#so basically everyone here was in it for the paycheck

[abirdie]

Gael García Bernal in Letters to Juliet (2010, dir. Gary Winick)

(these gifs also feature Amanda Seyfried)

Gifs are all 540px wide so you can click to see larger.

[other gael filmography gifsets]

[shellshocklove]

hot 'n' heavy | joel miller

pairing/AU: mom's friend from work!joel miller x female!reader

summary: hiding away in your room during your mother's annual work party, your mom's friend from work, the handsome joel miller, finds you in a compromising position.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! swearing, age gap (reader is college age), use of pet names, pwp, smut, f!masturbation, dom!joel, daddy!joel, manhandling, oral (m receiving), degradation (slut), pussy spanking, unprotected sex (don't do it!), creampie, no use of y/n

a/n: this is just something short and smutty. i debated not posting this tbh since it felt a little simple and not as detailed + with no plot, but it's been so long since i've written anything at all so i'm gonna look at it as a win that it's something lol

main masterlist / ao3 / fic updates

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

"Fuck… Is this really what ya want, sweetheart?"

Joel's voice was barely a whisper, something deep and gravely as he let his thumb skate over your cheek. It was depraved how gone you were already: half-naked on your knees before a man you barely knew, your eyes half-lidded from his touch, and your panties soaked through with your arousal.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Joel worked with your mother. He wasn't technically her coworker – a fact you'd cling to tomorrow when the reality of your actions would settle in – he was a contractor the company she worked for used for most of their projects. That's why he was here tonight, in your childhood home, attending your mother's work party.

You hadn't planned on visiting this weekend, didn't really plan on it for the foreseeable future either, but the devil herself (your roommate) had basically kicked you out because her army boyfriend (ugh) was visiting. With no place to go, if you didn't want to spend this month's paycheck on a last minute hotel room for two nights, you'd ended up going home.

Technically, and you'll forever be hung up on the technicalities of this situation, you were supposed to be studying at your desk in your childhood bedroom… not getting caught in bed masturbating by your mother's coworker.

To say getting caught had been embarrassing was an understatement. That he'd seen the glistening of your arousal on your fingers when you'd quickly retracted your hand from your panties and seen the porn video flicker over your phone screen… was even worse. But the fact that he was the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen, was definitely the worst part of this situation.

"'m sorry, sweetheart," he let out an embarrassed chuckle, like he couldn't believe what he'd walked in on, "I was just lookin' for the bathroom."

"It's at the end of the hall," you peeped out.

"Right… thanks," he said, his hand still lingering on your door handle.

A beat passed, and your eyes locked with his where you could glimpse something darker clouding them. It ignited something inside you, played the strings of the arousal still settling inside you, and sparked a hint of bravery in the pit of your stomach.

"You can use my bathroom if you like?" Biting down on your bottom lip, a lilt of innocence coated your words.

Something like a smile twitched over his face, and his grip on the door handle tightened slightly as he seemed to weigh his options. A loud choir of laughs could be heard coming from the back yard, and like the sound had made the decision for him, he stepped inside your bedroom.

"Through here?" he asked, pointing to your open bathroom door.

"Yes," you nodded, putting on a sugar coated smile across your face. When he'd closed the door after him, you weren't thinking straight; the lingering arousal from earlier drove your actions.

What was his name again? Something starting with J… John? James? No. Joel– Joel Miller.

Removing your hoodie and exposing the ribbed tank top underneath you remembered how he'd introduced himself to you at the start of the night. He'd been early, and your mother had forced you to say hello right before you'd sought refuge in your room for the rest of the night. His hand had engulfed your own as he'd shook it, calloused hands rough against your skin, and the friendly wink he'd given you as he'd introduced himself had had a swarm of wings fluttering in your tummy.

Pushing the covers away your heart was beating out of your chest as you heard the toilet getting flushed and your sink turn on. This would either be the worst or the best decision you'd ever made.

When he stepped out of your bathroom you sat up a little straighter and pulled your knees coquettishly to your chest – innocently, but with intent. Joel's eyes followed the movement and you knew he could see the wet spot where you'd soaked through your panties.

He didn't say anything for what felt like an eternity– he only watched you, his jaw tightening before the deep bass of his voice broke across the silence, "Y'know I work with your mother–"

"Technically you don't," you cut him off, a teasing smirk coating your lips.

Joel huffed out a short laugh. "I don't?" he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow.

"No," you shook your head slowly and spread your legs apart.

Joel's eyes were nothing close to subtle as you exposed yourself to him. "You shouldn't be doin' this, sweetheart– d'you know how old I am?"

"I don't care," you sighed, and let a hand glide down your body, your fingers toying with the elastic band of your panties.

"Clearly," he remarked, his voice strained.

Slipping your hand into your panties, your fingers found your clit where you started to press down in tight circles. Hitching out a small breath your eyes never left Joel's, and you watched as his whole body stiffened.

"Sweetheart," he warned, his voice stern as he stepped closer.

"Please," you breathed out, fingers still working your clit.

"Please, what?" he pressed, stepping so close to your bed now he could reach out to touch you.

"Please…" you pouted, making Joel let out a deep groan, "Want you to fuck me."

"Fuck– you're dirty baby," he whispered, and the way his voice seemed to get deeper and deeper made you rub your clit even faster.

"You have no idea," you whimpered as you looked up at him as innocently as you possibly could through your lashes, but you knew he saw right through your little ruse when his hand locked around your bare knee.

One sweet little plea was all it took for him to snap, and in one quick sweep Joel had you on your knees in front of him. The straps of your tank top had fallen off your shoulders from his manhandling, exposing the top of your chest. Your hands moved with haste then, fingering the buckle of his belt and pushing it through the loop.

"Fuck… Is this really what ya want, sweetheart?" Joel asked, his hand finding your cheek and letting his thumb skate over your skin.

Looking up at him through your lashes you nodded into his hand. It felt insane to admit it, but there was nothing you wanted more in this moment than him; a man you barely knew, a man too old to be even close to appropriate, but it only turned you on even more.

Over you, Joel's eyes had darkened into a stormy sea where rough waves of arousal crashed against his irises. Staring into your own eyes, Joel's jaw tightened and then popped. "Fuck… undo my belt, sweetheart," he ordered and let go of your cheek.

Wasting no time your fingers pulled his belt from the loops and popped the button of his pants. Through the fabric you could feel the way his cock had hardened, and you couldn't help but lean in closer to press open mouthed kisses along his clothed length.

"That's a good girl," Joel sighed, as the comforting weight of his hand found the back of your head. You couldn't help but sigh at the praise and a rumbling laugh tore through his chest at your reaction.

"You liked that didn't you?" he coaxed.

Turning your face to the side, you pressed your cheek against his clothed cock while you looked up to find his eyes. If your panties weren't soaked through with your arousal and your whole body tingling with excitement, you'd be embarrassed. But in this moment, Joel's teasing only made you wetter.

"Please," you begged, wide-eyed and pathetic with arousal, "please, I need your cock."

Joel's hand found the back of your neck where he gripped it, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make a point.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Need to be fucked nice and hard by a real man, huh?" he mocked, his voice laced with fake pity. Before you could whine out an answer he let go of your neck with a small push. "But first…" he grinned and leaned back, fishing out your phone from your sheets, "let's see what's made you this fuckin' needy for m'cock."

The video you'd watched, before he'd walked in on you with your fingers down your panties, were still playing silently on your phone. Still on your knees for him, you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment when his eyes widened and a small chuckle left his lips.

Holding your phone an arms length away from his face, he read out loud, "'Big Dicked Daddy Creampies Needy girl'– that's what you want sweetheart, need to get fucked raw and filled up with cum?"

"Yes," you nodded, eagerly and desperate, your cunt so wet it was starting to hurt.

"Yes, what, sweetheart?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow, "let me hear ya say it f'me."

"Yes… Daddy?" you tried, and a satisfied smile spread across Joel's face. Throwing your phone back on your bed, Joel's fingers undid his zipper.

"Now take my cock out– c'mon," he ordered, almost impatiently.

With fingers shaking from excitement, you looped them through the elastic band of his underwear and pulled it down along with his pants, revealing inch by inch of his thick hard cock. Leaning back on your haunches you tipped your head back slightly to avoid his cock hitting you in the face.

Freed from its confinements, you wasted no time wrapping your hands around him.

His cock was thick with a throbbing vein running down to the base where a patch of dark and silver wiry hair met his happy trail. At the tip of him a pearl of precum had started to bead, and mesmerized you leaned forward to place a soft kiss to the thick head.

A deep noise rumbled in Joel's chest at your action, and his hand fell back to rest on the back of your head again. "Spit on it, baby–" he sighed and pushed your head a little closer, "C'mon, stroke that spit in."

Tipping your head back slightly, you met his eyes while you gathered a blob of spit in your mouth and spat! Your spit dribbled over the shaft and over where your fist struggled to meet around him, and with slick slow movements, you started to stroke his cock.

"Thaaaat's it," Joel groaned, "just like that."

Shifting your weight on your knees you sat up a little straighter as you jerked his cock in a slow steady rhythm. Your spit made the glide go easy, and above you Joel let out short deep groans with every tug on his cock. Leaning in a little closer, you lined the tip up with your mouth, but before you wrapped your lips around him, you hesitated.

"C’mon, sweetheart, nothin’ to be afraid of,” he soothed, the hand at the back of your head pushing you forward towards his cock, “I know you wanna taste.”

With his encouragement, you closed your lips around the tip of his hard cock – tasting him, finally, for the first time. Running your tongue around the sensitive head in slow circles, you teased the underside of him as you hummed, closing your eyes with contentment.

"There you go," he whispered, "S'good, baby."

Encouraged, you took him deeper into your mouth, testing your limits as the hefty length of him made room for himself inside your mouth. You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat, and forcing you to pull back with a cough.

"You're alright, baby," he cooed, stroking the back of your head as you recovered through gasps of air.

Never known to be a quitter, you pushed him back down your throat again a second time. Dropping your jaw and relaxing your throat, it was easier this time, and soon you were bopping your head on his cock. In your mouth you felt his cock grow even harder, and soon enough Joel met your mouth with small thrusts of his own.

Hushed rambles of praise fell from his lips. A sweet symphony through the wet sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Snot ran from your nose and mixed with the spit dripping down your chin while tears started to travel down your cheeks in salty rivers. It was dirty, and wet, and so so hot. Pulling off every once in a while when you needed air, you flashed him a wet smile before he was back in your throat again.

Through your open window, a sudden loud cheer came from the garden and startled you. Accidentally you pushed him down too deep, gagging yourself on his cock. Gasping for air you quickly pulled off his cock.

