#he's a bastard of multitudes <3

[starvels]

the thing about ults steve is that he’s simultaneously a dirty subway pigeon with a ‘hit me, hit me, i want you to hit me, shut up and hit me,’ attitude AND ALSO a 4ft snake that’s made a home in your grimy attic and seems genuinely confused as to why you’re trying to kick it out with a hoe, because aren’t you living together?

[charles-leclerizz]

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ flustered tweets

🏁 Pairings : Max Verstappen X fem!Reader

🏁 Warnings : suggestive sexual themes, touching, kissing, licking etc. no explicit content, swearing, Daniel Ricciardo being a menace.

🏁 Word Count : 3.3k words (3352 words)

🏁 Author's note : First suggestive conntent on this blog! woo-hoo, light the fireworks. But I do hope you enjoy and as always please leave a comment or reblog, since they do fuel my motivation. <3 Note that word dividers are by @cottage-writings and as always, translations are available via radio comm.

🏁 Music player : Love by Lana Del Ray

You smile to yourself as you stare at your television screen, the metallic box was currently projecting your boyfriend’s face, post-race, red faced and sweaty. Positively gorgeous. His blonde hair was mused due to his helmet and droplets of water leaked down from the strands to his forehead, trickling down his temple to his chin where they dripped down to his fire-proofs. It was nearing the end of the interview, and that meant his favourite questions would begin to pop up, the personal ones.

“So Max, how’s the missus doing? Based off her Instagram it looks like you both are very happy.” The man holding the microphone smiled at the driver, who rolled his eyes playfully at the memory of the multitude of stories that you would post by the hour, in fact he was 99% sure that you had posted at least 5 whilst he was in the car.

“Yeah well, it’s a dream being with her, it really feels like I’m on cloud 9.” He gushed, a rare occurrence for the notoriously grumpy man, but as soon as you were brought up in conversation, it was as though he was a wilting sunflower that was just introduced to sunlight, “I’m doing all of this for her.” Max admitted bashfully.

“Well, if that isn’t proof of the it couple on the grid, then I don’t know what is.” The interviewer admitted, grinning at the lovesick expression on your boyfriend’s face, “But before I let you go, the fans were in uproar a few days before the race. Based on a tweet made by a fellow driver on the grid.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, as if his humorous actions would jog Max’s memory.

You, on the other hand, knew exactly of the tweet Mark, as he introduced himself as, was talking of. It was tweeted by none other than Daniel Ricciardo, the cheeky bastard decided to divulge the fans with a tidbit of information about Max and your sex life.

Just walked into the 2-time WDC and his girlfriend doing it like bunnies. Somehow, this man is never embarrassed.

You remember that day like no-other, it was the moment after the Spanish Grand Prix and Max had just won.

“I’m so proud of you,” You breathed against his lips, holding his face between your palms as your fingers fisted his hair, close enough to the root that he groaned outwardly. The scent of victory wafted from him as one of your hands snaked down between the two of you to unzip his race suit. Allowing you to push him against the hotel room wall and move down to lick thick, wet stripes against his pulse point, revelling in the taste of fresh champagne.

“heilige shit,” he breathed out, gnawing at his bottom lip whilst the hands that rested on your waist tightened and bruised his fingerprints against your skin.

 “Geliefde.” Max whispered, bringing his left hand up to grip the nape of your neck and guide your face away from the fifth fresh hickey you were creating on his muscle, towards his own, gazing into your eyes with a heavy stare.

“Yeah?” You answer, blinking rapidly to clear the misty haze that overtook your brain, all you could think of was the delicious way that his suit hung low from his hips and how tight his fireproofs were, exaggerating his muscular pecs that strained against the protective layer.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as you scratched your nails lightly down his scalp towards his thick collar that stuck to his body, “Maxie?” You prompt, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

He chuckled at your act, wrapping a large hand around your neck and squeezing gently at the sides, just enough for you to gasp, “What do you think the press will say huh? My girlfriend got too horny watching me win?” He guided you towards the freshly made bed, pushing you down to a sitting position as your knees hit the back of the padded mattress, “It’s okay though, mijn mooie vriendin-“ He paused, moving his hand up to cup your jaw and pull at your lower lip, parting your mouth until you obediently allowed him to slip his thumb in, “I only do this for you.” He murmured.

Max nudged you further, watching contently as you fell onto your back, sinking into the thick blanket and released his thumb with a loud pop. You laugh a little at his proclamation, “Really? You do this for me?” You bite your lip, fiddling with the comforter beneath your fingertips, pushing off from the bed as you anchor yourself on your elbows.

“You doubt me?” He arches an incredulous eyebrow at you, bending down to part your knees, “dat zal niet lukken.” He murmured, getting down onto his knees to hook your thigh onto his shoulder, allowing him to twist his head and kiss the sensitive skin, “What should I do to prove it to you? Huh?”

Max chuckled as you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts, pushing them down suggestively and he would’ve given into your request had it not been for the interruption.

“HEYYY CHAMP-“The friendly boisterous voice of a certain Australian rang through your hotel room, causing you to jump and grip your boyfriends head, which had merely jolted slightly before coming to rest against your opposite thigh, uninterested.

“Daniel.” Max deadpanned, his cerulean eyes merely slackened, cracking a lazy smile as his friend stopped in his tracks, blocking the door from what seemed to be at least half of the grid, “Must you really bother me?”

“Sorry man,” you heard Lewis call out, chuckling loudly as a familiar French cackle sounded off after a lewd comment sounding like, “damn he’s pussy-whipped”. You whimpered with embarrassment, falling back against the bed as you covered your face, hiding the blotchy blush that covered your face.

“Max” You whined, twitching your leg so that he could get up and most likely go out to celebrate, “Get up, we can continue this later.” You assured him, already imagining the dress that you would wear.

“See what you did wankers?” He called out, barely lifting himself up, “Made my girl embarrassed.” He admonished his colleagues.  Max looked up at you, cooing at your red face, “It’s okay, Mijn liefje. I’ll get them to leave.”

“Guys lets go” Lando called out, “Let the guy get his dick wet.”

“Ew gross.”

“Not my fault you’re single fuck-face.”

You groaned, “Guys!” The crowd settled at the sound of your harsh, crackly voice, “It’s fine, let us at least get ready?”

“Yes ma’am” Charles shouted, which was soon followed with sounds of violence and pathetic groans.

Max kissed your cheek, getting up from the floor to go and slam the door in the few faces, but before you could hear the satisfying wood beat against the hinges, Daniel had whispered, “How the fuck are you not embarrassed?” Which prompted more snickers and a flurry of agreements about your lover’s lack of humiliation.

“You should be embarrassed ass wipe.” Max chuckled as he pushed the group out of the doorway, “Walked in on me about to get the best meal money could never buy.”

If you thought about it too much the humiliation would creep back in, along with the curiosity.

Later that same evening, when your friends and you had gone out for dinner, your face was still flushed and any thought that led back to that moment in the hotel room would lead to you shaking your head promptly and diving back into conversation. Whereas Max was comfortably seated next to you, chatting happily as he sipped more alcohol from the flute by his porcelain plate whilst his free hand rested on your thigh, slipped underneath the silky material of your sundress.

It was as if the moment never happened and he was already fantasising about getting you back into the room, ready to bend you into different positions that would make your legs shake hard enough into next Sunday. He did infact, manage that.

Max laughed on your television screen, turning to look at Daniel, who was animatedly doing his own interview, “Yeah well, it’s hard to embarrass me,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth as he shrugged nonchalantly, “It really was just an inchident.”

Max winked cheekily at the camera as Mark laughed and patted his shoulder, “Nice to see Max, have a good one,”

“You too,”

You huffed out with amusement as you pointed the remote at the screen a certain calm filling the apartment as the light blinked away from the box in front of you. The sun was slowly setting on the streets of Monaco, a subtle signal that meant that your boyfriend would soon be returning home to you. Max would claim that home was where you were, but you could tell that the large penthouse was probably the closest alternative to the driver, it was a joint investment as a couple, the first of many and it was beloved by both of you.

Large windows that overlooked the high-end shopping district which curved with the positioning of the building, an oblong shape that influenced the soft edges of the entire apartment. The home was out of your Pinterest board, soft plush coaches and tall glass vases that littered every free surface, Max had claimed 2 of the 4 bedrooms, one of them being his office and the other being his specialist home gym. The third was saved for guests and the fourth, that resided on a separate floor; took over the entire area and was your shared bedroom. Luckily on his and your salary, the home was merely a drop in the ocean, along with the numerous pretty pennies you spent on furniture.

It was in other words, your baby.

Jimmy and Sassy slinked between your legs as you walked to the kitchen from your spot on the largest couch that was turned inwards to face the TV that was mounted within the ceiling, dropping down mechanically at the push of a button and retreating into the seemingly solid concrete at another. You had done exactly that, dismissing the piece of tech to show off the full-length balcony. Cooing at your fur-children you picked them up in one hand, “Come on guys, let’s finish dinner,” You kissed their heads, chuckling as they nuzzled into your face before letting them down on the floor in front of the sink when you went to put on a pair of gloves and fish out dinner from the oven.

The tell-tale chime of your elevator and the mechanical tone of the keypad informed you that Max was home, along with the cats going off to welcome their father from a long day of work,

“Hey guys,” you heard him greet the children whilst he kicked off his shoes and tucked them along with his jacket into the small cupboard that sat within the wall in the entrance hall. You turned away from the oven, placing the entire grill onto the kitchen island as you huffed happily at the dish within the Tupperware as Max walked further into the house and towards the kitchen, where you stood patiently, the soft sounds of the Vitamin String Quartet playing in the background.

