’s brain almost short circuiting. The sight of his friend, gaping like a fish as his eyes practically bulged out of his head while he stammered out the easiest one-syllable word in the English language is one Steve can never forget. Or let Javi forget, either. 

“W-wha-what?”

And so, like the most devious matchmaker on the planet, Steve proceeded to make up some utter bullshit about a boy he’d supposedly seen you around with, one that had apparently asked you out tonight to meet him for ‘brunch’ tomorrow. Just to fuck with Javi, he made the guy from LA, and a tourist. And white. And the kinda hippie who did yoga and spoke about his newly-discovered chakras all the time. 

Javier could feel the blind panic clawing at his chest, his heart threatening to burst. He didn’t know exactly why, but he had hated every single second you hadn’t spoken to him. Laughed at his jokes. Flashed him your smile, even the sarcastic one. He missed your quips and the way you groaned and swore at him when he pissed you off. He’d convinced himself he could live with that. But this? A date with some idiot he knew wouldn’t treat you right? He couldn’t understand his own feelings compelling him to pack up in a frenzy, ignore Steve’s pointed laugh, scramble into his car and drive straight to your apartment. He didn’t even stop to smooth his hair back, or fix the wrinkles in his shirt from slumping in it all day. No, all that mattered to him in that moment was you. Who was he kidding? He knew exactly why he felt the way he did. He’d just been under the illusion that ignoring it would make it go away, but it hadn’t. He had to fix this now. 

Standing on your doorstep, Javi blinked for a second while marveling at how fast that drive had been - he’d barely registered doing anything since he heard the word date come out of Steve’s mouth. Hesitation clamped a hand over his mouth, his body, and he stood frozen, unsure of whether to knock or just turn around. But if not now, never, right? And who knew how long he would live? Wasn’t this a time he should be getting what he wants, spending time with the people he…loves? 

Before he could overthink himself out of doing it, Javi raised his fist and rapped it against your door, twice. And when you opened the door, rubbing your eyes and standing there in your sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, it took a second for his brain to catch up. It wasn’t until you were squinting at him, then stumbling over nothing as your eyes widened that he realised where he was. The hurt on your face in the split second before you moved to close the door had him jamming his foot in the doorframe. 

“Just hear me out, hermosa. I promise if you want me to fuck off after that, I will.” 

After waiting for you to nod and open your door wordlessly, he stalked after you, further into your apartment, stunned by how homely it was. The walls had pictures of you and other people laughing, of art and paintings and sketches that seemed to all have been done by the same person; the sofa was a rich brown leather and the fluffy throw on it just a shade lighter. Everything was carefully coordinated, in color and texture, and he couldn’t help but note the contrast. Some of his stuff was still in boxes. He’d been in Colombia for longer than you, and his stuff was still in boxes. The difference was laughable. 

But when he heard a sniffle from ahead, he found himself walking faster - practically walking into you - before he was planting his hands on your shoulders to turn you around to him, and then gripping the sides of your arms as if they were his salvation. His eyes searched yours, and the heartbreak he found as you tried to look away threatened to make his knees buckle. So he hooked an index finger under your chin to tilt your head up to him, resting his forehead against yours. Moving his thumb to smooth out the furrow in your brow, he huffed at the stubborn frown that refused to budge. 

“I am sorry. I truly am. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to react. I want you, and I did then, too. But I just…didn’t think it was real. I swear I thought you were joking at first. It’s why I let the guys see. Then I saw you in the parking lot, and you were actually sad, and I just panicked. I just don’t think I was ready back then. But I swear to God, I can’t bear another six months of the cold shoulder. I love you, you know. I’ve just been too much of an idiot to realise it.” 

For a whole minute, you just stare at him unblinkingly. Then, suddenly, your face crumples, limbs slackening in his grip. He holds you through it, letting you sob into his chest as he coos reassurances and apologies to you until you pull back from his embrace to look at him questioningly once more. 

“Why now?” Your words make Javi smile, and he cocks a brow at you. 

“You really thought I’d let that idiot take you out before I told you how I feel?” 

You look even more confused now, which is confusing him in turn. 

“Wait, what idiot?” There’s no twinkle in your eye - no smirk tugging at your lips. Not a joke. 

“The one who…asked you out?” Javi cocks his head at you, watching your frown deepen. 

“Who?” The absolute befuddlement on your face is on the verge of making him snigger, and he feels his lips twitching already. 

“The-does Murphy know? That you weren’t busy tonight?” His overworked mind supplies the answer to him, and he has never more in his life wanted to punch and hug his other partner simultaneously. 

“Oh, yeah. He asked cause Connie wanted to know if she could come over? I guess she must have gotten caught- oh. Oh.” Javi gives you a moment to reach the same conclusion he did, and both of you end up bursting out in laughter at the same time. 

But Steve was the one with the biggest grin when, come Monday morning, a bottle of premium whiskey and a brand new watch sat on his desk with a little note: 

Well played, motherfucker. 

What is it they say about couples adopting each other’s habits when they get into a relationship? Javi’d picked up your so-called hobbies within a weekend. 

You ended up spending enough time with each other to pick up everything else, too. Call it cliché, but atleast you weren’t boring. Or, you know, going on dates with imaginary guys that existed only in Steve’s extremely limited imagination. Win-win. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore,@millerscoffee, @ nostalxgic, @sscorpiiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk dividers by @reveriesources

[nevadancitizen]

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale. 

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who. 

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth. 

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says. 

“I know,” you say. 

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.” 

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature). 

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says. 

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s. 

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…” 

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that. 

-> KöNIG: 

König nearly always hates going undercover. 

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not. 

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles. 

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear. 

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen. 

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are. 

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says. 

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor. 

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony. 

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless. 

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath. 

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light. 

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

[siddhigirls]

will u serve me lemonade?

pairing: asshole!rafe cameron x maid!reader

warnings: rude rafe cameron, degrading, fingering, female penetration

“are you fucking kidding me y/n, you couldn’t do this one simple fucking task, fuck this” rafe says angrily, pushing past you and walking out the door to god knows where. you are a maid for the cameron’s, they’re all pretty nice to you— you even built a relationship with sarah, except rafe. he is a complete asshole to you. but you often fantasized him. “hey what was that ruckus?!” ward came running into the foyer, “n-nothing sir..” you said running upstairs with a broom in your hand. you were quite young to be working, but you weren’t fortunate to be born in the figure 8’s, your parents died at a young age and ever since you’ve been on your own. dcis have tried getting you but you turned 18 and they left you alone since you were legal.

you decided to leave the pogue life and started working for a very rich and well respected family— the cameron’s. you were in a short black and white dress with an apron around your small waist. every time you bent over your cotton panties showed. you were sweeping near rafes room until you heard heavy footsteps walking up the stairs to see a sweaty rafe, “you. go in my fucking room.” he says opening the door behind you, he follows, locks the door. without looking at you he takes off his shirt, “take everything off right now don’t you dare even act like you’re so innocent because i’ve seen you touch your pretty pussy while moaning my name” he says looking up and down your body.

you couldn’t even tell him no, you were caught. you shamefully took off your clothes, bra and panties still on. “stupid slut can’t even do her fucking job correctly” he says wrapping his hand tightly around your neck before pressing his lips roughly on to yours. his kisses were rough, and lustful. whilst the ones you’ve experienced were soft and loving, rafe wanted to ruin your guts. butterflies started erupting in your stomach, one hand snaked down your bra and unhooked it with one hand.

he left the kiss with saliva all over your lips fully taking off your bra, eager to see your pretty tits. “fucking christ you’re such a pretty slut.. my pretty slut” he says kissing you again, pushing you towards the couch in his room, you sat down the cold leather making you jump. your nipples hard, your juices start running down your thighs from how wet you are. “bend over my lap, im gonna show you to do your fucking job correctly instead of just bending over, showing your panties to the entire fucking world, you’re mine what don’t you understand by that. stupid fucking slut..” he mutters the last part underneath his breath as he sits next to you, you obey his command, “r-rafee, don’t be too hard please..” you pleaded “take it. don’t say a fucking world and just take it”

you were scared for what would come next, you felt a stinging pain on your ass as you yelped “you’ve been a dirty, dirty girl. i’m gonna show you.” he says sternly as he keeps slapping your ass, making it red with his big handprints. his boner pressing up your stomach. you moaned and jumped with every hit, you pull yourself up and try to run but he pulls you back around your waist, causing him to hit you harder. “don’t fucking run you’re making it worse for yourself” he says, through his teeth. “i-i’m so sorry rafe ple-please” you say with your nails digging into the couch. he stops for a second but you felt your underwear moving to the side as he presses on your clit, making you jolt, “fuuuuck rafe please please keep going pleasepleaseplease—“ you moan, his finger pressing harder on the bundle of nerves, going in a vigorously fast motion, other hand squeezing your ass.

“you fucking like it huh?” he taunts you, “i like it please don’t stop rafe” you say, now a moaning mess. he stops, now inserting his ring finger and middle finger into your tight pussy, pumping his fingers in your tight hole, causing you to clench around him, “rafe please—“ you say, a moaning mess underneath his touch, “tell me that i own you, tell me that i’m the best you’ve ever had” his fingers pumping faster in you, going in a swift up and down motion. “y-you own me rafe, i’m yours only, you are the best i’ve ever had you make me feel so good.” you say moaning, your hair sticking to your forehead, your mascara running underneath your eyes.

“i-i wanna cum rafey” you say, “cum baby, i wanna see your cum on my fingers” he says, pumping his fingers not changing the pace. his other hand making its way to your clit, pressing on it with his thumb. you cum on his fingers as you let out a throaty moan. “fucking christ rafe what has gotten into you.” you say getting up to look at him. “don’t cuss at me. plus i’m not done with you. i wanna feel you around my dick” he says getting up with his hands around your throat, his lips meeting yours once again.

[auspicioustidings]

Gaz and Price taking care of each other (they r in love and this can be soft or horny whatever u want) 💈💙

Nothing but the softest for these two smooshes!

Fracture

Words: 1k

It was not the first time that John Price had broken bones, not by a long shot, but it was the first time that the healing was being so annoying.

The pain of a fractured shoulder he could about live with, but not being able to do anything properly was driving him up the wall. His clumsy left arm was doing a piss poor job of trying to look after him, especially given that his right was in a sling meaning even his hand was fully out of commission.

He had stubbornly refused to ask for help obviously. He was a bleeding Captain in the SAS, he did not need coddling. When the muppet of a medic had suggested he get help in, some large arsed matron to do his cooking and cleaning and fuss over him, he had promised them that his left hook would work just as well if they didn't drop the issue, give him his meds and send him on his way.

It had been a week and he was living on take out. He was no stranger to being a little grotty out on mission, but never in his own home. He hated not being able to be as meticulous with cleaning both his space and himself, but every stretch was agony on that right shoulder and ran the risk of fucking it up worse if he wasn't more careful.

There was a knock at the door and he wondered if he had ordered food and forgotten about it, possible with the cocodamol even if he was only taking half the recommended dosage (he had seen how Simon had baulked when they gave him all that heavy medication, when they told him how long he should be on it for. There was no way John would ever risk picking up the phone to him and being loopy from pain meds, not when he knew how much it could hurt him and when the pain wasn't so dreadful he couldn’t cope).

It was not a food delivery.

“Gaz?”

“Well invite me in Captain, it's bloody freezing out here.”

Price stood aside in bemusement as his thoroughly bundled up Sergeant politely toed off his shoes and put them neatly to the side before taking off into the house like he owned the place.

Gaz hadn't ever been here before but he hardly waited for the grand tour, instead doing a full sweep with Price trailing after him.