"I know," he cooed, two large palms wiping at the spit around your jaw, "You did so well, baby."

"N-need you to touch me, Daddy," you told him with pleading eyes, your voice raw and used.

"Yeah?" he coaxed, "Bend over then, sweetheart, let Daddy see you pussy."

With a strong hand wrapped around your bicep, Joel helped you on your feet. Unsteady like a newborn foal, he pushed you down on your stomach against the edge of your twin bed. His hands found your ass where they rubbed soothing circles over the muscle, before you felt him split your ass cheeks apart to put your clothed cunt on display.

"You're a little slut aren't you, sweetheart?" he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, "You're so fuckin' wet f'me and I ain't even touched you yet," he laughed.

But there was nothing to laugh about in this situation.

A second later Joel pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wet cunt to him and let a harsh spank come down on your folds.

With a whiny cry, your whole body jerked at the impact. A prickling pain mixed with your burning arousal, and even with practically no stimulation, you felt right on the edge already.

One strong hand gathered your wrists behind your back as you felt the weight of him over your back. "Shhh," he hushed into your ear. With his other hand he guided the wide head of his cock through your soaked folds, slicking himself in your arousal. "Listen," he commanded, "y'hear how fuckin' wet you are?"

He gave you no room to answer him as he pushed the head past your entrance, and filled you up with his cock in one rough jerk of his hips. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a surprised moan.

"Bet that felt good, huh? That pussy's finally filled up like she needed?" Joel cooed into your ear.

Nodding your head, your cheek pressed tightly to your mattress, you managed to croak out a satisfied, "Yes, Daddy."

Pleased, Joel pulled out slowly before he slammed back inside you again, splitting you open on his cock as he made you take it. He felt so big inside you, that heavy pressure of him hitting the deepest parts of you just right with every kant of his hips. Moaning unabashedly, you let him fuck you hard and fast, guiding your body back against his cock with the grip of his hand around your wrist.

"'f your mother only knew what a fuckin' slut you are, baby," he hushed out under his breath between jerks of his hips. "The door's not even locked– anyone could walk in on you gettin' fucked."

Lost on the feeling of his cock inside you, a fire ignited in your belly at his words. You felt yourself get even more turned on at the thought of getting caught, of exactly how exposed you'd be if someone were to open your bedroom door at exactly this moment.

"Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout it– I won't tell," Joel told you, emphasizing every word with a harsh thrust.

Pushing himself as deep as he could, his balls slapping against your clit, a deep moan rumbled from deep in his chest. Your own moan got stuck in your chest as he grinded his hips against your ass – making sure the tip of his cock rubbed against your g-spot – before he resumed his rhythm.

"You're makin' such a big mess on my cock, sweetheart… it's drippin' down my balls," he grunted, "That turn you on? Getting caught gettin' fucked by an old man?" he chuckled.

"P-please," was the only thing you could manage between your breathy mewls, "I-I'm c-close."

"Yeah, I know, baby, I know. Can feel you squeezin' me so fuckin' tight– so perfect for this big cock," he praised.

Shifting his grip around your wrist, he snuck his other hand between your legs where his calloused fingers found your neglected clit. Pushing down on it in rough circles, you let out a squeal at the new stimulation.

"I know, I know, sweetheart, " he cooed, "I know you want to come all over Daddy's big cock– come while I rub this little clit."

"Y-yes," you moaned, his hips slapping harshly against your ass as Joel brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Tears had started to darken your sheets with a wet patch as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

"You want my cum don't you? Want it inside?" he grunted the question in your ear.

"Please," you hiccuped.

Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder, as he sped up his rhythm.

"Fuck, baby, 'm close– come f'me now, come for Daddy," he commanded, and with the kant of his hips and a flick of your clit, you came around Joel's thick cock.

Arching your back off the mattress and kanting your hips, your body shook as you rode through your high. Above you, Joel’s movement had become even more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

Pushing himself deep inside you, Joel came inside you. A warmth filled you as he emptied himself, filling you and coating your walls with his spend.

"That's it– take that fuckin' cum," he rambled, forcing your hips to stay flush against his thighs.

As both your highs started to slowly fizzle out, Joel slowly pulled back and pushed his hips back in shallow thrusts, making sure to give you every single drop of his cum. Sensitive from your orgasm, the pressure of his thick cock inside you was almost too much, and with a small whine you pulled away.

"No-no-no," he said, his hands tightening around your hips, "Stay right there just a little longer f'me baby– good girl."

Satiated, you released a breathy sigh into the mattress as you felt a tiredness wrap itself around you. Joel's hands loosened around your hips, instead he rubbed soft circles over your skin, before he slowly pulled out and snapped your panties back in place.

For a beat you didn't move, but the metal sound of Joel's belt buckling had you turning over on your back. The lamp on your bed side table casted soft warm shadows over his face as you watched him put himself back together again.

"You okay?" he asked you, his voice low but warm – all his rough teasing gone now and replaced by the friendly man you'd shaken hands with for the first time only a few hours ago.

"More than okay," you smiled, "I can't believe that actually happened."

Your words pulled a chuckle from his chest. "Wouldn't mind if it happened again," he smiled.

"Me neither."

........................................................................................................................

i hope someone out there liked this little fic. i'd love to hear your thoughts either in a comment or as an ask! <3

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 1)

You help out an injured crow. It seems to be a bit of a strange crow, though.

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, still linkon city but mc is not a hunter, basically an alternate universe, minor character deaths, mc has a distinct backstory and personality, slow burn, hurt/comfort, you’re lowkey a disney princess witch character who attracts crows 🐦‍⬛✨💅

314.27.

You exhale slowly. Barely enough to cover food for the next two weeks, until your next paycheck. That nasty cold last week really gutted this month’s budget.

With a heavy heart, you retrieve your card from the ATM and start your usual trek toward the city park, stopping by the familiar food cart that sells peanuts at a good price. (Yes, a questionable purchase, considering your financial situation. No, you will not acknowledge said questionable purchase.)

Linkon City in mid-December is bone-chillingly cold, blanketed in powdery snow—but that’s never stopped you from your daily visit to the park. The freezing temperatures tend to drive most people away, leaving the usually lively space quiet. You, however, can’t resist coming to see your friends.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Speak of the devil. Well, devils.

A giddy smile tugs at your lips, and the exhaustion from the day evaporates.

“Hi!” you call out to the murder of crows circling above. Their midnight feathers gleam against the brilliant pink, orange, and purple hues of the winter sunset. You reach into the inside pocket of your weathered but ever-loyal overcoat and grab a handful of peanuts, tossing them onto the snow-free patches of ground.

The crows descend immediately, squabbling as they pick at the treats.

Moving carefully so you don’t spook them, you settle onto a nearby bench. A few of the bolder ones flutter down to join you, perching on the bench as their beady eyes lock on your face. Beaks held high, they wait expectantly, clearly hoping for more. You huff a soft laugh and oblige, tossing another handful.

Your peculiar friendship with these crows began a few years ago. The day of your family’s funeral.

A drunk twenty-year-old behind the wheel of his rich businessman father’s SUV, barreling down the highway at four times the speed limit. Your mother, father, and younger brother, on their way to your college graduation. A tragic case of wrong place, wrong time.

You don’t remember much after that. Everything that followed was all a blur. The driver didn’t really face any consequences, thanks to their family’s influence. Their lawyer presented you with a pitiful settlement offer (or, in hindsight, maybe you were more or less threatened into accepting it). Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of hopelessness at the time, or the suspicion that your lawyer might have been paid off by the driver’s family, but you ended up agreeing to settle.

It didn’t matter anyway. Your family was dead.

The funeral was a simple event. Some extended family came to offer their support and condolences. Once the day ended and everyone went home, however, you were left alone in your family’s house.

You don’t remember much, but you do remember standing in the middle of your living room, a growing tightness in your chest slowly overtaking you, as if your heart was being squeezed from the inside. The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, and suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Somehow, you ended up bolting out the door—leaving it wide open behind you—and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, but you eventually found yourself here, at this very park, sitting on this very bench.

A single crow had perched nearby, watching you silently. Your hand brushed against your coat pocket, and you found some leftover peanut shells from the funeral’s snack offerings. You absentmindedly tossed them toward the crow, and it hopped down to peck at them. There was something oddly comforting in the way it ate, its sharp black eyes darting back toward you as if to say thank you.

The next day, you returned. One crow turned into three, then six. Slowly, more joined, until it seemed like the entire murder looked forward to your daily visits and peanut offerings.

A sudden, loud thump behind you pulls you from your thoughts. You instinctively turn toward the sound, only to find… nothing. Frowning, you scan the area, glancing left and right, until your eyes land on a crow lying on the ground directly behind your bench.

You gasp and quickly stand, rushing over to it.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, crouching down and scanning it for signs of injury. It looks like it fell straight out of the sky.

The crow caws at you—loudly. Unlike the murder behind you, its caw is sharper, more jarring. It grates against your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Its eyes seem to gleam red when the light catches them at certain angles, similar to how a cat’s eyes flash in the dark.

Then your gaze drops to its left wing, which is bent unnaturally.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you murmur, leaning closer to examine it. The injury doesn’t look like a typical fracture. The way the wing bends reminds you more of a mechanical part with a screw loose than a broken bone.

It caws again, louder this time, as if trying to get your attention.

You glance up at the sky and realize it’s grown darker. Heavy clouds swirl above, signaling an impending snowfall. Behind you, the other crows begin to disperse, their farewell squawks echoing as they take flight.

Looking back down at the injured crow, you watch as it tries to take off, only to crash back onto the ground with its unusable wing.

“Um, would you like to stay with me until your wing feels better?” you ask hesitantly.

The crow tilts its head to the side, almost as if it understands you. You miss the subtle garnet glow in its eyes as you carefully scoop it into your arms, cradling it gently to avoid jostling its injured wing.

“I’ll help you out until you’re better,” you say softly, already walking toward home. “I don’t have much, but you can have the rest of the peanuts I bought earlier.”

The crow doesn’t resist, settling into your arms. Its body relaxes against you, and you tighten your hold to shield it from the cold winter air.

You know your groceries won’t stretch far for the rest of the month, but your conscience won’t let you leave an injured animal out in the snow. Hugging the crow a little closer, you feel a small smile tug at your lips when it starts to coo softly.

You don’t notice the faint whirring sound beneath its gentle cooing, like the hum of tiny mechanical gears.

note: not sure where I’m headed with this tbh, but it’s kinda like an alternate universe of the game’s main story. still set in linkon and the concept of evols still exist, but mc is basically an average citizen. (lowkey gonna treat this whole thing as a massive projection of recent irl feelings teehee.) we’ll see how this goes!

