#why else would we be in cairo?

[lioness-of-the-seas]

Mohamed Diab and Oscar Isaac are on a boat somewhere in Cairo either giggling to themselves for pulling the biggest prank in mcu history or desperately ghosting Kevin Feige.

[foxilayde]

And don’t quote me on this but for some reason I think I heard “Fire in Cairo” by The Cure??? Unsure tho…

[antstarion]

pls pls don’t let this just be them messing with us. don’t just shy, confirm s2.

[allpromarlo]

wake up bitches moon knight season 2 might be happening

[labwebs]

🕸MOONKNIGHTS2MOONKNIGHTS2MOONKNIGHTS2GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Mango (The Surprise, Part 13)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, innuendo, implied sex, periods, mostly just fluff, reader taking care of Emily because our girl deserves it Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Emily comes back from a hard week in the field and you treat her in all the ways you can possibly think of. Because she's baby girl and she deserves to be taken care of.

Week 23: The Mango

In both your personal and professional life, you were a wildly independent person. Self-sufficient, dedicated, proud of the work you did and how hard you’d worked to get where you were. You were nobody’s doormat, nobody’s housekeeper, nobody’s mom.

If anyone else you knew, especially men, asked you to cook for them or do their laundry or take care of them in any way, you would have been personally affronted. You would have said, “You’re a fucking grown-up, do it yourself. I’m not your mom.” And you’d mean it.

So it embarrassed you a bit that, with Emily, you acted like a full-blown ‘50s-style housewife and you loved it. Not all the time, of course. But enough of the time that you couldn’t just brush it off. Dinner on the table when she got home? Your pleasure. Packing her lunch? A joy. Doing the laundry and making sure she always had a second go-bag packed and ready in case there was a quick turnaround on cases? You lived for that shit, especially when you hid little notes in the pockets that said things like:

I love you (so does little mango)!

We miss you! <3!

So proud of you for saving lives and kicking criminal ass! P.S. It’s hot. ;)

The bottom line? You were down bad for Emily. You had been from the moment she’d asked you out and all the years since. But after you’d gotten pregnant, your roles had switched a bit. Emily had always taken care of you well, but in the last few months she'd taken over significantly more of the household tasks since you were often tired and achy. You ordered takeout more often than you cooked (Emily had tried, but after her third time setting off the fire alarm you’d said, “You know what, babe, why don’t we just order out?”).

You missed taking care of Emily. God knows, she wouldn’t let anybody else do it. So when she’d called you from the jet to let you know she was on her way home after a grueling week in the field–made even more grueling by the fact that she was on her period–you set out to treat Emily right. To treat her in all the ways you used to treat her before you got pregnant, in all the ways that Emily deserved to be treated and so rarely let herself be.

You had groceries delivered to make her favorite meal, and when the little Find My dot that was Emily showed up at Quantico and started making its way back to DC, you ran her a bath–water scalding so it’d be nice and hot when she came in, fragrant with lavender Epsom salts. You lit candles, turned the bathroom lights low, even put her favorite hoodie and sweatpants and a fluffy towel in the dryer so they’d be toasty and warm when she got out of the bath.

You started on dinner, playing Emily’s favorite Salah Ragab record on the turntable. The food processor growled as it worked overtime to blend a homemade hummus, complete with your secret ingredient: a splash of aquafaba. You chopped parsley and mint for fattoush, made a marinade for the chicken flavored with all the spices Emily loved so much from her childhood years in Oman and Egypt, sumac and cardamom and coriander and all the others that you ordered online from a specialty Middle Eastern spice seller.

Your oven shawarma wasn’t as good as shawarma from a spit in Cairo, but it was about as close as you could get at home, and Emily loved it. And you made a damn good fattoush and hummus. You sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, whipped together a quick yogurt sauce.

You’d just put the chicken and veggies in the oven and were starting on the cream cheese filling for the stuffed dates when you heard the door open and shut.

“In the kitchen!” you called, hands sticky from slicing the dates.

Emily looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, her blazer rumpled from a long day of travel. But her face lit up when she saw you.

“Do I smell… shawarma?!” she asked, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your neck, her hands resting protectively over your baby bump.

“Mmhm.” You grinned, feeling Emily’s body melt into yours, the tension in her muscles already dissipating.

“What’s the occasion?” She turned you around, so she could lean her arms on your shoulders, running her fingers through your hair.

You shrugged. “Can’t a girl just want to treat her wife?”

“She sure can.” Emily smiled and leaned in to press her lips softly to yours. You held your hands out at your sides so you wouldn’t be tempted to press them into Emily’s clothes or skin.

Emily pulled away, watching you lovingly as you sliced and mixed and stirred.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, lowering herself into a chair and wincing slightly.

“In the kitchen!?” You scoffed. “Absolutely not. There’s a bath ready for you, so go relax for a bit.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aw, honey. That’s so sweet of you.” She grabbed your hips again, once again turning you away from the counter so she could press you against it in a hungry kiss.

You giggled and swatted at her with a dish towel. “Go before the water gets cold!”

“Care to join?” she asked suggestively, pulling lightly at the waistband of your shorts.

You smirked, gently grasping her fingers and moving them away. “I have to finish dessert.”

Emily walked toward the bathroom like a scolded puppy, looking back with big eyes. “I can think of something else I’d rather have for dessert,” she commented, eyebrows raised.

You waved her off, blushing furiously. “Get out of here, you dork! Go take your bath!”

“I thought we were treating me tonight!” Emily called from the bathroom.

“That’s an after-dinner treat, honey,” you yelled back. “I’ve got shit to do first.”

“Fine! But I’m gonna hold you to that!”

You shook your head, grinning, as you spooned cream cheese filling into the halved dates, pressing them into a mixture of crushed pistachios and rose petals. God, you loved your wife.

When the dates were plated, the bulgur in the fattoush soaked through, the pita warmed, and the chicken covered in foil and resting on the counter, you washed your hands and went to find Emily, grabbing her comfy clothes and towel from the dryer.

You heart surged when you found her still in the tub, eyes closed, face relaxed. This is what your girl deserved. You leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“You alright, honey?” you asked, trying to squat down next to the tub, but ending up on your knees thanks to the baby.

She hummed in affirmation, keeping her eyes closed. “Thank you so much for this, baby,” she mumbled quietly.

“Anytime, love.” You watched her for a few more minutes, then set the stack of warm clothes on the bathroom counter. “There’s a warm towel and some PJs here for you,” you said, struggling to get to your feet.

“You good?” Emily chuckled, watching you out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes.” When you finally managed to make it to your feet, you had beads of sweat on your forehead. It wasn’t even that your belly was that heavy yet, it was that it threw off your center of gravity and made moving from one position to another awkward. “Get dried off when you're ready,” you told her. “I’ll get dinner on the table.”

You were proud of the spread when you stood and surveyed it. Shawarma chicken straight from the oven, spiced and heavenly-smelling. Warm pita bread and a swirl of smooth, creamy hummus with just a bit of paprika and olive oil on top. A lovely, vibrant fattoush, sliced cucumbers, juicy tomatoes. A little plate of stuffed dates, popping with green and pink from the pistachios and rose petals.

Emily walked in, hair wet around her shoulders, blotching her sweatshirt. You pulled her chair out for her but, before she sat down, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in for a hug. She smelled like lavender and fresh laundry, and you breathed her in, holding her close.

You could tell by the way she lingered there, by the way she breathed easier with her body pressed against yours, that Emily would need a lot of touch tonight. Not just in a sexual way, though Emily’s sex drive was always through the roof on her period. You could tell that tonight, Emily would let you hold her, that she’d curl herself around you tightly, possessively, as if to cover the most that she possibly could of your surface area.

In other words, she needed comfort. And she didn't get it from anyone else, not really. It had taken her a long time to even ask for it from you, to seek it out. So when she did, you were always more than happy to oblige. More than happy to hold clingy, sweet, needy Emily for as long as she needed.

She whined a bit when you pulled away, and you kissed her cheek, playing with her fingers.

“You’ve got to eat something, love. Then I promise I will not let you go for the rest of the night.”

She sat obediently, squeezing your hand, and piled her plate with all the things you’d made, eyes rolling back in her head when she swiped a finger through the hummus and put it in her mouth.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she gushed. “I swear your hummus tastes just like my friend Zainab’s mom’s from when I lived in Oman.”

“It’s the specialty spices,” you shrugged, taking a bite of pita with shawarma and veggies.

“No, I think it’s the special person making it,” Emily cheesed, beaming at you.

You smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, you’re getting it tonight.”

“I certainly hope so.”

When your plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked safely into the fridge, you led Emily to the bedroom, pulling back the covers for her, tucking her in.

“You know these are just gonna get untucked, right?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Shh,” you scolded. “Let me take care of you.”

You crawled into bed next to Emily, drawing her body into yours, holding her gently as you pressed your lips to hers. She melted into the kiss, already breathless.

You brushed her hair out of her face, placing your hand gently on her lower stomach. “How are your cramps?” you asked. “You want any medicine or anything?”

“The only medicine I need is you,” she said, guiding your hand lower.

You chuckled. “Alright, Romeo. Calm down.” You lowered your face to her neck, planting kisses all across her shoulder and collarbone. “I told you I’d take care of you, and I will.”