“Trying to find treasure or something Gaz?”

“No sir, just getting the lay of the land.”

“Uh huh. Care to enlighten me as to why?”

Gaz had at this point poked his head in everywhere and they had settled back in the kitchen. Price was sore and tired and a little gross, but none the less he had enough energy to be somewhat embarrassed by the state of the place.

“Junk food is for garbage people.”

Price had the sense to not argue. It was something he always told his team anytime they ordered food to base. If there were facilities to cook, then John Price was damn well going to have a home cooked meal.

“Messy room, messy head.”

Yes ok, technically he used that one pretty often as well. He was always on at them to keep the base tidy and clean.

“Nothing better than a proper soak after a long mission” Gaz finished with a gentle, lopsided smile.

“Gaz…”

“Let me help old man, that's what your team are for.”

So he let him help. The first thing was getting put into a hot bath. Gaz helped him settle, macgyvered a little shelf to sit over the tub for Price to rest his arm on. And then he softly and carefully washed Price's hair.

It was such a strange thing, Price had never really had someone do this for him before. Gaz was gentle, his nails scratching his scalp pleasantly. This felt more vulnerable somehow than being under fire, sitting in the bath with someone he loved paying him such careful attention.

“I might not be the best person to help with the beard, but Soap could probably do it. Did you know he grew one out when he was last on medical leave?”

“That your way of telling me I'm a mess?”

“Oh the rugged look fully does it for me sir, just incase it doesn't for you. Would hate for you to use the sad invalid method that Keller does to lure a nice lady back here and then give her carpet burn.”

He couldn't smack Gaz in his current state, but he did make a valiant attempt at splashing water at him.

“You're a fucking muppet.”

“That's why you like me so much.”

He was almost sad when his hair was rinsed and he was left to soak alone for a bit. He could hear the whirlwind of tidying and cleaning happening around his house and Price couldn't help but enjoy Kyle Garrick being in his space. The man was his home whether Price wanted to admit that or not, so with him here this house had never felt more right.

Christ it was a good thing he wasn't taking full dosage lest it make him say something he might regret.

Gaz returned right as Price was starting to prune and helped him out, fluffy towel at the ready. Honestly he did not need this level of attentiveness, but when he tried to protest Gaz just brushed him off.

“Your job might be to take care of people, but right now you're on leave. It's time for someone to take care of you John.”

Oh. Oh that name sounded wonderful coming from him. Turned out he was a decent cook too, having managed to make a hearty soap from what he could find in the kitchen. For the first time since the fracture John Price felt human again. He was eating a good home cooked meal, the place was tidy and he was clean. The words came easy.

“Love you Kyle.”

“Love you too John.”

[nickfowlerrr]

pretty when you cry - chapter two

series masterlist / chapter three

*originally posted to @bellareadsandrecs on 02/08/22*

pairing: dark!biker!bucky x curvy!reader (dark!soulmate au)

pretty when you cry - lana del rey

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. body insecurities. mentions of paranoia. anxiety, panic attacks, humiliation. NONCON/DUBCON smut. mean!bucky. loss of virginity. 18+ ONLY.

words: 4.1k

notes: : i really want to get into bucky’s thought process and get into the truth of his motives here but i’m not sure how to approach it.. i’m considering like maybe rewriting some chapters from bucky’s perspective if i can’t incorporate it into the current narrative but let me know what you guys think about that!

again, i always do my best to tag appropriately, but if you find i’m missing anything, please do not hesitate to let me know! as usual, feedback is always appreciated 💘

This is a DARK series!!! Please proceed with abundant caution.

It was when you finally pulled into your driveway and stepped out of your car that you noticed the motorcycle drive by. That’s just a really fucked up coincidence, you thought to yourself as you cautiously walked up the driveway to your front door as you watched it pass.

You got inside and cried. You showered. And then allowed yourself to cry even more. After tiring yourself out, you went to grab food but only found dry pasta, an unopened jar of spaghetti sauce, and your last pack of saltines - which you almost grabbed but thought better of. Deciding that it’d be too much effort to make the pasta, you made the short trip back to your room. You’d be getting paid tomorrow anyway, so you could go grocery shopping in the morning. You then got ready for bed as you put on your comfort show and fell asleep.

Morning came and went and you finally woke up to the light shining into your room in the early afternoon. You checked your bank to make sure your direct deposit was there and then Venmo’d your landlord your rent before quickly getting ready for the day and headed to the grocery store.

You didn’t need a lot, not that the small supermarket had all that much to offer anyway. You always preferred this store though, not only was it usually pretty dead but it also helped you save money seeing as there wasn’t much you could splurge on. You grabbed your necessities and made your way to the checkout. Luckily self checkout was open because you really weren’t in the mood for any human interaction. You quickly purchased your items and loaded your cart with your bags. You walked out with your groceries, loaded your trunk, walked the cart back to its home, taking notice of the desolate lot you found yourself in. Mondays were always good to you. No rush, no work, no worries. You loved the peace that you often found on these days. Where you could go driving around, running errands or even just going to get coffee. Playing your music loudly and singing at the top of your lungs before heading home and lounging for the rest of whatever you had left of the day.

There was a time you remembered sulking your off days away. Feeling sad and lonely. Always so desperate for change, but never allowing any to take place. You laughed under your breath at yourself. You always felt such a strong sense of longing, like something or someone was missing from your life. But that longing was what kept you so held down. When you finally decided to stop focusing on your lack, you allowed a lot more happiness and peace into your life. No more waiting on some grand event to take place and change everything, no more waiting on some knight in shining armor to come sweep you off your feet. Now you were.. Content. Some days were harder on you than others, sure, but most were good. You were good. Exactly as you were, you were okay.

Smiling to yourself, you made your way back to your car and upon checking the time you saw it was nearing 4pm.

You decided to take the 20 minute drive to the other end of town to visit Norman’s and probably pick up something for dinner. You knew Eva would be working today and she’d be able to get your order done quickly. You called it in and Eva assured you it’d be ready for you when you got there. Once you arrived, you saw her standing out front of the diner with a takeout bag in hand. She gave you an unease smile as she saw you approaching and you quirked a brow at her. She nodded her head to the side of the building, causing you to look toward that direction. That’s when you saw the line of motorcycles that were parked against the side of the building. Your face fell and you felt ill at ease. Why would they be here? They had never been there before- at least not when you were working. Eva approached your car and you rolled your window down.

“Hey,” she gave you a sympathetic smile. “I’m really sorry- I would have told you they were around but they got here literally right after we hung up. And… I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but, one of them asked for you. Like, by name. I didn’t say anything - but he obviously knows you work here. I wasn’t sure if you knew him or not. I thought, I don’t know, maybe you met him on your shift last night or something.”

“Uhm, wh-who was it, do you know?”

“Tall, gruff, intimidating. Dark hair, blue eyes. And as much as I hate to say it, almost unbearably attractive. Didn’t get his name, though. He left a little while after asking for you, everyone else stayed.”

That had to be Bucky. Great.

“Okay. Well, uh, thank you,” you started as she handed the bag through the window., “oh but wait, I didn’t pay!”

“Don’t worry about it,” she laughed lightly, waving you off. “Get home safe! I’ll see you on Tuesday. But, uh, call me later. Seems like maybe you have something to tell me,” she speculated with a raised brow.

“Hm,” you nodded as you exhaled through your nose. “I’ll see you later,” you evaded with a tight lipped smile.

You pulled away and drove back home, now paranoid that you were being followed. How did he know where you worked? And more importantly, why did he care? Why was he asking for you?

Pulling into your driveway and parking, you then grabbed your bags from the back of your car and headed inside. You were on edge so you decided to put on music while you unloaded everything.

You started to relax and once you had it all put away, you went to grab a plate from your cabinet to put your food on. But the plate in your hands fell to the floor and shattered when you spun around as you were startled by a deep voice. It was somehow, unsettlingly, familiar? and was coming from the small hallway that leads to your bedroom.

“You should invest in better security. Sweet girl like you, living all alone in a shoddy town like this, it can be dangerous,” he spoke ominously as he walked toward you, now entering the kitchen fully. He was dressed in a dark gray long sleeve shirt, rolled up to his forearm and black jeans. Not much different from the outfit he wore last night, but without his jacket and gloves on, you could now clearly see his left arm was made up of some kind of metal, and it made him all the more intimidating.

“Wasn’t too shoddy til you and your friends got here,” you said defiantly. You didn’t know where the confidence to say something like that to him came from, and it was too late to unsay it once you opened your mouth.

He chuckled darkly and slid his tongue across his bottom lip as he moved ever closer.

“Steve said you had a problem with manners, but I really didn’t believe it. I guess you’d need a sharp tongue working a bar, though,” he mused.

“What - what do you want?” you spluttered while shaking your head, “What are you doing in my house?” you asked him, not wanting the conversation to drag on any longer.

“What do I want?” He said before taking a deep breath, almost taunting. “Hm. Well, it’s not really about what I want, sweetheart. The last thing I want to do is be here, but like I said last night, I have an example to set. Can’t just let anyone get away with touching my things, especially my bike,”

“No, I did- I didn’t purposely touch it. He, Steve, he tripped me and I fell into it,” you rushed out. “And you said last night- you said you were gonna let me off easy, so what happened to that?”

“I did let you off easy,” he spoke as he towered over you now, trapping you against your counter. “I never said you were off the hook.”

“What are you doing,” you whispered and tried to flinch away as his flesh hand came up to brush the stray hairs away from your face. His hand fell to your jaw and he held your face tightly.

“You know what I normally do to people who fuck with my things, huh?” He asked harshly. Not that you could respond verbally even if you wanted to with the way he was holding you. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried your best to shake your head. His grip loosened as he continued talking.

“Normally,” he laughed humorlessly, “normally I’d beat them bloody and unconscious.” His hand relaxed on your face completely now and he brought his other hand up to hold your face gently. “So I really am letting you off easy, sweetheart,” his eyes were on yours before traveling to examine every inch of your face, “I couldn’t find it in myself to mess up this pretty face,” he spoke as his thumbs stroked your cheeks. You couldn’t do anything, you felt like you were frozen in place, “…so I let you go home. And then I spent my night trying to figure out what to do with you. There’s really only one way to put this issue to rest. You remember what I told you last night?” he asked as he looked to your eyes once more. “The only way someone would get away with touching my bike is if I’m fucking them. Seeing as I don’t want to hurt you too bad, this is the best compromise,” he finished as his hands found your neck, slowly dragging them down to the neckline of your shirt.

You started to hyperventilate. You wanted to scream, or try to fight him off, or just try to run for it, but you couldn’t do anything as he grabbed your shirt and began ripping it off of you. He groping your chest through your bra and leaned in close to speak in your ear,

“Don’t worry, I won’t drag this out,” he said before pulling away slightly as he took off his own shirt and moved to lift you in his arms. You tried to protest but it was a futile attempt as he picked you up like you weighed nothing and began making his way to your bedroom. “Believe me, I don’t wanna do this anymore than you do, sweetheart… Well, maybe a little more,” he smirked.

“What the fuck is happening,” you muttered as you panicked and your breath once again caught in your throat as you struggled to regulate your breathing and gain hold on the situation quickly unraveling before you. He dropped you down on your bed and the movement seemed to wiggle something loose in your brain because you suddenly came back into yourself and tried to make a run for it.

He blocked you in while he stood in front of your door and shut it behind him. He kicked his boots off and began unbuckling his belt as he shook his head at your weak escape attempt.

“Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, huh? I fuck you, I leave, and we’re square. I’m sure I’ll forget all about you by the week’s end. Or you can fight, I still fuck you, and maybe you end up a little more worse for wear. The choice is yours,” he shrugged.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there and tried to plead to him with your eyes. Praying that your body would catch up to your mind and you’d be able to do something, anything. You watched as his eye twitched ever so slightly and he grimaced for half a second before finding your gaze again.

He pulled the waistband of your leggings toward him and then let it snap back against you. “Take them off. Now,” he growled.

“Please,” you whispered as your voice broke. You felt the tears start to fall down your cheeks as you stared at him.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Hurry the fuck up,” he barked.

You flinched and numbly moved to take off your leggings while he removed his jeans. When you were both standing in just your underwear, he approached you once more and moved his hands to the back of your bra where he unclasped it and let it fall to your feet. His hands found your breasts and he began to play with you as you took a sharp breath at his foreign touch. You were a 25 year old virgin - to say you were touch starved would be an understatement. But there was no way you should have found the feeling of him on you as good as you did. His hands slid down to your waist as he continued to squeeze and feel you; running his hands up and down your torso as you closed your eyes tightly, not wanting to see his face as he stared at your body with something akin to awe. It couldn’t have been, though. Not with the way he was talking to you- about you. He spoke as if this was a chore that he truly did not want to have to complete. Like he wanted to get it over with and be on his way. As if he wasn’t the one forcing this on you. Forcing this entire situation. He really didn’t need to do it, was all you kept thinking. Who would know otherwise? It’s not like you planned on sharing it with anyone. You’d say or not say whatever he told you and just be done with it. But it seemed he was adamant about making you pay for his friend fucking with you. Bullshit “biker code” must really be taken seriously if he was willing to go this far. It just didn’t seem to make sense to you. Was that really all this was about?

His hands settled on your wide hips and you hated yourself for the embarrassment that overwhelmed you. Why was your train of thought going to how gross he must find you and your body? Why were you embarrassed for him to see you like this as if his opinion mattered at all? You felt disgusting because you realized that, god, maybe you wanted him to want you— even if you didn’t want him. Because you certainly didn’t want him. Or maybe some part of you did- but either way - you didn’t want him like this. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, but it was something else. Something more that you couldn’t identify and fought desperately to ignore. And you couldn’t deny that you wanted to be attractive to him, which you evidently weren’t, but even still, the last thing you wanted was to have your virginity stolen from you.

His grip on your hips tightened and you couldn’t help the pained whimper that escaped you. He was strong, that he had already proven by lifting you and moving you without so much as breaking a sweat, but as his hands tightened around you, it was even more evident. There was no way you were getting out of this situation unscathed. Physically and emotionally speaking. You could feel the bruises forming already. Suddenly, his grip fell to the backs of your thighs as he pulled you up and you let out a shriek as you clung to his shoulders and allowed yourself to fall forward into his hold so you wouldn’t fall backwards.

His head was in your chest and he started to lick and kiss at you while he walked toward the bed. He placed you down and shoved you back once you were sitting on the mattress and pulled your panties down your thick legs as his fingers ghosted your skin.

“As fun as it would be to see you squirming for me, I don’t really have the time or patience for foreplay today,” he grunted out. As your eyes trailed down his body, you were met with the sight of him freeing his erection from his boxers as he removed them completely. You were then reminded of the fact that this would probably hurt like hell and you had no real idea what you were in store for. You started panicking all over again. You squirmed your way further up the mattress and began babbling helplessly.

“Please, please don’t do this. Just - wait, please, please!” you cried as he crawled on top of you. “Please, I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t please,” you continued to babble.

He cooed and shushed you as his hands began trailing your body once more. His touch was so soft and almost caring. You thought if you closed your eyes tightly enough you’d be able to imagine that this foreign touch was that of a lover’s. One of someone who cared for you and your body. Not someone who was touching and taking you with force for any reason other than - what? - idiotic principles?

This isn’t fair, you thought. I don’t deserve this. But you couldn’t voice it out loud, you just let your tears fall as you continued to mumble in despair. Bucky’s lips found your neck and he began to lavish kisses on you. You were almost distracted enough by that to not notice his hand reaching lower and beginning to rub you, but not distracted enough. You were surprised though, to feel what he felt. You were wet with your arousal and you could feel him smirking against your neck, but were thankful that he didn’t say anything about it. He ran his finger through your slit, up to your clit where he began to rub small circles around the bundle of nerves. It truly felt like nothing you had ever experienced before. With his free hand, he lined himself up to your entrance as you pleaded once again, “No, no, no, you don’t understand, please, don-” and then all at once, you felt him thrust into you and you let out a guttural, pained cry at the intrusion while he groaned at the pleasure of being inside your previously untouched hole. His head fell to your neck and he panted as he stayed still inside of you while you whined. You didn’t realize what he was doing at first, why he was just staying still, but soon gathered that he was allowing you time to adjust to him. He then moved out of you and gave an experimental thrust back in. You couldn’t help the pathetic moan that escaped you and he decided to take that as a sign to continue his movements.

“See, it’s not all that bad, is it? I’m just as surprised as you, sweetness,” he spoke through grit teeth as he moved his thick cock in and out of you.

“Fuck, didn’t think you’d be this good. Thought it’d take me longer to get hard with you, but damn if those little pleading whimpers didn’t turn me on.” He continued while you tried to focus on the music that was still playing from the living room. Anything to drown out his words. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear him. Or yourself as you clenched your jaw and tried to suppress your sounds of forced pleasure.

“That’s it, take it. Take it like the good girl you pretend to be. I can see right through you, sweetheart. You can deny it all you want, but you and I both know the truth. This is what you’ve been needing, isn’t it? A fat cock stuffing your tight pussy full. Uh, fuck,” he groaned out, “you’re not as innocent as you seem, are you pretty girl?” he asked as his hands found your neck and added the perfect amount of pressure as he continued thrusting in and out of you at an intense pace, “just another whore getting ruined on my cock. Ruined just for me, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You shook beneath him as you were brought closer and closer to your climax. “So goddamn tight. S’like your pussy doesn’t wanna let me go,” he continued his taunting as you tried to fight off, to resist the pleasure that was coursing through you, but you couldn’t keep yourself from heading straight into your orgasm, even at the words he spoke.

“I could keep you full of me all night long,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re squeezing me so fuckin tight, baby, I’m gonna come,” he moaned. “Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you and your gonna take every last drop of my cum, aren’t you,” he said as he gripped your jaw and shook your face in his hands making you stare up at him as he lost himself and came inside of you. He squeezed your jaw again and forced your mouth open before he spit directly on your tongue. You shuddered and involuntarily your pussy clenched around him as you felt his saliva sliding down your throat, causing him to hiss at the feeling.

“Look at you, you can’t even help yourself, can you?” He laughed and then crashed his lips to yours hotly, sensually moving down to your neck before he laid himself down on top of your chest, crushing you slightly as you tried to regain control of yourself and your breathing, before pulling out of you.

“See, told ya I’d make it quick. Ah -“ he breathed and then slapped your thigh as he held himself up above you, “I’d love to stay and chat, maybe go for round two in a bit, but I got a date planned for later, and I can’t leave a beautiful woman hanging.”

“No offense,” he offered, “I mean, you’re pretty,” he smirked as his eyes met yours, “but you’re not really my type,” he said as he pinched your stomach before softly kissing your cheek and getting up from atop you. You just laid there with your mouth slightly parted, taking shallow breaths as you willed the tears threatening to start falling again away. You really couldn’t tell what hurt more- what did more damage. His actions or his words. You were in a state of shock as your eyes were fixed on your ceiling and you focused on the sound of Lana Del Rey’s “Pretty When You Cry” coming from the living room as Bucky got dressed beside your bed.

And then you heard your back door open and shut followed by the sound of a motorcycle coming to life. You realized Bucky must have gotten in through that same door. You willed yourself up and walked to every window and both doors making sure they were all shut and locked. You made your way to your bathroom and started the shower. You couldn’t even feel the water as you stepped in. It was like your body was moving without your mind actually being involved in the process. You washed yourself clean twice before you started to come back to yourself and scrubbed every inch of your body. It started to drive you mad after thirty minutes of washing trying to get the feeling of him off of you. It didn’t work. You could feel him every time you moved. You resigned yourself to sitting in the tub as the water ran down on you.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. You wouldn’t have even been sure that what had happened had actually happened if it wasn’t for the painful reminders he left on your hips and the ache in between your legs. The memory of his hands on you made you twitch.

You finally pulled yourself out of your stupor and dried off. Walking to your dresser, you pulled out a pair of pajamas and got dressed. As you brushed through your wet hair in front of the mirror, you couldn’t look away from your own eyes. Accusatory, yet unsure. Still slightly puffy and glossy from the tears.

You returned to your bed and stripped it of its sheets and duvet. You didn’t have the energy to wash them so you left them in the hallway and walked across the house to the spare bedroom. You got on the bed and crawled up into a ball under the covers in hopes of finding some comfort in your own touch as you rocked yourself to sleep. It didn’t come easy. Every time you got close to falling asleep completely, Bucky’s face would appear, eyes drinking you in… and then you could hear his grunts and groans - feel him on top of you again and your eyes would fly open as your breathing faltered. It went on like that for hours until you finally faded to sleep. Bucky plaguing your restless dreams all the while.

[loserchildhotpants]

First kiss, Angry kiss-- maybe something nose breaking like the famous Brokeback Mountain scene where maybe Cas/Dean is angry at the other for doing something reckless?

kiss prompts

you got some making out and grinding and art in this one anon i hope u enjoyyyyyy

As a human hunter (in-training), Cas still likes to use blades. 

His form is perfect in a way that doesn’t need to be explained to Dean; he sees the way Cas crouches, bends and twists, how he sweeps his legs, how his arms snap out like venomous snakes, how he looks to be completely, gyroscopically stable, and he knows just by looking that Cas’ mastery of blades is in part, innate, and another part learned, malleable, still constantly evolving and bettering.

There’s no doubt that Cas is lethal, and he makes for a great sniper when it’s appropriate, but other guns are a bit clunky for him, he doesn’t like them, and the kick-back always makes him frown in a way that Dean thinks he recognizes as disappointment. 

There was a time that Cas could fire a gun and not feel kick-back at all, Dean supposes, because he used to be supernaturally still and solid, but now he’s human, and kick-back can fuck up a shot.

Besides, Cas is nimble, graceful, stealthy. He’s better suited to his knives, daggers, and short swords. 

He’s handling two machetes tonight, beheading vampires with a precision and bloody majesty that Dean weirdly envies. 

The issue, Dean guesses, is that because he doesn’t understand blades as well, because he doesn’t handle them as often, he doesn’t trust them as much. He wishes Cas would still carry a gun, a blunt object, a fucking chainsaw - just anything more than what he insists on keeping on him.

When he was an Angel, he didn’t have need for more than his blades, but he’s not an Angel anymore, and this case was supposed to be easy, but there’s a bigger nest here than either of them imagined.

Cas has been itching to hunt - to prove his utility, to prove a point, and Dean understands, he does, so he picked a case he didn’t think they’d need Sam for, and now they’re in Idaho backwoods, with waves of vampires waking and screeching and charging from the shadows of this forest in numbers that definitely require more than two hunters.

Dean’s swinging with a wide arc, his eyes keep skittering to Cas because he’s fucking nervous, and every time he looks over, Cas is bloodier, his clothes are more ripped up, he’s sweating now, and to Dean’s horror, a vampire built like a fucking train comes storming up to Cas, knocking both machetes from Cas’ hands, and they clatter to the ground along with Dean’s heart.

In the time it takes for Dean to suck in breath enough to scream, Cas’ fists dive into his shredded jacket, come back out double-wielding razor-sharp daggers in a backwards grip, and with baffling precision, he slices, forces them through the vampire’s neck until the head and body are separately dropping to the ground uselessly.