“Hey, schat,” He murmured, eyes softening at the corners as he rushed to your side, tugging you away from the counter to wrap his hands around your and bury his head into your neck. You giggle at the tickle of his hair against your skin and bring your hands down to cover his that were wrapped around you, “Hello my love,” you whisper, turning your head slightly to kiss his forehead.

“You cooked,” He stated happily, smiling against you.

“I did.”

“I’m happy,” He confirmed, removing himself from your neck whilst keeping a firm hold on your waist, “How was work?”

“Same old same old, people want to invest in stocks, I do it for them. Very boring.” You rush through your day, recounting the odd events that went on in the office, “But I saw your interview, watched it on the archive.”

“Hmm,” He hummed, knowing that when you do watch the interviews, you normally do it to hear his voice and see his absurdly attractive post-race glow, not listen to the odd mechanical language and repeated statements of, “-push the car harder next race.” Or “-really disappointed this time.”

“Heard what you said about that tweet Daniel made,” You feel him kiss the skin behind your ear before snorting.

“What else could I say? Man doesn’t think before tweeting.” Max grumbled.

“Made me think-“

“Oh no.”

“Stop it.”

“Okay,”

“Anyway, made me think that I actually have never seen you blush.”

“I’m sure you have,” He assured you, untangling himself from you to get a chilled water bottle from the fridge behind you. You twist your body around, leaning back against the counter to watch his movements with squinted eyes.

“Hmm,” You tap your chin for a few seconds, “Nope, never.”

“Schat, it’s been almost two years,” He paused to crack off the top of the bottle, “I am positive you’ve seen me blush. And even if you haven’t, it’s no big deal.”

You huffed and crossed your arms childishly, “But I’m your girlfriend!” You reached out with your hands to grab his own slutty-man waist.

“Thanks for the reminder, had het anders niet geweten,” Max chuckled, allowing you to pull him by the waist to rest his abdomen just above yours.

“It’s a big deal Maxie, I’m meant to be able to make you blush,” You pouted up at him, scratching your nails up his spine, grinning as he shivered against your hold.

He took a final gulp from his bottle before minutely shifting to press harshly against a cupboard to reveal a hidden bin that popped out at his commend. Max dropped the empty plastic into the metallic cylinder and pushed the sliding contraption in again. He turned back to you, focussing on your large unblinking eyes and wet, pouting lips.

He held your face tenderly, kissing your forehead with his own, “S’okay schat, somethings just aren’t meant to happen.”

You pull away at his statement.

Like hell it won’t

“Nope, that won’t do,” You tug at his arm, guiding him into the separate dining room, a large area that was painted an off-white creamy colour, containing a brass sputnik chandelier that hung low against the white marble dining table which had at least 12 separate chairs tucked beneath its oval body. You pulled at the upholstered chair and dug your hand into the tactile Borg fabric before seating Max, who patiently trailed behind you whilst holding the separate doors open, allowing you to execute your plan perfectly.

You stood in front of the man, who was sat with his legs spread graciously in front of him with his large palms splayed against his slightly-less than normal skinny jeans. It was going to hard, yes. Harder than a diamond heist, to extract the long sought over blush from this well practiced stoic man. But you were determined.

Starting easily, you planted your hands on the arms of the chair and leaned forward, close enough that your noses were touching and lips ghosting over each other’s.

“What about this?” You whispered, eyes fluttering closed as you could begin to feel the small grooves and indents of his lips against yours along with his tongue licking at your bottom lip.

“Don’t think so, love.” He murmured back, laughing heartily when you groaned and pushed at his chest.

“Ok that’s it, take it off.” You folded your arms, tapping your foot impatiently.

“Woah, at least buy me dinner first?” Max’s eyes widened as you growled playfully and tugged at the hem of his branded red-bull shirt, “O-Okay okay, chill out you horny demon.”

“Good,” You huff, undoing the buttons of your light blue shirt, until you stood in just your bra and a long pair of silky lounge-wear pants, “We aren’t leaving here until you blush at least once.” You promised him, grinning manically when he stared at your chest.

You re-started once again, barely brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling to yourself when his breath hitched and he groaned, “Anything?” You breathe out, licking slowly, lustfully at the sensitive skin between his ear and the nape of his neck.

“No,” Max denied, squeezing his eyes shut when you took the skin of his collar bone between your lips, sucking lavishly until you were sure of a dark blue love bite before moving inwards, littering the pale canvas with your marks.

“Come on Maxie, you know you want to,” You crooned moving further down, until your face was between his pecs and your hands were braced against the muscles, you dug your nails into his skin before dragging them slowly downwards whilst keeping your eyes locked with his, waiting for the victorious rosy tint to paint his face.

No luck.

“Maybe we should just give up? I can think of a lot of things I can do,” He just barely moaned out from between heavy pants whilst your mouth had made its way to his navel, leaving a wet trail in its wake. You shook your head slightly, flicking your eyes down to where your tongue lay flat against his stomach, “Are you fucking kidding me?” You complained, biting his abs.

“What? I can’t help it,” He defended, holding his arms up innocently before clenching his jaw shut when you began to fiddle with the button of his jeans.

“Yeah?” You challenge, getting up from the tiled floor to swing one leg to one side of his waist while the other sat on the opposite side, allowing you to straddle him and sit directly on his crotch whilst raising an eyebrow at his rolled back eyes.

“What about now Maxie?”

You winded your hips once. Twice. Until he came to hold your love-handles with a tight, possessive grip. Max leaned up, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, you whimpered when one of his hands slipped beneath your pants to snap the elastic of your underwear.

You pulled away, burring your hands in his hair and letting the soft strands flow through your fingers, “What about now?” You murmur, pushing yourself against his palm whilst arching your back. He hissed, smirking at your determination.

“Nope.” He removed both hands from your body to fold them behind his head and lean back, “Now what, schat?”

You slumped down and pulled at your bra strap contemplatively, “Dinner.” You stated simply, clambering out of his lap.

“That’s what I tho- wait why are your clothes on?” He asked you incredulously, pointing at the significant tent in his jeans.

“Max Emillian Verstappen I put a lot of effort into dinner tonight,” You scolded him with your pointer finger as you slipped on your shirt, leaving the buttons undone.

“W-what the-“ He spluttered reaching for your hand, “Seriously don’t do this,” he whined, adjusting his jeans with an uncomfortable expression.

“That’s what you get.” You shrugged, leaving him in the dining room, not before you bent down in front of him- swaying your hips suggestively as you collected his shirt from the floor and throwing it at him, “Don’t come out without your shirt on.”

The door slowly creaked shut, leaving Max still shirtless, flabbergasted at his inability to blush.

Well, not really.

He groaned loudly, balling up his shirt to hide the angry red flush that creeped up his cheeks and took over the entirety of his chest, ears and neck.

“HAH!” You called out, re-emerging from the door with a bang, “I KNEW IT.” You had your phone in your hand, displaying a perfect picture of his flustered state, the blonde was buried within his team’s shirt and was very obviously scarlet, “NOW THE WORLD WILL KNOW!” You shouted victoriously, jumping up and down in your spot, shirt still unbuttoned.

You squealed when Max jumped and growled at you, “Get back here, I’ll give you something to tweet about.”

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Dutch....to english....over

heilige shit - Holy shit

Geliefde - Love [r]

mijn mooie vriendin - my beautiful girlfriend

dat zal niet lukken - that won't work

Mijn liefje - My darling

schat - Darling/Love/Babe [term of endearment]

had het anders niet geweten - wouldn't have known otherwise

[ichorai]

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range. 

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side. 

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief. 

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level. 

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought. 

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment. 

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him. 

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd. 

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple. 

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?” 

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away. 

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium. 

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you. 

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles. 

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu. 

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing. 

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica. 

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now. 

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity. 

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time. 

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. 

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana. 

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults. 

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat. 

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering. 

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes. 

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused. 

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower. 

You didn’t stay to answer his question. 

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips. 

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him. 

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince. 

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively. 

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied. 

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him. 

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him. 

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you. 

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running. 

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it. 

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed. 

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide. 

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun. 

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition. 

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him. 

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter. 

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity. 

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked. 

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him. 

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline. 

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people. 

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off. 

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say. 

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it. 

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?” 

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight. 

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes. 

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening. 

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast. 

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile. 

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba. 

So this was goodbye. 

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat. 

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes. 

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing. 

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes. 

Air.

Gasping for breath. 

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates. 

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind. 

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord. 

The man fell limp in your hold. 

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out, 

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip. 

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang. 

A breath of relief. 

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask. 

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away. 

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his. 

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it. 

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them. 

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages. 

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while. 

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be. 

But he didn’t. 

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound. 

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth. 

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence. 

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon. 

[milksuu]

Hii! This is my first time sending a request haha! Well, could you Heartsteel Aphelios with Reader who’s a hardcore Gamer?

(I mean, like ungodly amounts of hours on a multitude of games. Always hitting new high scores. And the classic, eyebags from lack of sleep.)

⌜heartsteel!aphelios x fem!reader⌟ ╰ ❝ YOU CAN'T WIN A GIRLFRIEND IN A 1 V 1 ! ❞

❥ prompt: Aphelios thought there wasn't a single soul in the entire universe stupid enough to challenge him to a 1v1. But apparently, the 'God of Gaming' thought to use their last brain cell to bet their final testament. Little did you know, you'd fall from grace, then forced to play in some idols sick twisted game of pay-back. ❥ content/warnings: enemies to lovers vibe, affectionate bullying, name calling, teasing, fake relationship, fluff (?), 100% emotional dmg ( + crit. bonus on reader)

░꒱♡‿ִ₊˚→ 'GOD OF GAMING'....that's what they call you. An immortal being born to play and dominate the realm of video games in all facets. Sleep's inevitably for the weak and uncommitted. It's a mark of honor to wield dark, heavy under bags beneath your eyes, so long as it meant keeping your rightful place on the throne.

