#shite cabinet

[hellahook]

Vancouver Shaker Walk-in closet - large transitional gender-neutral medium tone wood floor walk-in closet idea with shaker cabinets and white cabinets

[nebulousnoiz]

Vancouver Shaker Walk-in closet - large transitional gender-neutral medium tone wood floor walk-in closet idea with shaker cabinets and white cabinets

[iscopeee]

wreck it ralph fnaf au thing because uhhhh im insaneeee YAYAYAY

[virtue-boy]

also literally stated in the excerpt:

"A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling. But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Why aren't we talking about the real reason male college enrollment is dropping? (Celeste Davis, Oct 6 2024)

"White flight is a term that describes how white people move out of neighborhoods when more people of color move in.

White flight is especially common when minority populations become the majority. That neighborhood then declines in value.

Male flight describes a similar phenomenon when large numbers of females enter a profession, group, hobby or industry—the men leave. That industry is then devalued.

Take veterinary school for example:

In 1969 almost all veterinary students were male at 89%.

By 1987, male enrollment was equal to female at 50%.

By 2009, male enrollment in veterinary schools had plummeted to 22.4%

A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling.

But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Her research shows that the reason fewer men are enrolling in veterinary school boils down to one factor: the number of women in the classroom.

For every 1% increase in the proportion of women in the student body, 1.7 fewer men applied.

One more woman applying was a greater deterrent than $1000 in extra tuition! (…)

Since males had dominated these professions for centuries, you would think they would leave slowly, hesitantly or maybe linger at 40%, 35%, 30%, but that’s not what happens.

Once the tipping point reaches majority female- the men flee. And boy do they flee!

It’s a slippery slope. When the number of women hits 60% the men who are there make a swift exit and other men stop joining.

Morty Schapiro, economist and former president of Northwestern University has noticed this trend when studying college enrollment numbers across universities:

“There’s a cliff you fall off once you become 60/40 female/male. It then becomes exponentially more difficult to recruit men.”

Now we’ve reached that 60% point of no return for colleges.

As we’ve seen with teachers, nurses and interior design, once an institution is majority female, the public perception of its value plummets.

Scanning through Reddit and Quora threads, many men seem to be in agreement - college is stupid and unnecessary.

A waste of time and money. You’re much better off going into the trades, a tech boot camp or becoming an entrepreneur. No need for college. (…)

When mostly men went to college? Prestigious. Aspirational. Important.

Now that mostly women go to college? Unnecessary. De-valued. A bad choice. (…)

School is now feminine. College is feminine. And rule #1 if you want to safely navigate this world as a man? Avoid the feminine.

But we don’t seem to want to talk about that."

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (Dilf!Simon, your next door neighbor, reader’s around early 20s, Simon’s around late 30s~early 40s) pt.2

Just retired and move into a new flat, Simon doesn’t expect someone to knock on his door when he’s unpacking his belongings. With slight annoyance, he opens the door and try to dismiss whoever is out there.

His annoyance vanishes quickly when he lays eyes on you, young, gorgeous, gazing up at him with a baggy shirts barely cover the sweat-shorts. The simple apron on the outside looks incredible on you, the fabric of it rises and taut around your chest. Greeting him with a grin and hand him a plate of biscuits. A welcome gift for the new neighbor, you explain to him before leaving with a wave, hips swaying tantalizingly as you saunter back to your flat and close the door behind you.

He becomes closer to you each day, helping you without a word when one day he hears noises from the staircase outside, swings open the door of his flat and discovers you struggling with the heavy groceries bags. When you sheepishly knock on his door again, holding a screwdriver and fidgeting it, telling him you have some issues with assembling the new bookshelf you bought, he already starts his steps and walks into your flat, finish the work in minutes while you circling around cutely and trying to help like a desperate puppy.

To express your thankfulness to him, you invite him to have dinner with you, become a habit of yours when he shoots you a glance with a ‘Not bad.” but devours your home cooked meal like a man starved for days.

Sweet, beautiful girl, a year before graduating from college, expressing your insecurity about your future when he hinted that you can share your worries with him—a person who has much more experience than you— a while ago, he provides some insight and rational advice, swallowing back the words he’s been thought about for months now: Slide the silver ring on your ring finger with his name name engraved on it, makes you his missus and away from all shites the society is boiling everyday. A man alone for years and has low material desires, he has the money to take care of and spoil you without any hesitation.

He’s been fisting his cock whenever he hears your moans coming from the other aide of the wall. Hell, you don’t know how shitty and thin the walls are, the soundproof ability of them is imperceptible when it comes to louder sounds. Simon listens closely to the sounds, closing his eyes, head leans back on the armchair, trying to imagine how you must be right now. Hands in sync of the squelchy sounds of you pumping your fingers in and out of that soaked pussy. His cock’s so huge, even his own palms are just big enough wrapped around the girth, and an obscene growl left his lips as your whimpers and moans turn higher and sultrier, definitely look like a goddess when you’re weeping tears, stuffing your cunny full and craving for the release. But when you finally tumble over the edge, he snaps his eyes open and groans the second his name comes out of your mouth with such honeyed tone, crying his name in need and suppressed desire.

Simon jumps up from the armchair, heavy cock forming an obvious tent when he shoves open his door and knocks on yours impatiently. “Wait-Wait me a second…!” your voice hits his ears with trembles that can’t be left unnoticed.

“ 'S what you want, love? getting bent over by a man older than you and fucked stupid? Is that so, princess?” He squeezes himself through the crack of your door, kicking it close and pinning your upper body on the shoe cabinet beside the door, your legs dangling in the air as he drives the fat tip into your entrance ferociously, tight cunt still spasming from your orgasm and makes him grunts out a curse, “Fucking screaming my name when you touch yourself, hmm? you know you can come to me anytime you need something, like I told you before.”

He gets you cry out in pleasure without any concern of receiving complaints from other neighbors, wrapping your legs back and standing between your wide-spread thighs, leaning his weight on your back while his hips rocks unrelentingly. “No more, no more…Simon!” You clenching down on his shaft so nice and hot, milking him loads after loads, the angry tip of his cock abusing every spots inside you, and your legs are shaking uncontrollably when he finally comes one last time, satiated both your needs for now, and you the last thing you feel before succumbing to slumber is a gentle kiss pressing on your twitching, overstimulated clit as his seeds flood out of your swollen pussy.

The relationship between you and him deepens since that night,and he doesn’t stop you or protest when you wear the low-cut top and cute skirt, semi-transparent thigh high stockings keeps attracting his attention to stare at the bare skin of your thighs between them and the skirt, and wave goodbye at him with an apologetic expression before heading off to a party with your college friends. He knows the importance of these social activities between youngsters, so he didn’t get mad or upset, just kiss your temple, reminded you to stay safe and call him whenever you need, then he’d be there in no time.