The scream doesn’t come, because Cas got his footing back in time, so Dean keeps slashing and bashing, keeps looking at Cas, and he watches as Cas starts meeting these vampires halfway, marching up to them like he’s got armor on and not just ribbons of a discount Hanes tee he picked up from Wal-mart.

These daggers he’s got are shorter than the machetes, they require close quarter combat, and Cas keeps charging at these fuckers, closing the distance between them in long strides, forcing them up close and personal, and Dean’s getting dizzy with worry.

The worry doesn’t do either of them much good, though - they both come out of the fight very much scathed, grimey with gore, exhausted, but also very alive with organs and limbs assembled in just the fashion they arrived in, which is luckier than Dean’s willing to look into the mouth of.

Cas is too drenched in blood to make heads or tails of visible injuries, so checking him will have to wait, but when that last vampire drops, and they’re both trying to catch their breaths, Dean suddenly, viciously, hopes he is hurt. 

He’s furious.

He stalks off, sheaths his machetes, picks up the ones Cas basically abandoned and makes his way back from where they came, assuming Cas will follow.

The Impala is parked in brush near a dilapidated shed just past the property line on some farmland; it’s the dead of night, no one’s noticed Dean, Cas or the Impala here in the dark, and to Dean’s great relief, the shed’s got running water going to the hose.

He sprays himself down and just as he’s wondering when Cas is gonna break the silence, he does.

“You’ve not said anything.”

And Dean keeps to that.

“I’m beginning to suspect that you’re angry,” Cas admits as freezing water ricochets into Dean’s fucking ear canal, “this hunt was successful, though.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean mumbles through gritting teeth; he lets the spray hit the crown of his head, and all that red rushes down his face, neck and torso.

He throws the hose at Cas, who is worse off than him by miles with arterial spray drenching him, and Cas nearly fumbles it, clearly caught off-guard by Dean’s aggression.

“Hose down,” Dean orders, his anger still percolating into something sharper and clearer, “you’re not getting into Baby like that.”

Frowning, Cas does as he’s told; his jacket got lost in the mele and what’s on him now is barely fabric enough to wrap a wrist wound. The jeans are gonna stain that way permanently too, and those secondhand combat boots will not be going back to a light brown after this night.

Dean grabs a new shirt from his duffel, puts the sopping one into a trash bag in the trunk for later washing, and when Cas offers him what remains of his own shirt, Dean just puts it with the actual garbage.

With shame swirling low in his gut, he watches Cas shower himself, which he gets away with, because Cas’ eyes are shut against the cold pressure. He watches how the pink bloodied water cascades down his face, he watches the muscles in Cas’ neck, shoulders, arms and back flex and bunch, blood and water cascading.

There are lots of cuts on Cas, plenty of them still bleeding lightly, and there’s dark bruises too, scattered across his chest and arms, already purpling.

This was dangerous. 

This was a very close call, and he’s enraged that Cas can’t even seem to recognize how dangerous it was; he’s cool as a cucumber, and it’s making Dean’s rage ratchet up and up.

Once Cas is toweling off, Dean shoves one of his old pullovers at him, then wordlessly gets into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t turn music on, and he doesn’t ask if Cas is hungry enough that they should stop for food.

He takes them back to their motel, shoves Baby into park with too much force, and slams the car door when he leaves Cas there.

Cas follows him, of course, and once they’re safely inside, Cas shuts the door with a gentle snick of the lock, steps up behind him to touch at his shoulder, and Dean reacts without thinking. 

He smacks Cas’ hand away from him, twisting around and shoving at Cas’ chest so that he stumbles back toward the door.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You’ll have to expand on that.”

“That was fucking reckless, Cas!” Dean shouts, a vein he thinks his father had in his forehead now throbbing on Dean’s, “you acted like a -”

“Like a what, Dean?” Cas challenges, narrowing his eyes, “like a seasoned soldier, who knows their own competence? Is that very threatening to you?”

You’re not threatening, Cas, you’re wearing my old hoodie, you’re human now.

“Okay, rushing at an insane number of vampires with nothing but some fancy knives isn’t competence, Cas! It’s reckless! It’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s dangerous! You’re a human, Cas!”

“I know that,” Cas sneers, “I don’t need you reminding me.”

“Apparently you do!” Dean exclaims, “Cas, what you did out there -”

“I did the job.”

“You didn’t do it right!”

“I think the number of dead would disagree with you.”

“You were throwing yourself at them!” Dean yells, a hot lump of fear in his throat, “you didn’t even go back for your machetes! I couldn’t help you like -”

“I didn’t need your help!”

Growling in frustration, Dean stomps up to Cas, pushes him up against the door with his forearm barring Cas’ chest and he glares down into Cas’ ocean eyes when he says, “not your call. You wouldn’t let me just run a fuckin’ Angelic garrison my first week with wings, and you know damn well you weren’t leading this mission. I’ve got the years under my belt, I’m the human here with the most experience, I’m the seasoned hunter, Cas. What if you’d needed me, huh?”

“I didn’t, though,” Cas argues, his chest tense under Dean’s arm, “I was capable, I proved it to you.”

“You proved fuck-all but that you’ve got a death wish! What if you’d gotten hurt worse?”

“Then that would’ve been my problem.”

“Not the way I see it!” Dean argues, “what if you’d -”

“I’d have figured it out!”

“What if you didn’t!?” Dean’s eyes flicker between Cas’, “what if you didn’t figure it out, Cas? Huh? What if the swarms had kept comin’, what if those blades got fucked up, dull, or knocked outta your hands, and you’re half a nautical fuckin’ mile out from me?”

Cas is all rebellion when he holds himself ramrod straight and answers, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Fuck you,” Dean jostles Cas against the door, “what the fuck is your problem, Cas?”

Dean really doesn’t mean to stare at Cas as much as he does, but he thinks anyone this close to him would have a hard time not getting lost in that gaze.

Dean met Jimmy way back when, and Jimmy’s eyes were not the same as Cas’. Often, Dean thinks to himself that looking into Cas’ eyes is as close as he’ll ever get to safely seeing Cas’ true form; they’re luminescent, preternatural. There’s something about them, even now, that isn’t entirely human.

Cas isn’t entirely human, Dean figures - he’s just an Angel with clipped wings. He’s cut off from the Host, but that doesn’t mean he’s been transformed into a human soul, occupying a human body; he’s a many-eyed, feathered, incomprehensible creature locked up in a flesh prison. 

Dean keeps his arm where it is, pressing Cas into the wall, but he relaxes his brow and softens his body language when he says, “this is it, Cas. This is what the life is like with me. Sammy hated it too, but y’know what? He’s alive. So, if you hate me for it, then you hate me for it, but Hell or high water, I’m gonna make sure you’re alive to hate me. That means you don’t get to kamikaze yourself for a -”

“I don’t hate you.”

Dean’s brought up short by the way Cas’ face falls, how his eyes go from fiery to worried, how he suddenly looks small in Dean’s retired hoodie.

“Dean, I don’t hate you, I could never hate you-” Cas’ eyes jump down to Dean’s mouth, his dark, thick lashes flashing like fans when they move back up and his pupils are dilated, he licks his lips and trails off, “I…”

The way Cas’ eyes hold his gaze, the way his human heart is thudding increasingly faster against Dean’s forearm, there’s this heat pooling in his gut, there’s anticipation expanding in his chest like a balloon, he’s watching Cas’ hooded eyes, thinking, there’s no way. There's absolutely no way...

Carefully, Cas is tipping his head just so, and before he’s even really decided to, Dean’s shutting his eyes, curving his body in closer just as he feels Cas press their lips together.

The kiss starts small, shy and soft, unsure of itself because it can’t possibly be real, but then Dean’s remembering how fast those vamps were coming, how close they got to Cas, and that anger – that fear – surges in him again and he shoves himself against Cas.

There’s a muffled, ‘mmmph!’ against Dean’s mouth, but as Dean urges his tongue past Cas’ lips, it’s followed quickly by a charmingly soft gasp and then agreeable moan. 

Cas’ hands come up to Dean’s pecs, as if to soothe him, but Dean doesn’t want to calm down – he wants to swallow Cas whole like an anaconda so that nothing can get to him and hurt him. He wants to keep Cas somewhere inside him where he’ll be safe.

Dean grabs Cas’ wrists, pins them to the wall behind him and uses the few inches of height he’s got over Cas to crowd him; he presses the length of his body right up against Cas’, and his grip is too hard, he knows Cas’ hands must be going numb, and he’s pushing their bodies together too tightly, and he’s kissing Cas like he means more to bite him.

Cas takes it.

Cas gives back, even.

Virginal as he is, he excitedly, shamelessly grinds up against Dean, their buckles snag and the drag of their still-drying denim scratching together is so loud to Dean.

Cas groans and mewls lowly under him, making those gravelly, bass notes in a way Dean's never heard Cas make them before.

You’re supposed to be embarrassed, Dean thinks at Cas, knowing Cas can’t hear him, turning his head again to kiss him harder, deeper, you’re so hard. You like this, and you don’t know you’re supposed to be cool and aloof about it. No one taught you that. No one quieted you. Never change, Cas.

Awkwardly, Cas has to break for air, but they’re so entwined, they're sealed together, he can only tilt his mouth away to gasp for air, their faces still pressed together because Dean won’t – can’t – back off.

“Dean,” Cas rasps, maybe wondering what it is Dean is doing with him.

Dean doesn’t know what the fuck he's doing with Cas, so he avoids answering the call of his name by grinding against Cas again, giving him sweet friction while he kisses Cas’ chin, the corner of his mouth, seeking, seeking —

“I want to be able to protect you again,” Cas murmurs nearly inaudibly — shamefully.

“You did,” Dean tells him, tears building in his eyes as he thinks back on what he saw, on just how close a call this was, “you do. You always do.”

“No – not like I used to, not —”

“Then we can protect each other, okay?” Dean compromises, bumping their noses, pushing their foreheads together until Cas will open his eyes and look at him again, “I’m not your keeper, Cas. We can — we’ll figure it out. Just don’t make me lose you. I can’t do it.”

“I don’t know how to promise you that,” Cas admits, tongue peeking out to taste at Dean’s lower lip.

Dean closes his mouth around Cas’ tongue, pulls it into his mouth, sucks on it, crushes Cas against the wall again, and he kisses Cas until they’re both begging off for air again.

“Don’t,” Dean huffs, face flushed, hard as a rock against Cas; he loosens his hold on Cas’ wrists, lets Cas’ arms fall a little down the wall, “can’t promise shit in this life. Just tell me you’re sorry for scarin’ me.”

The sincerity must do it for Cas, because with little hesitation, Cas looks him in the eye, head bent back against the wall where he’s still learning to breathe again, and he replies, “I’m sorry to have scared you, Dean. Truly.”

Just as Dean’s eyes get hot again, his hands twitch with the need to secure Cas down to the closest surface, Cas slips his hands down their shared grip to tangle their fingers together.

He leans in and kisses Dean gently before Dean can do anything hard or harsh.

He kisses Dean again, and again, chaste, a few swipes of tongue, doing something to Dean not unlike hypnosis and eventually Dean’s being backed up into one of the motel room beds. 

The backs of his knees hit the bed, and Dean winds up with Cas in his lap, cupping his face, gazing down at him with hooded, desire-dark eyes.

He thinks Cas wants to ask something, he can see it in Cas’ eyes, but whatever it is, Cas stows it away; he pushes back on Dean until Dean’s being pressed into the mattress by Cas, and their roles have been fully reversed.