Emily held your face gently in her hands, looking deep into your eyes. “Why are you so good to me?” she whispered.

You pecked her on the lips. “Because I love you. And you deserve good things.”

And with that, you started your long, slow journey across the topography of Emily’s body, ready and willing to give her every good thing you possibly could.

[zwolfgames]

Hii! If it's not too much trouble to ask, can you make a Yandere DIO x Child Reader who escaped and is now with the Crusaders? (Reader would have a strong Stand) 🙃

(So idk wether this was meant as like biologically DIO's kid or not but I just went with unrelated because i dont know how many hoes DIO had back in Stardust Crusaders. Also, how does one think up a stand, lol.)

Requested: Annon

Warnings: Slightly OOC DIO, silly kidnapping, bizarre

(3rd person POV)

Life had been turned upside down for you lately. As a poor ten year old alone on the streets of Cairo, you had expected this year to be the same as last year.

Just surviving and having your Stand help steal food.

Thus is the life of a street rat. Kicked out by their abusive father...

But just a month ago, when you were once again getting your Stand to filch some fruit from a night market, you got spotted.

A tall, impending figure had stopped in the alleyway to look down at you.

His piercing golden eyes made you freeze once you were in his field of vision. Did the air just get colder or was that you?

"Tell me of your stand, Child."

The man had spoken, all those nights ago. Truthfully, you hadn't know what a Stand was back then. So he pointed to yours. All you really knew of it was that nobody else could see it... So why was he looking straight at it?

With such intrest too.

Before you could actually talk to the man, he had leaned down and poked something into your head, thats the last thing you could remember.

"So yea, thats all I remember..." You spoke to this strange band of people.

That disintrested looking fellow had been the one to rip whatever that weirdo so long ago put into your head... A 'Flesh Bud'. A means of controlling people, or so you've heard from that french guy and his green clad fellow as they were complaining about the time they had yours.

So they had been attacked by the blonde guy too?

Intresting.

"You have a hell of a Stand kid." The oldest guy pats your shoulder, he looks pretty buff for an old guy. Who are these people.

"My stand? Ah- you mean Arnold?" You made your stand appear. You faintly remember it just... appearing one day when you were being chased by street dogs... It kinda saved your hide. Named after Arnold Schwarzenegger, as you had heard that name on a tv in a store once. Very creative, obviously.

"Yes... Arnold. Does it perhaps do special things. Like superpowers?" The old man asks. Trying not to look back at how one of his friends is being patched up from all his cuts.

"Why should I tell you my secrets?" You cross your arms defiantly.

"Because we saved you, don't you want to defeat who-ever did this to you? Huh, kid?" The old man nudges you with his shoulder.

"Not really. Who are you guys anyways, you don't look like locals at all." You take a step away from the man.

"I'm Joseph Joestar, thats my grandson Jotaro and his friend Kakyoin... Thats Polnareff, and the one you almost blasted to bits is Avdol." Josephs eye twitches as he look back at his hurt friend.

"I didn't do anything." You retort quickly.

"You did, because of this flesh bud. A vampire named Dio was controlling you-" Joseph starts.

"I'm not controllable." You stick your tongue out.

"Oh yea, so then you almost killed Avdol by yourself?" Joseph replies with the same childish tone.

"That was my twin brother, you've got the wrong person." You smirk like the annoying brat you truly are.

The argument gets more heated as Joseph refuses to listen to the sass of a dirt covered child.

Meanchile, in a dark dark room in a castle far away- No, a mansion just a couple of streets away, a certain blonde seethes.

Another one lost. Those damned crusaders... Joestars.

They had taken away many of his subjects.... His pawns.. But this was by far the worst.

A child, a powerfull child. He had plans for you. Shattered, all in a single fight.

Dio clenches his fist and a piece of the parchment he's pretending to read rips.

He wasn't attached... Not at all. You were just strong. And.. Too similar to him. A scumbag of a dad, he had looked into your mind that night you two locked eyes. And he had seen... Things that reminded himself too much of himself. The only diffrence between you two was that you weren't just born evil. A bummer, really. He's always wanted to see a maniacal kid.

But... Oh dallit, who's he kidding, he did get attached. And really he doesn't understand why. You were a dirty, foolish child...

But you had potential...

Dio had always planned to be the lonesome ruler of his ideal world... But you were.. ideal enough. Yes.

You could like... stand next to him and chirp about whatever useless tought you had this time.

Something to quench the silence he's grown to hate after years of being confined to a coffin under the sea.

It's a miracle that you hadn't gotten on his nerves, really. He usually hated all kids. But well, maybe it's that mischievious glint in your eyes. Makes him think too much of his time back in his living ages.

So, ofcourse he sent two of his stand users out to retrieve you.

Wich is how he had leanred of your capture by the Joestars.

Oh he had wanted to gag, what if they made you into the same goody-two-shoes all Joestars pretended to be?

Disgusting. He's have to end your suffering in that case...

But for now, he could wait for his pawns to bring you back. Maybe you were ready for the no flesh bud treatment.

Probably not. But hey, who knows what other nonsense you'd come up with if he let you be that free.

If only his pawns would hurry up! He's bored!

"I'm not helping you, I've got things to do." You declare to Joseph for the sixth time now as they kept on asking you to help them get to Dio.

"We'll give you lots of food." Jotaro pipes in with that same bored tone, seemingly having figured you out after his grandfather had tried convincing you the whole time.

"I'm in. This way."

You hum and start walking. Joseph yaw falls open dramatically as Jotaro walks past him with a slightly proud aura.

The group of guys follow you around the sunny streets of Cairo as you walk to the mansion you just so faintly remember.

Actually... you don't really remember much of your mind controlled times. A faint face of the vampire that had enslaved you... a slight sensation of a hair ruffle. For the rest it's mostly gone.

But who knows, with what these guys have been telling you, this Dio figure is quite the bad guy. And you'd be getting food. So...

The first round roof of the mansion had appeared in your field of vision, you had attampted to call out before someone just jumped onto you from above.

Now this man you remembered just faintly. Cowboyish looks, an attitude and the most annoying smirk.

"Gotta ask you not to struggle kid. Dio's been whining about you for a week now." Hol Horse huffs as he picks you up at the scruff. Glaring at Jotaro's group of friends.

"Let me go or I'll blast you to bits." You declare simply. Crossing your arms childishly.

The cowboy's eye twitches and he takes it as a bluff.

Stupid idea, really.

You activate your stand, Arnold, and use it's ability that you have yet to name. The crystal like being grabs ahold of Hol Horse and sharp crystals grow out of his arm, piercing his skin.

This effectivly drops you as the man screams in pain behind you.

So that's what you had done wit Avdol then? Yikes. Since when did you even have this ability? Must be Dio's fault.

Tough, this seemed way too easy. You were proven right moments after as you were ambushed by a pretty woman... Who you actually didn't know.

She surpisingly just hoisted you over her shoulder mid run and ran away from the Crusaders as they yelled for the woman to stop. You could sense her stand... So this must be another one of Dio's henchmen.

Altough your stand was super duper cool and epic, you're an untrained kid who doesn't know what they're doing.

So you weren't that great at summoning your stand without concentrating fully. And all these jolts you got from this womans fast running weren't helping your concentration.

A puprle vine suddendly wrapped around the womans ankle and she fell to the floor, dropping you as you rolled along the sandy pavement, scratching your skin and further staining your clothes with more dirt.

Joseph had stopped the womans kidnapping attempt. Wich was cool but damm that fall hurt!

The rest of the crusaders came running to you and the unknown stand user. This time it was Polnareff who picked you up like you were damm nothing. To prevent you from getting snatched again.

"You didn't say you were some kind of prized possesion. What does Dio want with you?" Polnareff yells dramatically.

"As if I know! I barely remember him!" You huff back.

"Are you perhaps his offspring?" Kakyoin asks a lot more calmly.

"What? No, I know my dad, he's an asshole but we've got the same hair, so we're obviously related." You shake your head.

"Thats the stupidest explenation I've ever heard." Jotaro sighs while Joseph ties the woman to a pole so that she can't chase again.

"What can I say, never been to school." You shrug with a matter of factly face. Polnareff looks bewildered while the others have taken on a bit of a pitying look. Wich you really don't like.

Seriously, life could be worse.

 Polnareff had loosened his grip slighly as he must have felt safe or something. A stupid descicion really, as a faint barking was coming from down the alley before you.

You caught a glimpse of a funny looking dog with big ears barking up at the sky before you got lifted up really fast by sharp talons.

A hawk, a damm hawk got you.

How was this thing even carrying you? Sure ten year olds aren't big an you don't grow a lot on the street but this is just bizarre!

The hawk dropped you off in the fountain of Dio's courtyard.

Landing with a splash into the unkempt water. Good thing this wasn't deep becasue nobody had ever tought you how to swim...

The hawk squaqed hard before flying back up to protect the mansion you had been brought back to.

Now if you knew one thing about vampires it's that they can't come into the sun or they expolde or something.

So you made it your mission to stay here in the sun as long as possible... Wich.. isn't that long, it was almost sunset... Shit.

"Tought you could run off, child?" A sultry voice spoke from the dark halls surrounding the courtyard.