You sure will turn heads wherever you go tonight, and though there might be some troublesome wankers trying their luck on you, but he knows you won’t even spare them anything beside a polite nod of rejection. You’re all his, you won’t feel the same bliss and love from those young blokes of your age. No one can make you feel as good as he does, they can’t make you squirt all over the floor when he eats you out at the countertop, no one knows how to lower and disperse all your concerns and thoughts like him, with his tongue lapping your perked buds and that long cock massaging your cervix, coaxing countless orgasms out of you before you fall asleep in his embrace contently.

So when you ring him just about 2 hours later, asking if he can come pick you up at the club, he immediately hops in to his truck, pulls up at the location you texted him. He doubts how your breasts haven’t spilled out your low cut tops, but he’s definitely enjoying the view, your cheeks burning from the alcohol, pawing at his shirt and whining about how you missed him, how boring the party was and you just wanted to go home and bounce on his dick through your tipsy state.

Good that Simon parked his truck at a secluded spot, so you don’t need to wait any longer, let him bend you over the hood and kneel down behind you, tongue shoving deep inside, occasionally pulls out and prodding at your pussy to calm you down from keep pleading him to just fuck you already and rubbing his bulge when he just wants to drive you home first. “Will give you the cock you’ve been thinking all night when we’re home, sweetheart.” He speaks against your slick pussy lips before diving back to lick every drop of your sugary juices again.

[bigstarlet]

Chicago Kids Bathroom Mid-sized farmhouse kids' white tile and ceramic tile porcelain tile, blue floor and double-sink bathroom photo with recessed-panel cabinets, blue cabinets, gray walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, white countertops, a niche and a built-in vanity

[d0youc0py]

Hi! I just wanted to see if I could put in a request maybe? I love your writing and it would make my day if you wrote something about the 141 + Konig having an arguement with the reader and they yell or make a sudden move causing her to like flinch away.

If not that's totally okay too, have a lovely day!

“I’m so tired of arguing with you John.” Your words came out whimper-like and you hated how weak it made you sound. Yet fighting with John was exhausting. Sometimes when the two of you argued it felt like it was just another form of training for him.

He instantly softened. Not that you had the wits to notice. A fat tear rolled down your cheek and John’s hand instinctively raced forward to wipe it away. But from your point of view it looked like he was coming in for a slap. Your head flew back, colliding with the kitchen cabinet. You hissed, your hands coming up to apply pressure to the sting.

“Shite, Sweetheart.” He growled. His hands found your hips, pulling you towards him. “I would never.” He reminded. His hand found its way to yours and held you gently.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, cheeks flushed. You knew John would never lay a hand on you and you hoped he didn’t take your reaction too personal.

“Don’t apologize, Honey.” He muttered back, his lips pressed against the crown of your head.

His body stilled. In the midst of an argument- one that he can’t even remember why it started- he reached up to rub his face, the action causing you to flinch. He doesn’t even think it counts as a flinch, because you were basically bracing for impact.

“That what you think of me?” He started. Your heart dropped in your stomach at his words, thinking he was angry, but the look on his face was the opposite. His eyes were nervous. It seemed like he was waiting for you to tell him what you truly thought of him. You quickly shook your head.

“No, Si.” You assured quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it and you moved so fast.” You tried to explain.

“I know I can be an arse sometimes but I would never hit you. Please tell me you know that.” His eyes bore into yours and you nodded your head.

“I do, Si.” You agreed. His hand reached forward slowly and you took the invitation wrapping your arms around his middle.

“Sorry for being an arse by the way.”

*maybe toxic behavior?*

Most of the time Johnny was an extrovert by choice. He could be the life of the party, charming and personable when he wanted to be, but he also needed his time to recharge. He’d just gotten back from a mission and wanted nothing more than to curl up with you and watch some TV show that took no brain power to understand. Instead he came home to you dressed up to the nines, heading out the door.

“Where are you off to?” He questioned, plopping his duffle bag by the door. You raced forward pressing quick kisses against his face.

“Just a little get together. Want to come?” You hummed against him.

“Didn’t I tell you I was coming back today?” He asked. You hummed in agreement, stopping your attack of affection when none of it was reciprocated.

“Yeah, you did. Why?” You questioned.

“I’ve been gone for three weeks and you’re just heading out the door.” He responded, his words nearly coming out like a snarl. This began the argument and before you knew it the two of you were screaming at each other in the entryway.

Johnny talked with his hands and that became dangerous when he was upset. His hand flung up, his fingers barely missing your cheek. All was silent. Your eyes fled with tears wondering how the man you loved could be so careless. His bright eyes were wide and were taking in every move or emotion you felt.

“I wasn’t going to”- He began.

“Sure seemed like you were going to.” You said back. He shook his head almost violently.

“Never.” He growled. “I would never hurt you.”

“Physically.” You emphasized. He shut his eyes tightly- all the hurtful things he said during the argument coming back to him.

He had a lot of making up to do.

*it’s so hard writing angst for Kyle b/c I feel like he is just the sweetest partner everrrrr*

He came home in a mood. The weight of the world on his shoulders. He brushed past you, giving you a quick peck on the forehead before retreating to the patio for a quick smoke. He rarely smoked and the sight had you worried, but you gave him peace.

You were finishing up your laundry, not noticing as he came home behind you. When his hands touched you, you jumped nearly a foot in the air, your head colliding with the dryer.

“Fucking hell, baby.” He huffed from behind you. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized, holding your head right where you hit it.

“I didn’t even hear you.” You gasped.

“Well I’ve had training.” He smirked. “Let’s get you an ice pack, yeah? Don’t want you walking around town with a bump on your head.”

He was venting to you, to engrossed in his own feelings that he didn’t notice the drastic change in his demeanor. You weren’t use to the side of him- and he had made sure to keep it hidden from you. The last thing he ever wanted was to frighten you. It wasn’t until his arm flung out (not towards you) and you jumped that he’d noticed what was happening.

“Scheisse.” He muttered to himself.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized quickly. “I don’t know why I did that.” You rambled. His worried eyes watched you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized. His hands reached out to grab yours and you pushed yourself closer to him.

“You didn’t really scare me, Konnie.” You opened and closed your mouth before continuing. “I’ve just never seen you so worked up before. You just surprised me is all.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bending down so his head could rest on yours.

“Still. There are ways for me to vent without getting all worked up, ja?”

[spiceywawa]

@boolger <-

I couldn't help myself and had to try doing this shite again and write my little idea inspired heavily? by their fic.

Kitty♡

Current -> Next

John price moved from the city and bought a farm with all the works. Cows, pigs, chickens, etc. He previously considered getting a hybrid kitten along his other hybrids but never did due to living deep in the city with not a lot of room. After his abrupt retirement, John decided why not to help make the farming/food industry just a little better.

He decided to start his farm, and funny enough, the farm came with its own kitty hybrid. A beautiful stone Grey short haired kitty that took care of rodents and smaller predators. Kitty would laze wherever they pleased and previously had the freedom to come and go around the property and house as they saw fit.