Even in the realm of FPS, no one dares contest your dominance on top of the leaderboard. It's impossible for anyone who even thinks to get more than three hours of daily sleep. Until this night, at the deathly hour of 3 A.M on a Tuesday, an unknown player sweeps in announced. First round on top was a newby flook. You were busy taking a few breaks in game to sip on your energy drink. Second time, the damn bastard is kill stealing from even your weakest team mates. Third time he makes top of the leaderboards...now that's a personal attack on your reputation.

It's not long till various social tweets race like wildfire across all media platforms. Nothing more than constant jabs and reminders of how fickle your place is in this revolving door of a world. It makes you crinkle your fifth can of gamer fuel. There's only one way to respond to this usurper trying to contest your territory.

░꒱♡‿ִ₊˚→ APHELIOS sits back in his chair, tapping a finger on his desk. He narrows his eyes against a blaring screen. Who even was this? He had no clue. All he can recall is playing some random game out of boredom, then a monsoon of social tweets pestering him and some other guy who likes gaming. Maybe a little too much, he suspects.

He does his own social media rummaging, scuffing at his findings. You practically live inside your room, dedicating your whole life to playing video games. Apparently, it's your entire livelihood. He doesn't envy you one bit; pity is the better word that comes to mind. Your entire aesthetic is wearing an oversized hoodie that covers everything (probably your man boobs), and even your face. Except for your eyes. Holy hell, those eyebags were heavier than Sett's banana hammock on a hot summer's day.

Lazily, he opens up his calendar; checking event dates, rehearsal dates, fan meet dates. Tomorrow's his only free day for the week. Luckily for you, that's the one day you demanded from him. And of course some holed-up undesirable would ask another guy to challenge him at a internet cafe. No big deal. He'd set aside a few minutes to put you in your place. Then, completely forget about your entire existence the next day.

Aphelios accepts the challenge and locks in the date. When the day of divine retribution comes, he shows up twenty-minutes before hand. He purposely waits in front of the internet cafe you chose. Only to enjoy the sight of watching some idiot (you) sweating in a hoodie, barely able to catch your breath before you stood at his feet. Oddly enough, something different turns the corner. Eye-catching, even.

"Hey. Looks like you didn't chicken out on me," you comment, brushing away your done up hair from your shoulder. "Guess I'll give you kudos for that."

Aphelios does a double-take, trying to process the image of you online to what's standing in front of him. From his perspective, you look every bit of a model that just stepped out of a photo shoot. Where did those bags go? Man boobs? No, girl boobs? Was being reversed cat-fished a thing?

(Imagine the power of a whole eight hours of sleep and wardrobe change)

You quirk a brow at his silent, mile-long stare. "Um, yeah. Let's make this quick. I have plans to go shopping after this. So I want to get this over with so I can get on with my day. Sound good to you?"

Before he can respond, you brush pass him, slipping through the doors behind. Blinking away his sense of whiplash, Aphelios follows. It's not surprising to find a group of fans swarming and buzzing around the entire place. He's still stun-locked by your unexpected appearance. Observing as you go about in graceful fashion, greeting and hugging those in support of you.

"How about we make a deal before we start," you approach him again, placing your hands hotly on your hips. "I win, and you announce on all your social media platforms that I'm the better player. And your terms?"

Aphelios pauses. He made a hasty assumption. Thinking you were some guy living like a wall rat inside his own apartment. The slight margin of error has his lips curling in the most sadistic fashion. This was going to work out much more in his favor. And there's no intention of letting you off so easily. Being an attractive girl was never a default for mercy. He pulled out his cell, and typed the following:

If I win, you have to be my girlfriend for a month.

░꒱♡‿ִ₊˚→ YOU READ the words out loud, and the whole atmosphere cuts to silence. Your mouth trembles, before you burst with laughter as does the rest of the room. Clutching your cramping stomach, you swat the air in frantic motions. "Y-You can't be serious," you say with attempts to catch your breath. "You think you're going to win? That's so funny. How embarrassing for you. To think you'd even have a single chance to date me." Calming your breaths, you send him one final death glare and spit out the word. "Delusional."

Walking to take your seat, you ignore his unfaltering gaze trailing you. There's a glint in his eyes that tells you he's enjoying whatever hamster wheel is spinning inside his head. You need to add the poor hamster is obviously sick, forced into labour and probably part of a lab experiment.

When the match starts, no one feels the need to invest too much into the game. You were, after all, the 'God of Gaming'. It wasn't going to be a fair match to begin with. Until the game ends before anyone can blink twice; especially you.

The rule to win the round was simple; land the first headshot. Needles to say, you didn't.

Your eyes widen against the screen. Your death screen pops, and your lifeless body collapses. Adding unnecessary amounts of salt in the wound, your scumbag of an opponent crouches over your head. Repeatedly. Your trembling vision shifts away, past your monitor to the opposite side. Slowly, Aphelios leans casually into view, a cocky eyebrow cinched high into his forehead.

You grit your teeth, hand tightening into fists that would mark the inside of you palms. Pestering whispers and scandalous talk rise and echo around you. There's no way to escape the shame. You bow your head in defeat. What else can you do? There wasn't any use in fighting. You have to save whatever drop of class and honor you have left. Anything out of pocket, and your whole reputation could crumble. You push yourself away from the desk, pacing to meet your bastard of an opponent on the other side.

"Good...good game," your voice strangles to leave your tight lips. You try hard not to ruin your face with a scowl. Especially when Aphelios stands pretty damn tall, staring down at you like a child that just had good a spanking. Taking out his phone, he shows you some text:

Sure. Guess you would call it a good game. And now that you're my girlfriend, it's only reasonable to go on a date with me. As my reward and all. Those were the terms. Right?

The blood inside your veins boil. You want nothing more than to slap that phone out of his hands, and crush it beneath your heels. You reserve to grinding your teeth. Aphelios merely smiles through a devilish crinkle in his blood moon eyes. And it's now dawning on you; he's made a full-proof plan to make you suffer.

From what I know, girlfriend's hold onto their boyfriends hands. And also call them 'babe' as a loving pet name. Right?

You want to scream at the top of your lungs right now. Holding your breath, you withhold it from your surrounding scrutiny. When he reaches out his hand, you take it tensely. He chuckles when your manicured nails dig aggressively into the skin of his hand.

It’s cute how badly my girlfriend wants to hold my hand. I’d be careful, though. The harder she squeezes, the more I kind of like it.

You gulp and loosen your grip. Honestly, where the hell does he get off saying stuff like that so casually? How humiliating. And it was just the start of your month of impending doom.

Like any ‘proper’ date, he drags you to one of his usual spots in town for a meal. It's odd to witness him take the lead so naturally; as if you really were his damn girlfriend. When he offers to order and pay for the both of you, you almost hesitate. However, you weren't going to turn down a free meal. Even if it came from your current worst enemy.

“Oh. Um…then I’ll have the burger. No pickles.” Aphelios sends you a yard long stare, and you know he's siphoning you for more. You blush, turning a cheek. “Please, b-babe?”

You can tell he leers underneath his mask, like a cat whose gotten his cream. He leaves you briefly, before returning and setting a tray of food in front of you. For a moment, you stare at the hamburger with warranted skepticism. You raise your pair of squinting eyes at Aphelios, whose already pulled down his mask to quietly enjoy his meal. After a beat, you lower your restraints, and slowly take a bite. You immediately stiffen and gag, spitting up into a napkin. There's definitely pickles—loads of them.

Aphelios almost chokes on his own laugher at your award winning expression of disgust. He slides his phone across the table:

Oh. Sorry. I thought you said extra pickles. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Freaking bastard! Before you can smack his phone off the table, he snatches it back to the safety of his pocket. With a growl, you slough off the heaps and slices of fermented food. You're able to de-pickle the patty, but there's little joy in eating something with the faint essence of the nastiest condiment.

And after a not-so-enjoyable lunch, he takes you to a nearby pâtisserie for dessert. While waiting, and you have a half a mind to run out. Or call the local circus so they can come get their evil clown back. You're terrified to see what he's planning to bring you. And when he does, your mouth instantly waters. You stare down at a cute, decorative dessert parfait. It looks perfect with no hidden pickles (don't put it past him though). Your eyes glisten at the extravagant layers of yogurt, fruit compote, and whipped cream. Not to mention, the glazed whole strawberries on top, glittering with snow powder sugar. Giddy with excitement, you almost forget the silent devil sitting next to you. Before you can take the first bite, Aphelios intercepts your hand, brings it to his lips, and claims it for himself.

There's only one spoon, you know. And like any good girlfriend, it only makes sense to hand feed her boyfriend. Down to the very. last. bite.

There's a twitch in your face. You really want to dump the whole dessert pile onto his head. Unfortunately, that would be a major insult to the parfait. Exhaling your fury through your nostrils, you belly the desire to murder him with a plastic spoon. Grumbling, you perform your embarrassing 'girlfriend' duty. Nearing the end of this round of torture, he smiles—all at your expense, of course.

Wow. Am I full. Thanks for that. I'm actually feeling kind of generous from all your devoted attention. Tell you what. I'll let you have the last bite.

"Yeah, right," you snort. "Like I would ever share the same spoon with you, let alone anything you've touched on this Earth—hmph!" Before you can finish your berating monologue, Aphelios flips your hand around and slips the spoon inside your mouth.

ㅉㅉ You shouldn't talk with your mouth full. Silly. You might choke. And I rather not have that on my conscious.