Two piercing yellow eyes looked straight at you. That same feeling of impending doom hit you again.

"Why don't you come to me. I promise not to harm you..." Dio whispers in a slightly sweet manner. Wich really made it even less convincing.

He'd probably snap your head right off for even attempting to talk to the Crusaders.

You didn't want to walk towards him. But the alluring feeling the man possesed made you take a shaking step.

Screaming in your head to stop wasn't working.

Slowly but surely you were walking out of the suns warm embarce and into the darkness of a vampire's lair.

You're gonna die, oh my god!

The vampire held his hand out so elegantly for you to take, sharp- well kept nails the only indicator of the underlying nature of this predator.

Your hand reached out for his, out of your control. Damm this creature's charm.

The moment your warm hand touched ice cold flesh you were dragged into the darkness and into a strong body.

You were held tightly against the man as he ran a hand trough your hair before you were out like a light. Seriously, what kind of powers does this asshole even have?

The next thing you knew, you woke up in a dark room. Feeling a bit.. cold?

You open your heavy eyes, looking for any sign of life in this room. Closed curtains... unlit candles. Now where in the fuck-knuckles were you now?

"Y/N, would you like to know something?" That same deep voice spoke from behind you. You turn around and face the vampire on his fancy couch, lazing around.

"Not really.." You mutter unsurely.

"Hah, still the same kind of annoyance as before. How I've missed you." Dio muses down at you as if looking at a little lapdog. Wich techically you had been.

"Fine, what's the thing I need to know?" You sigh.

"I've made you a vampire, just like me. Isn't that generous of me my little Y/N? Now we can talk forever." Dio smirks as if this was his best idea ever.

You deadpann and walk over to a curtain to go kill yourself full on vampire way.

"No, foolish child. Come back here." Dio tsks in annoyance and whatever control he has over you now pulls you back to stand behind his couch.

Wow, can't even sit in this place huh?

"Do you not understand why I share my gift of immortality with you?" Dio muses, smiling again. Tough that teeny tiny spark of softness doesn't go unnoticed to your trained eyes.

You just shake your head. Who knows, even age old vampires could be pedo's-

"You... are similar to me. I simply wish for you to have a better life then I had."

Dio speaks a bit less... confidently.

Now, that's something you had never expected from the blonde..  Ever.

Where's the uncaring cold villain you knew? The guy that killed his servants for failing?

Why was he looking at you as if his words were genuine?

And why was it affecting you like this?

"Y/N, when Jotaro Joestar and his group make their way to my estate, I want you to stay firmly beside me. Do you understand me?" Dio narrows his eyes as he stands up to tower over you. That sinister shadow casting over his face to get you to comply.

You just nods your head. Wich apparently isn't good enough for him as he squishes your cheeks between his hand.

"Use your words, child." Dio tsks.

"I'll stay at your side..." You speak up, not like you actually would... they were coming here to kill Dio... You didn't wnat to die aswell...

Dio sighs and ruffles your hair roughly before leaving the room to go do whatever the hell he does all day.

You hear a little lock click shut, once again trapping you somewhere, tough unlike last time, you have full control of your mind...

Dio didn't need a henchmen anymore, not of you.

He couldn't even understand it himself. Maybe deep down he missed a brother he could bully.

So just sit in that tower and don't complain and everything would be alright.

He wouldn't let those crusaders take you away from him again...

_____☆_____

Thank you for the request! Also available on Wattpad/Tumblr.

Dio was a bit OOC but I really don't know how to get this man to like a kid, i think he'd throw one out of a window if given the choice. Xd.

Have a nice night/ Day!

Words: 2502

[pizzee]

“Why else would we be in Cairo” incident, 2022, colorized

[thezombieprostitute]

Hummingbird - Part 7

Summary: You didn't want to break into someone's party but you were desperate to see the art at the gallery before it was gone. You're so busy trying to make sure no one sees you that you miss the ever present gaze of Steve Rogers who is wondering why you crashed his party.

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Reader is AFAB

A/N2: This takes place at the same time as Dream Come True Part 9

Warnings: Death of minor characters, Rough sex, Smut, Violence. Please let me know if I missed any.

Part 6 -- Part 8

Series Masterlist

The next few hours mostly involve Steve pacing around his office. You stayed in the same chair you promised you would. As much as you want to calm him down you know this isn’t the time. Steve had gotten notice that Curtis had pulled Teach out of Lloyd’s hotel room and she was safe. Everyone breathed easier after that, but Steve was still stressed. For good reason, of course. Bucky and Sam would regularly find reasons to leave his office because his pacing and stressing wasn’t helping them, either. But you stayed in place, as you promised. 

“Why didn’t you have Curtis take Lloyd out at the hotel,” you ask. “We know he’s there.”

“Pine’s hotel is a neutral zone,” Steve explains. “If one of our people killed anyone there, we’d open ourselves to attack from all of the families at once. Cairo Hotel, any hotel under Pine’s jurisdiction really, is where we have our most important meetings and negotiations.”

“Which is why Lloyd is staying there,” you intone. “So Pine isn’t obligated to tell anyone about any of his guests? Even when they’re clearly dangerous?”

“True neutrality,” Steve confirms. “Otherwise there would be no place for real negotiations, peace talks, reparations, whatever. It’s important for business.”

“So the only reason Curtis was allowed to go get her was because Pine owed Ari a favor?”

“Well, there’s that,” he nods. “But also Pine has standards. He never likes to involve civilians in our dealings. The fact that it was solely a rescue mission definitely helped get Curtis the ‘in’ he needed.”

Your next question is interrupted by Bucky running in, “he’s at Ran’s. Let’s go!”

Steve gave you a kiss and a “stay here” before running after him. You have no idea when Steve will be back but you’ll be right where he needs you to be. 

Bucky’s team is first to go in. They’re the stealth team, taking out guards and others that might raise the alarm. Bodecker’s police cruiser is close enough to hear any gunshots but far enough to not raise eyebrows at the quick police response. If all went well, none of Ransom’s neighbors would hear anything. 

Of course something went wrong.

A scream from within Ransom’s house pushed up their timetable to “act now”. The slow and steady plan was under the premise that Ransom was having a conversation, not that he was being tortured. Bucky’s team focused on making a path to the front door before doing perimeter security. Steve and his team charged up the path they created to the door. 

Steve was first through the door, acting as a shield for his people came naturally to him. Quick firing to take out a couple of Rumlow’s men, he pushed forward, certain that his team would clean up if he missed anyone. Intel said that Ransom hadn’t left his office since his meeting with Teach so that’s where Steve led his team. 

Knowing that the people torturing Ransom were sure to have heard the gunshots Steve signaled his team to stay in various doorways as he knelt down to open the office door. The shots went well over his head and opened the shooters to his return fire. If he missed any, his team had him covered. 

Carefully moving forward Steve was able to confirm no one else was in the office. He found Ransom and called for a medic. The telltale sound of a police siren confirmed that they were moving into the coverup part of their plan. Sam ran into the office, carrying some emergency medical supplies, and started taking care of Ransom. This allowed Steve to look around at the bodies. He recognized all of them but quickly realized Lloyd was not among them. 

“Where’s Hansen,” he calls out. “Anyone got eyes on Hansen?” There was a lot of quiet. Steve messaged the Garbage Men, “Hansen is missing.”

Steve slams open his office door, startling you. He kneels in front of you and touches you almost reverently, whispering, “you’re okay. Thank god you’re okay.”

“What happened, Steve?”

He doesn’t answer and just moves you so that he’s sitting in the chair with you on his lap, holding you close. You start kissing his neck, your signal to him that he’s safe, that you’re okay, that he can relax. It takes a few minutes but he does calm down. 

“Lloyd escaped. You’re not leaving my sight until we’re able to find him.”

“Of course, Steve,” you assure. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Ransom’s in the hospital,” he reports. “Sam says he should be okay. He’ll just have some scars afterwards.” 

“And probably some mental ones, too,” you comment.

Steve agrees, “after he’s stable we’ll get some more information from him. See about helping him. In the meantime, no one goes alone and everyone is armed.”

“I take it you’re not going to be sleeping any time soon?” Steve shakes his head in response. “Then let’s at least get you some food to help you think.” You start to get off of his lap but he pulls you close to him, hugging you in place. “Steve, we’re going to be okay,” you coo between kisses along his jugular. “I’ve been sitting in this chair all day and I need to move. And get something to eat.”

He relaxes a little and lets you get up, but you make sure to not let go of his hand. Even when you’re both in the kitchen and cooking up a little something you’re making sure to touch him. Letting him hug you from behind while you’re working. Letting him know you’re still there and you’re okay. You know it’s the only thing that’ll keep him from going out and maybe getting himself killed. He needs a cool head and you can help with that. 

You’re both startled to alertness by Bucky running into the room. “Hansen is dead. Everett got him!”

“What’s the update on his co-conspirators?”

“Scattered to the winds,” Bucky confirms. “The other families have even agreed not to protect them. If they’re found, they’re delivered to us.” 

You feel Steve legitimately relax for the first time since he picked you up from your apartment. He talks to Bucky for a bit about the finer details of the aftermath; getting Ransom’s cover story for what happened, following up on the hacker who helped Lloyd, getting all of the Family members back safely. 