Cas holds him down, pushes against him, into him, kissing Dean like he wants to devour him, and Dean understands, he feels it too, so he surrenders. Gladly.

[pineappleciders]

hihi tyty for writing my request sometime could i also get the same rw omori characters with a sick reader?? like throwing up and shivering and stuff LMAO

TRIGGER WARNING: regurgitation

RW OMORI CHARACTERS WITH A SICK READER HEADCANONS// includes: AUBREY, SUNNY, KEL, HERO, MARI, and BASIL

AUBREY

she'll bring u canned cheap chicken noodle soup 

she'll rummage around in ur cabinet for pain/allergy meds, and she doesn't know a whole lot about medicine, so she'll probably have to ask you which ones work

she has to admit that she's a little grossed out when you vomit, but she'll hold a trash can by your bed for you any day

probably looks up 'how to help a sick person'

she'll check your temp with her hand a lot, and will check up on u very frequently. she gets anxious knowing you're alone and sick

she couldn't care less if she got sick from you. you're her biggest priority 

SUNNY

he'll definitely be asking MARI for help, because he's a bit lost

MARI and his mother always makes him smoothies or soup, and since he isn't the best at cooking, he'll be yet again be asking MARI for help

other than panicking about you to his sister, he's very concerned 

seriously thinking about getting you to a doctor, even if you tell him it's just a cold

he'll place a trash can by your bed while you're sleeping

will spend most of his days at your house, because he really doesn't want to be away from you, esp not while you're sick

will find the snot and vomit stuff kinda nasty, but that doesn't stop him from being by your side 24/7

he can't help but worry that your condition would get worse. and if it did, he will be helicoptering you at all times

will have MEWO cuddle with u to keep you warm

KEL

he spent a lot of time outside as a kid, and that really built his immune system, so he really doesn't get sick very often

and when he does, HERO is always there to help him, so he's never really taken care of someone who's sick

if you ask for like pepto bismol or cough medicine or something, he'll come back to your bed with a fucking popsicles or some shit

all jokes aside, he does worry about you a lot, esp since he doesn't feel like he can help you much

will most certainly ask HERO for help

he doesn't find your sniffles, coughs, or vomit gross! after all, he doesn't wash his hands

will roll you like a pig in a blanket if you start shivering (please be patient he doesn't understand fevers)

HERO

bet your ass that if you're sick, HERO is the first one to know

he will blend you grossly healthy smoothies, and encourages you to drink lots of water and gatorade

tucks you in with your stuffed animals every night

he will mainly be in your house the entirety of your illness

he is studying to be a doctor, so he will know what medicine will help!

will always ask if you need water, food, a heating pad, a fan... literally everything you could ever want

makes u eat your veggies 

he will do all your household chores for you. your laundry? done. sweeping? done. he will NOT let you leave your bed

MARI

she's similar to HERO, but she's a worrywart!

she likes to read you bedtime stories (no matter how much you try to tell her you aren't a child)

she hums soothing songs and holds your hand

she'll even spoon feed u!! u are getting the baby treatment when MARI's around

she will always drop by to see how you're doing, and will ask for updates from your parents to see how you're doing

is perfectly okay with getting sick for you (it's unlikely she will though because she has quite the immune system)

she likes to make you breakfast in bed, but you probably won't be able to keep it down, so she opts for soup and crackers

constantly asking if you're comfortable

will go grocery shopping for you 

and buys a shit ton of fruit

she cares about u a lot

BASIL

he worries a lot!!

will constantly check your temperature and bring you fresh water

gives you flowers and drawings to make you feel better

asks the rest of the group to come visit you

he doesn't keep his distance but he doesn't get sick somehow??

makes u soup and crackers, and encourages you to eat your veggies so you recover faster

probably visits you in bed/at home once or twice a day, and the two of you look through the photo album together (he'll end up cleaning it if u sneeze on it)

very concerned when you cough violently, and gives you something like a lollipop to suck on after you drink cough syrup because he knows how terrible it tastes

he'll give you a soft blanket his grandmother made him and will personally fan u if u get hot

afterwards, he tells you to take your vitamins and don't get wet so u don't get sick again!! after all, he misses u dearly when you're stuck at home

[nightswithkookmin]

Hi goldy hope u r fine ❤️ so I have been thinking alot about the army reaction toward the members how is it different from member to another specialy (jimin , tae , jk , hopi ) first of all I have been army and pjms since 2018 I saw jimin on yt video from then every thing begin, in the stars I was on Instagram most of the armys I followed was Arabic big Stan accounts and for my bad luck most of them were either teakook Stan or sheeper but anyway after some time I move to twitter and it was hell for me when I say there's days were I couldn't sleep and cried because the hate jimin was and honestly still getting from doing absolutely nothing but good things I'm not overacting but when I saw and heard rumours about tea from last year as example dating and smoking clubs and other things you will never see a big reaction from army thay ignor the whole thing I sometimes imagine if jimin did one thing of those what will happen, with jk the whole army feel like his parents that they know what good for him and that he's child and will learn from his mistakes and they will scold him sometimes but eventually when there is project from him or even a photo he got all the ot7 and jkks support and for hopi he got all the empathy and support but like they always will remind you oh poor hopi and hyung line the didn't get any support when the are have a very successful career with their solo career and very much happy with their life . I respect and love all of them and know very well that all of them worked so hard on their career and their private life is theirs and they can do whatever they want but why is forbidden to speak about tae or hopi and it's okay to speak about jimin or jk? And it's the same even In the Arab army so I want your take goldy 🥺

Not Hobi💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

I'm gonna have to hug you and sweep this under the carpet cos Hobi is immune from criticisms on this page💀

Every member of BTS has their own anti brigade full of haters and recieve the most disturbing amount of vitriol I've ever seen on the internet.

It's just some have intersecting identities that goes against them or for them. Draw of luck at this point.

Jimin gets compared to female artists and gets subjected to the same misogyny and sexism that any female kpop artist face in the industry right down to the language they use to insult him.

Right down to the body shaming, he’s fat, he’s atrophied, he’s a slut- you name it.

While Jungkook may not be slut shamed as much as Jimin for his effeminate expressions, he’s made the poster child for fuck boyry and every Park and Bailey is ready to take a dig at him for all the crimes of men- for cheating, being a community penis, having toxic masculinity, being noncommittal, emotionally unavailable, unromantic, hard hearted and just plain stupid.

You add homophobia to the equation and it's not looking good for either of them.

Then there's this whole infantilization bit of Jungkook where because he started out as a child artist everyone assumes he is still a child at his grown age. There's a reason he hates being called baby.

And I think Namjoon addressed this recently during his promos of his Indigo. That people either assume they are innocent or the worse.

To this day some fans still think they all live together like the seven little dwarfs in their tiny cabins in the woods.

Then you look at the members people are most threatened by and Jimin sits on top of that list. Jk solo stans are threatened by him on behalf of their fave, Tae solos are threatened by him on behalf of Tae.

This is not to absolve Jimin solos cos they equally feel threatened by Hobi and Tae Kook.

Hobi because his talents as a dancer directly threatens Jimin's as a dancer. You often see them attacking Hobi stans and fighting over the whole best dancer title thingy. It's stupid really cos as far as I'm concerned no one in BTS is Jimin's competition whether in dance or singing. NO ONE.

And yes they have a lot to fear from Jimin if he were to compete with them on anything. May be not rapping 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

That's not to say these men aren't talented. They are. But Jimin will eat them up hands down.

I like to think the Fandom is biased and prejudiced against Jimin but frankly Tae has established himself as one not to be trifled with💀

He has a reputation

Gotta call a spade a spade you know?

People are afraid to mess with him. He shoots to kill and that's what it boils down to.

If high school taught me anything it's that good boys finish last and the kind ones are the easiest to bully.

This is why I hated this whole kumbaya peace be onto humanity pacifist vibes JM had going on.

He's diplomatic and classy but sometimes you gotta wet those nails with the blood of your enemies remind them just how insane you are underneath

It doesn't help that he didn't have the numbers to back him up. I mean we said it all along yet they gaslit us into thinking we were being divisive and everyone loved everyone equally. Ot7 nonesense.

Bottom line is, they pick on those they think are less likely to fight back but don't worry. I know there's something in JMs album that will snatch the pants off their waist and expose the sagging balls they hide under there

The love and support for the hyung line is affirmative action on the part of the Fandom to compensate for hate and discrimination against them. It used to be bad won't lie.

But you are right, Jimin deserves to be treated fairly if not equally. I know better than to rely on anyone to do for Jimin what I think he deserves. I worry for his mental health and his sanity and I pray for him constantly.

The best revenge will be his success.

He's gon sit on the throne and everyone else will bow to him just as he predicted. Hate him or love him HE IS BOUND TO BE THE GREATEST ARTIST OF ALL TIME.

MARK IT ON THE WALL

[remiwarner]

H O U R   A F T E R   M I D N I G H T

     The downtown club was packed, as expected of a Friday night, a long line stretching down the murky hallway from the concealed entrance. Remi walked past it, already hearing the bass of the music inside. When he reached the bouncer, all it took was a glance, and the man unhooked the divider that stretched across the door and let him through. Remi was perpetually on the list of any club in the city that held any type of status, the few exceptions being the ones that were exclusively affiliated with his… competitors — none of which Delilah had chosen, sparing him from having to think of an excuse to change the locale.

     It had all come back to him like a second skin. The club scene. The nightlife. Besides work, his days were free of obligations, and as long as he remembered to reply to Sy when he called or texted, no one was worried about what the fuck he was doing, ever. So he worked. Imbibed. Injected. And texted Delilah.      It hadn’t been the pills or the alcohol that had created the thing that lay barely concealed underneath the surface between them; he knew that, because he’d met her in the fucking street the first time, and because lately, she’d crossed his mind more and more often. He’d scrolled past her number. Considered a text. Changed his mind. Then, eventually, changed his mind again, after remembering how she’d touched his arm, how she’d called him cute; the scent of her perfume. He wanted to see her again.

     Pink and purple neon swept across the darkness inside, dancing over the crowd on the floor, at the tables, at the bar. Deciding not to go searching right away, he went for the bar, where he found the owner, chatting to one of the bartenders. He knew both of them.      “Warner!” The owner looked up, her red lips ticking upward into the faint curve of a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight. You got personal business?”    “Just meetin’ a friend,” he answered, approaching them. “Y’seen ‘er? Short. Tan. Brown hair.” The owner quirked an eyebrow at him, and Remi laughed. “Worth a shot.”      “Get you anything?” the bartender chimed in. Her white-blonde, pin straight hair was slicked back in a tight ponytail. Remi looked around, trying to spot Delilah and failing.    “Mm… tequila?” He turned back to her, holding up two fingers, and she poured him the shots, which he downed in quick succession. “Thanks. Start a tab, would ya?”      “Will do,” she beamed, tapping at her computer.      “Enjoy your night,” the owner said, and Remi shot them both a smile before returning to the throng, starting a lap around the club to look for his date.

     He found her in a small booth toward the back with two other women, spotting them before they saw him, only catching the tail end of their conversation as he approached. He wondered briefly if these were the flaky friends she’d mentioned last time. Supposed it didn’t matter. With a smile, he plopped down on the sleek couch next to Delilah, scooching closer.

   “Hi!” His eyes left hers to sweep over her friends, extending his greeting to them too, then returned to her. “’m I interruptin’ girls’ night?”