You whine, trying to swallow your way through a verbal tantrum. Who knew it'd be so difficult to argue with delicious yogurt in your mouth? Still, reality settles shortly after the sweetness melts from your tongue. A certain thought springs a bitter aftertaste. For all intents and purposes, you both just shared an indirect kiss.

You smack the spoon on the table, feeling your face heat up. Yet, he's just sitting there, sly with composure. Not bothered by any of it—this sick 'fake dating' sims game. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair! How many times did you have such an experience through your dating visual novel games? Too many to count. Yet, despite all those perfect moments with your various 2-D boyfriends, this fake 3-D imposter, just ruined the whole trope experience for you. There was no way you could replay those scenes and not think about your suffering today. You would damn this man to Hell again, but obviously, he enjoys vacationing there.

It was funny when you thought your gruelling date would conclude after dessert. Aphelios made sure to think of various, and random places to drag you to for no good reason. He's perfecting the art of physically and mentally exhausting you. Stroll in the park? He may or may not have put a caterpillar on your head. Watch you freak out about it, and then relish in having you beg him to help you. Lovely time window shopping at an outdoor mall? He makes sure to slip away and watch you panic trying to find him in the mass of busy bodies. Before you know where your head's at, you blink up against lit downtown buildings, store fronts and street lights.

Well, today's been fun. Just one last thing to make this date perfect. Something my girlfriend will definitely love.

An all too knowing smile creases his mask again. Taking your hand, he leads you away to the next destination in mind. With your eyes half-lidded with fatigue and feet already beaten to a pulp by your heels, you force yourself to stop caring. Like everything else, you'll just go along with it and pray it's over soon.

⌜LUV-U ♡ HOTEL⌟

Your mouth drops at the sight of a pink and flickering neon sign a few steps away. Did he really just drag you to a Love Hotel!? You swallow hard. Nevermind, you did care. You cared a lot! "This has to be a joke, right? You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to let you take me inside—"

You're cut short as you're tugged forward. Nearing the entrance, your heart pounds louder than the surrounding nightlife. Your thoughts are racing. And watching another couple walk out looking rather satisfied with their stay doesn't help your emotions at all. That is, until he casually leads you past the hotel and around the corner, where there's vending machine against the wall. He releases his hold and gestures to it.

What are you talking about? Take you inside where? And no. There's no joke about this being the best vending machine in town for canned coffee. ㅎ_ㅎ

You stare with dumbfounded horror as he purchases two cans, and places one in your stiff hands. You look down at your coffee and contemplate just about everything up till this point. How big of a mistake it was to meet someone like him. Worse yet, be at his mercy over a stupid bet you set in place...and actually lost. How did your life turn out this way? Regret and humiliation well up as tears against your eyes. You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth. With the last of your dignity on the line; you'd rather die at this point than cry in front of him.

░꒱♡‿ִ₊˚→ APHELIOS lowers his drink from his lips, watching you from the side of his lashes. Looks like you were at your limit. Maybe he went a little too far. But every bit of his ego wants to rationalize it was well deserved. A pestering knot tightens like a fist at the base of his sternum. It bothers him enough to turn his neutral expression into a frown. His gaze catches your trembling legs, and traces them all the way down to your heels. His eyes widen by a margin; it's insane to think you hadn't complained about your feet hours ago. Looks like that knot wasn't going away anytime soon.

He tosses away your cans and raises his phone:

Take off your heels.

"What?" You're at a complete loss for words. Was he now going to force you to walk barefoot on the gross streets? You shake your head. "No way. Forget it. If you want me to take them off so bad, then do it yourself—Jerk!"

Aphelios flutters his eyelids in annoyance. More so that, for a split moment, he found himself not entirely hating the insult used against him. Forgetting the stupid interruption of his brain, he bends down and starts unlacing your straps. "H-Hey, wait a second you freaking weirdo. I didn't actually mean it literally."

It doesn't take much effort to hoist you onto his back, wrap your arms around his neck, and press your thighs snug against his waist. He anticipates a spit fire reaction. To his surprise, you simply huff and puff out your cheeks, muttering another possible insult. Honestly, he was sure you would've taken this opportunity to choke him out in a headlock. (He would've done it, but glad you didn't).

With a final adjustment, he hands you his cell phone, open with the map application. It seems it takes you a moment to realize he wants you to put your address so that he can dump you back wherever you live.

"You really plan on carrying me all the way to my house?" He can't see your expression, but by delivery alone, he can hear the blush in your cheeks. After a few taps and a mutter, he gets his phone back. "You better delete my address later. Or your new name's going be 'Stalker'."

Aphelios can't help but scuff. Like he would waste any more of his free time on inflating your already big head. He wonders how you even manage to fit your head through any shirt holes.

For a short while, you don't speak. As he walks through more quieter neighborhood streets, he feels your body condense further into his back.

"Mm, you know, for a being a cold jerk...somehow, you feel super warm," you breathe sleepily against his earlobe.

After a mumble or two, you commit to a terribly sleepy idea. Closing your eyes, you place your lips against his neck. Lingering, your mouth is soft and warm against his skin. Slightly sticky from whatever lip gloss you still have left. After the longest moment of his life, you abandon your spot. But he can feel your sleep drunk smile from how close your lips still are.

"Heh, there..I already kissed you, so...now you can't make me do it later....jerk."

When you finally doze off with light breathes and snores, Aphelios comes to a complete halt. It takes a moment to process. Then, without his consent, his neutral complexion flushes bright pink. The spot where you kissed him feels like it's burning a hole straight through him, down to his thumping pulse. He exhales a hot and heavy breath. It's warm enough to puff in the night air. With a shake of his head, he finds his walking pace, continuing towards your apartment.

He refuses to let you sway him with whatever tricks and flirts you have up your sleeve. He wasn't a swoonful idiot like most. And Aphelios knows he has a whole month worth of you still left. He'd make sure you always knew who you were dealing with. And by the end of it all, he'd make sure you'd never be able to get him off your mind.

A brewing smirk lifts one corner of his lips. This game was going to be more fun than he expected. And just like every other game, he would ultimately win.

Too bad for you, he mused to himself.

an;; ahhh thank you all for all your sweet messages i've been receiving through my hiatus. really appreciate it. trying to get back in the swing of things of answering anon. reqs. and working on my cleaning lady fic as well.

ngl, i swear, i hc so hard the phel can be such a sadistic/vengful bitch hell bent ruining anyone's life. like hes so unbothered by things and keeps to himself, that the minute you try to test him in that department, yeah no, you're officially on his shit list for life. how sweet how my man can hold grudge. &lt;3

[agentrouka-blog]

I often see this sentiment that Ned should have told Cat the truth about Jon and it would have solved all their problems. I disagree with this? I don't think Ned was being an idiot for not telling Cat. I think there were a multitude of reasons of why he didn't tell her, and all of them held weight in his decision.

1) he didn't know or trust her when they got married

2) a secret stops being one if you tell even one person about it. He promised Lyanna he wouldn't tell anyone and that included everyone, except obviously the people already present at the tower (Howland and the wet nurse I presume)

3) there is a possibility that Cat's behavior towards Jon would have changed knowing he was not a result of Ned's affair, but her resentment towards him also provided a cover. If she treated him, say cordially, then it would have been very suspicious considering Ned was already fostering him at his own home.

4) after he came to know Cat, he would have realized that she was fiercely protective of her family, she wouldn't have thought twice before giving up Jon for her children if it came to that. A choice no sane person, including Ned, can fault her for. By not telling her, he removed that option for her, saved Jon and also saved her from the guilt that would have haunted her.

5) he was committing treason that would have endangered Cat and his children. In case it ever got out there was plausible deniability for his family that they didn't know and it might have saved them.

His actions hurt both Catelyn and Jon but it was a very complicated situation overall so I understand him too. I don't know what would have been the alternative because I don't think telling Catelyn would have solved anything. What is your opinion on this?

I don't think people generally claim it would have magically fixed "everything", but many also misunderstand how Ned is mishandling the situation. He isn't actually handling it well by himself, he isn't handling it the way he would have if Jon was actually his bastard. His inability to be "normal" about it and come up with a convincing lie created most of the avoidable problems we see, which is Catelyn's eternal insecurity about Ned's feelings for Jon (and his mother) which feeds her anxiety about her own children being usurped, plus Jon's complete trauma over knowing absolutely nothing about his mother. Both are left hanging for no logical reason from their POV, and that's an absolutely insane path for Ned to go down.

True, and then he chose to go the worst way about it and never fixed it later.

Howland knows. The Daynes know. Wylla probably knows. Benjen probably knows. Come on. And we don't know what she made him promise and it's more likely to be along the lines of protecting her son than specifically never telling anyone who could have helped him handle this better.

Catelyn being "nice" to Jon isn't even half of it. She could have advised Ned on how to handle the situation in a realistic way with the least harm done. Which is likely to foster Jon somewhere, make plans for his future instead of leaving him aimless, create a believable lie about his mother that doesn't shame him, have a harmoniously accepted situation instead of making his kids grow up with this unresolved conflict warping their emotional well-being.

What situation could realistically arise where Cat could "sell out" Jon to "save" her children that specifically depends on her knowing this and also wouldn't mean they are all already in deep trouble? It's nonsense. Also, Catelyn "Family Duty Honor" Tully would not fault Ned for wanting to save his sister's child. It's a perfectly decent choice on his part and a dilemma she could easily understand. Come on!

How is this (thin glaze) of plausible deniability not equally achieved by simply lying (and lying better than Ned can, especially)?

It's just that Ned left both Cat and Jon deeply anxious and traumatized, respectively, because his decision was to lie very badly and then refuse to answer all reasonable questions. It has repercussions for all of them. From Cat to Sansa to Jon to Robb.