By the time he and Bucky are done, Steve is beyond exhausted. All he wants right now is to curl up in bed with you and hold you. So when you ask him if you should grab your suitcase to head back home, he nearly growls at you, “you’re not going anywhere.” He takes you into his bedroom and throws you down on the mattress before crawling over to you, wrapping you in his arms, and pinning you to his chest. “Mine,” he grunts as he takes in the smell of your hair, the feel of your skin, the sound of your chuckles. 

“I’m definitely yours,” you assure. “We’ll see about me going home later.”

“You are home,” he asserts. “Can’t be without you. Sleep better, feel better, eat better.” He kisses you with each item he says, adding weight to his words. 

“Are you actually asking me to move in with you,” your voice barely a whisper from his kisses taking your breath away. “Or are you just in a mood?”

“Hummingbird, you’re moving in with me,” he insisted. “Either that or I’m moving in with you. I’m not going another night without you in my bed.” He starts removing your clothing, “I need you. Need you with me every day.” He’s stripped you down to your panties, his eyes darkening at your form. “Please,” he pleaded. “Please move in with me.”

“Yes, Sir,” you breathe. “I’ve just been waiting for you to actually ask.” 

“Let me apologize for taking so long to do so,” he says before he kisses down your front, his beard scratching your skin in just the right way, making you moan. 

He rips your panties off and wraps his lips around your clit, making you gasp and arch your back. His tongue moves from your clit to your dripping pussy before his strong arms grab your hips and he rolls so that you’re sitting firmly on his face. You grab Steve’s hair to help you ground yourself as you cry out from surprise and pleasure. 

Steve knows exactly how to play you to get you to cum so he does other things, wanting to prolong your pleasure, wanting you to drown him in your juices. And he will get what he wants. Every time you try to move your hips or drag yourself away, he grips your hips harder, not letting you even wiggle away from where he has you. 

“Oh, Steve, I’m so close,” you whimper. He smacks your ass hard and you’re quick to correct yourself, “Sir, I’m so close, Sir. Please, please let me cum!” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze, his sign that you had permission, before he hits all the spots he knows you need him to. He’s rewarded with your shouts of pleasure and a rush of slick. He doesn’t stop. Even after you’ve recovered from your first orgasm. Even when you’re begging him to slow down. He keeps at it until you’re cumming again. 

You’re whimpering from exhaustion and over-stimulation, “please, Sir. Please, can’t stay sitting up.” He spins you both so you’re laying on your back and he finally lifts his lips from you, his beard drenched, his eyes full of hunger.

“Tired out already, Hummingbird,” he chides. “Definitely need to have you here every night. Build up your endurance.” He rolls you over onto your stomach and gives your ass hard smack, making you cry out with pleasure. “Keep you with me, claim this pussy every damn day,” he says with another spanking. 

“More, please, Sir,” you cry out. “Please smack my ass again, Sir!”

He happily obliges, “can’t take more of my tongue in your cunt but you never get enough of my hands on you, do you?”

“No, Sir. Always need more of your touch.”

“Good girl,” he says with another smack to your butt-cheek. 

“Thank you, Sir!”

“I’m gonna claim that pretty little mouth of yours now,” he growls as he pulls you to your knees on the floor, making sure you land on a pillow he’d placed down there. Your mouth salivates as he undoes his belt and zipper before pulling out his cock. You open your mouth for him and put your hands on his thighs so you can signal if you need him to stop or slow down. 

He shoves his length into your mouth with a groan. You’ve done this enough times that you don’t need as much of a warm up but he’s still careful to not overdo it on the first few thrusts. You eagerly take every inch you can, moaning around his girth as he picks up the pace. By the time he’s grabbing the back of your head and forcing you to take every inch, you’re a crying mess and loving every second of it. 

Steve gets rougher as he gets closer to his own release. He grunts, “looking so fucking beautiful like this. Gonna ruin your holes every day and you’re gonna thank me for it.” You moan at his words and he slows down just a little, “play with your clit, Hummingbird. I know you’re soaked from this.”

He was right, you could feel yourself leaking down your thighs. You quickly start playing with yourself and you’re already so close to cumming. 

“That’s it, cum for me,” Steve groans. “Need to hear you cum before I spill down your throat.” At his command your orgasm takes over and you moan and whine around his cock which pushes him over the edge. Your pleasure grows with the feeling of his seed down your throat and you make sure to lick up every drop. 

Steve pulls out of your mouth and helps you get into the bed. After some gentle kisses and some settling of nerves he goes into full aftercare mode. He makes sure to worship you as he cleans you up, massages and cuddles you. As you fall asleep in his arms he thinks about the ring he has hidden away in his closet.

Part 6 -- Part 8

Series Masterlist

Tags:

@alicedopey; @aryhyuuga; @cynic-spirit; @icefrozendeadlyqueen @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ktficworld; @leryg0; @rayofdawnworld; @rebekahdawkins; @texmexdarling

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know.

[fanatic-writers]

Lunch "Dates"

Part Two Here!

A/n: Look at me actually following through with writing. I'm trying to fall back in love with it again but please be patient with me. I am thinking about making this a series or just maybe making it a general universe and having some random one-shots that all kinda connect. Anyway, I hope yall like it. I didn't really edit it all that much tbh... -G

Word Count: 2,032

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader

Warnings: None, just fluff for the most part

Summary: You work as a conservator at the museum Steven works at, regularly sneaking him in on your shared lunch breaks so he can see the artifacts he’s so fond of and occasionally get his help on things (even if you still have to call in a “professional”). But what happens when Steven gets fired and then goes missing? Who’s supposed to accompany you on your lunches? And why do you miss him so damn much?

Life in the conservation lab was never boring. Just as a project seemed to become mundane, you’d find something hidden under the dirt and grime of centuries past that peeked your interest. Either that or you’d finished your current project and it was time to embark on a new one. The collections for the museum had recently received a rather large donation of Egyptian papyrus and you were currently working on cleaning them. While dabbing the delicate plant-based paper with a sponge seemed boring to most you enjoyed the satisfaction of uncovering the secrets found beneath the grime. You’d cleaned off a decent section of the mostly intact papyrus when your watch buzzed, letting you know it was time for lunch. You smiled to yourself as you put things away, leaving the artifact out since you knew you’d be back in a moment anyway.

As you removed and disposed of your gloves you gave a small wave to your co-workers, letting them know you’d be back in a moment. You made your way down the stairs to the main level and stopped in one of the many gift shops the museum had to offer, waiting for a certain gift-shoppist to finish with a customer. When the father and daughter in front of you left you gave Steven a warm smile before leaning onto the counter. “So, you know how we got some new stuff in from Cairo? Well, I’ve been working on a papyrus, and it would be super helpful if I had a translator.”

Steven beamed at you, knowing your whole translator thing was just an excuse to get him down there. He had been teaching you hieroglyphs and you had a specialist at your call when you would need them. “Of course!” He smiled “Let me just clock out for lunch and I’ll be right out, yeah?” You nodded in response and within minutes Steven was following you back up to the lab.

“This whole collection is amazing. A lot of it is in pretty good shape although I will definitely still have to make a lot of repairs. The one I’m working on now is the most intact piece in the collection.” You mused as you buzzed yourself into the lab, signed Steven in, and then made your way to your workstation. “Here she is” you hummed as you gestured to the large section of a scroll in front of you. “Still have to piece some parts together but that’ll be easier when its clean and I can see what I’m working with.” You explained.

Steven carefully leaned down over the papyrus; eyes wide as he took everything in “This is amazing.” He gushed. “I mean the size of the piece-“

“I know!” You interrupted excitedly, “usually we only get fragments from private donors, but this is insane.” As you spoke Steven grabbed a nearby notebook, eager to try and figure out what the uncovered hieroglyphs said. It was a bit choppy since some pieces were missing but he was able to transcribe most of it into your notebook. “I had something else I wanted to show you.” You hummed, watching as he worked. Steven perked up a bit as you grabbed a small box from one of the other tables in the lab and brought it over to him. You opened the box to reveal a shiny golden scarab inside. Steven’s eyes went wide as he looked to the golden artifact, his hand hovering over the box “What is it?” He asked. “We don’t know, but considering the shape it’s in it almost looks like whoever had it went through good measures to keep in nice and hidden away. We found this small box inside a puzzle box inside a lock box.” You explained. “They think it’s some sort of jewelry thing but that really doesn’t make sense because-“ You were cut off by a buzz on your wrist letting you know you only had a few minutes left of lunch. “We should actually eat something huh?” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly as you closed the box and put it back in its spot. You and Steven had your usual lunch of sandwiches on the steps of the museum, Steven brainstorming what the scarab could be between bites. The rest of the day went by, and it wasn’t long before you and Steven were saying your goodbyes on the street in front of the museum.