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[boowritess]

notsobaddasssoldier!reader who is kinda a cunt

reader who just doesn't give a shit about the 141 rank or title.

"you think just cause your captain of some lil task force i'm gonna bend over backwards for you? be serious."

"cool you're lieutenant...and.... anything else interesting? like how you think halloween is 24/7, or...?"

"oh so it's a big accomplishment you're sergeant at your big age? tell someone who cares."

you're just so... eh about their ranks. but they get some power trip when you call them said rank. makes them feel some sort of way that depsite your snark, you still call them by rank. showing the clear difference of inferiority and superiority between you and them.

till you notice and shut that shet down.

"your so fucking stupid. it's like if i met The Pope. I'm gonna call him Pope because he's The Pope. I still don't give a shit though."

"or like meeting a Doctor and calling them Doctor. I don't give a fuck that the persons a Doctor. I'll still call em it."

"better yet. hate the king. hate the queen. but i still call them the queen and king. because their dumbassary is just linked to their 'ranks'. if you keep annoying me the same is gonna go for you."

you have so much sass and snark that it becomes a truly humbling experience. and it's like - damn. they could put you over their knee and really put you in your place but reader takes things from 0-100 real fucking quick.

"you wanna what you fucking freak?"

"excuse me-?"

"you're so fucking dumb. get a braincell dumb bitch. do it and fucking find out what happens."

"shot me in the head and watch my corpse not give a fuck because I don't."

and when the guys get a lil too fucking serious about putting reader in their place. reader suddenly has a gun pointed at their face. you see what I mean by taking things to 0-100 real quick?

"dummy. really tryna fuck with me when we're surrounded by guns? fuck outta here with that bullshit."

"matter fact I'd just kill myself-"

"NO!" *141*

it's obvious you may be young and perhaps a little too mouthy for your own good but it's clear you're not going to be pushed around.

but it's obvious you ain't here for the 'greater good' and just doing the work to get the paycheck. while the guys find your snark to be really fucking annoying.

it turns out that you definitely have some perks.

you may not be able to hold yourself very long in battle, just a very basic solider with basic skill sets- your mouth and attitude can really work wonders on people.

in particular, the egotistical rookie who things they're all that. taking their sweet time with basic tasks, belittling other recruits who can do the bare minimum. just in general, an asshole. that's when you step in.

"you ain't shit bitch cause at the end of the fucking day turdface, you ain't bullet proof. i can shoot you right now, and all your running and yapping will cease to exist. your corspe will rot. people will stop knowing you as the loudmouth rookie, and you will just become nothing. infact. you are nothing."

*the recruit opens their mouth. you interrupt.*

"Nothing."

*recruit tries again.*

"Nothing."

it's an endless cycle that ceases when your hardened glare doesn't stop and you pick up a rock intending to throw it at the recruit. the blank, dead, serious look in your eyes showing you are more than fucking serious.

what really works wonders though, is they way you aren't worried about putting a superior in their place. the other 141 have basically been beaten in and to not question anything. they have been made to believe they are weapons more than human.

that gets shut down real quick.

you all have just come back from mission, that was grueling. a couple of you were injured. everyone looked worse for wear. dirts, scratches, blood. someone no longer had their vest. a few lost weapons. barely had any inventory. needing food, sleep, and then a long shower shower.

but instead waiting for the task force, was a superior officer, holding the next mission file. a mission they were supposed to be getting ready for and practically leave as soon as they got back.

before price could grab for it, you intercept. grabbing the mission file and throwing it at the superior officers face.

"you giant fucking anal peice of dried solid dog shit. we're not fucking doing that. we just got back from hiding in a fucking forest for three weeks with enemy surrounding us to get intel from a camp- THAT WASN'T FUCKING THERE. so you better turn and take those pretty polished shoes to another task force."

"what is your name, soldier?" *superior officer growls.*

"Dolly Parton. Now Dolly has just worked longer than a nine to five and Dolly ain't got the patience for dealing with a man like you. i got two bullets left. one for you and one for me. and if you think i won't do it- well we can put it to the test now-"

perhaps it was the utter dead look in your eyes, or the gentle yet seething venom in your tone. the superior officer simply growls and turns on their feet, leaving the task force.

it's funny cause you do get the respect, you are barely a good soldier but dang you can get shit done when need be. so price doesn't transfer you. he still keeps you close.

ghost is the one who loves the feral little shit you are. gaz and you talk mad shit about everyone on base. soap just absolutely adores you, you're the little sibling he's always wanted.

a/n: inspired by the feral nature of gen z.

[yurozo]

resident evil headcanons (restaurant au)

characters: leon, chris, jill, claire, rebecca, ada, luis, carlos, wesker. a/n: this was created as a joke between me and my friends that completely spiralled out of control. maybe the stupidest au i've ever created. wesker and friends hit me up if you wanna use this warnings: vulgar language. sorry, i'm canadian, we swear a lot here.

chris redfield (bartender): he's one of the first hires, and has been working as the head bartender forever. he absolutely loves to lowkey trauma dump on customers unknowingly, only to shake the mixer after just to avoid the awkward silence. the owner has had to move the tv's out of the way of the bar because chris will only look at the screen and fuck up every single drink during a big game. refuses leon everytime he tries to come up to the bar for drinks. he knows when it's him, leon always tries to input it in the system as a customer order for a table that isn't occupied, but he always orders his whiskey in a very specific way that outs him. chris will pour it out in front of him to make a point. he eventually had to make a memo about not letting leon take drinks from the bar anymore. to customers, he is every older woman's wet dream. he knows that flexing his biceps will rake him in more tips, so he does it often. also does it when women are being hit on by creepy men to scare them away. the night that he wears tight turtlenecks are his big paycheck days. chris will never admit that he likes when people squeeze his arms. chris is the guy that everyone has a crush on when they first start working there, it's basically an initiation rite at this point. he's the friendliest one of the bunch and gives wholesome big bro vibes and it makes him absolutely irresistible to new hires. (x reader) if you're working alongside chris in the bar, prepare to constantly run into him. he's a massive guy, and maneuvering around a little bar with that hunk is near impossible without a couple collisions. after a while, he's learned to put a gentle hand on your back whenever he has to move behind you, all for the sake of "workplace safety". he loves to sneak food from the kitchen and share it with you, but this man eats like a horse. like the chefs are genuinely surprised on how much food this man can physically fit inside his body, but he will always leave a portion for you. it takes him a long time to make a move because he's afraid of ruining your friendship and workplace relationship. leon kennedy (server): he got hired a little after everyone else, and got put onto the waitstaff because of his looks. however, this man is super awkward with patrons despite being super popular with older women. he's always getting propositions to get set up with someone's daughter and he always unknowingly shoots them down. (customer: "you're really cute, leon: "ok.") he always makes little jokes to lighten the mood and it is an instant vibe killer. the only people who like them are the old ladies who think he's cute, and dads who genuinely think he's funny.

as for the whiskey incident, leon has tried multiple times to pretend being a bartender when chris is on break to sneak himself a drink. he claims that it makes him better at serving, but three broken trays and countless shattered glasses say otherwise.

leon does have kind of a blank expression when patrons try and get him to cut them deals or do stuff for them. he will immediately go back and scream by himself in the freezer after a difficult customer interaction. has cried silently in the freezer after food got in his hair. (x reader) leon always smells like american crew hair pomade, and always showers himself in cologne on shifts he knows he's working with you. you smiled at him one time in the middle of a rush and he had to sit on the curb to collect himself. leon has a horrible tendency to get distracted whenever you're in his general vicinity, and will completely ignore customers whenever you walk by with literal hearts in his eyes. he's one of the fastest people to make a move, mostly because he lacks any form of subtlety. he always offers to drive you home, always offers to take you out to dinner after work like you already don't work in food service, and always keeps something in his bag for you. he loves to lowkey fuck with you on shifts, like putting an ice cube down your shirt to make you pay attention to him. jill valentine (hostess):

another og worker, and the most no-nonsense of them all, especially with customers. if the wait time is thirty minutes, then you're waiting thirty goddamn minutes. she does not care who you supposedly know. she has gotten a couple writeups for visibly rolling her eyes when large parties come in without a reservation. jill demands a break every thirty minutes to sit with chris on the curb while he smokes a cigarette. she calls it her mental health breaks.

pointedly does not listen to leon when he asks her to stop seating people in her section. her favourite past-time is to seat all the old women obsessed with him at his tables to watch him flounder. also gives leon's number out to people who try and hit on her at the job. she's also the only person who can scare the owner, so jill gets away with a lot more than most people. her and carlos often hang out after shifts to drink beer and play pool. her and claire have regular girls nights where jill's convinced into facemasks and terrible movies that only have a one star rating on whatever pirated movie website claire pays for. (x reader) every attempt you make to ask her on a date goes completely over her head. it's only at chris' intervention that she finally gets the hint and takes you out to dinner. she ends up having her own shelf of stuff at your apartment within a week, and she's more than happy to drive you to work everyday. if you have a pet, prepare for jill to come over to spoil it rotten and feign ignorance when you confront her about it. another victim of the 'takes extra long to get ready on shifts you work together'. she knows you like her arms, so she's wearing short sleeves or tanks whenever she has the opportunity, and silently preens in your attention. carlos, (line cook):

without a doubt, the line cooks are the vibe bringers of the restaurant. carlos always takes a hit off his dab pen before coming in, because he claims it makes his cooking taste better. he always gives food to the female servers at any given opportunity, and pretends to not know what the male servers are talking about when they bring it up. (is the reason for 90% of the memos regarding workplace behaviour).

carlos always smells like old spice and food, and there is almost nothing that could break his good mood during a shift. he really is just happy to be there. he's very particular on how the freezer is organized, but loved to label the items wrong to piss off the others (spinch). his mother taught him how to cook, so he has a dedicated dish named after her. carlos always comps her meals when she comes in and doesn't tell anybody about it.

as for the other employees, carlos torments them. he loves to play his own music in the kitchen but has a wildly inappropriate taste for work music. chris banned him from the speaker officially after only playing doja cat for three hours. however, him and luis love to carpool and play brazilian funk with all the windows rolled down at max volume. those two are not allowed to work together too much. he also has a mobile game rivalry with leon, so anytime carlos is missing from the kitchen, you'll find him in the bathroom on his phone. just follow the shitty iphone game music.