Plus: Ned may have actually had an opportunity to heal from his horrific trauma if he had talked to literally anyone about it. He may have been less likely to cling to Robert as a vestige of his lost youth, blinding himself to the man's monstrous faults and sticking around to his own doom.

It would not have "fixed everything" but you can't convince me it wouldn't have fixed some things.

[gabessquishytum]

hob contains multitudes: printer, rich guy, tweedy college professor…and cringey romantic sop.

like hed love all the cheap grocery store Valentine’s Day presents. I think he would buy dream every single one, the teddy bear holding a heart, chocolates, flowers…edible underwear to wear for dream…

Idk I just want to see hob present dream with one of those heart of the ocean necklaces and for dream to wear it like it’s as precious as his ruby used to be

I love this <3 and I absolutely agree, Hob would be a total romantic sappy bastard.

He definitely invites Dream over to his flat and he's all excited and vibrating with happiness and he pulls Dream into the bedroom... and there's this MASSIVE 4ft teddy bear holding a red velvet heart. And Hob is like "do you like it?? it's for you!!!" And Dream,,, he fucking loves it. The bear is imbued with all Hob’s sweetest dreams. It's like a manifestation of his romantic fantasies.

Of course the poor bear has to watch as they have nasty sex right there and then. Someone cover the poor thing's eyes!!!

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

To Call You Mine

Chapter 3

Authors note: I promise there will be a proper fight later on where we properly kick Bruces ass (as he deserves)

Warnings: talk of domestic violence and sa, violence

Word count: 1341        

Nat Masterlist    Marvel Masterlist    TCYM Masterlist 

Confused by the sudden and frantic knocking on her apartment's front door, Yelena grabs her phone before she approaches to open it. Better safe than sorry she figures. 

   When she sees her sister and nephew standing there she's filled with worry, but that quickly turns to anger when she sees her sister's swollen and bruised cheek along with her split lip.

   “Sestra(sister). Come in, come in.” she quickly says, taking a step back and gesturing wildly with her hand. As soon as her door is shut and locked behind her she cups her older sisters face, “What happened? Are you and Dima ok?”

   At the mention of his name the young pup looks up, smiling as he sees his Aunt. She smiles back, pinching his cheek lightly which causes him to giggle. Natasha smiles, relaxation and safety soaking into her.

   “Dimas ok.” she answers shakily

   Yelenas brows furrow, “And you?”

   The Omega shakes her head, a few tears rolling down her cheeks, “N-no”

   Yelena quickly wraps her up in her embrace, trying her best to make the older woman feel safe and secure. She's no Alpha, but as a Beta she still has the ability to scent and calm a distressed Omega. That Omega being family certainly helps.

   “Its ok, I've got you now sestra(sister)”

   Her words cause Natashas dam to break, and she freely sobs into her little sister's shoulder. Being concerned with his mama, Dima lets out a small cry of his own and Yelena is quick to wrap an arm around him as well.

   “Did Bruce hurt you again?” she asks, already knowing and yet fearing the answer

   “Yes. All because Y/n said hi to Wanda and I at the park and stayed to chat.”

   “But something tells me he did more than hit you” Yelena adds

   “He…he…he said he was going to put another pup in me. That doing so w-would mellow me out and if I didn't claim him when he knotted me, he wasn't going to let me see Wanda e-ever again" she manages to get out between sobs

   Yelena growls, "That bastard. He won't touch you again."

  "You can't promise that." Nat replies

   "I can. You're with me now. I'll keep you safe." She assures her

   Natasha shakes her head, "Sestra(sister), this is the first place he'll look for me" 

   "Which is why, you won't be staying here." She says with a mischievous smile

   About thirty minutes later Yelena is pulling her sister's car into the parking lot of a motel. She parks it before grabbing Dima, holding her sister's hand as she walks to the front desk.

   "Hi there, can I get you guys a room?"

   "Yes but it's just for my sister and the little guy here." Yelena replies

   The receptionist nods, "Not a problem at all, we have plenty of rooms that cater to the needs of an Omega and their pup. Can I get the name the room will be registered under?"

     The redhead nods, "Na- "

     "Natalie Rushman." Yelena quickly cuts in

    Natasha stays quiet, allowing a false identity to be used for her but she does have one thing to ask, "Would it be possible for my sister to get a spare key to my room?"

   "Of course dear. Here you are, everything is all set. You're in room 84"

   She takes the key and makes her way back out with Yelena by her side. The blonde fully intends to stay a while to help her get settled in and comfortable and she's very grateful for that and once that's done she knows she needs to update Wanda on things.

   At first you didn't know how to handle the horrible news Wanda had told you. You felt a multitude of things. Anger at yourself for not noticing the woman you loved was suffering, sadness for her current situation, worry as you had no idea what your first move to help her should be, and finally disgust and rage at Bruce for all that he's done to her.

  You knew in order to think straight you needed to clear your head. So once you got home you took out all your frustrations on your punching bag, not even caring at the numbness that was eating away at your knuckles. Once the storm in your mind subsided you gave yourself a few minutes to cool off and rehydrate. 

  After that you changed outfits and hopped into your car, heading to the only place you knew you could get advice on the situation. The Maximoffs.

   Wanda wasn't surprised to find you looking absolutely distraught on her doorstep. In fact she was sure you'd show up. That didn't stop her from being happy to see you though.

   "Y/n!" She greet, giving you a hug

   "Hey Wanda. I'm sure you can guess why I'm here."

   She nods, "You're going to help Nat. You just don't know how."

   "Yeah. Was hoping you could help me find a starting point." You reply

  "Absolutely. Come on in. Vis knows everything." She says, stepping aside to let you in

  "Y/n, good to see you." He greets before kissing his mate, "I'm going upstairs to get out of these work clothes. I'll be right back darling."

  She smiles with a nod and the two of you move to the kitchen. She picks up a cup of tea and takes a sip, she's about to offer to make you a cup but before she can a tremendous bang and crashing sound comes from her entryway.

   Instinctively you move yourself in front of Wanda to ensure her safety as the two of you round the corner. But you were very unprepared for the first that met your face. And Wand lets out a shout of surprise.

   In your stunned state your attacker is easily able to grab you, slamming you face into the wall so hard you're sure you hear your brain rattle.

   "Get the hell off her! And get out of my house!" Wanda shouts as her Alphas frantic footsteps can be heard bounding down the stairs

   "Shut up bitch!" The man seethes and that when you realize who it is that has you in his grip. Bruce.

   You elbow him, and he lets go of you with a grunt. You're growling at him menacingly as Vision enters, quickly wrapping his arms around Wanda.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing Banner?!" He shouts, "You can't just break into my house and yell at my mate and attack my friend!"

  "This doesn't involve you!" He snaps, focusing his gaze on you with a snarl

   "Like hell it doesn't!" He retorts, "You involved me in this the moment you decided to kick my door in and frighten Wanda!"

   "Just shut up you pompous ass!” he growls, “Where is she Y/n?! Where's Natasha?!! Where's my son?!”

   Your brows furrow, “What- ”

   Your sentence is cut off as he tackles you and the two of you skid across the floor. Vision quickly moves himself and Wanda out of your way, as the Omega shouts in fear, “Bruce, stop!!”

   Knowing that he isn’t strong enough to pull two dueling Alphas apart, Vision does the only possible thing, he calls the police. More precisely he calls Captain Danvers, a close friend of everyone involved in this, besides Bruce of course. While on the phone with her he watches along with his mate as the scuffle gets more violent. The two of you are trading blow for blow and the Alpha knows you’ll both have various injuries after this.

   “Where's my Omega and my pup!?” he shouts, swinging at you, “What have you done with my mate?!”

   “Mate?!” you growl, “You mean prisoner!”

   His scowl deepens, “She's not a prisoner!! She's my Omega, my Natasha!! I claimed her, I love her!!”

   “But she didn't claim you!! She doesn't love you!!” 

   He charges at you with a roar, and the next thing the Maximoffs knew, the two of you were launching through their sliding glass door and into their backyard.

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @mmmmokdok @nataliasknife @natashasilverfox  @when-wolves-howl @wandanatvoid @naomi-m3ndez @eonrioromanova         @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @readings-stuff                          @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @xchaiix @iaminluvwithnat @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @naslt @lattayhottay16                        @yelenabelov-ed

[sophsicle]

Hey love, I wanted to ask at what point do you think sirius realized that his feelings where romantic for Remus? Like we all know from the start obviously but during his povs we could see that he wouldn't even admit it to himself, he wouldn't even allow himself to think why exactly he's so crazy about Remus. But during this chapter (even tho he is drunk) he full on says he loves him and that he wanted to kiss him for a while so like when did all that happen in his head? When you first said we'd have a wolfstar kiss this chapter I didn't imagine that. I'd love to know your thoughts and have a better look inside your sirius’s head<3 you're an amazing writer and I love love love your stories especially your Remus and Sirius. Hope you have a lovely day sorry for the big ask!!

Hello lovely! Yeah so for me, it breaks down like this: Sirius realizes that he has non-platonic-kissing-feelings for Remus in Chapter 13 - tension has been building with the whole Fabian situation and it's getting a bit difficult for everyone to ignore and then we get this moment:

“Sirius,” James says finally, voice quiet. Sirius doesn’t answer but James knows he’s listening. “I don’t think…I don’t think your friend dating someone is supposed to feel like this.”

Sirius is still staring very resolutely across the street, face blank, every muscle in his body held tight. Like he’s made of stone. The silence stretching on. And on. And on.

“I know,” he says finally. Confesses really, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

This is sirius giving in right? this is sirius accepting, admitting, yes, no. i know. i wouldn't feel this way about any of the rest of you being in a relationship. this is different.