“See you Monday?” You asked as you pulled your keys from your bag, not having that much of a walk to get to your apartment. Steven nodded, giving you a small wave “Monday.” He confirmed “Laters gators.” He smiled at you as he began to move to his bus stop. You smiled to yourself as you walked the few blocks to your apartment in the other direction. --- Steven didn’t fully remember getting home that night. He remembered the butterflies in his stomach when you came to visit him, something he thought would’ve gone away by now. He remembered that he had a date the next day with Alex that he didn’t remember asking her out on. He’d liked the tour guide sure, but he liked you more. He shook the thought from his head, just happy that whatever the hell he had just experienced was a dream. Truth be told he was more focused on how Gus seemed to have two fins now rather than the fact that the same scarab you’d shown him had been a pretty big part of his dream. He never really had much time to think about that either, considering the date he was supposed to go on had been a complete and total failure. He almost tried to seek you out, to find some comfort in the madness of the day but he didn’t have your number or any other way to try and reach you. Instead, he settled on eating the chocolates he’d bought in his apartment and sharing the occasional sprinkle with Not Gus.

He was too distracted by the man from his dream not only being real but following him to work to even notice that you were waiting for him at the desk. Too focused on trying to get JP to actually do some semblance of security, to find safety somewhere to notice that you had taken the boxes Donna had practically dumped on him. Too distracted from, running away from the strange ma with the crocodile cane to notice that you had been waiting in the gift shop for him. “You alright?” Your voice made him nearly jump out of his skin, earning him a worried look from you. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He gave you a reassuring smile, but it didn’t do much to quell your worries. “Just a long weekend.” He mumbled to himself. “I heard,” You sighed, and he looked up at you, curious “Alex isn’t exactly happy with you and she’s not being quiet about it.” You fill in the blanks for him before he can ask. “I tried to calm her down a bit, told her you get your days mixed up sometimes. I’m sorry Steven.” You shot him a small smile “I gotta go but I’ll see you at lunch yeah?”

Steven just nodded, watching as you left the gift shop. He sighed to himself and began to put things away and get the register sorted for customers. He just had to make it to lunch. Then maybe he’d have some semblance of normalcy, of safety in your company. He’d told you about his issues with sleeping in the past, with his dreams, explained how he’d lost days sometimes. You’d never judged him, instead doing everything you could to help him out. You knew there wasn’t much you could do but it did help to just know someone cared, that someone was listening. The day seemed to drag on until Steven saw you again for lunch.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a golden scarab lying around?” Your words made Steven freeze. He had in his maybe dream, maybe he shouldn’t tell you about it. What if you thought he stole it? Steven shook his head no and you sighed, figuring it would be the answer. “Jess probably just took it to cleaning and didn’t put it back. I told her she needs to actually fill out her sheets, so we know what she’d working on, but she never listens and now we’re missing an artifact.” You let out a small huff before shaking the negativity from your head. If Steven wasn’t so worried about what the hell happened to the scarab and what he had to do with it he’d think you were cute. Instead, his mind was racing with every possibility and what the hell was going on. He was zoned out for most of lunch, half listening to you talk about your weekend. You didn’t seem to notice and if you did you didn’t bring it up.

--- Steven was off all of Monday, it was easy to tell. You didn’t push him though, hearing enough about his weekend from Alex and knowing he was likely in a bad mood from missing the date. What you didn’t expect was to walk into work on Tuesday to a mess in the bathrooms and Steven and JP going over the security footage. “That’s not me mate” You heard Steven mumble under his breath, moments later he was called to HR. You heard he’d been walked out and that was that. There was no way for you to call him, to email him, hell you would’ve settled for knocking on the man’s door at this point. You knew there was no way in hell sweet little Steven would’ve been able to rip apart the bathroom the way it had been. It looked like the Hulk had gone through there, not Steven, Steven who wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone a whole bathroom. He’d left before your lunch, so you hadn’t known for sure till you saw Donna in the gift shop. The rest of the week dragged by with you hoping everyday that you’d see a familiar curly haired man in the gift shop, but he didn’t come back. Donna had made it pretty clear to you that if she had anything to say about it, he never would.

As the days passed on you realize just how much you had cared for Steven, just how much light he had brought to your workday. You missed your little lunch dates, your conversations about whatever was in the lab that day. You missed finding excuses to have him come up to the lab and show him what you’d been working on, not knowing many other people who had appreciated your work. You missed having a friend around. About a month had passed since Steven had been fired. You were walking up the stairs to work when you heard someone call out your name. You didn’t recognize the voice at first but as you looked around you spotted Steven at the bottom of the steps. You smiled wide and practically ran down them to meet him.

“Steven?” You smiled up at him, wrapping your arms around him “Where the hell have you been?” The man stayed silent although his arms found their way around you. “Long story love, very long story.” He chuckled a bit. You pulled back and took him in, your heart racing slightly as you debated on if you should ask him to tell you about it over dinner, but he beat you to the punch. “Why don’t I meet you here after your shift? You’re still off at five, right?” Steven asked and you answered with a nod. “Great. It’s a date.”

You bid him goodbye quickly making your way back inside in hopes that he wouldn’t see just how excited the prospect of a date with him made you. You could’ve sworn you heard Steven mutter a curse under his breath, but you figured you could ask about it later on your date. Your date with Steven. You practically skipped to the lab, eager for the day to end.

[wildissylupus]

Can we get some OW New Blood headcanons? Whether it be some type of angst, heartfelt, or lighthearted interactions between the group.

Ask and you shall receive!! It's been awhile since I've done some New Blood stuff so let's see what I can do. Let's start off with some head canons first.

The New Bloods are the biggest human help in getting Zarya to unlearn her prejudices against omnics, it's mostly by telling her their own experiences with the Crisis (and with Hana it's her experiences with the Gwishi). They also call her out if she does or says something in line with her prejudice.

Cassidy is giving them all stealth training cause holy shit he cannot be the only person on that team who knows how to stealth, Baptiste is close but Cassidy knows that Talon stealth training is not going to cut it.

On top of that Cassidy is also giving specific training to D.Va so if she has to fight outside of her Mech he knows he can handle herself.

All of them know about Pharah's crush on Angela, either being told by Pharah herself or from Cassidy complaining that Genji and Pharah are hopeless at romance (he's been dealing with this for a max of 14 years at this point, he's allowed to complain)

They are all in agreement that if they are on a mission in a Talon base, they need to steal as much equipment as possible, mainly focusing on medical supplies.

They all make strategies on how to best use their skills together. They also sometimes include other agents abilities as well.

Pharah is the least foul mouthed of the group, only really swearing outside of missions, the rest? Not so much. By far the people who swear most often are Cassidy and D.Va.

----------------------- Cassidy: So I hear you you and Angie where around each other a lot while she was in Cairo, anything happened? Pharah: We just... hang out, spent time together, nothing other then what we would usually do before. Cassidy: ....Fareeha it's been fourteen years, for the love of god please make a move that isn't just flirty banter. ----------------------- Zarya: I don't understand how you have so many fans. Why do people like to watch you play games that they can play themselves? D.Va: The same reason why people play the Olympics and other sports, cause they like to see other doing something they love! ----------------------- D.Va: Ok so what if I initiate Self Destruct and you shoot them when they get behind cover! That way no matter what we're still hitting them. Cassidy: I don't know, might be able to hit some of them but I doubt it would be worth riskin' the Mech. D.Va: Oh, OH! What about if Niran launches you into the air and you shoot them from above! Cassidy: Hey...That ain't half bad! ----------------------- Baptiste: You know, you should really get some rest, it's not good to overwork yourself. Pharah: Have you been talking with my mum? Cause if she did you should tell her to take her own advise. Baptiste: No, no, I noticed it myself. Though I do think it's funny that both Ana and Cole seem to have the same issue as you. Pharah: Well, it kinda runs if the family. ----------------------- Pharah: Hey Cole, did I tell you that Jean thought we were dating? Cassidy: Ew, what?! What made you think that?! Baptiste: You two just seemed to have a lot of history! I was curious! Pharah: Yeah, it was our history that made you curious, nothing else more personal. Baptiste: Fareeha, I swear to god- ----------------------- Pharah: You know, you and Brigitte remind me of Cole and Angela when they were younger. D.Va: Ugh, Cass said the same thing, but I know I'm way cooler then he is! Pharah: HA! He would have said the same but trust me, it's a compliment.

[allieebobo]

Eid Mubarak :)

I'm so sorry this is a little late, but Eid Mubarak to everyone who celebrates! (And Selamat Hari Raya to folks who come from where I come from! <3)

Here's a little snippet of Rayyan and MC back home, celebrating :)

Part I.

Rayyan's family have just gotten back from their neighbourhood mosque, and now they're busy with the finishing touches to the meal preparations.

Little Mahaila is still a little too young to help out, but she doesn't wanted to miss out on all the fun, so Rayyan hoists her up to the kitchen counter, and Mahaila keeps up a constant stream of chatter directed at MC, while Rayyan and their mother busy themselves with the cooking.

Already the counter is laden with huge colorful dishes, and the smell is to die for. Mahaila's pointing out each of the dishes to MC one-by-one, and Rayyan and their mother occasionally chime in with details and little family anecdotes and recipe instructions.

There's Mahshi—stuffed peppers with tomato sauce, her grandparents' favorite, Batatis bil frakh—potatoes with chicken, her dad's favorite, and Mesaka’a—oven roasted eggplant with ground beef, which is Rayyan's favorite. Rayyan no longer quite remembers how it had tasted, back in Cairo, but ever since they'd moved to Seattle, the dish has become a family specialty, mostly because all the ingredients can be easily found in the grocery shops in Seattle.

Part II.