(x reader) in all honesty, carlos is the man that's hooked up with the most employees. the mans charm is undeniable. but he has a particular soft spot when it comes to you-- you get to taste-test every dish, there's always a nice cold glass of water waiting for you, and carlos will take the fall for every fuckup at your table. he'll introduce you to his mom when she comes in, but is secretly terrified at how well the two of you get along. don't even get him started on bringing his siblings into the place, he would never hear the end of it. carlos received another memo after engaging in too much pda at work after the two of you got together.

claire redfield (waitress):

one of the main reasons for all the positive google reviews. it's not that she's naturally a super bubbly person, but claire knows how to turn it on and off when her shift starts. jill puts most of the families in her section since claire has a natural gift with kids. however, she is extremely biased when it comes to the food. her face always tells you exactly what she thinks of a dish.

since chris is always within eyesight of her, whenever difficult customers give her problems, she loves to sic chris on them. even just having him stand behind her is enough to give her leverage over someone trying to haggle on a bill. and with carlos' willingness to give food to pretty girls, she never goes hungry during a shift. the girl has her whole shift figured out on a system. she also knows exactly when the lull in service is going to be so she can take extended bathroom breaks.

out of everyone, she's the one to organize after-work hangouts, whether by putting gentle reminders into the group chat, or straight up bullying people to come (ie. jill). everyone always knows when she pulls up from the sound of her engine, but she refuses to let anyone on it. especially luis or leon, for insurance reasons.

(x reader) this girl has the uncanny ability to know what you need, and when you need it. forgot an iced tea for table 20? it's already in her hand on the way. it's her nice little way of showing what a good girlfriend she would be, that she can anticipate your needs. for every group hangout, you are the first person she texts and the primary benefactor of the tips she makes. claire is a no bullshit kind of woman, and when she wants you, you will know. she'll always ask you to hang out, always compliment how you look, tell you constantly how good you are at your job. maybe she'll let you ride behind her on the motorcycle just for the excuse of having your arms around your waist, and does that hot thing where she rubs your arms with her thumb at red lights.

rebecca chambers (head waitress):

dear old rebecca, truly the glue holding everything together. she's incredibly sweet to customers, and to most of the employees. the only reason the floor runs properly is her by the book attitude and highly perceptive personality. nothing is getting by rebecca. she's leon's number two nemesis for being able to drink on the job, and chris' number one nemesis for smoking outside. this woman has the nose of a bloodhound when someone is about to do something stupid.

despite her appearance, everyone is afraid to make her angry. she's lost her shit a total of one time, but it was enough for everyone to be on their best behaviour. she does have a tendency to make passive aggressive comments with such a sickly sweet smile on her face, that you won't even realize she insulted you until long after she's walked away.

least favourite part of the job? she is a hit with old men. they can never leave her alone. second least favourite part? finding ways to sneak vitamins into certain employees food so they can live to see another day. the way that some of the others operate is enough to give her grey hairs.

(x reader) rebecca is intelligent and ambitious, and more than willing to make sacrifices when it comes to you. she's more than happy to take the fall on a screwup if it gets you out of it, wanting nothing more than your smile in return. her main tactic of getting to know you is inviting you over to watch movies, inconspicuously of course, so she can ask you questions over the whole thing. overall, she's an acts of service girl, but is much more subtle about it than claire is. you need a meal prep plan? she's your woman. she wants nothing more than to take care of you, to make your life as easygoing as possible. but the true way to her heart is any form of baked goods. if you make a habit of bringing her pastries before a shift, she's putty in your hands.

ada wong, (head chef):

this woman, god help her, has the hardest job out of them all. not only does she have to babysit her two line cooks, but she's also responsible for cleaning up all the fuckups the waitstaff make. her saving grace is the fact that everyone else is terrified of her, creating a wide berth every time she picks up a knife. everyone can always hear her scolding carlos in the kitchen, who just brushes it off with a laugh.

despite the chaos of a kitchen, ada has the impeccable ability to never get food on herself. even after the dinner rush there is not a single hair out of place, looking just as perfect as when she started. every ingredient is measured precisely, every fda standard met and upheld-- pretty much the counterforce to carlos and luis. secretly, she loves when carlos has control of the speaker, but she would rather die than admit it.

the second an overcomplicated modification comes in, the temperature of the kitchen immediately drops. why the hell does she pore over a menu just for some middle-aged man to think he knows better than her? despite her no-nonsense attitude, she does secretly love fucking with leon. only luis knows about her secret tinder account that she catfished leon on with some fake woman in romania.

(x reader) ada is a woman in tune with herself, in tune with what and who she wants. the second she gets attached, she will display clear favouritism. every new recipe she tries is given to you for taste-testing, claiming that you will always give her the truth. it's a lie, she just like seeing the grin on your face when you enjoy it. if anyone asks her about it, she will vehemently deny it, claiming that you're the only one competent enough at your job. her asking you out is more of a demand than it is a question: this place, this time, wear that dress you know i like. she's not huge fan of pda at the workplace, but she'll always give you that look that screams, just wait until i get my hands on you later.

luis sera (line cook):

this man does not operate on a recipe, he operates on la pasion. really, it just means the foods always a tad spicier than it should be. he also sings obnoxiously loud in the kitchen, to the point that patrons can hear it if they're seated close enough. this man obeys ada for the most part, but he's honestly never touched a measuring cup in his life. he'll stop pouring when his ancestors tell him to stop pouring. however he has the uncanny ability to know exactly when meat is within three degrees of whatever temp they need it cooked to.

the waitstaff either love him or hate him. luis playfully flirts with everyone in his line of sight. who could blame him? he's stuck in a kitchen all day and everyone at this restaurant is unbearably attractive. mostly, he just likes seeing their reactions. leon adamantly begs claire to fetch his plates from the kitchen for him, because luis calls him prince charming every time, and leon hates it.

there's a rumour going around that he got drunk after a shift and made out with another employee, but no one knows who it is. there's a restaurant-wide betting pool on potential victims. also, since luis is the only person who knows about the catfish incident, he loves to ask leon innocuous question while feigning innocence about the whole thing. he's just really invested in his love life, he swears.

(x reader) if you think the flirting is bad towards leon, just wait until he catches an eyeful of you. it is a nonstop barrage of witty compliments, offers to go dancing (or clubbing), and pick-up lines that were definitely picked up off the internet. he's a suave guy, don't get me wrong, but he most definitely gets too many of his ideas from old romance novels. at some point he gives up, telling you straight that he wants to take you out, for reals, and cook you a nice home-cooked meal. maybe some wine. maybe more, if you'll let him. luis is another person who displays clear favouritism, and tries to convince ada into naming a dish after you. it has a horribly cheesy name, but it tastes wonderful and he loves shooting you a wink every time you see him making it (he always makes that dish more carefully than any of the others).

wesker (manager):

this man bought the damn place in a last ditch attempt to save himself from bankruptcy, and unknowingly entangled himself into the lives of the dumbest twenty year olds he's ever met in his life. the only person that he kind of tolerates is ada, because she runs that kitchen like it's the military, and he can respect how batshit terrifying she is. he has a particular vendetta against chris for reasons he can't name, but since chris brings in a lot of money, he can't really refuse. he mostly gets that frustration out by pinning things on chris that leon most definitely did.

he's rarely seen on the actual floor, usually just hanging in the back on the computer doing whatever the fuck he does. (he's playing farmville, but no one knows it's him because of a pseudonym. he also does not know how to turn the music off so if you stand at the right position outside the door you can hear it.)

when he is seen out on the floor, he's wearing the most obnoxious sunglasses and leather jacket known to man, and stalks around the bar to watch for mistakes. you know you fucked up around wesker when there's a sneer on his face. the place almost got robbed once, and wesker threw a punch so fast that everyone stopped trying to piss him off after that.

(x reader) truthfully, he doesn't act too much different around you. it takes months to catch onto the little quirks that show his softness-- just a slight ease in his eyebrow, a softer pitch when addressing you directly. he'll still chew you out for mistakes, but he forgets about it long before he'll let anyone else slide. if things did eventually progress between the two of you, that manager's office is staying locked.

thank y'all for reading! this ended up being way longer than i thought it was going to be lol.

[forsoobado137]

🍨dolly_as_prez Follow

🍨dolly_as_prez Follow

It's been five years since I made this meme and nothing has changed lol

156,932 notes

🧻Dorpblorpw93 Follow

Watching Alfred's short films on youtube are always fucking hilarious because I never know if he's being ironic or not. They all look like they were written produced by an over-caffeinated film student but if they had an actual budget. Like they are legit the funniest pieces of media out there and I have no idea if the comedy is intentional or not.

🏞fromthevalley89 Follow

Where do I begin here? The fact that he basically plays everyone? The fact that he included Arthur but didn't let him play as himself and cast him as bad guys? The fact that he was able to get Roderich and Francois on board with this? The fact that he doesn't even name himself and just puts ME? The fact that the end credits are three times longer than the movie? AND HE LITERALLY CAST HIMSELF AS GOD?! This is peak cinema.

🧭justintime12oclock Follow

Also what is up with Tony? Did Alfred just rotoscope his roommate and make him an alien? is it CGI (Really badly done)?

47,459 notes

🌌galaxylesbian Follow

AGAIN?!

🐝beemybestie Follow

Translation: wahhh wahhh my president won't give me money for Louis Vuitton and my seventh mansion so I'm gonna sit on my ass while the stocks plummet and the trains malfunction 🥺

🌟bugdrinkbugrink Follow

Actual translation: I've literally fought in dozens of wars and bent over backwards for this government and all I get in return is a minimum wage paycheck, demeaning insults from my own politicians, and disrespect from tourists that I'm forced to put up with. I deserve better, and by not working, I'm going to demonstrate how fucked you all would be without me. I hope this opens people's eyes to the lack of rights me and my fellow nations have, and that it will force governments everywhere to actually give a shit.

🌷Azaleyaaaaah02 Follow

Also that mansion thing is such bullshit. The reason nations have so many houses is because they have been ALIVE FOR CENTURIES and they can't just stay in one place forever. Also they have had more than enough time to buy houses when they were cheap and pay off multiple properties. Nations aren't just secretly a bunch of out of touch millionaires. They have been homeless, in debt, and have lived in far worse conditions than you could ever imagine.

🌟bugdrinkbugrink Follow

For everyone trying to call nations "selfish" for going on strike because it has negative effects on their countries, that is literally THE ENTIRE POINT OF STRIKES. World leaders think that all nations do is look pretty and die over and over in petty wars. In the THREE DAYS that France (and other European countries) went on strike back in 1976, the stock market plummeted, trade slowed, transportation stopped working, and other citizens stopped going to work. The leaders realized pretty quickly that they fucked up. After they got better wages, the nations returned, and everything was up and running again.