And then, in Chapter 15, after Sirius's interaction with Fabian you get this:

The beast in his chest snarls and bites.

He pointedly ignores it. Whiny bastard. He won’t give it the attention it wants, won’t give it a name. Because if he does then maybe he’ll feel the need to act on it. And he can’t do that. Can’t do that to Remus.

He deserves to be loved by someone who doesn’t want to use their teeth.

To me, what is happening here, is not Sirius being confused by his feelings anymore, but being afraid of them. he doesn't want to explicitly think what he knows is true. what he knows he feels. because the minute he gives it an actual name. like. love. he'll feel the need to do something about it. and at this point he is no longer confused about what that something would be (*cough* to kiss remus silly *cough*)

And this all comes to the surface at the party for a multitude of reasons:

his conversation with monty, i think really kind of gets to him, makes him a bit more...confident? indignant? something along those lines

DRUNK

all sirius ACTUALLY confesses to Remus is that he wants to kiss him, and that he's wanted to kiss him for a while, which i think is where he is really at, personally himself, like that's as much as he's willing to admit. it's remus who brings love into it, and he does so in a fairly aggressive and accusatory way and sirius, somewhat backed into a corner now and very desperate, feels like he has to answer back. but it was absolutely not his intention, nor do i think he was at all ready, to tell remus he loved him (whether or not it's true), that situation just fully spiralled out of control

[get-rammed]

Can I get an info dump about Rodney?

I know he's a bastard as well as a bit of a soft boy with a praise kink, which really intrigues me.

I will always take opportunities to spew about my silly bug boy. This is Rodney Osmund

He's a character of mine.

This is his true form, and secondary form. The humanoid one above is his tertiary form, and what I usually draw him in.

He's had many names and many lives in his history. Within the universe I've made, he's a Fiend and can die and be reborn any time Trevor dies. Trevor being one of his 3 siblings. Veronica and Caroline being the other two.

He was once a Warlord by the name of Bog Belly. A scourge upon man and Demon (Demons being an alien race by the name of Tymos who eventually just adopted the name Demons as a secondary and or primary name)

Bog Belly slaughtered thousands simply because he was born angry over and over again, and wanted to have everyone under his heels. No truama there. No reasons. Just a dick because that's his true nature. Though he was kind to his cult members, and his breeding stock.

But roughly 200 years ago, his sister Veronica defeated him in battle. Ending his reign of terror. Veronica heads a group called the Hunters. They were formed specifically to track and kill Bog Belly. After that goal was completed, they more or less ended Warlords being a problem, and now are a government body.

Veronica is the bad twin between herself and Caroline. So she saw zero issue with parading around a defeated Bog Belly. Forcing him to be an act of sorts for a few years before making him work with Colton (Trevor) to improve his morality.

When James (Trevor) picks a fight with his sister and gets all of them killed, they're reborn into their new and current lives.

Every one of Rodney's parents have always been cruel and mean to him. Forcing his nature to always be mean spirited. Except things were different this time.

Rodney's mom was endlessly patient with him, and always showed him true compassion and love. No matter what he did. Rodney is her baby boy, and he's an absolute mama's boy.

Being there for him as he spiraled into drug problems, and there when he cleaned up. He loves his mother. The first person he's ever truly loved.

So when he regained his memories and his full personality, he was far more docile than he had ever been. Not to say he's not still a bastard. He would absolutely kill you with zero hesitation and not even flinch as you cry for help.

But he's definitely trying to feel more empathy and understand what it's like to be normal. But it's a struggle for him. But he is trying.

This man needs. A lot of therapy lmao.

- He hates going to Hunter bases because he's been assaulted a number of times in a multitude of ways.

Rodney leveled a Hunter base in Ohio because of this. He's banned from the state of Ohio. Veronica covered this situation up as she understands why he did it.

She doesn't know he's still assaulted at some bases :( and he won't tell her because he doesn't believe anything will be done about it.

- Rodney can open his pupils to freeze in terror whoever looks at them, in place

- Rodney had front horns like his sister Caroline, but Trevor snapped them off in a fit of well deserved rage.

- Rodney overall is a dick (but he's trying to get better), and uses sex, various drugs, and alcohol to try and survive instead of getting therapy.

- He is taught about in schools as a part of history. People recognize him sometimes and point and talk about him. He's used to it and generally just ignores it.

- Even though he's trying to get better. If given the chance to get his power back. He would. With no hesitation.

- Rodney uses humor and acts like a dipstick so people don't expect too much from him. It upsets him a little hit to be labeled as a man whore who has no real thoughts besides memes, but he also knows it's better than the alteratives.

- Fiends have incredibly low fertility rates, but Rodney has eggs. He has roughly 100 kids, but he acknowledges none of them. "You're my son? And? I ain't got shit for you besides some protips. Get away from me or I will kill you."

- Rodney's spit is dual functional. It is both the most caustic venom known to man or Demon kind. But it also a heavy aphrodisiac. It completely depends on his mood. So it's a risk if you kiss him lmao

- He has a motorcycle and often will still ride it around

You can read more about him, his siblings, and the universe overall here. Just as a warning though. It's long lmao

[elvenbeard]

2072

"You're the son of Kousuke Ezaki, right?"

"Hm. Got a feelin' he'd be disagreein' with ya on this..."

After Vince returned to Night City in 2071, Jackie introduced him to another of his many "friend-of-a-friend"s - the owner of a Valentino-adjacent (but not officially affiliated) car repair shop in Heywood. The guy had been desperately looking for a tech-savvy helper, and Jackie figured it might be something Vince could be good at with his knowledge, skills and an interest in cars.

Vince did not exactly jump at the opportunity, but he did not have too many other choices at the time, if he wanted to keep a roof above his head. There were better jobs, but also much worse, and so he agreed to give it a try.

Turned out, he had a knack for cars, and after some initial reluctance from both sides, "V" became an important asset to the small repair shop in no time. He learned to enjoy all aspects of the work, from fine-tuning ECUs to fixing electrical damages, all the while improvising with the often limited resources at hand. Still though, not a Heywood-native, Vince always remained the odd-one-out among his coworkers, as with their love for cars their common interests ended. Vince learned to prefer it this way, as it gave him the freedoms to set his own priorities, work on side-projects while the others were out for lunch for example. Also, he would not get too attached to a workplace and coworkers he knew he did not want to stay around forever.

The repair shop's clientele largely consisted of locals, gangers and "normal" citizens alike (even if the lines tended to get blurry occasionally). But there was also a handful of regulars of a bigger, much better-paying caliber, that Vince initially wasn't even allowed to look at, let alone touch their cars.

Word-of-mouth recommendations had led a certain Arthur Jenkins to Heywood one fateful day, his request so simple that Vince was allowed to tackle it. The first time he was trusted with a "special" customer on his own. The task: "correct" the milage of the suit's car, easy as pie. Vince had mastered similar feats as a teenager already.

What should have been a quick-and-easy job though uncovered something Jenkins did not like at all - a well-hidden tracker following his every move, and had it not been for Vince's experience with these things, it would have remained undiscovered most likely. Jenkins left the shop satisfied but also curious... How come a low-life street-punk like that knew so much about Militech tracker signatures?

A few days later Vince was intercepted by Jenkins on his way home. Initially not too impressed by the corpo throwing around random facts about Vince's not-so-secret past that anyone with too much time on their hands could have uncovered, Jenkins had an ace in the hole. Vince was confronted not only with a part of his past not even he himself was aware of at this point... but also an offer too intriguing to pass up...

Vince through the years (4/9)

Fun fact: I'm fully abusing this little project to showcase all the hairstyles I almost gave Vince when I first made him in CC XD This wasn't my second or third choice, but I considered it! It's just so funky-looking with the two colors, super bold, and it does really fit him during that time in his life where he doesn't give a fuck about anything at all anymore. He goes a bit more wild with his appearance, dares to experiement more and grows into his own person... only for Jenkins to show up just in time to ruin everything, the bastard (affectionate).

I don't want to spoil too much about what exactly it is that Jenkins knows about Vince's past that made him eventually follow him into Arasaka's loving embrace, cause I still wanna write this scene out in detail in my background fic for Vince :3 It isn't just one detail or one thing either, it's a multitude of factors, promises, secrets, opportunities, combined with Vince's hunger for more than being a little part-time mechanic in a sleazy auto shop, more than a roadie or retail worker, just more... because he knows he has the potential for it, and Jenkins is holding all the keys to unlock it in that moment.

And yes, this is all one hell of a fateful coincidence, but it's those that make a good story. As for the task Vince was given with resetting the car's mileage: he had done similar things to his mother's car as a teen, when he "borrowed" it late at night to go on joyrides with his "friends" at the time and she was not supposed to notice. His mother also had connections and friends at Militech that supplied her with little tracking devices to keep her unruly child in check, and once Vince noticed that he learned to spot and disable them as well.

Also, tiny detour to/ easter egg for "Love is Stored in the Olive Jar", if you've been keeping up with that!

The car in the background of the upper pic and more prominently in the second with Jackie is Vince's first car, a pale blue Archer Quartz. The (almost) same model Mr. B provided as a getaway vehicle in chapter one of my post-ending fic, that Vince has to abandon at an auto repair shop :3c Oh, how could Mr. B have known these details of Vince's past...

Speaking of Vince's past and the quote I put at the very top of the post! Vince isn't hiding the fact that he's trans, it's a part of his story and he's proud of his identity. So, when Jenkins wonders if he's Kousuke Ezaki's son, Vince reacts the way he does because for one, by the time his father had died he hadn't realized himself yet that he was trans. And secondly, even if he had, he knew his father well enough to know he would never have accepted him the way he is, for a variety of reasons.