Rayyan's mother holds a spoon out to Rayyan. "Come, help me taste the Molokhia," she says. "Does it need more cilantro?"

Rayyan takes a big mouthful of the thick green soup which always tastes a little too healthy, in their opinion. They scrunch up their face, swallow, and nod—a little weakly.

Their mother smacks them on the arm and snorts. "I don't know why I bother," she says, shaking her head and bustles over to offer it to MC instead.

The shock of the taste makes MC blink, then breathe out softly, before allowing it to swirl around their tongue, delightfully distinct from anything they've ever tasted. They detect chicken broth, which forms the strong, comforting base, then the delicate and familiar layers of cilantro, garlic, salt and pepper, but there's another taste—strong and clean—cutting through everything else. "Wow," they breathe, genuinely astounded. "It's amazing. What is it?"

Rayyan's mother beams at MC. "I think what you are tasting is the leaf of jute tree. I am happy you like it. It is my favorite too." She nudges Rayyan in the ribs. "We have good taste. Unlike this one."

Rayyan makes a face at you. "Suck up," they whisper, for your ears only, but even their usual knitted brows can't hide the big grin that's spreading across their face.

Part III.

A loud clatter interrupts your conversation, and Rayyan looks up in alarm, still swiping at their mouth with an arm. Ishaq, one of Rayyan's twin brothers, pauses guiltily mid-stride, about halfway to the kitchen door. You hadn't noticed him come in. In his hands, there's a big bowl of kahk—nut cookies dusted with sugar. A bunch of cutlery lie on the floor, knocked over in his rush to escape with the loot.

Mahaila, beaming, lips also stained with the evidence of powdered sugar, helpfully points a finger at her brother.

"You already ate like five of them," Rayyan's mother scolds, taking the plate from Ishaq and placing it firmly on the table. "Shoo now! Before I ban you from kahk for life!"

His jaw drops, and he quickly scurries away obediently.

Rayyan snorts at you, and sees you eyeing the cookies curiously. They pick one out of the plate, then close the distance between you, smiling. "Would you like one?" they ask, voice dipping low as they lean in closer to you.

Part IV.

MC's heart flutters, and they hop off the counter, face now inches from Rayyan's. "If it's as sweet as you are," MC says, grinning, "then yes."

Rayyan bring a hand up, then pop the sweet treat into MC's mouth, studying their expression closely.

There's an immediate burst of rich, nutty sweetness. MC lets out a soft groan of appreciation.

Rayyan laughs, then brings their thumb up to wipe the sugar from MC's bottom lip, green eyes sparkling. MC catches their hand. That's when Rayyan leans in for a quick kiss, tasting the sweetness of soft sugar on MC's lips. When they finally step back, there's an infuriatingly smug smile on their face. "The cookies are good this year, aren't they? I helped make them."

[saikokirakira]

All the Wrong Right Reasons (Jake Lockley x Bakunawa!Reader pt.3)

a/n: we are entering spicy territory. nothing explicit unless you want me to? but we got maybe one more for jake's intro series...

next up is a layla fic. can i get a wahoo?

Prev: IV. Jake pt.2 | Next: IV. Jake pt.4 | AU Masterlist

warnings: jake “the simp king” lockley origin story; khonshu is a little shit; one-way intense turned thirsty pining; show’s interpretation of DID; non-hispanic writer using one (1) spanish word (in my not-so defense, im filipino (i remembered we have a celebrity kristine hermosa with that name. imagine having 'beautiful' for a name and looking EXACTLY ETHEREAL) okay i'll stop rambling); non-canon Philippine mythology

Maybe Jake’s reaction was a little unprecedented.

He never had to front unless the system was in mortal danger or if Khonshu needed him for a mission.

All he’s known was being on a constant state of fight or flight with adrenaline in his veins.

So, what happens when the person he’s been incredibly attracted to threatens his life?

He wants to fight back for all the wrong right reasons.

Have you met my friend, Jake Lockley?

As much as Jake was thankful for the moon god intervening, the bird was having the time of his life not allowing him to summon the suit as well.

Let him go. Khonshu’s playing with you.

A dark masked figure materialized behind you. A dark shadowy void with glowing violet eyes.

Probably made new friends the last time you died, Jake thought.

Glaring at Jake with your glowing golden eyes, you let him go and stepped back.

“Khonshu, you lied,” you spat out. “You were supposed to let him go.”

“Marc only meant Steven and himself, hermosa,” Jake finally spoke once he got to catch his breath. “I had no plans of leaving. I’m the real Moon Knight.”

Your golden eyes found him again, and Jake found some sort of satisfaction of you looking down at him… even with disdain.

Or any attention finally directed at him… not at any of his alters.

“What do you want from me?”

Jake resisted the urge to smirk.

There were many, many things he wanted from you.

“I want to finish the job.”

Arthur Harrow, the shadow said.

Then it clicked. “You were in Cairo.” You weren’t asking. You said it as a fact.

You never knew what happened after Ammit was sealed in her Avatar’s body, but you knew for a fact that that psychotic maniac was still breathing somewhere.

Steven didn’t have the stomach to kill anymore, and Marc…

Either his mind would be changed by Steven or not kill Harrow at all to spite Khonshu.

“I suppose you were the one who ran off and went on a killing spree when Marc blacked out?”

Jake nodded; his eyes guarded.

“You were protecting them.”

He nodded again.

“Do they know you exist?”

“No.”

“If you stay with me or with Khonshu, they’ll find out soon enough.”

“That’s why I want to get to Harrow before that, hermosa.”

You raised your brow at the second time he called you that. “Charmer,” you smiled playfully.

Finally relaxing and letting your guard down around the new alter, your eyes glowed again.

“Give me one hour.”

…

You were starting to regret not taking the passenger seat.

Yet you also needed a breather from Jake.

You were trying to tell yourself it was because you missed Steven so much…

… but Jake was waking up something else inside you.

It scared you. Scared that you might give into him.

You couldn’t do that to Steven.

“Why would I ever need anybody else when he has no idea how troubled he truly is?”

You hated to admit it, but you sided with Harrow for a split-second while Khonshu gloated on keeping Marc as his Avatar.

“And you’re okay with that, langga?”

You hissed at the name, but you tried not to get too riled up.

“You don’t want those to be your last words, you piece of shit.”

It’ll all be over soon.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter what I think. Marc and Steven don’t know.”

Arthur’s face twisted in confusion.

“Meet my friend, Jake Lockley.”

You barely flinched when you felt the bullet whiz past you and straight into Harrow’s head after Jake said his final words to the cultist.

Harrow slumped forward and fell to the floor where he slowly bled out.

It was over.

You hoisted yourself through the limousine partition window and sat on the passenger seat, not wanting to spend the rest of the ride with a dead body.

Jake narrowed his eyes when your shoes touched the leather seat.

“Really? You’re complaining over my shoes when Harrow is bleeding on your floor mats?”

Jake ignored you and didn’t waste any time and began driving away from the hospital.

Despite being ignored, your eyes continued to watch him, studying what made him so different from the rest.

Jake seemed to be more comfortable with Khonshu’s idea of vengeance, and it made you wonder if he was created because of Khonshu or because of something else.

Either way, the rush of a thousand innocent lives being avenged felt good.

And you had Jake to thank for that.

Now, you really felt that Egypt was a closed chapter…

“I can hear you thinking loudly over there, hermosa.”

His gloved hand reached out and gave your thigh a comforting squeeze.

“Want me to take your mind off things?”

… well, somewhat closed.

[hinacu-arts]

Since my last excerpt got over 700 notes, i figured i'd post this one. Its also from FFPS but probably will end up in chapter 5, so it'll be a while til it can be posted. Its more of a quiet moment than my usual comedy.

This marks the beginning of serious chaos' relationship turning from professional to romantic teenage Damian has a crushhhhh. Can totally be read as a stand alone as well

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Damian jolted upright in his bed. He scanned the room before he quickly got his breathing under control. Damian has had nightmares before, and he always reacts as if a threat woke him up. Which means he wakes fast and alert. The clock on the nightstand read 4:03 AM. Late enough everyone will have finished patrol and have gone to bed, but too early for anyone to be awake.

Perhaps some warm tea would relax Damian enough to go back to sleep. Titus whined as Damian got out of bed.

"It's alright. I am going to the kitchen. I will return shortly."

There was rustling from behind him as Titus got off the bed to join Damian by the door. Damian reached out and pat Titus on the back. He was a good dog.

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Damian quietly exited his room and made his way down to the kitchen, Titus following behind him. Once he reached the bottom of the staircase, Damian could make out yellow light coming in from one of the windows of the east sitting room. Damian altered his course. Who else would be up at such an hour? Perhaps Father was working on something, or Drake could not sleep again? As he got closer Damian saw the light was coming from the patio. Todd then? He had been caught out there smoking when this lockdown first began.

There was a figure sitting on one of the patio chairs, looking into the treeline. The figure was small, likely Cassandra. Titus trotted ahead of him and slipped out the well disguised dog door. The figure turned towards the sound of the flap and Damian could see it was Dani.

Dani was in her pajamas, an oversized shirt and basketball shorts, and she was resting her chin on her hand, who’s elbow was resting on her knee. Dani smiled and reached out to Titus as he got closer. Dani pet his head as his tail wagged lazily.