Moral of the story: PAY YOUR NPS A LIVING WAGE! These people have literally sacrificed everything for their nations. So what if France wants to be able to afford iconic French fashion brands? If I was an immortal being who died thousands of times in mankind's worst wars, you better BELIEVE I would demand that I can afford to treat myself.

41,246 notes

[dirtysvthoughts]

𝙗𝙖𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣! [1𝗄 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇] - part. 1: the destination

synopsis: you and your boyfriend have been working nonstop. performances on his end and endless meetings on yours. when you both finally get a break, he proposes you two get away for a few days. little do the both of you know that this “baecation” will provide physical, emotional, and sexual healing.

general tags/warnings: smut, pwp, female! reader, boyfriend! chan, non-idol! chan (professional dancer! chan), vacation/baecation getaway, lots of teasing, lots of dirty talk, lingerie on reader, hotel room sex, balcony sex, pool sex, basically chan and reader are just horny lovebirds

this part’s tags/warnings: cooking and food, kissing, tinges of suggestive material, mentions of the beach, waterfronts, etc.

word count: 2.6k

notes: well, she’s finally here! baecation is ready for you all to consume and i really hope you all like it! 🥹 thank you again for 1k, it still feels very surreal and i’m so lucky to do one of the things i love and share it with you guys. now before i get too sappy, let’s get into it shall we?

taglist will be reblogged!

——

quite frankly - you’re over it.

for the past month and a half, you’ve been pushing your limits at your job. your boss designated you as the lead of a project and on top of that, you had to put in overtime to ensure that the project workload AND your individual load were still up to standards. while you knew things would be worth it in the end (your project commissions and overtime would give you an extra $2,500 dollars on your paycheck), you would be lying if you said your mental and physical health were starting to deteriorate.

today especially, you realized things were going to get worse before they got better. as you shut down your workspace, you felt ounces of your energy leave your body. too much happened for your liking - your teammates argued about the project’s direction, your boss complained about the most minute details in a presentation you were to give in a few days, and to culminate the day, your company laptop malfunctioned while you were working and it had to be sent to i.t. for it to get fixed. at this point, you were ready to head home, wrap yourself up in your covers, and forget about everything and everyone.

you’re not sure if you heard people say goodbye to you as you left the office, but if they did, you were too tired (and too agitated) to care and respond back. as you enter into the parking deck of your office building, you fish for your phone and see some missed texts from your boyfriend, chan.

channie ❤️: hey, just wanted to check on you

channie ❤️: i’ll probably be over later tonight

channie ❤️: so much is going on, and i really want to see you

you breathe a sigh of relief at seeing your boyfriend’s name appear on your screen, but you also can’t help but worry. your boyfriend chan was a professional dancer - and a damn good one. he’s been dancing since he was three, and it’s his first love. he teaches at three of the most popular dance studios on a weekly basis, drawing in huge crowds of avid and eager learners. his instagram comments are always flooded with words of praise - handsomeness and talent catching the eyes of millions. his sharpness, keen eye for detail, and flawless execution made him the target for entertainment companies and he was often called in to be a backup dancer or choreograph for popular idol groups. currently, he’s preparing to dance with a popular boy group after their latest comeback broke records.

he did mention that his rehearsals were getting a bit more intense, especially since this group in particular were about to start their promotion period. there were days where he complained that his body ached and times that you helped take care of him, so you just had to pray and hope that today wasn’t as harsh on him.

you and chan have been together for a year and a half after meeting at party hosted by a mutual friend. you weren’t sure that you two were a good match for each other, but after a few meet-ups and intriguing conversations you realized that you two had more in common than you thought. whatever one of you might have lacked, another made up for in actions or words. you two complemented each other and you had each other’s backs. even through some rough patches, you both realized that there was no one else you wanted to be with. there was no going back.

as you started your car engine, you shoot a quick text back to chan, thanking all higher powers you would at least have some better solace this evening.

babe 😏: you too? i guess we can talk about later when you come by. see you in a bit, love ya ❤️

the drive after work feels somewhat longer than normal, the traffic almost making you reach your limit. but you finally find yourself back in the comfort of your apartment, kicking your shoes off to the side and dropping your bag and blazer to the floor. you breathe a huge sigh of relief as you enter your bedroom, take off your bra, and flop onto your bed, letting the sweet scent of your bedsheets fill your nose.

you find yourself drifting into dreamland a few minutes later, but the grumbling of your stomach and the fact that you still had the rest of your work clothes on brings you back to reality. despite some opposition from the rest of your body, you get up and grab some loungewear from your dresser and head for the shower, hoping to relax your tense muscles.

after you come out the shower and change, you head to the kitchen to start on dinner. you decide on chicken fried rice - one of you and chan’s favorite meals to eat together. you pull the ingredients from the fridge and the seasonings from the cabinet, asking your smart home device to play serene, chill music. the instrumentals fill your space, and you get to work - washing the chicken first.

as you finish garnishing both plates, you hear your doorbell ring. you check your camera, and smile as you see your boyfriend come into view. you quickly wash your hands and answer the door, embracing chan in a tight hug before he can even say anything to you.

he’s surprised at how you rush at him, but it quickly melts into a soft smile as he wraps one hand around your waist and one on the back of your neck. he gently sways you back and forth, rubbing the small of your skin. after nearly eight hours of rehearsal, all he wanted to do was spend the rest of the day with you with no worries.

“hey you,” he whispers, glowing smile still on his perfect features. you finally make eye contact with him, a smile coming on your face, beaming at the fact that you were finally with your love. “hey,” you respond, going up on your toes to press a kiss to his soft cheek. chan takes the opportunity to place his hand on your chin and places a kiss on your lips. he quickly realizes he missed this wonderful feeling, and he deepens his movements, smirking when you can feel yourself lose all control and give into his desires.

you have to force yourself to come off him, knowing that if this continues dinner would be long forgotten. “c’mon babe, i made your favorite!” you take his hand and he drops his bags by your door, the familiar blending of seasonings wafting through his nose. “you made chicken fried rice?!” chan beams, entering the kitchen, his mouth nearly drooling at the plate full of goodness. “man, i really needed this today, thank you baby,” he places a kiss on your cheek this time as he goes to wash his hands. you can’t help but blush as you take the plates to the table, taking your seat as chan follows behind you.

“i’ll eat deliciously,” he affirms you, toasting your fork to you, taking his first bite and nodding in agreement at your cooking. you give him a minute to eat before you ask him anything.

“how have rehearsals been?”

“in one word, crazy,” he sighs. “i had to come in early to teach one of the members since he had an overseas schedule when the group had practice. then we had to rework some formations and drill the choreo over and over to get ready for filming tomorrow. i’m excited for filming and all, but im just tired.”

you sigh, shaking your head in agreement. “that’s understandable, things at the office have been crazy too. i love what i do, but this overtime is driving me crazy. i can’t wait to be finished so i can get this big bonus.”

“you’ve got this through. and when that check comes, it’ll all be worth it. just make sure you take care of yourself in the meantime. you know i’m proud of you right?” he rubs your back, his hand softening your tight muscles.

“thanks,” you respond shyly, smiling at your lover. “you know i’m proud of you too. you’re living out your dream everyday and you’re having fun doing it. your hard work is paying off too, chan. if i haven’t told you lately, you’re doing amazing. but you also need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, okay?”

he nods in agreement. “it’s only fair cause i asked you to do the same. i promise i’ll take care of myself.”

time passes by pleasantly, empty plates now in the dishwasher, conversations continuing from the kitchen table to the couch. your head rests on chan’s shoulders, your right hand on his leg.

“so when do you guys film the performance video?”

“tomorrow, and it’s supposed to last two days. then we have promotions with the group, but they divided us into two groups, so i only have to perform at music shows during the second week.”

an idea pops into your head, imaginary lightbulbs flashing rapidly. even though you were working overtime, you were scheduled for absences on friday and monday and your boss hadn’t rescinded on your days off. if chan only had to work until thursday, that would mean for once - both of your schedules would align.

“wait.. so that means you have a break after the music video?” you question. “even if it’s a short one?”

“yeah, what are you getting at?”

you sit up from your boyfriend’s shoulder realizing that the planning you completed in your head might have actually worked. “chan,” you exclaimed, “i actually have a break too! i get friday and monday off! chan, do you know what this means? we finally have the chance to spend more time together!”

your excitedness makes chan swoon, but it also brings a tinge of sadness. you were right - you two have been so busy that you had limited time together. between him dancing and teaching and with your work project, moments like these where you two could get away for a minute were rare.

“we should do something special then baby! we could go to dinner,” he gasps coming up with a new idea, “and i’ve always wanted to take you on a night boat ride! remember when i sent you those pictures from japan?”

earlier in the year, chan went overseas for another performance opportunity and during his time off, he and some of his other dancer friends took a boat ride with the city lights gleaming over the large body of water, waves that could lull anyone to sleep with their calming effect. it was a sight to behold, even through a 7 inch phone screen.

“yeah i do! those pictures were gorgeous,” you admire, thinking how back them you wished you were with chan on that boat, head resting on his shoulders like you did earlier, taking peeks of your boyfriend every now and then. he would be staring into the distance, somehow managing to look more handsome than anyone else.

“actually, i kinda want to do something grander than a date night though..” you hint, playing with your hair as you temporarily avoid eye contact. “i’ve been seeing this idea on insta for a while, and now i dream of doing it with you, chan. why don’t we take a trip together babe?”

“like a day trip?”

“mmm, i was thinking more like for the weekend. and it doesn’t have to be somewhere ridiculously far either, not like bali or anything! matter of fact, there’s a beach that i found right off the coast and the city is stunning!” you pull out your phone and type in the name of the beach in the search engine. you pass your phone to chan, images of beautiful blue water and white sand flooding his lenses.

“ah, crystal beach!” chan recognizes the name. “some of my friends have been there before, they said it was really nice! they said there’s a waterfront hotel right in front of the beach, and from the right floor you can get the perfect view.”

suddenly, you can envision the two of you on the fifteenth floor, sunrise glistening through the windows as you sleep in chan’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist, head on his chest. nothing else would matter in that moment expect for you two. no work, no projects, no eight-counts - just you, your lover, and the gentle ocean breeze.

“so, what are you thinking? should we go for it?” you ask.

“let’s do it babe! we’ve never done something like this before, and we can make some great memories out of it! and from the looks it, we could both use some time away from all of this,” he gestures towards the windows, overseeing the big city that encased you two.