[asweetprologue]

at first I thought that the game had sold my house to some random woman (thank u Clavia for sweeping but you scared the shit outta me) and then I was relieved to know that it was still link's, but then you get inside and all the stuff has been replaced w Zelda's stuff and her journal is in the bedroom and her secret well is down below. I know a bunch of people have said like oh they were living together and I thought that too at first (despite the one bed), but the more I hang around the village the more I'm convinced that Link just gave Zelda his house and kinda fucked off a little. it would go a long way towards explaining how everyone knows zelda but no one knows Link (though that seems to be a common theme), but the greatest evidence imo is when you talk to one of the kids from the school who's waiting for Zelda to return near the house. she asks link if he's going to "zelda's house" and says that zelda often leaves the village but always quickly returns. it seems based on this and the interior décor that the house now firmly belongs to zelda, and link was maybe a non presence in the village after the events of the first game. I wonder if he gave her the house as something of a retreat, a place where she could be alone and recover while also being close to Purah - one of the few other people she knows from Before - and the lab. meanwhile it doesn't seem like there's any space made for link in the house or the village. idk what it all means but I do have enormous feelings about Link giving up the one space that was really his so that zelda could have a home again after hers was destroyed

[shivology]

RE my last repost ... the reason why white liberals tend to romanticize islam and judaism comes down to two things methinks

a. STILL not seeing muslim and jewish communities as human beings. making sweeping assumptions about a group of people is always stupid even if these sweeping assumptions are "positive". like, we are human beings lol. sometimes we are shitty! respecting someone's inherent personhood doesn't mean they're always good people. and it's still dehumanizing, it's just dehumanizingly making you feel like you're doing something lol. it also allows shitty muslims and shitty jewish people to get away with shitty things. overcorrecting because you don't want to seem like a bigot is fucking... stupid, lmao. motherfuckers will say shit like "omg u guys we can't ask muslims to not hate gay people, its disrespectful to them :/" like, what, are we so stupid and barbaric that we cannot possibly be asked to adhere to your Regular People moral code? do you think you have to hold my hand into not hatecriming a dude? boo fucking hooooo. also no offense (full offense) if someone believes their religion allows them to oppress other people, like, if THIS is what they take away from their holy text, then maybe... they are simply just a shitty person? they are a shitty person who also shouldn't live in fear of some fucking white supremacist cunt yanking their hijab off their head like???

b. inherent misunderstanding of power dynamics and how they function in society. muslims and jewish people in europe and the us/canada are a religious minority and often though not always are racialized -> ie they're an oppressed group. people have used religion to oppress minorities since like ever since they created the concept of religion lol. this is neither new nor special. but as it so happens, antisemitism and islamophobia is deeply rooted in western society in a way that affects the lives of jewish ppl and muslims every day. However! in muslim majority countries, for example, muslims are the oppressor. in ways identical to how christians are the oppressor in the west lol. like, in egypt, for example, like 15% of the population is christian. every one else is Presumed to be muslim. (egyptian jews are SO badly persecuted that they have to say they're muslim or christian on their ID because they might actually get fucking hatecrimed OR KILLED for being jewish !! and if you say you're atheist you may literally get fucking killed lol 🤩) and you'll find this shit in nearly every muslim majority country just as you find it in fuckass islamphobic racist america! does this mean ALL muslims are antisemitic bigoted pieces of shit? No but SOME sure fucking are! it just so happens, that in this specific region, the people who are in power, the people who have the resources and social power to oppress others, are muslim. it is so insanely eurocentric to think that muslims are always uwu victims uwu. and you know what's fucking funny? christian minorities in the SWANA region are nothing like, i don't know, catholics in france. diaspora muslims are nothing like the fucking taliban. you don't tend to see verses about christian supremacy in SWANA christians, just as you don't tend to see bigoted verses repeated by diaspora muslims. religion tends to manifest in peaceful "wholesome" ways when you're disenfranchised as a survival tactic because you gotta be on your best behavior baby you can't oppress people here! you cannot afford to alienate (looks at scrambled writing on hand) women or gay people. people have and will use religion as a tool and weapon to be relevant and stay in power but context is fucking keyyyyyy

[radiandromeda]

As many guys as you like:

1. What’s your oc’s most irrational fear? Is there a specific reason this fear came about?

> R:ALL_DISCLOSED

Whirring.

——————

MARROS: wwhatt

MARROS: ooh this againn. ii dunno does the fear of being recorded and or surveilled through my internet-capable devices count oh wait no thats rationall

MARROS: nnot that this is especially scaryy?? ii dont know what the point of asking me snoozapalooza questions is but it doesnt seem like an empire tactic and i ran out of cookie points with our it guy like a sweep ago so whateverr

MARROS: mmy most irrational fear can be ghosts or somethingg. tthere you goo

——————

ALTHEA: ‹|3 ≈:O Hiiiii ≈:D

ALTHEA: ‹|3 .......

ALTHEA: ‹|3 Umm

ALTHEA: ‹|3 Its.a littke embarrassinf so please odnt make a big ceal ojt of it

ALTHEA: ‹|3 But im scared of

ALTHEA: ‹|3 Callign people my friends before they call me their friend first.....

ALTHEA: ‹|3 I jusy dont like feeling like im iversteppign

ALTHEA: ‹|3 Bbbut thsbk u for asking have a good nifht ≈:’)

——————

JARRAH: oh [•—•]

JARRAH: um [•—•]

JARRAH: . most . irrational . . . [•—•]

JARRAH: how do you . tell [•—•]

JARRAH: if a fear is irrational [•—•]

JARRAH: . . . . . . . . . [•—•]

JARRAH: . . ask again later maybe [•—•]

——————

VELMEN: DO ¡ LOOK L¡KE THE K¡ND OF GUY WHO HAS ¡RRAT¡ONAL FEARS TO U

VELMEN: ¡ GUESS ¡ MUST BECAUSE TH¡S ¡S THE SECOND T¡ME UVE ASKED SMH SORRY MY JOKES WERENT FUNNY ENOUGH FOR U ALREAOH

VELMEN: FEAR OF B¡TCHES TH¡NK¡NG MY HUMOR ¡S SUBPAR WH¡CH ¡ KNOW ¡S ¡RRAT¡ONAL BECAUSE ¡M FUCK¡NG H¡LAR¡OUS

——————

IZ: Oh I go+ one! Hmmmm

IZ: ....Fire

IZ: Which i2 ra+ional +o 2ome degree bu+ I really ju2+ don’+ like even 2mall flame2 )):/

IZ: Becau2e of my.. mm

??????: would you say it's rational to the third degree

IZ: GROAN

——————

DOC: ˗ˏˋ What do I have to be afraid of? ˎˊ˗

DOC: ˗ˏˋ I don't often find myself in a position to be anxious. It's not my style! ˎˊ˗

DOC: ˗ˏˋ I'm sure some serious risk that turned out all right could give me a good scare, but I wouldn't call that *ir*rational. ˎˊ˗

DOC: ˗ˏˋ Hmm… but, I have always found statues unsettling. Perhaps that counts. ˎˊ˗

[-— Automatic disconnection 00:00 —-]

[pesterloglog]

Roxy Lalonde, Jane Crocker

Act 6, page 4571

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

TG: ALART ALART ARLART AL*ERT AL*ART!!!!!

TG: hugely important cornespondence

TG: paging doctor crocker

TG: rolal to docrock

GG: :?

TG: heh heh

TG: paging

TG: bet you would like to get PAGED huh jane

TG: *sweet innuendo

GG: I'm not sure that qualifies as innuendo at all.

TG: wonkwonkwonkwonkwonk

GG: I honestly think you misspell things intentionally more often than not, regardless of blood alcohol content.

GG: You just typed wonk five times in a row!

TG: i have only junst begun to wonk

GG: What is this urgent thing about, anyway?

GG: Is it about your boobytrap?

GG: Because you're too late. It already blew up my whole bedroom, thank you very much.

TG: no no

TG: i mean i still feel shitty about that but its not abiout that

TG: i know you already ran it i been talking to the shades

GG: Yes, me too. Right now in fact, and I'm in a bit of a hurry!

GG: What is this about? What are you even doing?

TG: im in the lab doing a thing with my cat

TG: but that doesnt matter i was doing some thingkin and was still feeling guilty about fuckin up ur computer and all of the sudden im in bff~ath mode here

TG: so i gotta tell you something u need to know before its too late

GG: Before what's too late?

TG: you and jake hookin up stupid!

GG: Oh my god.

TG: this is about turnin all your steamydreamz in to STEAMAY REALTITIES

TG: ***realities lolo

GG: This isn't happening now...

TG: whereins jc + je kiss & hug loads and start turnin out big heaps of wrigglers the old fashioned way<3<3,3,3<338O!!!!

TG: i cant decide whether this mental image porcolating here is hot as shit or cute as fuck......

GG: No! Cease your lascivious porcolating at once!

GG: Roxy, I can see you're set on just wasting more of my time.

GG: I understand if you don't wish to play this game, but please try not to interfere with those of us who do!

TG: no no im fine with playing just shut up

TG: this is serious you need to tell him how u feel VERY SOON

TG: or you might miss your chance

GG: My chance?

GG: What are you talking about?

TG: i found out today taht dirks gonna make a move

GG: A move? You mean, a romantic one?

TG: yes

GG: On you?

TG: omfffgggggg

TG: JANE GET A CLUE

GG: Um.

GG: On me?

TG: no

TG: no my dear sweet janey not on you

TG: ON JAKE!!!

GG: Oh.

GG: Ohhh.

GG: I didn't think...

GG: That...

GG: Hrm.

GG: Are you sure?

TG: p sure ask glasses if u want

GG: Well then.

GG: This is quite a development.

GG: Poor Dirk!

TG: what do you mean

GG: Well, surely when he reveals his feelings, Jake will...

TG: ??

GG: I mean...

GG: He couldn't possibly...

TG: wut

TG: repriprocate?

GG: Yes?

TG: why not

GG: Because Jake is not a homosexual!

TG: mm hm

TG: are u suuuuuure???

GG: Are you saying he is?

TG: nope

GG: Then what are you saying?

TG: im saying that

TG: i dont fuckin know

GG: But...

GG: I thought it reasonable to presume he takes a shining to ladies.

GG: He does speak fondly of certain females from his favorite films, does he not?

TG: true that

TG: but

TG: how much does that really mean here jane

TG: can you be totes sure on account a some dorky moive crushes

GG: Well, now I just don't know. You have me completely bamboozled about this.

GG: What do you think?

TG: all im saying is

TG: my gaydar is like the exanct fuckin poposite of urs

TG: which is to say it is better than completety nonexistant

TG: mine is so sensitive it has been used to sweep the ocean floor for mythical sea monsters

TG: turns out

TG: all of those monsters are SO gay

TG: truth B)

GG: Okay. Then what does your acute seabeast scanner make of Jake, then?

TG: thats what im sayin

TG: i really have no idea

TG: kid is a goggamn egnigma

TG: hes as hard 2 read as fine print

TG: and how i do mean FIIINE ;)

GG: Oh brother.

GG: Then, your guess is as good as mine?

GG: I'm not sure what I'm supposed to conclude from this.

TG: youre supposed to concluce

TG: that you SAID you were going to believe anything i said today remember??

GG: Yes.

GG: But you just said you don't know!!!

TG: exactly

TG: therefore you must believe me when i say

TG: if dirk lets on all his feelins there is at least a CHANCE jake will go like DERP OK DUDE LETS MAKE OUT

TG: and that means poor jane is screwed without ever even throwing her filthy old fedora in the ring

TG: it is a ring i lke ot call TEH ENGLISH SPEEPSTAKES

TG: and if u dont youll regret it

TG: and i mean

TG: OFFICIALLY?