In this moment he learns an important thing about Jenkins: that he's a manipulative bastard trying to tug on his heartstrings, but he only has outdated, surface-level information - or is at least willing to reveal only that for starters.

[rimbaud-fan-page]

Ppl definitely change Rimbaud's personality so much it annoys me. Especially when they treat him as more level headed and logical or more like. Nice than Verlaine. He doesnt read as cold as much as just very aloof and almost out of it seeming to me tho, i feel like when you meet him he seems spacey.

Ive talked about it a bunch on my blog (tho i will admit. He and Verlaine are fem4fem and nonbinary to me. They are equally masc in that they super arent masc at all. So like note that before you go looking at my posts) but like. Bro hes insane and fucked up same as his husband good lord theres so few good fics of rimlaine and i tried to write one but rereading it it sucked and all my others are wips.

Also like. Ppl feminize Rimbaud but dont even give us the fun flirty fanart??? I mean i want fun flirty art of Verlaine too but seriously come on.

Rimbaud is logical to a certain extent, at least with anything that doesn't include Verlaine. His entire mindset is that he cannot allow other people to distract from his work, that emotions will only get in the way of his achievements. This mindset is inherently illogical, of course, but it does mean that he would be more level-headed and wouldn't allow emotions to impact his actions. Fifteen isn't a great demonstration of this because his motivations are all about Verlaine, the thing he's illogical about.

Rimbaud is spacey in Fifteen, because most of the time we see him, he remembers almost nothing of his past, he's still mixing things up and having memories suddenly occur to him, he's lost. He's also fucking funny because half the things he say are absolute bullshit. Fym you were gonna jump in the fire to warm up, dramatic ass.

I love fem4fem nonbinary rimlaine, and very badly want to see your posts. I honestly think neither of them would have very strict ideas when it comes to their own genders, for a multitude of reasons. I just hate when people over-feminise one character for a ship. Rimbaud is so fucking insane, and I love him for it. His whole line about taking Verlaine back with him to France whether he has to tear off an arm or leg first? Oooofhhh, that got me good. I've tried to write some rimlaine fics myself, since I'm a picky little bastard, but honestly am having the same problems as you </3

And honestly yeah, at the very least give us some fun fanart, but nooooooo.

[dont-leafmealone]

atla: aang and iroh

i dont go to pjo but annabeth? for the character bingo?

alrighty!

Aang my BABY:

i love him a lot and if I think about him too much I cry <3

Iroh, bastard uncle of all time:

he makes me very angry in a very compelling way :) so messily written meaning he contains multitudes of possibilities

And Annabeth Chase my problematic fave:

i do love her a lot and YES I think fandom is too hard on her but ALSO she should've been bullied more my feelings are complex but mostly I just. <3

[chrrywon]

BY MY SIDE 💌 yeonjun x gn!reader

desc. blind dates were nothing new to you and most certainly not the types of people you've encountered on said dates. when one of your friends set you up on a blind date for valentines, you were hopeful for a good outcome. while you didn't get what you were hoping for from your date, yeonjun swoops in to save the day.

(alt: ur blind date is awful but thankfully yeonjun's in love with u.)

includes. fluff, yeonjun is lowkey jealous but not in a toxic way, soft jun <3, y/n's a little oblivious tbh, poor grammar LOL

warnings. mentions of food, like one cuss word

word count. 1.6k

a/n. yes, valentines day was yesterday, yes i am still gonna post valentines content. i honestly could not choose a concept to write for yeonjun at ALL but i was listening to this song and the words just poured out of me. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated~ hope u enjoy :D

You didn't know why you agreed to go on this blind date, but what you do know is that you regret it. This was the nth time your date bragged about his multitude of achievements as if it would make you fall for him.

Faking reactions drained you, especially since his stories weren't relatable in the slightest; he was just another rich and obnoxious person. The date was going terribly, to say the least, but you're getting free food out of it so a little acting didn't hurt.

The waitress assigned to your table arrived with the food trolley and you gawk at how delicious the food looked. Surprisingly it had only taken around 30 minutes for your food to arrive. This was impressive considering how booked the restaurant was.

Quick service, you thought to yourself.

"These people take forever to bring food," your date scoffs once the waitress was out of earshot. 

You raise your brow before twirling your pasta with a fork. The restaurant was no fast food place so a wait time should've been expected. You rightfully assumed he was used to getting everything served as soon as he asked for it.

"I thought it was pretty quick," you shrug. "Not many places are as fast as this."

He sneered slightly as he poked at his steak. "I guess."

The rest of the date was silent as you two ate your food, lost in your thoughts. You were glad for the quiet but judging the look on your date's face, he was pissed about something. Fortunately for you, your food was too good to mind his shift in behavior.

Once you finished eating, the waitress came back to clean up the dishes and handed the bill to your date. He fished out a black card from his pocket with a smug look before placing it into the check presenter.

Cocky bastard, you rolled your eyes internally.

Once he got his card back, you gather your stuff and make your way out of the booth with your date following right behind. He was a very good-looking guy, so it was a shame how terrible his personality was.

"I had fun," he said as he slips his arms into his navy blue blazer. "We should do this again some time."

Your stomach twisted in guilt. Rejecting people was not your thing, so the thought of it made your heart heavy. But it's better to save yourself time than to put up with another date like this one.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not feeling it," you slightly grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth. The smile on his face immediately dropped and he scoffed loudly. He placed his hands in his pants pockets with an offended expression.

"Fine, whatever. Good luck getting a ride home," he stormed off. 

You let out the breath you've been holding and a wave of relief washes over you. Surprisingly, you felt thankful since his reaction could've been way worse. However, the sudden realization that you've just been deserted hit you. You fished out your phone in hopes of getting an Uber until you saw the messages you had missed.

Beomgyu

Yeonjun's been scolding Soobin for setting you up on that date LOL

Don't listen to him, have a great time!

(Sent - 9:43)

Yeonjun

Ur date looks like a douchebag

Have fun though

(Sent - 9:55)

You chuckle lightly before hitting the call button next to Beomgyu's name. The line rang for a short while before a loud voice made you move your phone from your ear in surprise.

"____!" You heard Beomgyu clasp his hands from the other side. "Did it go well?"

"It could've been better," you sighed. "He left me here cause I rejected him. Don't tell Yeonjun, but he was a total snob."

There was a pause. You check to see if the line disconnected but were only greeted by the call screen on your phone. "Hello?" You spoke to make sure he was still there.

"You rejected him?" A curious voice asked and you instantly recognized it as Yeonjun's. You could practically hear the smug smile on his face. He was the only one not rooting for your date to go well, so you knew was feeling cocky about it. His intuition was usually right, but you were desperate to prove him wrong.

"Hi Yeonjun," you mocked his voice. "I already know what you're gonna say. And you were right," you sighed in defeat. The gloating was unavoidable as he's known to never let it go whenever he's right.

"I told you! Guys like him are no good. Just rich assholes who think they can get their way every time."

You snort before nodding your head in agreement even though he couldn't see you. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But I need a ride. Can you come get me?"

There was another pause and you tapped your shoes on the pavement waiting for a response.

"Send the address. I'll be there as fast as I can."

-

After about 20 minutes, you look out the window and spot the familiar black Genesis sedan slowing down to a stop next to the sidewalk. A smile forms on your face as soon as you step foot outside the restaurant. The window rolls down and Yeonjun peeks his head from the driver's side.

"Uber for ____?" Though his voice was serious, you could see the ghost of a mischievous smile on his lips. You chuckle lightly before opening the car door.

"Yes, that is I," you go along with his joke. As soon as you sat down your nostrils were filled with the scent of the woody sage smell that always radiated off of Yeonjun. He tapped his index on the wheel to the rhythm of the RnB song playing through his speaker. From the corner of your eye, you could see how he attentively watched you put on your seatbelt with a slight smile on his lips.

"So about your date," he turned his attention to the front and began driving once he heard the click of the seatbelt. A snicker escapes his mouth at the immediate groan that left your mouth. He intended to annoy you and you knew that too.

You roll your eyes. "This was the worst yet. He didn't even try to be subtle about it. Like I was so close to falling asleep when he was explaining how much he earns."

Yeonjun laughed at your complaining. He sat and listened to you rant for a bit until you were tired recalling your experience. 

He smiles fondly at you and hummed in thought for a second. "The night's still young. Wanna go for a drive around the city?"

"After the night I've had, I would love that," you sighed as you let your head lie comfortably on the headrest.

After years of knowing Yeonjun, you've never once felt uncomfortable whenever he was around. Looking back at it now, he would always be by your side after any inconvenience, minor or not. Though you knew he was caring for everyone, it still brought you peace of mind.

He turned the volume up and let the music fill the silence that took over. You quietly sang along to songs you recognized and moved your head to the groove of ones you didn't. The last thing you remember is Yeonjun telling you to get a quick nap, to which you protested.

-

When the car came to a stop, you stir awake. It didn't take long for you to realize that somewhere along the ride, you had fallen asleep. Yeonjun lightly tapped your arm, not aware that you had woken up. You wipe at your mouth where the feeling of drool started to become noticeable and look at him.

"____," he spoke softly. "We're here."

He exited the car first and made his way to your side to open your door. You smile lightly at him, still feeling the effects of your nap.

The park was glowing with lamps decorated with fairy lights connecting each parallel. It wasn't surprising that the place would be practically empty considering how late into the night it was. There were a few people around, but not enough to disturb the peaceful air.

"The view here is really pretty at this time of night," Yeonjun explained as you followed him to whichever area he was going. "After this, I'll drop you home and call it a night. You must be tired."