“yeah,” you nod in agreement. “i think some time away is long overdue. and it’ll be good for us! honestly, i was thinking about us waking up together, and now i can’t wait to get out of here!” you both share a quick laugh as you head comes to the familiar space of chan’s shoulders.

you two share a few moments of silence before chan taps your leg twice as your eyes look into his, “do you wanna leave friday morning? we can get there by the afternoon, chill for a bit, and then get dinner or something.”

“m’kay, that sounds good to me. do you want me to reserve the room or do you wanna do it?” you ask, rubbing his shoulder.

“i can reserve the hotel room! don’t worry about it babe.” you kiss chan’s cheek as a thank you, fingers intertwining with his. chan pulls out his phone, typing in the hotel name, leading him to the website. he then locks his phone, already making plans to make this the best trip for you both.

some more time passes, you and chan watching random youtube videos, laughing at funny moments. but soon it comes time for chan to leave, he has an early morning because of the music video filming.

you walk with him to the door, handing him his bags. you go on your toes to kiss his cheek one more time before he leaves. “good luck on filming, i’ll see you on friday!”

he bends down to press a gentle kiss on your lips, hand caressing your jaw to deepen the feeling. you return his passion, tongues moving together like choreography. when you separate, his lips form in a smirk - he loves the feeling of leaving you breathless.

“if i get out early on thursday night i’ll text you. if i do, can i spend the night?”

“of course, baby,” you smile at him, biting your lip. “i’ll see you soon, okay? you need to get some rest.”

“okay, okay, love you baby,” he says leaving one more kiss on your lips.

“love you too, text me when you get home!” you respond as he opens the door, waving you goodbye, signaling with his fingers that he would affirm he got home safely.

chan closes the door as he walks to the elevator, hearing your door lock, making sure you were safe. he quickly gets out his phone, the hotel’s website coming back into view. he chooses the dates, chooses two people to occupy the space, and it takes chan to the room selection. he scrolls until he find the perfect room - one with a king size bed, and a balcony view, hopefully one that would overlook the beach.

before he reserves the room, he texts one of his friends that stayed at the same hotel.

hey yeonjun, i need a favor.

which exact floor were you on when you went to that hotel at crystal beach?

[cinnam0ngirlxo]

drunk walk home

j.todd x f!reader (platonic?)

TW: i will explain why i wrote this, it's lowkey just a huge jumble of words, but here are the trigger warnings: SA (groping, non-con touching while unconcious, implied r@pe), drug use and addiction, s3x work and exploitation, profanity, body image issues

reader really needs a hug, basically

inspired by drunk walk home by mitski (listen to it and you’ll see parallels :( )

i know this isn’t written well, my intention was to make a point

The Iceberg Lounge seemed like a place of paradise to most Gothamites; blowing all your money on booze and casino games was fun, until you realized that you’re looking for the fastest way to blow all your money. 

You’ve always hated this place, but lately it’s been stressing you out more. Being a dancer wasn’t easy; you were often lusted by other men, shamed by other women, judged by your bosses. This was not for “easy money”, contrary to what the general public said. They have no idea; women like you had no power, and all the men in your life were constantly gambling on your mental health.

Unfortunately, you got stuck with this job after you had fallen behind on college payments your freshman year, because your mother’s boyfriend was never really good at handling finances and had almost blown away all the money on fruitless things. You wanted a quick and easy way to finish med school, and being 19, you saw the glamorized life of being a dancer for the Lounge and immediately sold your future to Oswald Cobblepot.

You entered the club backstage tonight, hoping to make some profit; it hadn’t been a great week, with the highest amount of money being only 20 dollars. The other ladies were already dressed up in their provocative outfits and heavy makeup. Most of the other girls had no choice but to be here as well; there was a girl who had just turned 18 who was trying to make a life for herself after her boyfriend left her. Some of them chose this life, chasing after the ‘sexy lifestyle’ they watched on TV.

You sat at the vanity designated to you, starting the dreadful process that seems to consume your nights: putting on a face just for everyone else. It had become more of a shell that you hid yourself in  as the months wore on. If you weren’t deemed pretty by the men here, you had to fix it. Most women had gotten lip fillers or buccal fat removal, but others didn’t have the luxury to afford plastic surgery, so contour did the job because you didn't have an ass like Roxy or hips like Farrah.

You weren’t a fan of the heavy makeup, or of the clothing that had put every bit of your body on your display, but you also couldn’t deny that it had delivered big bucks to you. You looked over to the girls gossiping about some new owner of the club, but you tuned it out, not wanting to hear yet about another demanding boss

9pm rolled around, and that meant it was showtime. You, as well as the rest of the girls, had ushered out backstage and started walking around the club, offering services and waitressing to anyone who wanted. The real performance wouldn’t start until later, where everyone would get up on stage. You took your tray full of champagne flutes and started going around, handing it to customers who were already hollering, drunk off their ass.

“Hey sweetheart,” A man had whistled to you, calling you over to his table. It was easy to tell one’s social status in the club; you could figure out easily by how much cash they had, or how they dressed, and even their slang. And these guys were criminals— the accent alone just gave it away.

But all you could do was just bat your eyes and hand the table some champagne flutes. “Can I get ya fellas anything as an appetizer?”

Another man chuckled, his hand inching up to your thigh. You tried  your  best to hide the disgust  from his touch, and continued to let him trail his hand up. Unfortunately, you can’t be a “prude” in this club, or else you won’t be getting a paycheck. The man smirked, “Are you on the menu?”

You suppressed a shiver, slipping into that charming persona, “Very funny, honey. No, I am not on the menu.”

The hand on your thighs squeezed tighter, almost bruising your thighs as the man rolled his eyes. “C’mon, sweetheart, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

His hands somehow made it under your skirt, and you wanted to just cry as he palmed your crotch. At the same time, you were indifferent to it, as these situations have happened so many times. “I’m on duty right now, honey. But maybe later, I can put myself on the menu.”

It was just what he wanted to hear. “Perfect. Here, I’ll give ya just a bit of cash to get you all motivated for later.”

You sighed in relief as you saw the thirty dollar bill he had placed in your skirt.  You winked at him, just to keep up that sweetheart act. “Thank you. and see ya later.”

it was now past midnight and everything inside you had been throbbing violently. Your heart was hammering from all the adrenaline, all your clothes discarded. The other girls have taught you that the best thing to do was dissociate while everything was happening, so you had turned to weed, and sometimes oxy or cocaine. 

Tonight, you decided to take the more dangerous route, and snort a few lines before letting these men into your not-so scared temple. Apparently you had taken too much, as you don’t seem to remember what has happened the past few hours. Good, you thought to yourself. I don’t want to remember anything. 

You weren’t even fully conscious until you heard a man with a deep voice barge into the room, telling everyone to fuck off.

That’s when you had opened your eyes fully, and had pushed your body up, looking down at it, all the scars that told horrifying stories that you never wanted to relive again. There were yet more bruises, more bite marks: Jesus, what had your customers done to you when you were out?

There were men who were whimpering and scurrying away at the mystery man’s order, throwing piles of money as a thank you to your body. You rubbed your eyes when you spotted a thick wad of 100 dollar bills next to her (but at what cost?)

Your hands trembled as they picked the stack up, knowing it will be sufficient for at least 3 months of rent. Thump, you couldn’t tell what part of your body hurt more: your heart or your legs. Thump, the man was inching nearer to you, and you could see the domino mask and the red mask that covered the bottom half of his faceand you were’t too sure if this guy was going to pound you into oblivion or take advantage of you for the millionth time. Thump, he stopped right in front of you, and he might’ve been the scariest guy you’d ever seen, despite wearing suit and tie.

Instead of hitting you or grabbing you (as you thought would happen), all he did was kneel in front of the bed, and tilt his head to say, “You alright, sweetheart?”

All you could do was just stare dumbfounded at this man. Most people saw a naked and vulnerable woman, and they would just pounce on her. But this man just took the time to go you and ask you if you were okay. No one had ever asked her if she was okay these days. You had found your voice eventually, mumbling. “M’fine.”

“You don’t look so good.” He raised an eyebrow, throwing you a t-shirt. “Here, put this on.”

You shook as you put on the shirt, finally glad for the warmth and the protection it provided for you. You couldn’t help but ask, “Who are you?”

The man had gotten up from his kneeling position, dusting this slacks off. “I’m the new owner, the Red Hood.”

And that’s when you froze. You had heard of this vigilante. He’s one of the upstarts Cobblepot would always mention in disdain, and now it seems this Red Hood had replaced him. The newspapers say that he was a bad guy, but whispers from the street convinced you that he had good morals, protecting kids from abduction and women and men from being sold for sex work. “You’re the new owner? But Cobblepot—“

“Penguin let his guard down, and I just took an opportunity.” He cut you off, holding a gloved hand out to you. “Jesus, you’re so out of it. What did you take?”

You took his hand reluctantly, groping on to it tightly so you wouldn’t lose your footing. “Cocaine. I think I took so much I passed out, because I don’t remember,”

“Well you’re lucky I found you. I saw footage of this room, and the men…” He had trailed off, his fist clenching. Jason had seen too much bad in the world, and this was just another terrible scenario he was forced to watch.

“I’m a big girl, you can say that I got raped.” You managed to say, except you know you wren’t a big girl. You heart was still thumping violently and it was telling you to beat the shit out of this man (despite all that he did was help you) and to run as fast as your legs could take you and just scream into the night sky. Fuck, the things you would to go back and never shake the Penguin’s hand.

Jason saw right through you. Addiction and sex work was something that he had seen often in his line of work even more in his childhood. The same glassy-eyed look, the plea of desperation was one he saw in his mother prior to her death. He led you outside of the club, where you had collapsed onto the curb, hugging your knees.

“You’re not gonna fire me?” You whispered.

He sat next to you on the curb, taking off his suit jacket and wrapping it around you. “Why would I fire you when you’re clearly the victim?”

You bit your tongue. You hated that word, it felt like a big label that was on your forehead that basically begged people to pity you. “M’not a victim, just doing my job.”

“That’s what they all say.” Jason mutters, before turning to face the night sky. “You’re just a kid, aren’t ya?”

You frowned. “I’m twenty.”

Somehow that was even worse to Jason. The fact that she was probably supposed to be studying in college, out with her friends, but she’s stuck opening for strangers every night. Then again, Jason’s the same age and he’s also stuck in an unfortunate situation. But at least he wasn’t in your place. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you to lose your dignity and your innocence and your hope in this job.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, sweetheart. I’m gonna go call you a cab. And I’m gonna tell you to stay in your house. Take a break, will ya?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words died on your tongue. A break sounded wonderful, you thought. “Okay. When do I get back to work?”

“I’ll give you a call. Don’t worry about it.”