John never minded them, and on the listing for the farm, the hybrid was in the description as a poor kitty that was left behind. It took quite a bit of time to get the skittish kitty used to him and even let him close enough to smell him. It's not entirely surprising the cautious and skeptical looks kitty gives him because while their owner left kitty, and the seller forgot to mention the many working hybrid dogs they owned went with them Abandoning poor kitty, leaving them all alone with not one to cuddle with at night.

Sweet farm kitty hybrid only met John price at first, but little did they know John had his own three dog hybrids. All retired from military after many years of admirable service. Before John thought you were ready to meet his three boys, he set up your own room and safe spots around the giant farmhouse. Giving you your own designated space when you decided to stay in the house with him. Of course, at some point, when john gently lured you into your new room, it was somewhat of a shit show. You went as far as deciding using the window to the roof to come in, and out of the house was a better option than using the actual doors.

You eventually settled and decided the room was better than the hay loft and tried out being a couch potato. When you quietly and cautiously joined John on the new couch for the first time, he immediately froze to not deter you from approaching him. He watched you out of his peripheral lay next to him, resting your head on his thigh. Only when you relaxed and began quietly purring did he attempt to stroke your head, petting your fuzzy ears watching them flick at his gentle touch. After that encounter and many positive moments, john decided it was time to bring the boys home for good.

The boys often dog piled in John's room, so separate rooms for them were pretty much unnecessary unless they asked for it. They had freedom to roam and wouldnt be allowed in your room without permission, he doubted you would so he would make sure the boys knew if was off limits until otherwise said. But considering they had all the space they needed and john has the biggest room and bathroom amenities in the house, the boys had their own section of the room, including a corner cubby with their stuff and combined beds.

Of course, after being out of a strict military environment for so long the moment the boys arrived when they got a whiff of your scent, johnny and gaz scattered trying to find you and simon ended up chasing after johnny trying to get him to quit it. Gaz beat johnny to the punch, chasing you up above the fridge on top of the cabinets. He was leaning against the fridge, wagging his tail sniffing the air, trying to get closer to you, curiosity and excitement emanating from him. When johnny heard the commotion, he wriggled away from simons grip toward gaz. John yelled stop, and all his hybrids looked at him.

You were less amused than the three behemoths before you. Johnny and gaz both whined, saying they only wanted to meet their new friend, and simon was glaring at the two having more self-control of his instincts and curiosity. John cringed at the poor first introduction. The low growl in your throat brought everyone's attention back to you. John shooed the three away simon, grabbing the two by their harnesses being the most dominant out of the three.

You glared at John as he began trying to coax you in getting down. "It's alright, my pretty girl. You're ok. Those two aren't gonna get ya, I promise." He coos at you. In John's defense, he told the three to behave simon was indifferent, but gaz and johnny were the ones he was worried about. You watch him with your ears pinned down and tail flicking rapidly in annoyance as he is trying to get you down with treats and your favorite toy your, very first toy ever. But you don't budge for a solid 20 minutes. "Come on, sweet kitty, there are all a bunch of big ol teddy bears they aren't gonna hurt ya." He says to you, running his finger down the bridge of your nose as you won't let him pet you.

Johnny and Gaz are sitting a few feet away patiently waiting for you to come down and allow them to scent you and say hello, their tails swishing excitedly behind them. They are all definitely German Shepard or a mix of one you can see that much, and they are all ridiculously large compared to you.

Simon is standing next to John, watching you with a curious expression. You eye him, taking in his scared face and equally battered fuzzy ears nestles in blond hair. Much to everyone's surprise, simon reaches up and grabs you gently, taking you off the fridge and into his big arms. You freeze from shock as simon settles you against his chest, holding you with one arm. You latch onto him to prevent yourself from falling, watching his face suspiciously.

Simon traces the scars on your face and arms from fending of other critters around the farm. "That's simon Kitty." John says, trying not to laugh as your frozen form clutches to simon. You frown as johnny and Gaz laugh, simons low chuckle vibrating through you. "You're a stubborn little thing." Simon says as he sits down next to the other two, positioning you in his lap, keeping a protective distance from gaz and johnny.

His tail swishes behind him as you let him hold you, unsure if you're gonna bolt or stay. You settle to johns surprise, holding onto simons arm, watching the other two scoot closer. You did miss your pack mates, so you tolerated the curiosity for a bit unsure if this was even gonna be permanent. Simon watches gaz close as he scents you first, seeing as he did find you first. He sniffs for a bit, his nose gently bumping your chin as he sniffs higherup your neck, simon lets out a low growl, telling gaz that's enough. Johnny takes that as his cue that it's his turn and bounds in face first into your neck. Simon reaches for johnny, pulling him away. "Careful with the lil thing, johnny. Don't wanna break em do you?" He shakes his head rapidly tail going a mile a minute. John chimes in watching this interaction unfold. "Gentle boys." He says, watching your face for any discomfort.

The only feeling you have is confusion. Have they never seen a cat hybrid before? And why are you letting them so close so quickly?

Simon lets Johnny's scruff go, and he gently smells you for a bit. Then simon tells them you're done, and it's his turn. He breathes in your scent, enjoying the sweet, subtle scent holding you closer

You sigh, giving up, seeing as much simon claimed you technically it seems they all did, and this is your life now. It doesn't seem so bad, really, you could get used to this.

[luboy7rt]

What Animal Task Force 141 Would Randomly Bring Home To You (GN - Headcanons)

(Note: This is just what I (My headcanons), enjoy reading!) (Platonic, romantic) (Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz) (GN - Reader)

John Price:

- Accidentally finds a horse while out on a mission, the horse is a black with white spots on her.

- The horse clearly was trained but no owner in sight, even when John asked around, so John had a choice to make, 1. Bring her to other authorities and let them deal with the horse. 2. Look around longer for an owner despite finding the horse in the middle of nowhere. 3. Bring her home.

- He brought the horse home. The man has no clue how to care for a horse, but ends up bringing her home as it was late at night, and the poor horse was a bit skinny.. So does John just walk into the house with a horse, the horse peeking her head through the window? Yes. That's what happens.

- John gives a small chuckle, and a tilt of his head when you spot him feeding the horse through the window.. Say bye bye to all your carrots and apples.

- John kept the horse in the backyard for a few days, feeding her and getting a vet to check up on her and tries to do his best to care for her.

- If he keeps her.. it's all up to your reaction, if you don't like the horse, he will find an appropriate farm to ensure to care for the horse for him and give the horse a lot of room to live her life. (He would visit the horse when he has a time about once or twice a year just to check up on it)

- if you do like the horse, he'll figure it out. Getting a bigger backyard or house? Alright, let's do it, he's down as long as you both are responsible about it. if he had time? He would personally build the horse a stall in the backyard, if he doesn't, he would get professionals to build it for her to be nicely built.

- Man would do research, he doesn't usually get pets so swiftly, he likes to be a responsible pet owner. He would end up buying the horse toys, lots of food, annual vet visits, gear, cleaning supplies/tools, and etc.