Dani looked different in the dim light. Grayson and Brown had insisted on stringing ‘fairy lights’ around the patio and pool at the beginning of the summer. The light they gave off was a dim yellow that flickered in intervals. The light cast her in shadows, which, in the addition of her large pajamas, made her look… vulnerable? No, that wasn’t right. Unguarded, maybe.

Titus wedged his head in between Dani’s torso and legs. Dani let out a gentle laugh as Titus rested his head on her lap. Damian opened the glass doors and stepped outside. The sound of crickets filled his ears.

“Why are you awake this early?”

Dani continued stroking Titus’ neck, “I’m still adjusting my circadian rhythm. Why are you awake?”

Damian did not want to admit he was awoken by a silly dream. Drake had married Grandfather, to get back at Damian claiming Drake had no authority over him. In the moment it was truly frighting. Now that he’d been awake for some time, he realized how ridiculous the dream was. Although, if that situation were to happen, it would still be cause for some concern. “My sleep was disturbed.”

“Titus jumped on your bed, didn’t he?” They both remained in quiet for a moment, the sounds of the night filling the silence. “You can come closer, I won’t bite. At least, not ‘til the sun comes up. I’m too tired right now.”

Damian slowly made his way over to her, sitting in the chair next to hers. “Where did you go?”

“Before we came here I was in Egypt.”

“Egypt is seven hours ahead.”

“Yep. Add chronic insomnia to the mix and it takes forever to get yourself back on something resembling a schedule.”

“Where in Egypt?”

“Cairo, Luxor, all the big spots. Wanted to see what the big deal with all the ancient sites are about. I just thought the pyramids were massive triangles,” Dani laughed at herself, “and then I was there and I felt so small next to these ginormous rock constructions, and I get why people are so obsessed with finding out how they were built and stuff now. It was… breathtaking. Not in the sense of beauty, but in how impressive they were.”

Damian simply watched as her face slowly lit up as she continued to speak. Damian remained in silence as she passionately told him about her trip. He found himself enjoying her smile.

“Oh, looks like we have a friend.”

Damian quickly sat upright. Surely he wasn’t that distracted by their conversation that he lost track of their surroundings?

Dani giggled as she looked into her cupped hands. She turned sideways in her seat and leaned towards Damian. She waited for Damian to lean in as well before slowly opening them, revealing a lightning bug.

“Have you ever gone firefly catching before?”

“Once. Grayson insisted.”

The insect crawled around Dani’s fingers. “I remember the first time my family took me. Dad showed me how to catch them. I watched that first one sit blinking on my hand for a while, until it finally flew away. By the end we got into a competition over who could catch more,” her voice was fond as she recalled the story.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Damian nodded. Dani reached out and gently grabbed his hand. Her skin was colder than he expected, she must have been out here for quite some time. Damian let her flip his hand palm up and pull it to the center between them. She continued to hold it as she rested her hand with the insect on his palm. She gently pushed at the bug until it crawled over to Damian, and then she retracted her hands.

Damian watched him for a few moments. He flew away as Damian turned his hand over to keep the bug upright. They watched him fly off in silence.

“Who won?”

“Hm?” Dani turned towards him again.

“The competition, who won?”

Dani smiled, “Depends who you ask. Danny lost count at eight, me at eleven, Dad kept catching and recounting the same bugs, and Mom and Jazz teamed up, which is totally cheating, for a combined count of thirty-seven.”

Damian found himself thinking that, perhaps, going firefly catching with Dani, and in turn spending time with her, wouldn’t be so bad.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Jake meta? On MY dashboard? More likely than you think. 

Been thinking a lot lately on when and how Jake was most likely formed as an alter. 

Sure, I enjoy the idea of him coming in later. After all, Steven is the first one Marc knows. We get to see when Steven shows up. He was pretty young. He grew up with Steven and doesn’t know Jake. 

I like the idea of Jake coming in during Marc’s early teen years when he starts to have problems with his father. Perhaps when he is sent to a psychiatric hospital or dealing with a bad therapist. Jake is the protector after all. He’d step in to help Marc out with this different type of trauma and pain. 

Or perhaps Jake was formed in the military. Marc had an off day, dissociated during a bad time and needed saving. Or even during the mercenary times during a tight spot. 

But judging from Jake’s gloves showing up in Cairo, the fact that I really think Jake was playing a part in the alps while fighting the village, and Jake’s Jakeness… Jake has been around for a while. He isn’t a ‘new’ alter that was formed during the show’s run. 

I want to propose a different option, just to explore it a little. I don’t know if anyone else has tossed this out there yet, but here it is. 

Jake was formed in the cave. 

DID is caused by intense trauma. Trauma that they could not handle and needed a different way to deal with. A way to protect themselves. 

So let’s look at their unique positions. Marc is a trauma holder. Possibly other positions too, but he holds the most traumatic memories. He remembers going into the cave. He remembers his mother beating him. He remembers bad things in the military/mercenary days. But he also admits that his memory is pretty fractured up. 

We don’t know how much Steven remembers of their childhood or growing up. We don’t know how much of what he remembers is real. We also don’t know if Steven was always active. There’s a good chance Steven went dormant during the military/mercenary years.   

What we do know is that Steven was formed a few years (1 or 2 judging from the birthday scenes) after his brother died. 

Marc was already sensitive. He was already traumatized. He had been belittled and emotionally abused for some time. Steven isn’t formed until Marc breaks down at the dichotomy of a mother he wants and a mother he has that wants to hurt him and needs someone there to take care of him. He needs someone to be hopeful and happy. He is always aware of Steven. He looks to Steven as an emotional protector. Someone to remind him why he lives. 

But what about the trauma that set it all off? The trauma of being in charge of protecting his little brother and failing? The trauma of telling him that it would be alright and then having to watch him die? The trauma of almost dying himself? 

A protector that failed. A protector that lost his only charge. 

Steven is there to guard Marc emotionally. We see this strongest when he breaks down in the street and can’t handle everything that comes with his mother’s death. Steven is there when Marc can’t be. He’s there to guide Marc and comfort him. To protect him when he’s vulnerable. To challenge bad claims and step up when Marc can’t. 

Jake is there to protect Marc. To save him. To save them. To do what Marc could not do in the cave. 

So, what if Jake was the first? What if Marc went into the cave with Roro and Jake came out? Does Marc remember what happened? In the flashback he sees them go in. Then suddenly they are standing in the living room. Marc comes down the stairs dressed up and ready to join the Shiva. He seems unsure of himself but he’s there. And then he’s surprised when it goes bad. When his mother screams at him. Maybe at that point he didn’t really know what happened. He only understood that his brother was gone. His mother is the one that puts a false memory into him that it is all his fault. He can’t remember what happened, after all, so he fills in the gaps and thinks she’s right. 

And Jake is there with the memory of what happened after. Of how Marc almost died too. Of how he got out. Of them pulling his dead brother out. Of Jake swearing he would never fail again. 

So why doesn’t Jake step in when their mother starts to beat them? Why Steven? 

Because what is a little boy going to do against his mother? There is nothing Jake could do. This was Marc’s pain. This was emotional trauma that Steven could help distract Marc from. If it had gone too far, if the body had been too badly broken, there is a chance Jake would have taken over and tried to get them out. 

It’s also possible that since Jake was the first, this is why he can hide so well from Marc. He holds the biggest trauma and he does not talk to Marc. He stays in the back. He doesn’t want to front at this point. He’s the type of alter that just likes to stay in the back unless really needed. And maybe in their teenage years Jake starts to peek out more and more. He becomes highly active in the military/mercenary years because he’s needed. He watches Marc become more and more destructive and he has to start protecting Marc from himself. 

When he failed in the desert and Marc almost died and then almost killed himself, Jake must have taken that very hard. He starts to slip in more often. He can’t just hide anymore. He starts to take missions. He starts to leave out hints of his presence. (See the gloves in episode two). He starts stepping in when Marc goes on a bender of self destruction. Jake will not lose another one, even if he has to protect him from himself. 

He watches Marc and Steven bond and he swears now he will protect them both. 

So when Harrow threatens them, Jake has had enough. He comes back from the Duaat pissed off to high hell and all he can think about is the damn cave. Being locked in the Sarcophagus and HEARING them in the cave. Marc could hear what Steven heard. He remembered as Steven went in and witnessed the flood. You know Jake could too. Trapped in that tight and dark coffin as he heard the screams and water rushing in. 

When Jake comes back, he is emotional. He is pent up. He is rage and refuses to fail. He can’t fail. 

And that’s why the final fight scene looked like a bomb went off. 

[mightyflamethrower]

So much for the idea that if women were in charge the world would be a much kinder and less violent place.

Peruse campus literature. Watch clips from university protests. Scan interviews with pro-Hamas protestors. Read the chalk propaganda sketched on campus sidewalks. Talk to raging students in the free speech area. And the one common denominator— besides their arrogance—is their abject ignorance. Take their following tired talking points:

“Refugees” 

We are told that the Palestinians after more than 75 years of residence in the West Bank and Gaza are “refugees.” If that definition were currently true, then, are the 900,000 Jews who were forcibly exiled from Muslim countries in the Middle East, North Africa, and Asia after the 1947, 1956, 1967 wars still “refugees?”