You couldn’t help but smile as the tremors in your body  had finally subsided for a while. “Thanks, Hood. But, I thought you were a bad guy?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I kill rapists and money launderers. I don’t milk the shit out of my employees.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“Since when is showing common decency pity?” He retorted, and you could hear the sass in his voice. It made you laugh, just a little, and that drew a smile from Jason, even if it was concealed by his mask.

A sleek black car had pulled up right then, and it seems like your cue. You got up, wrapping the Red Hood’s suit jacket tightly around you, and turned back to the man, whispering a quiet thank you. Despite your  unexplained earlier anger towards him, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the new boss——he was certainly way better than Penguin, who would have just struck her across the face. “Bye, Red Hood.”

“Have a good night, sweetheart.”

A/N: (not edited)

oh crackers, it was so hard writing this. so basically this really is less about x jason todd (love my husband but he’s irrelevant), but i just really wanted an excuse to speak about this. it’s come to my attention that a lot of people on social media have lately been discussing the sexualization of women in media, basically sl_tshaming sabrina carpenter and sydney sweeney (not defending their marketing) for things other male celebs (ex. partynextdoor) have done.

it made me reflect on a broader topic, about the difference between embracing your sexuality vs. sexualization, and my first thought immediately was s3 x work. while no one should ever be shamed for it (it’s been some tough times and some people aren't so lucky to be financially stable like reader), i totally do not agree that people should be put on a pedestal for doing this (MY OPINION, don't come for me). i don’t think it’s s3xually liberating at all, when there are thousands of innocent women and men, and especially children who are stuck in this industry working as s3x sl@ves. i was doing a lot of research on google about this, but unfortunately safe search has only led me to see a bunch of reddit posts and a study on s3x work in switzerland (i’ll link it below) and how a lot of them face more mental health problems than people of the general population (it’s not really mentioned but i wrote reader woth the intention of being suicid@l and having depression, if i continue this series i’ll explore it more with more time and research to the topics). a lot of the reddit posts were from ex-strippers who had regretted their choice to become one and work in a toxic environment, which is what inspired this blurb in the first place.

basically, i just wanted to show through this blurb that there are bigger issues than a pop singers album cover and some weird soap line. in addition to the people dying i. war right now, there are thousands of abducted people (especially children) who are sold to the black market as slaves for just about anything. originally i was going to write about a child jason saves on a mission who’s been through something similar , but the writing was way way too dark and i scratched that. reader’s decision, albeit something she regrets, was her choice. a lot of women who were ex stripp3rs had similar experiences to her that they had barely any finances. some women were like the girls i’d briefly mentioned in the beginning, chasing a fantasy and later up regretting it.

i know this app is known for its blatant sexual content and nudity so i’m definitely not in the right place. but there are a lot of minors on this app. so i advise: PLEASE STAY SAFE ON SOCIAL MEDIA and in real life. i cannot stress you enough the amount of revenge p0** i’ve seen on the news, and about teenagers no less. intimacy in relationships should be valued on not put up on a screen for others to see.

on a lighter note, should i make this a series? there was no romantic intention but i think it would be nice to have reader and jason’s relationship develop (or make them best of friends)

link to study:https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/strictly-casual/201410/do-sex-workers-have-more-mental-health-problems

xoxo, maple <3

[littlelittlebear]

nervous young inhumans

hunger games au - mentor!ellie x reader

No one wins the Games out of pure skill, you need to make yourself entertaining-- give the people a story. And well? No one's ever romanced their mentor for that. Ellie Williams is an asshole, and the worst mentor you could ask for, but she’ll do.

femme!reader, butch!ellie, fake dating, enemies to lovers, slow burn to them, fastest burn in the west to everyone else. eventual smut chapters and chapters from now. gotta feed you geese somehow. borrowed some arcane characters because creative writing knows no bounds. reader's 18, ellie's 19

series masterlist

1. (2.9k words) a plan is made

The sleek train bulleted through the plains of Panem. The great, towering trees of District Seven that sheltered your entire life and perfumed your childhood with pine and oak moved further and further away. You clung to the skirt of your modest sundress desperately, as if you could wring some answers from it. It’s pink, not neon like the high heeled boots worn by the prissy capitolite, Salo, who announced your name on the gallows with a sickening yet indifferent satisfaction. No, pink like the blossoms on your favorite tree, or the blush of a newborn.

Reaped at 18, a single year before you were free from the Capitol’s claws. What a joke.

You never had tesserae, being a merchant girl working for the only nursery in all of Seven. Shocked doesn't begin to cover it.

“i don’t know what to do,” you sniffled, trying to keep tears at bay. When you and Sam secluded yourselves to the bay window, you couldn’t have missed the cameras bolted snugly, obvious and unafraid, on a tabletop nearby. You’ve heard it said all your life, every time you witnessed a Peacekeeper’s cruelty: don’t give them the satisfaction of your reaction.

Beside you, Sam gripped the knees of his trousers, palming them anxiously. He was well off too, working behind the counter of his family’s toy shop. How either of you drew the short straw is beyond you.

“I-I don’t…” he trails off, speechless, because no one knows what to do if you’ve been reaped.

Sam's the sweetest boy in town, never rowdy or crass, the way other town boys end up. He was bigger than all of them, real burly from chopping the wood needed for toys, but so harmless he's about as mighty as a butterfly. Sam's only a year younger than you, but in this moment you felt a strong urge to mother him. You imagined an empty toyshop counter, and recalled how his lovely brother, Henry, screamed so loudly when his name was read that a Peacekeeper knocked him on the head. The salt overflowed and stung, before running down your face, cameras be damned. You wrapped an arm around him as you cried and he desperately tried not to.

“Hey, s’what we’re here for.” Drawled a gruff voice, drawing nearer. Joel Miller won–he never calls it winning–the games when your mother was a child. He famously slaughtered the Careers and big competition on the second day. The Capitol tours him as a Panem-class warrior, and dresses him up in flashy gold and feathery helmets. In Seven, he’s completely different, he’s the humblest man around. You remember the day your mother told you just who Joel is. It had you so frightened of him, until he surprised you with a tiny bouquet of baby pink roses, saying: “I don’t hurt anyone no more, little one.”

While he never would've had to work again with his Games courtesy paycheck, he set up a music shop in town. He sells guitars and the like for considerably cheap. Joel crafts them himself, and teaches customers the basics while he’s at it for free. He taught you. He taught Sam. Joel Miller’s eyes are dark but kind. When you were little, your mother would tell you an ancient story of a magical world and its heroes of four siblings, and an all-powerful lion who “isn’t safe, but good.” Somehow, you pictured Joel as that fairytale lion.

You trust him immensely, you’re sure Sam does too. If he can teach you Blackbird–your favorite song from the old times–the first day you picked up a guitar, he can guide you through the Hunger Games.

District Six has enough victors that they can rotate who mentors, but Joel makes sure he’s on the job every year to impart his life saving, lethal knowledge. He isn’t safe, but he’s good.

He seats himself across from you, and hunkers over his spread legs. He smells so much like home, even in this sterilized train, it makes the tears speed up. “I’m not gonna ask you how you are, or tell you it’s gonna be alright, that’s a hunk of bullshit.”

You laugh, humorlessly. “Thank you, Joel.” Sam's still frozen up. Like it could thaw him, you rubbed his shoulders.

“Very welcome.” Said Joel. Sighing, he took a hand from you and Sam. “I can’t get you both out of there, but I can sure as hell prepare you, get you as far as you can–”

“You’re going to die slow, excruciating deaths.” Ellie Williams leaned against the door frame at the end of the room in a crinkled, blue button up that made her eyes burn bright. A high-tech cigar puffed between her lips. Her cold stare bore into Sam and Joel, but not you, you noticed.

“C’mon, El, what’s that good for.” Joel sighs, rubbing his face. Sam's leg shaking intensified, before he stormed off down the hallway. Ellie dodged the charge with her hands up in a mocking ‘surrender’.

Ellie Williams always had this devil may care attitude. She saunters around town, plowing through cigarettes–you guess she’s piping that electronic thing now because the train doesn’t allow it– while treating the staff of every shop like shit. She treats anyone she runs into like shit. You’ve never seen her in the nursery, she has no business in one, but stories from schoolmates tell you all about her. Plus, you’ve had a run in or two yourself. People say that, since her games five years ago, she became a Capitol sympathizer, and that she looks at Seven the way President Marlene does. As if we should be kept in cages for the good of her sensibilities. You’re not keen on really disliking anybody, but boy does it run strong for this girl. More likely, you just know how much she dislikes you, and without the slightest idea why. She gives you the stink eye plenty, and once blew her heinous smoke in your face when you asked her–politely–if she could step out of the way in a busy crowd.

As much as you hate it, she’s not wrong at all.

“She’s right.” You said softly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow quirked. You see her actually take the time to look at you. “I’m not stupid. I’m not a killing machine, I sing to babies all damn day, I could never beat a Career, I–” you cut yourself off with a choked breath. “I couldn’t even beat Sam… if it came down to it.” Sam's plenty sweet, but you’re not close as can be. You know how close Henry and Sam are, and how Sam will stop at nothing to get back home to him. It could very well come down to that. “I’m going to die.”

Joel didn’t answer, maybe still sorting through your depressing resolve. District Seven is not known for hopeless tributes, you can’t imagine he’s heard something like this from his own kind before.

Humored, Ellie pulled up a chair and leans forward just like Joel. “What are you talking to us for then? Might as well let the inevitable happen.”

“Maybe I wanted to bask in your darling presence.” You quip back at her.

“Yeah, I’m too kind. What are you gonna do in there? Patty-cake em to death?” She glared, which you gave right back. This is the most you've spoken aside from the semi-frequent ‘Watch it’ you get from her after unfortunately bumping into each other.

“I’m not going to kill anybody–”

“Oh, grow up.”

An offended gasp leaves you as you stared each other down. You could tell she was trying to unnerve you, something mean and uncaring pulsed in her eyes, but you didn't back down. Stripped of any evidence of dislike, you stared at her with indifference. Like she were a bag in a window. Maybe she sensed it, because she scoffed and looked away. Williams - 0, You - 1.

Joel looked to between you, waiting for the tension to ebb. “I’ve heard from other…” he cringed, “victors that their tributes don’t always care to survive all the way, that they got some greater priority. Let us know–” at the ‘us’, Ellie rolled her eyes.

“I’m good, actually.” She said.

“Let us know,” He insists, “and we’ll try to get you what you need.”