- If you want to learn to ride the horse or you know how and you want to ride this specific horse. He would have mixed feelings on it.. He would just cross his arms and think about it for a while.. 

- He ends up letting you do it.. if you both get to see the horse trained first, wanting to make sure it was safe to do. He would always be close whenever you are riding, always ensuring to be close, making sure you wear horse-riding gear.

- If you don't want to ride, he sighs filled with relief, he's just a tad bit nervous, But he's content just watching the horse fool around or watch alongside you.

John (Johnny) ‘Soap’ Mactavish: 

(Btw: Just calling him Johnny because of John above this)

- Racoon. This man comes home in the middle of the night, ‘smuggling’ the raccoon into his apartment. Laughing softly when he accidentally wakes you up.. Quietly tries to shush you, and snickers at your confused face.

- He would do a tad bit of research about raccoons.. ends up just feeding the poor little guy some leftovers…

- Raccoon stays, he apologizes but even if you want him gone.. everytime Johnny tries to get rid of the guy.. He just comes back, always manages to find the way back, and breaks back in.. the little guy always manages to sleep on your couch, gets comfortable real fast.

- Johnny would say, ‘Aye, this lil’ shite will protect ya while I'm away’ and the raccoon Does. If you feed him, bites people when they come over. ‘Johnny JR.’ Was the name you came up with and it fits quite well after the little guy manages to get into the cabinet and eats all the food, like what Johnny does when he gets home late after missions.

- The raccoon becomes a life-long pet, he's an indoor raccoon now, you can't kick him out, he just comes back. Becomes an overweight raccoon slowly over time.

- This raccoon has a little walking machine and mimics Johnny on his treadmill, Johnny would grin wildly at you, whenever the raccoon mimics him.

- The little guy will mimic you too, likes playing with cat toys as well, if you just like sitting and relaxing, he's sitting next to you, you're going outside? You're not going alone, better get him on a leash, oh you want to go to the washroom alone? The raccoon is always watching.

- Raccoons are actually quite smart, he learns how to get all the food in the house, and Johnny ends up needing to buy a dog cage, and makes the raccoon sleep in there at night. (The little guy got into the fridge the night before and ate the groceries).

- Johnny is banned from bringing home any other animal, but hey, ya got a raccoon for life.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:  

- Kyle brings home a military dog from work, a retired one with a few healing injuries, he makes a sheepish face when you see him carry a K9 into the house. 

- He's the only one that actually offers an explanation for bringing an animal home, he would say that the poor boy was retired early, and no one wanted to deal with the vet bills… So he decided to adopt him due to the fact he wanted this guy to have a safe time recovering.

- Only one to apologize too, if you don't want the dog, he'll be upset but he'll compromise.. You both keep the dog until it's all healed up and then he'll find a nice home for him. 

- (If you are allergic, Kyle is apologetic, keeps the dog in one room allowing it to heal up, he takes full responsibility, ensures he doesn't get in your space, takes care of the dog, takes the dog on walks about three - five times a day then ends up rehoming him with a trusted family friend once he's on the right track to healing)

- If you want to keep the dog? Great! Kyle's excited, all ready for this new responsibility. The dog becomes one of the greatest home guard dogs. He's an amazing dog, very loyal and makes a great recovery.

- You have watched Kyle make breakfast for this dog Every. Morning, the dog gets a forehead kiss before you do at this point.

- Kyle is always upbeat with this dog around the house, always ‘sparing’ the dog, or running around the house with him once he heals up.. Much more smiley and upbeat, does more stuff around the house for you too, want breakfast In bed? You'll get it more often, you'll get gifts from a shop when Kyle and the dog goes out for walks, basically just more ‘active’ around the house with his little buddy around

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley: 

- He doesn't really say anything when you see him walk Into the house, at about 2AM, with two grown cats, one on his shoulder and one in his arms, he just gives a nod.

- Simon.. adores these stray cats, but he doesn't show it, he feeds them a bit of fish he bought earlier, and ends up cutting it in half and fair amounts for both cats.

- (If you are allergic to cats.. He instructs you to please go to your room for the night, and he will drop them off at the vet than a shelter in the morning but they are staying the night, he does a half asses sorry apology but makes it up to you by showing pictures of the two cats after he separates you from them, he makes sure you are alright and they don’t go near you) 

- Simon practically doesn't really ask, but he gets toys, a cat tree.. a litter box, all of the above, as a silent, we are keeping these cats, they are moved in within a week. If you are happy, he's happy. 

- If you really don't want them.. He'll sigh quietly, a bit upset but does move all the stuff and the two cats to a friend's (sorta friends) house, he still goes to visit them.

- Simon's alright with doing most of the chores for the cats, they actually get him to start relaxing a bit more around the house, and he's less on edge when the cats start ‘attacking’ his feet, or jumping out at him, like he's expecting it to be cats now instead of a intruder.

(What animal do you think other characters would come home with? I need more ideas, thanks if you comment, I hope you enjoyed these headcanons :)

[ragingbookdragon]

He barely looks up from his desk when she enters into his office dressed in the nighty he got her from Paris. “I love you, but I don’t have time for you tonight, darling.”

“I haven’t even said nor done anything,” she retorts with a smile and goes to his liquor stand, pouring dark amber into a crystal glass; she walks around the edge of his desk and leans back against it, smiling inconspicuously when his eyes flit to the hem of the soft, cerulean nighty riding up her thighs. “You’ve been working awfully late these past few nights, Jon,” she says and takes a sip of the bourbon.

He hums low in his throat and directs his eyes back to the mountain of paperwork on his desk, signing off on more reports as he replies, “Kate’s been on my arse to get all this shite done before EOM.”

She sets the glass down near his dominant hand and curls herself behind his chair, bending down to wrap her arms around his neck, nuzzling her cheek to his. “I miss my husband,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his skin. “I miss our bed being warm.”

Price groans and takes the glass next to him, taking a sip. “I know, darling.” He turns his head, looks at her before kissing her lips three times. “Let me sign off on this last one and I’ll be right to bed with you.”

“Promise?” she asks, tasting the bourbon on his lips as he smiles against her.

“I promise.”

She smiles as she pulls away, takes the glass from him, downs the rest, and sets it on the liquor cabinet as she passes, sassing, “And look at that, you do in fact have time for me, don’t you, husband?”