Most fled to Israel. Do they now live in “refugee” camps administrated by the UN? Are they protesting to recover their confiscated homes and wealth in Damascus, Cairo, or Baghdad? Do Jews on Western television dangle their keys to lost homes in Damascus a half-century after they were expelled?

How about the 150,000-200,000 Greek Cypriots who in 1974 were brutally driven out of their ancient homes in Northern Cyprus? Are they today living in “refugee” camps in southern Cyprus? Are Cypriot terrorists blowing themselves up in “occupied” Nicosia to recover what was stolen from them by Turkey?

Turkish president Recep Erdogan lectures the world on Palestinian “refugees,” but does he mention Turkey’s role in the brutal expulsion of 40 percent of the residents of Cyprus?

Are there campus groups organizing against Turkey on behalf of the displaced Cypriots? After being slaughtered and expelled, are the Cypriots a cause celebre in academia? Do the “refugee” cities of southern Cyprus resemble Jenin or Jericho?

For that matter, how about the 12 million German civilians who between 1945-50 were expelled, and mostly walked back from, East Prussia and parts of Eastern Europe, some with Prussian roots going back a millennium and more. Perhaps 1 million died during the expulsions.

Are any current survivors still “refugees?” If so, are they organizing for war to get back “occupied”  “Danzig” and “Königsberg” for Germany? So why does the world damn Israel and romanticize the Palestinians in a way it does not with any other “refugee” group?

“Apartheid”

Israel is said to practice “apartheid,” although since 2005-06 Gaza has been autonomous. Mahmoud Abbas runs in his fashion the West Bank. Like the Hamas clique, he held elections one time in 2005, and then after his election, of course, cancelled any free election in the fashion of the one election, one time Middle East. Who forced him to do that? Zionists? Americans?

At any time, Gaza could have taken its vast wealth in annual foreign aid and become completely independent in fuel, food, and energy, without need of any such help form the “Zionist entity.”

Gaza could have capitalized on its strategic location, the world’s eagerness to help, and the natural beauty of its Mediterranean beaches. Instead, it squandered its income on a labyrinth of terrorist tunnels and rockets. Today, it snidely snickers at any mention of following the Singapore model of prosperity–a former colonial city whose World War II death count vastly surpassed that of the various wars over Gaza.

Are the Israeli Arabs—21 percent of the Israeli population—living under apartheid?

If so, it is a funny sort of oppression when they vote, hold office, form parties, and enjoy more freedom and prosperity than almost anywhere else in the Middle East under Arab autocracies. Are those in sympathy with Hamas fleeing from Israel into Gaza or the West Bank or other Arab countries to live with kindred Muslims under an autocratic and theocratic dictatorship, or do they prefer to stay in the “Zionist entity” under “apartheid?”

Where then is real apartheid?

The Uyghurs in China, fellow Muslims to Middle Easterners, who are ignored by Israel’s Islamic enemies, but who reside in China’s segregated work camps to the silence of the usually loud UN, EU, and Muslim world?

How about the Muslim Kurds? Are they second- or third-class citizens in Muslim Turkey? And how about the tens of thousands of foreign workers from India, Pakistan, and other Asian countries who labor under the kafala system in the Arab Muslim Gulf countries, and are subject to apartheid protocols that allow them no free will about how they live, travel, or the conditions of their labor?

Are campuses erupting to champion the Uyghurs, the Kurds, or the subjugated workers of the Gulf?

“Disproportionate”

Israel is now damned as “disproportionally” bombing Gaza. The campus subtext is that because Gaza’s 7,000-8,000 rockets launched at Israeli civilians have not killed enough Jews, then Israel should not retaliate for October 7 by bombing Hamas targets–shielded by impressed civilians— because it is too effective.

Would a “proportionate” response be counting up all the Israelis murdered, categorizing the horrific manner of their deaths, and then sending Israeli commandoes into Gaza during a “pause” in the fighting to murder an equal number of Gazans in the same satanic fashion?

Does the U.S. lecture Ukraine not to use to the full extent its lethal U.S. imported weaponry since the result is often simply too deadly? After all, perhaps twice as many Russians have been killed, wounded, or are missing than Ukrainian casualties. Should Ukraine have been more “proportionate?” Has President Biden ordered President Zelensky to offer the Russian aggressors a “pause” in the fighting to end the “cycle of violence?”

Or did U.S.-supplied artillery, anti-armor weapons, drones, and missiles “disproportionally” kill too many Russians? Or does the U.S. assume that since Russia attacked Ukraine at a time of peace, it deserves such a “disproportionate” response that alone will lose it the war?

For that matter, the U.S. certainly disproportionately paid back Japan for Pearl Harbor, and the Japanese brutal take-over of the Pacific, much of Asia, and China—and the barbarous way the Japanese military slaughtered millions of civilians, executed prisoners, and mass raped women. Should the U.S. have simply done a one-off retaliatory attack on the imperial fleet at Yokohama, declared a “cease-fire,” and thus ended the “cycle of violence?”

Civilian casualties

Campus activists scream that Israel has slaughtered “civilians” and is careless about “collateral damage.” They equate retaliating against mass murderers who use civilians to shield them from injury, while warning any Gazans in the region of the targeted response to leave, as the moral equivalent of deliberately butchering civilians in a surprise attack.

So did protestors mass in the second term of Barrack Obama when he focused on Predator drone missions inside Somalia, Pakistan, and Yemen to go after Islamic terrorists who deliberately target civilians?

At the time, the hard-left New York Times found the ensuing “collateral damage” in civilian deaths merely “troubling.” No matter—Obama persisted, insisting as he put it, “Let’s kill the people who are trying to kill us.” Note Obama did not expressly say the terrorists in Pakistan or Yemen were killing Americans, but “trying” to kill Americans. For him, that was, quite properly, enough reason “to kill” the potential assassins of Americans.

What would the Harvard President today say of Benjamin Netanyahu saying just that about Hamas?

We have no idea how many women, children, and elderly were in the general vicinity of a targeted terrorist in Pakistan or Yemen when an American drone missile struck. Then CIA Director John Brennan later admitted that he had lied under oath (with zero repercussions), when he testified to Congress that there was no collateral damage in drone targeted assassinations.

Obama was proud of his preemptive assassination program. Indeed, in lighthearted fashion he joked at the White House Correspondence Dinner about his preference for lethal drone missions, when he “warned” celebrities not to date his daughters: “But boys, don’t get any ideas. I have two words for you, ‘predator drones.’ You will never see it coming. You think I’m joking.”

Did the campuses erupt and scream “Not in my name” when their president laughed about his assassination program? After all, Obama had also admitted, “There is no doubt that civilians were killed who shouldn’t have been.” Did he then stop the targeted killings due to collateral damage—as critics now demand a cease fire from Israel?

“Genocide”

Genocide is now the most popular charge in the general damnation of Israel, a false smear aimed at calling off the Israeli response to Hamas, burrowed beneath civilians in Gaza City.

But how strange a charge! Pro-Hamas demonstrators the world over chant “From the River to the Sea,” unambiguously calling for the utter destruction of Israel and its 9 million population. Are the Hamas supporters then “genocidal?”

Is genocide the aim of Hamas that launched over 7,000 rockets into Israeli cities without warning? What is the purpose of the purportedly 120,000 rockets in the hands of Hezbollah if not to target Israeli noncombatants? Is all that a genocidal impulse?

Do Hamas and Hezbollah drop leaflets to civilians, as does Israel, to flee the area of a planned missile attack—or is that against their respective charters?

Hamas leaders in Qatar and Beirut continue to give interviews bragging about their October 7 surprise mass murdering of civilians. They even promise more such missions that likewise will be aimed at beheading, torturing, executing, incinerating, and desecrating the bodies of hundreds of Jewish civilians, perhaps again in the early morning during a holiday and a time of peace.

Is that planned continuation of mass killing genocidal? Does the amoral UN recall any other mass murdering spree when the killers beheaded infants, cooked them in ovens, and raped the dead?

Perhaps students at Harvard, Yale, Cornell, and Stanford will protest the real genocide in Darfur where some half-million black African Sudanese have been slaughtered by mostly Muslim Arab Sudanese. Did the Cornell professor who claimed he was “exhilarated” on news of beheaded Jewish babies protest the slaughter of the Sudanese? Did the current campus protestors ever assemble to scream about the Islamists who slaughtered the indigenous Africans of Sudan?

Are professors at Stanford organizing to refuse all grants and donations that originate from communist China? Remember, the Chinese communist Party has never apologized for the party’s genocidal murder of some 60-80 millions of its own during the Maoist Cultural Revolution, much less its systematic efforts to eliminate the Uyghur Muslim population?

These examples could easily be expanded. But they suffice to remind us that the Middle-East and Western leftist attacks on Israel for responding to the October 7 mass murdering are neither based on any consistent moral logic nor similarly extended to other nations who really do practice apartheid, genocide, and kill without much worry about collateral damage.

So why does the world apply a special standard to Israel?

To the leftist and Islamist, Israel is guilty of being: 1) Too Jewish; 2) Too prosperous, secure, and free; 3) Sufficiently Western to meet the boilerplate smears of colonialist, imperialist, and blah, blah, blah.