You nodded your head in agreement and sat next to him at the end of the walkway. The bench was facing the horizon and you could see all the building lights of Seoul. You gasp in awe at the scenery, unaware a place like this existed. 

"I can see the company building from here!" You point out the familiar building. "You were right, it is pretty here."

You heard Yeonjun chuckle and turn to look at him. It was only then you notice how effortlessly attractive he looked with his sweatshirt and jeans. You watch as his piercings sway lightly when he turned to pick up something from his side.

"Here."

He handed you a small gift bag and you furrow your brows at him. A stifled laugh erupted from him at your expression. He used his head to signal for you to take it, which you did. "Happy Valentines, ____."

Your skeptical eyes turned into shock when you saw the words Swarovski on a jewelry box. You immediately shook your head in disbelief, nearly shoving the gift bag back into Yeonjun's hands. He was quick to hold your wrist to prevent you from handing it back to him.

"Yeonjun, are you serious?" 

"Just open it," he urged you. You pout slightly before hesitantly opening the box. Inside was an infinity bracelet that you instantly recognize as the one you've been eyeing for weeks. Last time you checked, the bracelet was well over a hundred dollars. 

"If your date had gone well today, I probably would've returned it." Yeonjun laughed wryly. "So take this as a confession."

"You don't have to give me an answer right now. Hell, you don't even have to accept the bracelet right now. I just hope that you'll be able to stay by my side for a long while, if not forever. Just know I'll always be there for you, whether as a friend or a lover."

[eldritcmor]

Pjo/Cod idea part 3

@isthatafuckinggayangel @adorephina @josieguts @skylordgrey

An explosion rocked through the Los vaqueros base, and Percy froze. Did they do it? Did the 141 Kill that goddamn bastard? Are he and the rest finally free to return their lives and their families? Percy thumbed his radio, tuning it to the long memorized channel.

“Soap to Ghost. I’m with Rudy. Graves is KIA. How’s price?” Percy felt tension leave his body as the Scottish Sargent’s voice crackled over the radio. They had Done it. The 141 Had Done It. They had taken out Graves. The demigods were finally free of that rat bastard. But some thing was nagging him. A feeling curling in his gut like sour poison. Were they just assuming? Was the 141 just assuming that the explosion would take out a bastard like graves? That he would burn to death without scrambling from his pyre like a snake? Percy thumbed his radio, Tuning back into shadow channels. “Leo.” “Already On it, Percy.”

Soap nudged Rudy’s shoulder as he watched a Shadow scramble over the wall separating the Los Vaqueros training yard from the rest of the base.

“What the hell are they doing?” The shadow dropped into the training yard and sprinted right past him and Rodolfo. Completely ignoring them. Soap spun on his heel.

“HEY!” The shadow kept moving, making a beeline for the burning wreck that was formerly a tank. “HEY!” Soap scrambled after the shadow. He reached out to grab and yank the shadow but his finger’s barely brushed the back of their vest before the shadow was engulfed in flames from the burning wreck. Rudy caught soap around the waist before he could follow in after the poor shadow.

“Hermano, look!” The shadow didn’t seem to be affected by the heat and flames. Quickly scaling the burning tank to get to the hatch on top, and prying it open with their bare hands. Soap’s jaw dropped. Soap watched with rapt attention as the shadow dropped into the tank. He heard a loud clattering of metal hitting packed dirt and shrapnel as something dropped from the bottom of the tank. Soap looked to Rodolfo and both nodded before moving to check.

The pair peeked under the tank to see something crawling, slowly towards the back end of the tank. They reached out to help only to get yanked back by their vests. They whipped around to see the shadow that had crawled into the tank, now having a firm hold of each of their vests.

“He’s our problem, you gotta leave!” The shadow kept dragging them back from the tank as if the two were barely any weight to them. Soap dug his heels into the dirt and Rodolfo did the same.

“We’re not going anywhere, til you explain.” The shadow sighed, before thumbing their radio.

“Percy, fucker is still alive.” Soap heard what he assumed was cussing in a multitude of languages from the shadow’s radio. Wait, Percy? As in No mercy Percy? Grave’s lapdog Percy? Soap growled and yanked himself out of the shadow’s hold, before whirling around on them. Rodolfo a half step behind him.

“What the fuck is happening! Start talking!” Soap straightened up and took a menacing step towards the shadow. The shadow didn’t even flinch, just reached up and pulled off their helmet and mask.

“Graves is crawling his snakey ass from under that tank. We are making sure he doesn’t leave out of here except in a fucking box.” Soap froze at that. He fully expected this shadow to be fully going after that tank in some desperate attempt to save the shadow commander. The pure venom in the shadow’s voice however proved otherwise. The shadow had been sent to make sure Graves didn’t make it out, in any capacity.

“Why didn’t you kill him under the tank?” Rodolfo spoke, his voice even and calm. The shadow hummed.

“Percy called dibs.”

[29daffodils]

KP Rewatch : Ep #3

alrighty! it's a saturday and i may have some time, so here i am. random liveblogging thoughts while watching ep#3.

get, set, go!!!!

fuck everything else this portrait of khun noo is everything to me. he is so gorgeous. tong is so gorgeous. no one can do it like him. truly.

tankhun's face represents exactly the feelings my asexual ass gets while watching het porn lmao

new reaction pic just dropped besties 😂

pete having an existential crisis, presumably after seeing vegas in that leather jacket in the previous episode?? ehehehe, we know he needs some time to recover.

yok bullshitting her way throughout khun's question is everything lmaoooo

tankhun enjoying himself freely after years is just!!!! ughhh, my heart.

this was the most outrageously tankhun outfit in the entire show and i am here for it

wow pol, such a multitude of talents lmao

wow pete looks lost in taking out his aggression woah

can we talk about apo's acting?? because we need to. this is one of my favourite scenes from the whole show just because we see so many expressions flit through his face.

every time i see the wound on porsche's arm i remember that it magically just disappeared by the next scene. not even a scar left 😂 at least they didn't do this with pete.

what an arrogant bastard lmaooooo (look i must add I'm not a big fan of kinn, okay??)

the lord did not need to make my guy big so pretty

OH MY GOD HOW DID I NOT NOTICE THIS DURING THE FIRST WATCH?!!! big being in love with kinn was quite obvious, but i completely missed this scene where kim basically just confirms it! also, he is such an asshole lmaooo, but don't worry, he'll be needing that heartbroken song later 😂

tay is seriously so done with his man 😮‍💨

can i just say ; i love yok so much. she's such a fun person. and the actress did such a good job with her.

pete is literally contemplating his life choices right now lmao

FOR FUCK'S SAKE TIME I AM GOING TO WHACK YOU YOU MOTHERFUCKER

this asshole has no shame, tay is right there!!!!!

aww look at my baby sleeping ahhhhh

this is such a good shot. just, kinn all perplexed, staring at porsche, wondering what this guy is even made of, who he is, what all he encompasses, and porsche just laying there laughing in his drunkenness. just. gorgeous shot. kinn really fell (head)first.

another great shot!!! the backdrop!!!! the lights!!! everything about this scene is gold!!!

alrighty, that is it for this episode. bigger thoughts will be in separate posts. see you in the next one! happy watching!! 💗

[yourleastfavoriteplaguerat]

ranking the wednesday adults

by usefulness and competency

Fester Addams (Came in, evaded the law, made Wednesday smile, and is the reason Wednesday knew there were two villains and that the monster was a Hyde. +2.5)

Morticia & Gomez Addams (Love their kids, could have been much more useful if Wednesday actually talked to them, did what they could to be helpful. +1.5)

Mayor Walker (Figured out who Laurel Gates was on a hunch. Tfw the former sheriff who hasn't been a cop in years is better than the entire Jericho police force. Loses points because he died before he could tell anyone. The most competent after Fester. +1)

Goody Addams (The most useful after Fester. Would be ranked higher than Gomez & Morticia if she wasn't so vague all the time. Gets points for actually conveying information, though. Didn't teach Wednesday shit about her powers and moreso used her to fulfill a revenge quest, but still better than anyone after this. +.5)

Laurel Gates (Her success hinged on how useless and incompetent the Jericho/Nevermore adults were. She still succeeded with the first part of her plan, though. +0)

Murray Sinclair (The only criteria I have to judge him on is being a dad, and I am not impressed with his performance. Spineless bastard. -.5)

Esther Sinclair (The only criteria I have to judge her on is being a mom, and we all know how that works out. Is Mayor Walker seriously the best non-Addams parent? We didn't even see him interact with Lucas. The bar is in hell. -1)

Valerie Kinbott (The only criteria I have to judge her on is being a therapist, and she sucks. I haven't seen a single actual therapist approve of her. Her patients are also: Wednesday (how has no one diagnosed her with autism yet) Addams, Tyler (got kidnapped and groomed into being a serial killer) Galpin, and Xavier (walking red flag) Thorpe. I decree thee a failure. -1)

Donovan Galpin (Fuck this dude. Stubbornly set in his ways and assumptions, easily played like a fiddle, terrible father for a multitude of reasons, immature, his first success as a sheriff was shooting his son, there's a laundry list of problems I have with him. -3)

Larissa Weems (I get it, okay? Gwendoline Christie is cool. The criteria isn't being attractive, though, it's being competent, useful, and a good principal. She is none of these. A student is murdered? That's fine. Another student mauled? That's fine. She was only pushed into action when an established normie in Jericho was murdered in broad-daylight in the town. Ridiculous. She comes off as holding a blood grudge against a student because of her parents, which is immature, she gaslighted a student after she watched a classmate get brutally murdered, which is fucked up, and she also knew what the monster was and just sat on that information. Then she fucking dies before she could do anything about Laurel! Which loses her more points, because it lost Walker points. -3.5)