[jennicatzies]

what about the characters with the same actor? Does Hamilton ever look at his soon and think "he looks suspiciously like my dead totally platonic friend" or maybe same thing with jefferson. Maybe he even asks Thomas about wtf is happening. Maybe Thomas says something eerie about "you shouldn't have known that" and the lights go off immediately. Or maybe he tries to help, as much as he can while still maintaining his act? Does he send Alexander sympathetic glances while utterly destroying him in the cabinet battles? Smh I feel like jeff would be the most helpful of them all while madison/mulligan would straight up try to stop any misbehaving the second it happens

About the double roles question, already answered here

Now. Ahhh finally some TJeffs talk HAHAH ‼️

Man okay so. I've had thoughts about the state of Jefferson's consciousness! Big fan of that guy. silly, silly guy. bastard supreme [affectionate]

Answer and yapfest under the cut

Pulling reference from the disney+/pro shot of Hamilton, you might notice some minor silly 4th wall breaks from Jefferson such as like, blowing a kiss to the audience and handing a copy of the Reynolds Pamphlet to someone off stage. I wanna canonize that. Let's cook.

I feel that these little interactions can easily be translated/filtered by his script wiring, but hey. Look. Consider. Jefferson's script binding is faulty, but just not even as close to the degree Burr and Hamilton are. Like, oh yeah he'll sometimes get an off feeling about the setting. But ultimately he's blinded by Whimsy and he just doesn't think too deep about it. "Oh yeah uh I'm probably not supposed to be seeing that. But I'm having so much fun rn who gaf"

Everyone in the cast [excluding ensemble members] have minds of their own, their awareness and absolute free will are just locked away. They aren't on the side of the Stage, so I wouldn't see the whole ominous warning thing happening. Closest we can get to that are from Damage Control aka EnSeabury and Bullet, but I can't see them outright warning Hamilton or Burr either.

Burr is absolutely TWEAKING being the most broken off from wiring watching Jefferson — someone who is still very much bound to the script — so casually have audience interactions here n there.

So basically he is unfortunately not the most helpful either, shite 😔 unless giving Burr a psychologically induced headache is considered helpful

Okay maybe Seabury can. As a treat. Lmao. Yapper on yapper violence stays real

[capnsoapy]

It really is beautiful that in under two years, Liz Truss has gone from the cabinet to prime minister to backbencher to unelected to getting heckled by salad while shilling her shite book to about four people in a village hall

[addisonstars]

"you let the kids have what?"

written for day 21 of december for @wolfstarmicrofic with the prompt "eggnog" totaling 445 words

“No, because Harry's teacher wouldn’t let him bring his stuffed animal to his class.” He took a sip of his drink. “And I thought that that was the stupidest thing ever.” James rolled his eyes. “Stupid muggle rules.” 

Sirius chimed in, “Well, were you ever allowed to bring your beloved stuffy-wuffy to Hogwarts?” James shook his head. “That’s what I thought.” 

“But-” James protested. 

Regulus held his hand out, setting down his own drink. “Let's not love.” 

“Fine.” 

‘Hey babe,” Remus enters the scene, with a look on his face. “I went to go check up on Ted and Harry, and it seems they’ve gotten into the eggnog.” 

“So?” Sirius says, he didn't see too much of an issue with them drinking a bit, there wasn’t anything harmless in it. Oh shite, wait. “The eggnog? Didn't that have alcohol in it?” 

Remus nods his head frantically. “Mhmm babe.” 

Both James and Regulus whip their heads around to Remus. “You let the kids have alcohol?” Regulus insinuates. 

“No, no, it was left out and they decided to drink it, it was not my fault. Nor theirs really, they’re kids, they're gonna be curious.” He shrugs. “It was only a bit anyway.” 

“Only a bit.” Regulus huffs. James tries to keep from smiling, but he fails. “And why are you smiling Jamie? The kids had alcohol. Alcohol babe. It’s illegal to drink under the age of like 18 here?” 

Sirius laughs before James can say anything. “Don’t act like you weren’t throwing them back in the slytherin dorms, Reg.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he can make no objection to that statement. “Well, I wasn't 6 years old!” 

“I’m surprised they haven’t gotten into your liquor cabinet before love,” James says, “those fancy glass bottles would entice me for sure.” 

Remus nods. “Well anyways, what do you want to do about the kids? I’m just gonna give Teddy some advil and lay him down for a nap, can I do the same for Harry too?” 

Regulus stops and thinks about it for a second. “Sure, go ahead. Just make sure you give them the childrens stuff, not your weed or something by accident.” 

Sirius and James both laugh, while Regulus smirks. Remus goes over to the medicine cabinet behind Siri, and before he leaves the room he whispers, “slip something in his drink would you? That stick needs to come out of his ass.” 

“I heard that!” Regulus shouts. 

“That was my intention,” Remus says as he bows and exits the room. 

Sirius shakes his head and looks over at James. “I’ll never understand their friendship Prongs.” 

“I don’t think it’s meant to be understood.” James laughs. 

my grandparents eggnog had alcohol, thats where this one came from lol

-a.s

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 4 Satanic Cult

Warning: Heavily inspired by Rosemary's Baby so all the warnings that apply to that apply here (Gaslighting, rape), Reader is AFAB but gender is not mentioned, mentions of menstration and attempts at getting a baby

Also, before I go on, I DO NOT recommend you go through legal channels to watch the movie. As it's made by a known pedo who is still alive and getting money from it, if you must watch the movie, pirate it.

You wake with a gasp again, shaking as memories of the dream fade rapidly from your mind. The new apartment feels cavernous, especially with your boyfriend sleeping in a different sleeping bag from you. There’s no one to hug you, to soothe you and reassure you that everything is okay. Hell, even if your bed had arrived early, he probably would still be snoring, completely ignorant of the terror that is currently running up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you huff, climbing out of your sleeping bag clumsily, toddling toward the bathroom on stiff limbs.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of your first true day in your miracle apartment is hectic. Your new apartment is huge, but empty, with wifi and a washer-dryer in it. All of this for $400 a month.

“This is too good to be true,” you repeat as you pull out the dishes you brought, a few of them antiques and a few from your college days.

“C’mon babe,” Brandon, your boyfriend, sighs, “Just accept that we’re getting a break. We’re in New York, I’m at a theatre company, and your writing’s picked up.”

“It’s too good,” you reiterate, separating the plates. Brandon groans and drops his head back, slumped on the couch that arrived at 6 this morning. Apparently, the moving company scrambled to drop your shit off when they heard which building you moved into, which is both great (no more sleeping on the floor!) and terrible (they woke you up and saw you in your shittiest pajamas). You rise slowly, cursing yourself for sitting on the floor again, and pick up the antique plates, moving slowly to put them into the cabinet in the kitchen. Suddenly, a loud knock sounds at your door.

“Babe! Door!” Brandon calls out, still sprawled out on the couch. You huff, idly wondering what you saw in him five years ago, before walking out the kitchen, past the couch, and opening the door. Before you is a group of four men, all of them easily around or over six foot and something in your stomach drops.

“Hullo, sweetheart,” the oldest looking of them greets you, the imperial beard doing nothing to hide his chunky cheeks, “The name’s John Price, and this is my roommate, Simon. We live on your right. These are Kyle and Johnny, on your other side.” You open your mouth, trying to say something, but drawing a blank. There’s something disturbingly familiar about these men, something scratching at the back of your brain.