TG: i cant have a horse in the race

TG: wait bad metaphor ebcause of dirk and his fucking horstes n/m

TG: like you are both my friends and im not out to mess him up or anything

TG: but i kinda owe it to you as my friend to let you know whats up

TG: and also to get you to stop being such a WORLD CHAMPIAN TIGHTASS

TG: and let jake know

GG: Oh, not this tightass baloney again.

TG: jane

GG: What?

TG: jaane..

GG: ...

TG: jc your are the tightassiest tightass who ever tightened up an ass

GG: No way!

GG: We settled this, remember?

GG: My prior resolution made it definitive; I was to be regarded as exceedingly permissive in certain respects!

TG: jane i am afraid

TG: that ur bottom

TG: is a stubborn clam

TG: guarding priceless treasure

TG: and a deadly secret

GG: So ridiculous. >:P

TG: im not saying be an idiot and start gushing at him incoherentry

TG: but do SOMETHING

TG: say how u feel

TG: or flirst a bit or ask him out on a date inside the fuckin game or such

TG: goddamn ANYTHING other that a bunch of bullshitty pining and tightassy NOTHING

TG: you have to do what i say u promised

GG: I promised to BELIEVE what you say, not DO it!

TG: those 2 things are

TG: prespicely the same shit

GG: If I agree to say something, will you stop tormenting me about it??

TG: yes

TG: but only

TG: because that will be impossible for me to do

TG: when u + him r snoggin hard in motherfuckin makeout paradise

TG: A K A SEX LAND

GG: Fine.

GG: But let the record show that this resolution has almost nothing whatsoever to do with your use of the phrase "SEX LAND."

GG: Just...

GG: I need to think of what to say, and wait for the right moment. Is that ok???

TG: sure

TG: just dont wait too long

TG: and dont underestimate striders wiles

TG: nor jakes...

TG: lets say

TG: open mindedness???????

GG: Well,

GG: He does often profess his love for adventure, I suppose.

TG: yuuup................

GG: Omg.

GG: I really don't have a moment to spare, do I?

TG: ur finally gettin it

TG: now go

TG: and jane im warning u

TG: if you dont say somethin to him

TG: i am personally entering the game specivically to FUCK UR SHIT UP

TG: *LOLLIES OUTIE*

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

[happyhappybios]

Cintia Lunair

This page contains mention of bullying.

Danger scale: Calm

Key notes: Gamer, Rainbow Drinker, Sleep-Deprived, Lonely, College student

🌙Cintia’s mood🌙

👾🖥️🎮🌙🎮🖥️👾

Cintia's music playlist

👾🖥️🎮🌙🎮🖥️👾

Name: Cintia Lunair

Age: 8.77 sweeps (19 y.o.)

Height: 5’3 (160 cm)

Blood colour: Teal

Wiggling day: 17 July

Symbol: Moon

Gender: Transgender Female (She/Her)

Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: College student

Place of residence: College dorms, two-storey hive far away from the city

Lusus: MomBat (small)

Hobby: Gaming, sleeping and collecting cute keychains and pins

Hemoloyalty: No comments

Fetch modus: Clear level. Whenever you take an item, you have to clear a small level of the item like in a video game. If you lose, the item would be locked for a certain amount of time. 

Strife specibus/Weapon: None.

Troll Tag: LunarGamer [LG]

Typing quirk: replaces o, c, d, and l with 🌙 and double last letters

Typing quirk example:

[LG]: I t🌙🌙🌙 y🌙u t🌙 re🌙harge y🌙ur ski🌙🌙 as s🌙🌙n as p🌙ssib🌙e!

Personality: 

Cintia is an introverted person with a fucked up sleeping schedule. She is a loner who has a bit of an issue with socializing. Most of the time Cintia could be seen alone in different places of campus, playing with her portable console - PSP while trolls pass by her. It seems like barely anyone approaches to talk with her for some reason. Some trolls describe her as cold and unfriendly, though it’s not really the truth. She can be nice and kind, but also isn’t afraid to tell her opinion about someone if she dislikes them. 

She does have a few friends online from MMORPG, she talks from time to time.

Cintia doesn’t mind being alone, actually she enjoys it pretty much as she doesn’t seek to socialize with others, offline or online… but sometimes she wishes to have a really close friend who she can rely on. So whenever she finds a troll who has the same interest as hers, she gets very nervous, but so excited about it.

Cintia is obsessed with playing video games, spending all her free time on it, day and night. She played over 3.000 games of each genre during her sweeps. It always helps to lower her stress during exams or group projects, but mostly it could distract her from doing assignments for class.

Cintia loves sleeping and likes to take naps during the day. Unfortunately, her two favourite things - gaming and sleeping - would clash with each other from time to time. Sometimes she can manage it, sometimes not, resulting in her sleeping on the morning lectures.

Cintia can stand up for herself. She isn’t afraid to fight back if others are provoking her on purpose.

Cintia also can be selfish. She thinks about herself and how she feels about certain subjects first, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about others, just not that often.

Likes:

Human 2007’s fashion

Video games

Sleeping

Keychains

Bright colors

Dried fruits

Pins

Everything cute

Dislikes:

Game Overs

Loud places

Morning lectures

Studying

Bullying

Losing

Stress

Low battery

Trivia:

Cintia built her computer by herself with a bit of help from videos on Grubtube.

Cintia bought all her devices and computer parts from the internet with low prices because she bargained with sellers to the point of getting on their nerves. She was banned from some internet magazines later on.

Cintia is a type of troll who rage quit when she loses the game.

All her income is from participating in Cybersport tournaments, but on a smaller scale.

She spends around 10.000 caegers on gacha and MMORPG games over sweep. 

Cintia survives on snacks and fast food.

Relationships:

Matesprit - Open!

Moirail - Open!

Kismesis - Open!

Auspistice - Open!

Out of quadrants

Online friends - Her online friends are from the guild she formed in one MMORPG game, she regularly plays. She thinks all of them are pretty good friends.

Acquaintance - Eingal (@.dracoinfernous). She met her a few times on the streets. She doesn’t know what to think about her.

Acquaintance/Fellow student - Sozuya (@.askthefantrollcast). She still can’t believe they are in the same law school/college and never talked with each other before. She can’t wait to play games with him.

Blogger - Crucis. She loves her videos about fashion and followed her channel on Grubtube not so long ago.

Celebrity - DJ Cupcake. She loves her music and tries to support her whenever she can afford it.

Acquaintance - Mirage (@.asks-n-trolls). She loves his cooking and always asks for leftovers. Also follows their instagrub for cooking livestreams.

Backstory:

Cintia was always alone as long as she remembers, only her lusus, MomBat, was with her, raising her to become a troll she could be proud of.

At that time, Alternia was in the middle of rewriting laws to help future generations to be comfortable and secure in their career paths, opening public schools, colleges and universities. MomBat got interested in it and sent Cintia, who was 4.62 sweeps (10 years), to the school. At first, Cintia wasn’t happy about it as she was forced to study useless subjects and be friendly to her classmates… 

But after a few sweeps she started to change her opinion as she became part of the friend group. She also got interested in video games at the same time.

There were 6 trolls in the friend group, including Cintia. Each day in school was so much fun for Cintia when she hung out with the group.They did a lot of stuff as a group such as skipping class, eating lunch together, doing homework and so on. All of them were friends for 1.38 sweeps (3 years). It was one of the happiest sweeps she ever had.

But, unfortunately…

…something started to change. Or was it always like that?

Cintia started to notice a different attitude towards her from her ‘friends’, and not only friends…

Sometimes they would forget to invite her to sleepovers or hang out, barely text in the chat group where all of them were, leave her alone after school and so on. Other students also were acting strange, speaking and laughing behind her back. It made her feel bad, but she tried to tell herself that's normal.

After all, she’s part of a friend group! There are 6 of them, including Cintia! 

Right?

Right?

…

One day, one of her friends texted her privately to stay late and come to History class. Cintia was confused about such a strange message, but if her friend was asking, she couldn’t refuse. After the last class finished, she headed to the history class. As she approached it, she opened the door, she saw…

…a bunch of trolls from different classes waiting for her with her 5 friends in the front.

She doesn’t remember much of the conversation that happened between them, but she would never forget a cold water dumped on her as soon as she entered a room and a push to the floor, followed by a group laugh, echoing in her ears.

Suddenly everything made sense at this moment. All small events that were happening with her during 1.38 sweeps (3 years) of their ‘friendship’: sudden gossip about her; ruined homework, lunch and shoes; leaked messages with the names censored where trolls insulted her and so on…

She tried her best to not remember it, thinking their friendship was genius and it was someone else who hated her, but-

No.

It was them.

It was all of them.

Cintia stood up slowly, head lowered as her hair covered her face. She wasn’t going to let them bully her. Without saying anything, she grabbed the metal chair near her and just swung at trolls who were near her. Thankfully, she didn’t hurt anyone, but it scared the shit out of the group. Loud screams were heard in the room as Cintia swung a chair at her ex-friends and fellow students, yelling in desperation and sadness.

She trusted them.

She told them a lot about herself and who she is.

And they just betrayed her like that.

She won’t forgive them.

...

Unfortunately, Cintia was expelled from the school for violent behaviour towards her classmates and the worst thing, all the evidence of her ex-friend group bullying her was wiped out immediately.

Cintia was in despair. No one believed her.

She locked herself in her hive for 0.92 sweeps (2 years), playing video games to distract herself. She was home-schooled for now on. 

…

Later on, MomBat filled the documents for college/law school where most teals were. Cintia didn’t like this idea, but couldn’t do much. She felt guilty for putting her lusus in the bad position after the accident in the past, so she agreed.

She brought all her stuff from her hive to her dorms and decided to start her college life from scratch.

[unholyhelbig]

Crescent 1/? | Natasha Romanoff x MoonKnight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina's disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: Subtle Violence, Family disputes, scary bird diety, and probably horrible grammar.

[A/N: I'm working super super hard on this one, and would appreciate some feedback 😭 I also don't have a posting schedule and know that I have a million other fics going right now- but I couldn't help myself!]

Masterlist | Request a Prompt | Join my Taglist

There was always a stillness to the air in the museum that was hard to find anywhere else, a soft scent of something old that lingered within the light that streamed through the windows. It was four floors of knowledge and wonder, and paintings that were slathered with vibrant colors yet to fade. Dinosaur bones that were reconstructed by hand, guarded with velvet ropes and motion sensors, mummies that crossed their decaying arms over their chests, dead crystal eyes sweeping the room.

You found solace here among other things, that kept you coming back day after day. Your hands were blackened by charcoal, the neckline of your t-shirt suffering a similar fate. That was a nervous habit that you kept, toying with the fabric as you struggled to capture the light shading on Lady Madja’s coffin.

There was a small spot that you often made your own, your back against the marble wall of the room, one leg folded to your chest while the other was outstretching in front of you. For reasons that you personally did not understand, not many people found interest in the same Egyptian exhibit that had been at your local museum since you were a child.

“Didn’t you draw that yesterday?”

“No,” you grumbled, making a dark slash against the far end of the coffin. “I drew the outer coffin of Tamutnefret. You work here, shouldn’t’ you know the difference?”

You glanced up at Tommy. He had his thumbs in his belt loops, limp next to his heavy flashlight. The security guard wasn’t armed with anything except for a discontent with his job and a walkie talkie that could trigger a silent alarm. No one had tried to burglarize Hell’s Kitchen’s least frequented place yet, but they kept him around just in case.

He scoffed “They pay me to make sure this stuff doesn’t’ vanish, not to know everything about it. You should apply for a position here, tour guide or something. At least you’d earn some money from sitting here all day.”

“I like being here. I don’t need to get paid.”