“Who the fuck are you?” Brandon demands from behind you, startling you out of the spiral John had put you on. The older man’s eyes flash, his blue eyes seeming to change colors, but it’s quick. If you hadn’t been staring, you wouldn’t have noticed, but you didn’t catch the color.

“John Price, one of your neighbors on your right.”

“Whatever,” Brandon scoffs, rolling his eyes and trying to appear bigger. Brandon, who’s 5’6 and 115 pounds soaking wet, against four men who tower over him, “Leave, you limey.”

“Brandon!” you snap, elbowing your asshole of a boyfriend. He winces, but continues to scowl at the men. John frowns, but one of the men behind him chuckles.

“Y’re a lil’ shite. Don’ let tha’ get y’ in trouble,” the man in the balaclava rumbles, something dark rolling underneath his words. Brandon scowls at him while you grab his arm.

“Fuck off,” Brandon snaps, slamming the door closed on the men.

“Brandon!” you hiss again, giving your boyfriend a shake, “What the fuck?!”

“I’m not letting some British assholes take a lookie-loo of my house without permission,” he huffs, making you pause. You hadn’t really noticed, the unreasonable terror in your brain preventing you from seeing it, but the men had been leaning towards you. You thought it might have been to get a look at you, but this is New York. Why look at someone plain like you when they could be scoping out something to steal?

“Still,” you decide to ignore the part of you insisting that they didn’t care about the apartment, “It was rude of you, hun. You’re going to be an actor, you’ve gotta get your temper under control.” Your boyfriend puffs up, a scowl on his face, before completely deflating with a sigh.

“Yeah,” he admits, “It was a shitty thing to do. I didn’t have a good sleep last night, we’ve been moving shit all morning, and I guess I just lashed out due to that.” Immediately, you soften at his tone. This is the man you fell in love with, who can admit when he’s done wrong and work to be better. God knows you love him.

“Alright,” you accept his explanation, “But you owe them an apology.” He nods sheepishly before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“How about, we finish unpacking the kitchen, then we make those cookies that we’re so good at making? Use those to butter up the neighbors for my apology,” he jokes, giving your waist a squeeze before walking past you, to the kitchen.

“You mean the cookies you make sure I don’t burn?” you tease back.

“Hey! I decorate them!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(“Migh’ be a bit ‘arder t’ get Pretty ‘lone, Cap.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can get him to agree with the right bait.”)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, you send Brandon off to speak with the neighbors, cookies in hand and a kiss to the cheek, before pulling out your laptop to work a little more on your book. Normally, you’d play music or have an old show on as background noise, but you’re a little worried. What if the neighbors start yelling, or Brandon loses his temper? What if they attack him, or he lashes out for whatever reason? If you were back at your old apartment, you wouldn’t have these worries, with all the old ladies living around you cooing at how cute of a couple you and Brandon are. But, this is New York. The Big City in the United States. You don’t know anything.

You’re pulled from your worries by someone knocking Shave and a Haircut (damn Brandon for teaching that to you) on your door. Standing up, you hurry over and peek out the peephole. Brandon stands before your door, absolutely beaming with an empty tray in hand. You open the door and he steps in.

“They’re great,” he immediately declares when he steps into your apartment.

“Oh?” you intone, more than a little confused at his change in tune about the neighbors. It usually takes him a month or so to get over a bad impression, no matter who caused it. For him to be so happy? They must have said something about his acting career.

“Yeah,” he practically chirps, “Especially Kyle. He went to one of the plays I was actually on stage for, and he remembered me!” You frown, mulling over the three plays Brandon was on stage for. The only major role he played was…

“He saw you as Mercutio? Wasn’t that at an off-Broadway theatre?” you ask.

“Yeah, but it had a Tartuffe before we preformed, then it hosted The Importance of Being Earnest,” he excuses with a wave of your hand. You frown at his flippancy, but sigh and nod. Abruptly, he straightens up and grins, “Oh, and I invited them over for dinner.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(“Pretty’s a loud one.”

“All th’ be’er. A bonnie thin’ wi’ a swee’ scream.”

“English, bruv.”)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Saturday night finds you standing awkwardly in your apartment, glad you managed to talk your boyfriend into changing the dinner to tonight. Unfortunately, that lead to more people being invited, including Farah and Alex, who live across the hall, Ale and Rudy, who are across from John and Simon (the big guy in the balaclava), and finally, Kate and Rosemary, who live across from Johnny and Kyle (an exuberant Scot and the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen).

“So, you write?” Rosemary (“call me Rosy, dear.”) asks politely.

“Yes, ma’am,” you softly admit, flustered and nervous.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of you,” Farah hums as she sips the wine you managed to get (you politely pretend to not notice how she keeps scrunching up her nose. You’ll offer her one of the better seltzers if she asks for a refill), “Something about…”

“Nonfiction, Darling,” Alex reminds her, “They wrote about the more recent studies into cults and demonology, as well as covering the Satanic Panic of the ‘80’s.”

“Yeah, I did,” you admit, surprised at the fact he even knew. Your book was well-received, but ultimately, it wasn’t a steamy romance between a non-binary artist and their vampiric muse, so it went largely ignored. Alex grins as Farah snaps her fingers.

“That’s it,” she agrees, “You mentioned how a number of horror movies and thrillers of the time help show just what people were afraid of.”

“Ah? Uh, yeah,” you agree, confused at that. While you had spent a page talking about that, the majority of your book had focused more on news articles and stories that were either proven false or used as a cover for something more sinister.

“The Lost Boys, They Live and The Howling. I think those were the movies you mentioned,” Farah continues with a hum.

“Well, yeah,” you admit, “Mostly because of the heavy lean of conspiracy and the manipulation of innocence.”

“You also mentioned a number of movies that use demons and demonic summonings, like Evil Dead and Pumpkinhead,” Alex pipes in, practically melting when Farah patted his cheek.

“Of course,” you acknowledge, “They helped prove exactly what many news sources at the time were claiming as occurring around the country. Especially with Hellraiser, summoning demons for pleasure was a widely used excuse for children being hurt.”

“How long did this research take?” Rosemary asks, tilting her head curiously.

“Um, about two years,” you confess, “Luckily, most of the newspapers and stories made it to archives that was able to upload them to databases when using computers became commonplace.”

“Neat,” Alex chirps, swiping Farah’s half full glass to trade with his empty beer bottle. The look of betrayal on Farah’s face makes you laugh at their shenanigans.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

(“At’s nae fair. Lookit how pretty they ur when they laugh.”

“It’s Farah an’ Alex. They’ve always been good at gettin’ people t’ relax. Makes sense they can do it with Pretty.”

“You see who’s not lookin’ at Pretty?”

“Th’ lil’ shite ‘o’s ‘pose t’ be their boy? Yeah, clocked it.”

“Might need t’ give Kate some money for Rosemary to seduce ‘im?”

“Or get one ‘o th’ birds at th’ corner t’ do it.”)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month passes, and you slowly relax around your neighbors. Farah and Rosemary invited you to a book club, often arguing good naturedly about male writers and how they write female characters. Kate and Alex have taken to walking you through understanding sports, while Johnny (“Call me Soap, bonnie!”) will add random tidbits that usually make you look at him in confusion. Kyle, John, and Simon talk to you about all sorts of random things, usually true crime, classic literature, and cooking respectively. Through this all, Brandon’s career seems to be getting better, with him being understudy to bigger parts or acting in decently important minor roles. The downside is that he’s not home nearly as often, leaving you somewhat lonely and lost.

“So, I was thinking,” he starts one morning, when his most recent play wrapped up, “Do you want a baby?”

“What?” you ask around a mouthful of breakfast.

“A baby,” he repeats, “Like, I know we’re still not sure about marrying, but you said when we got together that you wouldn’t mind a baby out of wedlock. A bit out of order, sure, but you seem lonely.”

“And you think a baby will fix that,” you intone. Brandon nods sheepishly, recognizing your tone. Taking a breath, you rub at your eyes, explaining, “Hun, we shouldn’t have a baby just because I’m lonely when you’re working.”

“I know,” he agrees earnestly, “But, it would also be a symbol of love. And you’ve said you wanted one.” Brandon takes a bite of his own breakfast and says, “Just think about it. Okay, sweetheart?”

“…Fine,” you sigh, smiling when he grins at you before seeming to realize he’s got a mouthful of food and scrambles to cover his mouth. Laughing, you stand and drop the dishes into the dishwasher, leaning down to press a kiss to Brandon’s head.

Through the next week, you mull it over. Having a baby is a big commitment, one that Brandon’s shown he can make and one you know you want to make. Just, the thought of a little one, who is half you and half the man you love. It fills you with warmth and adoration, picturing a little boy with Brandon’s big green eyes, or a little girl with your nose. Maybe a little one who laughs like Brandon and smiles like you.

“Okay,” you say to Brandon one night, startling him from his phone.

“Okay?” he repeats, confused.

“Okay,” you repeat, “Let’s make a baby.” He blinks at you before beaming brightly, rolling on top of you and peppering your face with kisses.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(“Pretty’s ready. Just gotta pick a night.”

“Bin payin’ ‘tention t’ their monthly. Shuid be a week oot from noo.”

“Good work.”)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and Brandon work together to calculate when you are most fertile. It took a bit, as you refuse to use those menstrual apps, knowing just what they’re actually used for, but you managed to narrow it down to three days.

“We can still practice,” he had joked and you laughed, bumping your shoulder against his own. Now, however, you aren’t laughing.

“John? What are you doing here?” you ask, looking between your neighbor and Brandon in confusion. The older man gives you a smile while your boyfriend gives you a sheepish grin.

“Oh, just giving a trade,” he explains, handing over a can of irn-bru with a grin, “We never got to thank you for the cookies all that time ago. Figured we can finally give you something in return, thanks to Soap’s mum sending us a crate of th’ stuff.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking a sip of the opened can. John’s smile seems to grow while Brandon’s face flickers. You furrow your brow, looking up at them in confusion again, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Brandon immediately insists, “Nothing’s wrong.” You hum and take another sip of the soda. The three of you stand there and talk for a bit, although something starts to feel off. You blink rapidly, fighting off the woozy feeling that seems to be threatening to overwhelm you.

“I- I think I need to go lie down,” you mumble, stumbling over to the bedroom, not even taking the time to tell John and Brandon good night as you practically fall onto the bed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

At one point, you open your eyes to see that you are surrounded by your neighbors. All of them are naked and chanting, with John between your legs. His eyes flash red, before he steps back, leaving a beast in the spot he was standing in. Everything is sluggish and dreamlike, even as the creature crawls over you, drooling and growling as something tries to press into you. You try to struggle, your terror sharp despite the lethargy that grips your body. It’s useless, and the beast pushes in. The pain is unbearable and darkness takes you once more.

(“Is my part of the deal done?” Brandon asks when it’s all over. Price scoffs at the little coward that hid in the living room while the ritual commenced, feeling His Lord chuckle at the selfishness of men.

“‘Course,” Price agrees easily as Farah and Alex redress quickly, the couple always a little shyer than the rest, “Now, your acting career is secured. If you want to go higher up the rungs, that’s on you.”

“That’s all I need,” the idiot insists, oblivious of his own inadequacy. Price looks over at Ghost and nods. It’s time to get Pretty away from the shitstain who sold them to His Lord. Ghost nods in return and disappears out the door, not even stopping to pull on a robe. Price huffs in amusement, and starts making plans for the nursery for His Lord’s heir. After all, you will need all the support after your baby’s “father” cheats on you, and they want to support you, even beyond the birth of His Lord’s heir.)

[theliterarywolf]

Honestly, i see a lot of the "critical of mainstream media" people who complain about Disney and big studio movies and stuff... continue to not watch anything more indie or small, just hype up stuff by other big studios as ultra counterculture stuff.

Like when the Mario movie was coming out and people were saying stuff on twitter like: "oh, the critics are being harsh because it's japanese and smaller than Pixar, boohoo." (Even ignoring how it's a NINTENDO adaptation, Illumination is pretty much the second highest grossing animated studio in the USA i think. People forget how much money those Minions movies made!) Or people presenting the Barbie movie as something ultra counterculture against disney instead of a just a big brand movie that will be funny and sassy but probably not be the deepest thing ever.

I'm not even presenting myself as a person that is all that better than them, i love cartoons and anime but haven't watched in full a lot of stuff that isn't very popular, but i also don't complain about all mainstream media in social media every day

AND THAT'S THE FUCKING THING!!!

Do these people really think that studios would get someone who worked on fucking Thor: Love and Thunder (or whatever the fuck that shit was called, I haven't watched an MCU movie since the original Thor) if people didn't keep fucking WATCHING that shit?!

NO!

Do these people think we would live in a world where fucking Velma exists if people didn't keep falling for 'fake, low-effort socially-aware satire that couldn't satirize its way out of a paper bag'?

NO!

Do these people think that (and this example is more for animation but it still relates) Disney would have gone into that streak of same-faced female main-character designs if people didn't keep buying into it and shirking away from any deviation?

NO!

I'm sorry to say this but while, yes, Nepotism is a thing in certain occasions, at what point do consumers of all this shite realize that they are just as much of the problem as the studios who keep pumping it out? When do people realize the toxic, God damn Ouroborus of the mainstream media cycle can only be broken when the fucking snake decides to stop chewing at the rotted remains of its own tail?!

If you want to change the schism in mainstream media, start celebrating the portions that do what you want. Start talking about the Cabinet of Curiosities', the A24 productions, the Kizazi Moto: Generation Fire's... Stop watching and hate-watching all of these shitty remakes of things.

Because, I hate to say it! Especially on a site like this one! But money! Talks! And you're already in the deficit with so many studios catering to foreign markets, so if you're just the type to say 'well, shit already sucks; why bother' Then please do not talk to me! Because I am so God damn sick of reading some of your guys' bad takes on matters of quality and diversity in mainstream media.