He blinked at you, brushing his silver-blonde hair of his eyes as if he had never actually heard that phase before. You closed your sketch book, folding the flimsy notebook and shoving it into your back pocket before standing. The place was pretty slow today, not a field trip in sight.

Truth was; A little extra money wouldn’t hurt. Of course, you had your art, your studio that had been operating in lower Manhattan for the better part of a year now. It was doing well, well enough for you to fund the three-dollar admission fee to hold yourself up here. It was what some would call procrastination, but you deemed it a way to get out of the building.

 “What is it about Egypt anyway? Plenty of other things to see here. Like space. I wouldn’t judge you for watching the light show every day but this” He gestured vaguely to the room “nothing is interesting about a bunch of decaying old bodies and sand. A shit ton of sand.”

“Egyptian deities are cool as fuck, Tommy.” You deadpanned “They represent not only power, but things in the everyday world like the sun, and the moon. 1500 of them, dude. Every single abstract concept you can come up with in your brain is represented by a deity.”

“Wow,” He drew out the word, his crystal eyes widening, cupping the back of his neck. “I never knew how much of a big fucking nerd you were. What plague did you plagiarize that from?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him. Instead, you settled for a muted growl before glancing at your watch. It was hard to keep track of the day when you really focused on your sketches. Dinner, you were going to be late to dinner if you didn’t’ get on the subway now.

With a mock salute, you made your way out of the museum, giving a half-hearted goodbye to the receptionist and exiting onto the large stone steps. The spring air replaced the stale scent of the Egyptian exhibit. A quiet rain fell from the sky- the lights of passing taxis and buses reflected from the damp world.

You can’t be late for this dinner.

“Can you alter time and get me there faster?” You mumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets as you made your way down the steps. “Yeah, didn't think so. If you don’t have any constructive solutions, I could do without the mocking.”

You need to learn better time management.

Getting scolded by an ancient Bird God wasn’t on your list of things to do today. You had made a mistake by gassing him up too much back there. Khonsu lurked in most reflections, including the wet sidewalk. He rarely interfered, but the scheduled dinners made him nervous, an anxiety that you could feel up the center of your spine.

You wouldn’t be late.

Manifestation was a good part of how you got where you were today, and despite the strong stench of sweat and smoke in the overly crowded car of the subway, you knew that you wouldn’t’ miss your dinner with your aunt. So, help you, if you did. So, help Khonsu more.

Nervously, you glanced at your watch and shoved your way through some disgruntled New Yorkers that mumbled profanities under their breath. They’d get over it, you knew they would. Your family, however, had a harder time forgiving you. It was only three blocks, three blocks that you would have to sprint in order to get to.

I don’t know why you sit through these things. We don’t need them. I can get us everything we want.

“Shut up,” You mumbled, panting under your breath. His voice was all-encompassing, and a little bit bored. The only reason you continued to attend these family get togethers was because it annoyed him. Bothered him that you still cared. You mothers roast chicken sealed the deal too.

By the time you made it to the all too fancy lobby of the apartment building, you had a stitch in your side and a coat of sweat against your skin that instantly made you regret being a little late in exchange for general hygiene.

“Y/N, you’re cutting it close.” Bennet gave you a tight smile, reaching out his white gloved hand and opened the gold-plated door. You shot him a tender look and nodded before gulping in a breath of air.

There was thankfully a bathroom in the back corner of the lobby. It was fancier than your own apartment, with lavender smelling soaps and towels that were warmed to perfection.  Mumbling profanities under your breath, you stripped your backpack, and your coat before grabbing a towel, and loading it with soap.

You worked hard to scrub the sweat and charcoal from your collarbone and then you moved to under your arms, scrubbing hard until the only thing you could smell was a floral sweetness.

It was then that you noticed you weren’t alone in the bathroom. The granite stall door behind you opened, and you froze in your movements. This woman- this woman was stunning enough for words to get caught in the web of your throat.

Her auburn hair was styled into waves, rolling over her shoulders, a black blouse hugging her curves. The bright bulbs above the sinks reflected brutally in her forest green stare. It seemed to pierce you, regard you as she made no effort to disguise the way it lingered. Your stomach felt hot.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked, taking a few steps towards the furthest sink. She flicked on the water and pumped a few globs of soap into her palm. You awkwardly, lowered your arm, throwing the wad of towels into a basket.

“Ah, no” you cleared your throat “public… restroom”

Okay, you could do this, talking to a pretty woman wasn’t anything new. You did it on a daily basis when you ran into one of the actual tour guides at the museum. Of course, you spouted off about Egyptian lore and barely took a breath between words- but it was considered talking.

This time, though, you swallowed hard and grabbed your jacket, your bag, and fumbled your way out of the bathroom before she even had a chance to dry her hands. Another deep breath, another mortifying moment before you’d have to worm your way through an uncomfortable family dinner.

Just as the doors to the elevator closed, the stranger from the bathroom slipped into the small space. You nudged yourself into the corner, offering the beautiful woman up a timid smile. “Going up?”

Of course, she’s going up. Where else would she be going?

Fucking bird brain loved to watch you squirm. You wished this was one of the moments where the God of the Moon found a different use for his time instead of following his avatar around. There had to be something else to preoccupy him other than your horrible rapt sheet of talking to women.

“Penthouse, please.”

You hit the button and it lit up a stale blue. Khonsu watched you from the plated mirrors that encircled the elevator. If he could have a shit-eating grin, he would. Instead, he just regarded you from his unnatural height. You had practice ignoring him.

“Small world, me too.”

“Really?” She lifted an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean” You shoved your hands into your jean pockets “after awhile it doesn’t benefit you to dress up for this kind of thing. Not that you look bad. You look very nice I just…should stop talking now.”

“Huh,” She smiled at you then, a soft gesture that nearly eased all the tension in the elevator. Nearly. Khonsu had flickered out entirely. You couldn’t feel his looming presence anymore. The higher the floor the lighter you felt. He wouldn’t accompany you here, he had his own agenda.

When you glanced up, the woman’s eyes were on you again, trying to figure out how someone like you had gotten invited to the meal of the cities most famed art curator. You still held your jacket, your bag in white-knuckled hands. But still, you offered up your own smile in return.

The elevator lurched to a stop. A separate keypad lit up and you reached for your keyring before buzzing both of you in. The entryway was large and sterile, a mix of cherry red wood, stainless steel and elegance. The penthouse had two floors that overlooked the city, it’s flashing lights, it’s large windows. 

You could smell the Italian that wafted from the kitchen. It was usually served family style, in large basins filled with marinara and pasta. Your stomach clenched at the thought of food, having half-heartedly eaten a bagel from a bodega this morning.

At least you weren’t the only one that had strolled in late. When your mother rounded the edge of the stairs, she had a disapproving look on her face that was soon schooled into something that was semi acceptable for company that wasn’t family.

“Darling, you’re running late.” She moved close and placed a kiss against your cheek “I see you’ve met Miss Rushman, our new chief of security, or so we hope.”

“My apologies, I hit a particularly bad patch of traffic. I hope Aunt Dina isn’t too displeased.”

She waved you off “Nonsense. A nice bottle of wine and all will be forgiven. Let me take both of your coats.”

A nice bottle of wine was enough to reduce you to ramen noodles for the rest of the month, but you would never admit that to your family. That would be a fate worse than death. You took your mother up on her offer, passing her your coat in succession to the woman next to you.

Your family, namely your aunt and her husband, supplied the museums with all of their greatest exhibits, including the Egyptian one that you spent so much time in, sketching the same things over and over again until you got the shading right, got the shapes and the colors and the way the light shifted around the items throughout the year.

When you were young, you’d accompany her around the world, clutching your tiny passport and taking in the wonders of the trade conventions she would go to, the dig sites and castles that had been reclaimed by nature.

She could barely stand to make eye contact with you now, and part of you didn’t’ blame her for that. Being invited to their family dinners had been your mother’s idea, she prodded and poked at her sister until the woman agreed. Though, showing up late never boded well.

You blew out a small breath and made your way to the kitchen, trying to shake off the nerves that buzzed through you. A beautiful woman wasn’t going to knock you off your game. You had a dignity to uphold, though half the people here had seen you stumble through dance lessons as a kid.

There was a platter of different meats and cheeses set out on the kitchen island, a few bottles of chilled red wine. You reached for the wine wrack and pulled down two glasses, free of smudges. “You can’t get through one of these without a little bit of a buzz, Miss Rushman.”

“Natalie, please.” She stood across the island from you, watching carefully as you popped the cork and filled both glasses generously with alcohol.  

“I’m Y/N,”

She took the drink that you had offered, taking a few generous gulps. You smiled into your own glass, the sour scent. It hit the back of your throat and the edges of your jaw but quickly cooled your nerves. You’d have to get some food into you fast, a spare cracker or fancy cheese that you couldn’t pronounce.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I certainly wouldn’t want to offend the family that has offered me such a generous position,”

“I don’t look like I belong here.” You finished her thought process with a swallow of wine.

She chuckled, a sweet sound. “No, you don’t.”

“I get that a lot, don’t worry. As far as they’re concerned, I’m not supposed to be here.” You frowned and shoved a cracker into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Head of security, huh?”

“Not yet, I think this is supposed to convince me.” she sighed, leaning against the counter. You directed your attention to the flashing time on the oven behind her. Her blouse dipped low, eyes scanning you. More than anything, you fought the urge to look respectfully. “Best behavior and all”

When your aunt walked into the kitchen, you couldn’t quell the way your pulse picked up against the inside of your wrist. Instead, you straightened up and adjusted your collar as if you weren’t still wearing a t-shirt, slightly damp with the idea of lavender.

Natalie righted herself as well, pulling her shoulders back and taking in your aunt much like she had regarded you earlier, this time her stare was less honeyed and more tactical. The woman carried a certain elegance to her; Deep golden eyes, and long blonde hair that was died a lighter beige at the roots.

“Miss Rushman, I’m so pleased you could make it.” She took the woman’s hand in her perfectly manicured one. “I see you’ve met my niece. Don’t let her change your mind about accepting the position.”

You rolled your eyes and finished off your glass of wine. It was better not to argue with her, seeing as you had already stirred the pot with your tardiness. This was fine, everything was fine. You just had to breathe through it.

“Actually, she’s been perfectly charming.” Natalie said, shooting you a smile “We had a great conversation on the way up. She convinced me to take the position.”

The drink you had just downed threatened to make a second appearance as you choked on air, swallowing hard to stifle your shock. If standing there nervously sweating was enough to push a woman like this into accepting a position at the company, you weren’t aware of it.

“Y/N did?” Your Uncle Chip placed his hand on the small of Dina’s back. He was nursing a scotch that he would gingerly sip until the fire died down as well as the conversation. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to have you on the team, Miss Rushman, but our Y/N? She tends to be-“

“Right here,” You spoke up.

He chuckled “Socially awkward. Passionate about certain things.”

Fuck. You really did need to count your blessings. If Khonsu wasn’t here, that was enough for you for the time being. You seemed to trade hands from the God to the family that would rather shun you.

“Passion is good,” Natalie said, “Do I smell spaghetti?”

Aunt Dina clapped her hands together and let out an excited noise before leading the way to the dining room. Chip grasped at the tray of food that you handed over to him. You palmed your glass and a small wicker basket of rolls to busy yourself.

“Thank you, Miss Rushman.” You whispered to her as you made your way to the dining room, swearing that she fought back a shiver. She gave you a pointed look “Natalie.”

You couldn’t help but feel a heat bloom against your abdomen, despite being wedged between your Aunt Dina and your own mother. You’d rather be back the museum, or home, or doing anything but this. But Natalie seemed to ease that in the slightest, as she met your eyes across the table.

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