[worldsfromhoney]

Throw Thy Pride

Masterlist | AO3 | Medium

CW: PTSD, panic attack, torture

Prompt 11: Comfort show/movie

Whumpee stared at the door lock as if their gaze alone would be enough. In superhero films, it worked that way, right? But they were no superhero and, right now, closer to looking like a burglar. Or like an idiot who forgot their combination, keys, or finger.

In Whumpee’s case, it was the finger. Ehem, they weren’t actually missing a finger. It was just the only finger they bothered encoding was, unfortunately, part of the arm currently trapped in a cast and sling.

They tried their free hand again. The lock beeped with protest and even managed an ominous red in warning. Yeah, as if Whumpee didn’t know how deep in shite they were.

They sighed and thumped their head on the door. Once, twice, like a twisted form of a door knocker.

“Can you just … I don’t know — open up? Pretty please?”

There was a click and Whumpee reeled back. They looked at both ends of the corridor, wondering if the sound came from any of the other apartments. As if sighing with exasperation at their stupidity, the door to their apartment (it was theirs, right? Right?) creaked open.

Whumpee already had their gun in hand.

No one was there. They still kept their albeit shaky aim at the door as they shuffled forward bit by bit until they were at the threshold. Whumpee was about to place a call at the agency for backup when they spotted something on the floor.

It was a note and Whumpee let out a half-hysteric, half-exasperated laugh.

I just know you’re gonna try to talk to a door instead of calling for me. Consider this your call. —C

“You wanker,” Whumpee said, exasperated, but with a smile tugging on their lips. They stowed away their gun and picked up the note.

It was close to yellowed despite the expensiveness of the paper. Whumpee wouldn’t be surprised if Caretaker just tore it from a target’s notepad during an assignment and planned all this when … Well, when Whumpee hadn’t been here.

They knew Caretaker hadn’t been here either since they installed the voice activation mechanism, but they held the note to their nose, anyway.

Stale. Dust. Blood and gunpowder.

Whumpee smiled.

“I’m home.”

The agency had assured them they’d sent a trusted housekeeper to maintain the apartment. It was a special situation, and they knew Whumpee had specifically indicated their apartment be left alone.

But Whumpee had never been captured on an assignment before.

It’s been six months since they’ve been home and it felt longer. There wasn’t any dust gathering on anything. Even the figurines they kept locked in a glass cabinet were spot clean. Whumpee suspected the housekeeper had done a fresh painting on them.

The housekeeper was good. Nothing was out of place, not an inch. Not even Caretaker’s note at the entryway.

Whumpee itched to wreak havoc. They wanted to scatter the plants they’d always placed on the windowsills around the apartment like some heathen. They wanted all the throw pillows in a pile on the floor, and the couches draped with whatever quilt they could grab.

Whumpee wanted to scream at the silence that had settled in their apartment to go away GO AWAY!

They didn’t do any of that. They just filled a glass of water and went to their bedroom.

It was as pristine as ever. They still remembered the day they left for the assignment; how they woke early to fix the bed hotel-style. Whumpee remembered doing that because Caretaker said they were coming over and they hated coming to the bedroom and seeing it all tidied up with chocolate on the pillows and all.

The chocolate was still there. The housekeeper thought of everything and Whumpee tossed it into the trash. The chocolate wasn’t for him and Caretaker wasn’t here.

They didn’t bother changing clothes. Doing so meant having to navigate through armholes which definitely weren’t accommodating to casts and slings. It also meant they needed to redress their wounds. It was getting itchy.

Whumpee ignored everything the doctors had said and flopped straight onto the bed.

They didn’t sleep. They were back in the crude dungeon, which always had a wet floor. Their captors never cleaned. Why would they? Whumpee was the only occupant.

They liked that word. It was better than guest. Way better than prisoner, punching bag, or captive.

Whumpee was an occupant in that room which never seemed to want to let him go. Their captors were gone, but the room was still there, with its chains, wet floors, and dark walls.

Whumpee took a step towards the door. Another. Another. The chains broke off with a tug and they ran. They ran and ran towards the door that ran away from them. The wet floor made them repeatedly slip and fall to their hands and knees. The broken chains snapped at their heels whenever they stopped running, so they didn’t. They kept on and on and on—

Light seared into Whumpee’s eyes. Right. They’d forgotten to turn them off because the dark was still something alive, snapping at their heels and never letting go.

They didn’t know when they called Caretaker. All Whumpee knew was the cut of cold, blunt metal in their grip (not chains, not, not—), the drone of something ringing in the background, and Caretaker was there, there, there.

Their hands loosely wrapped around Whumpee’s wrist and gently pulled it from their hair. Whumpee watched strands fall between their fingers. Oh. They didn’t even realise.

“Sorry,” Whumpee said, and the voice that came out was a familiar one they didn’t want to remember. It was one that had screamed and begged.

They wanted to apologise again but Caretaker shushed them gently (so, so, gentle; they loved—) and rocked them back and forth. Whumpee loses themselves with the motion.

The urge to run was still there and Caretaker must’ve known because they held tighter, murmuring you’re okay and I’m here over and over. Whumpee didn’t know why they had to repeat it. They knew Caretaker was there. They felt the beating of their heart echoing through them, encouraging their own to follow its tempo.

Whumpee didn’t stop them from saying it anyhow.

They weren’t sure when they registered the move to the living room. All they were sure of was Caretaker’s arms around them and the constant rise and fall at their back.

The next time Whumpee stirred, it was to a film playing on the TV. They blinked, uncomprehending. Caretaker huffed out a laugh.

“You were asking for it, love,” They said. “Kept saying I was like Mr Darcy and I should just be a gentleman instead of a hitman.”

Whumpee hummed, settling further into the embrace. They didn’t look away from the film they apparently requested. That thing about Mr Darcy sounded like them, though.

“You should,” They said, a little sluggish. “Then there’d be a reason you wear cravats.”

Whumpee wasn’t sure what Caretaker said in response. Probably a smart retort. They were so smart and Whumpee would’ve liked to retort back, but it was the scene where Mr Darcy first proposed to Elizabeth. No one, not even nightmares, would stop them from watching this.

But what Whumpee registered wasn’t the actor’s voice but Caretaker’s who was murmuring the speech word for word.

“I have fought against my better judgment, my family’s expectations, the inferiority of your birth, my rank, and circumstance and all these things and I am willing to put them all aside and ask you to end my agony — I love you. Most ardently,” Caretaker said and Whumpee can feel the smile on their lips. “Please do me the honour of accepting my hand.”

And it’s been six months since Whumpee has seen this film—their favourite. More than since they’ve been in Caretaker’s arms like this, safe and the one protected instead of the one doing the protecting.

It would be many more months before they remember they turned round, cradled Caretaker’s face, and said I would be honoured.