You nodded, ignoring Ellie, and gathered your thoughts. While you never would’ve imagined actually being reaped, you have thought about what you’d do in the Games. Who hasn’t? “I want to last as long as I can, helping the others. The little ones, like the pair from Twelve and Six. I don’t want my death to be ugly, for the kids and my mother.” You tried to sound brave, but your balled up fists wouldn’t stop trembling.

A flash of softness appeared, then vanished on Ellie’s face. She didn’t expect that. She was ready to hear you plot your suicide, or lay out some plan to ‘live it up’ before your final days. She’s never heard of a tribute wanting to survive for her competition before. She decides that’s stupid. Her lip snarled.

“Have mercy,” She muttered under her breath, exasperated. “We’ve got a martyr, everybody.”

Joel ignored her, taking your request seriously. “Alright, Hon. We can do that. Just don’t bring up your plan during interviews. Admitting you're going in only to get folks along is a one way ticket to zero sponsors, and we don’t want you suffering in there.”

After a tense dinner with a frigid Sam, a soothing but unsure Joel, a relentless Salo, and a thankfully empty seat where Ellie was meant, you pulled your Capitol-issued pajamas on. They were a fine silk that peskily clung to your skin. You missed your cotton nightgowns. The bay window was long abandoned by you and Sam, Seven is too far away now that there’s no point. The shakes that buzzed through your veins seemingly every second were gone by now. You reached a strange peace– you were sure that’ll change in the arena, but any absence of the all-wracking anxious doom was welcome.

A knock rapped on your bedroom door, Joel’s shadow etched into the frosted glass.

“Evenin’,” He said, when you met him at the door. “I just wanted to say sorry about Ellie.” You were taken aback. Why would Joel mind what you think about her?

As you recalled, Ellie’s games were a little like Joel’s, but she came in as endearing, intelligent. As though she’d win the games by beating the other tributes in sudoku and a battle of fun facts. Then the countdown sounded off. Half the tributes died in the bloodbath, all at her hands. She was only fourteen. Her arena had this wild west theme that was unbelievably cheesy, even for the Capitol, so now they call her the Bandit Williams. You’ve always theorized that persona was made to explain Ellie’s jaded demeanor. Jaded’s barely the word.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t expect her to be of any help to begin with.” You said, softly. You weren’t even sure why she was mentoring this year. Was Marlene demanding more televised presence from her?

He sighed. “She can help… sometimes. I still would just like to ‘pologize for her. She don’t need to be–”

“A first degree ass?” You both chuckled. “You know… I don’t mind it so.”

His brow furrowed. “Really?”

You nodded. “Adds some normalcy, it’d feel like the end times are nigh if she came around cooing in our ears with hospitality.” You stopped yourself short. “I mean the end times are not-not nigh.” You cracked a smile.

“You’re a real riot, shit.” Amusement filled his face, before it was struck down in reminder of where you were; of what’s coming. You get it. You’ll miss him too, if death’s a place where you can miss people. He clears his face. “We didn’t get to talk earlier about how you’ll be in interviews.” He says, voice deeper and more serious.

Your breath deepened. Right. You’ve got to market yourself like a hot commodity. You felt more like hanging meat at a literal market. Joel lead you back to the meal table, a notebook and pen in hand.

Your name was written at the top of a page, with some notes below it you couldn't make out.

You fidgetted with the knees of your pajamas. “Right, do you think I can lean on the whole, um, “I’m just a sweet girl raising babies” sort of thing?” As you made the suggestion you realized how stupid it sounded. It’s likeable, sure, but who’s gonna bet on someone so un-ruthless? “Nevermind that.”

Joel clicks his teeth. “Hm. We need to make you more capable.” He rubs his beard. “Shit, no offense.”

You laugh it off. “None taken. I’m too soft for this.”

“Too soft…” Joel repeated, spacing out on the paper, on his notes. “You know, kid, when tributes don’t have an obvious edge in the Games to talk about, they create some kinda… plot.”

You nodded along, familiar with those tributes. Just last year was the District Eight pair who proclaimed to be life long nemesis. They had a fake brawl during interviews– catfighting publicity stunts and everything. The audience loved it, and the two had sponsor gifts coming in like the river during their games. “Me and Sam?”

Joel dismissed you with a hand. “Sam don’t need it. He’s strong, good lookin’, all he’ll gotta do is throw a wink, drop the toy shop background, and play up some buffed up farmboy story.”

“So who will my plot be with?” You chewed your lip in thought. “I feel like all the good stories are taken.”

He hummed. “The best one’s play off someone in the Games with you– at least someone in the Capitol.”

You cracked a joke. “Do I profess my love and lust for Caesar Flickerman?” You say, giggling a little. Joel looks at you like you’ve struck gold, his breath hitches. Your laughter dies. “I’m not doing that.”

“No, no. Course not.” His leg bounced, he stole a glance behind you. You followed his eyes, and landed on Ellie’s bedroom.

“Joel?” You asked in whisper, hoping he’s not thinking what you’re thinking.

“Ellie’s an attractive girl,” He began, carefully, with his hands held out like you were a spooked horse. “I ain’t even gonna entertain the thought of you saying you got a crush on me–”

You grimace, hard. Joel’s the closest thing to a true father you and other Seven kids had. You’d rather smooch Salo on his froggy mouth, but the thought makes you cringe harder.

He continued. “Ellie wouldn't have to do much, and she’d rather die than snitch. She’d take it like a champ, we can sort out her reaction another time. It’d rely on your acting abilities. She’s a real dick, but she’s not some Capitol wannabe, I know those rumors and they ain’t true. She’d still help you.”

His idea rolled in your brain. You ran a hand through your hair, your eyes squinted shut. Be professional, you tell yourself. You need to make it for the others.

While Ellie’s no fucking picnic, you trust Joel’s word, and you don’t want to gamble doing this with someone who isn’t from Seven. What’s a bitching or two from the Bandit Williams over a complete stranger? One who could eventually kill you and every other tribute, or some plastic Capitol snob? Everything about this is strange and horrible, any sense of home– even if it’s her– is a godsend.

“You’re going real hard on the pitch, Miller.” You muttered, bracing yourself for what you’re agreeing to. “Screw it. I’ll do it.” You looked up at him hopefully.

Joel gives an approving nod. “Good. It’ll make the world of difference.” He starts scribbling down something, on his notepad. “I’ve got some ideas about how you can bring it up,” He said, still writing. “But now, you need to get some rest. We’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon.”

The next morning you awoke with pale stripes of noon sun in your eyes, and someone yelling.

“I’m not fucking doing it, Joel!” Ah. Maybe Ellie wasn’t as helpful as Joel talked her up to be. You pressed your ear to your door. “This ropes me right back in their game, I don’t wanna be a goddamn character for them to play with again!”

Your breathing sped, you never liked yelling. For a family running a nursery, it was ironic how spiteful and cruel their arguments could get. You were the type of child to keep the peace. Never by yelling back, but by soothing whoever instigated the fight or tearfully offering sweets so the yelling could stop. You huff at yourself, at the thought. How on God’s green earth are you going to get by in the arena? “--and I swear to God if they make me wear that stupid cowboy get up!”

You didn’t catch whatever Joel said back to her, all muffled and soft spoken, but it stopped her yelling altogether. You heard footsteps stomping nearer and quickly went to your bed. You couldn’t pretend to be asleep, but you wouldn’t stand being caught eavesdropping.

Ellie kicked your door open and marched to the center of your room in front of your bed, half-snarling like a bull with her arms crossed.

“Guess we’re doing this shit, babe.” She griped, words dripping with sarcasm.

You clutched your bedsheets. “I’m so–” You caught your apology by the reins. Know what? Fuck that. You were the one about to die, she was meant to help you. What’s she throwing a damn tantrum for? Your back straightened, your gaze hardened. You got out of bed and got nose to nose with her. She tensed up, eyes narrowed. At your closeness, her stance stuttered. Your chest swelled with pride. “Aren’t you glad, sweetheart?” You purred, then turned on your heel and marched on out for breakfast.

[bbina]

pursing your lips together, you push yourself off your desk as you head towards chenle's office

today wasn't going according to plan. you felt like the air has been knocked out of your lungs when you read the follow up email from mark that there is no meeting today but a building tour

you had stayed up working on possible pitches, created a whole new deck to present to upcoming clients. even studied the vision and mission of the entire company because chenle said so

but that's life. sometimes things just don't go according to plan

before you know it, you were already in front of the familiar double doors. your second office basically since you were always in and out of this room now

you were about to knock when you hear voices coming from the other side. you assumed it was just chenle talking to another employee or kun so you just knocked twice and opened the door

to your surprise, it wasn't kun who was chenle speaking to. but it was mark

"you called, sir zhong?" you say, stepping inside his office

chenle nods, motioning you to stand next to mark

"i want you to accompany mark on the building tour today in my place" chenle states, looking between you and mark

you simply nod your head while you take a peek at mark who strictly kept his gaze down at his feet

"next time, double check everything before sending it out to everyone so we don't waste each other's time, okay?" chenle says more of a question towards mark. his voice was stern but he didn't sound angry "i don't like working overtime for nothing. you know that"

mark winces but nods his head. it was a genuine mistake on his part. he didn't do it on purpose

"lunch is on you by the way" chenle adds, attempting to lift the slight gloomy mood inside his office

"... okay" mark mutters. "it won't happen again. i'm sorry"

you take a glance at chenle, wondering why you were even called here in the first place if it's just to witness mark get scolded by him since he could've easily texted you that you would accompany mark at this building tour later

chenle suddenly claps his hands, standing up from his seat

"alright. that's all. dismissed" chenle shoos the two of you away from office

as you walk out of chenle's office with mark, he was still a little sulky. probably because he got scolded by chenle so in hopes to console him, you awkwardly pat his back on the way out

"hey it's okay. mistakes happen" you smile at mark

mark sighs before rolling his shoulders. "i know.. it's just that i felt bad that you stayed up so late to finish the decks and everything in between"

"oh! it's fine! at least i don't have to do everything last minute when we land that meeting confirmation later" you reassure mark, elbowing him a little to lift up the mood

mark laughs but it sounds dejected. "still. chenle's a little mad that your efforts went to waste so i guess my goal for today is that we get that meeting scheduled"

"he didn't scold you, did he?" you ask slowly, just in case it was a little sensitive

mark shakes his head no. "not really. but i can feel the disappointment in his voice. did you not hear him say that lunch is on me? there goes a chunk of my paycheck for this month" mark sighs as he holds the elevator doors for you

you let out a small laugh. a part of you felt bad for him somehow

"between the two of us, i think i can get bossman to pay for our lunch today" you joked

"wait, you call him bossman too?" mark quips, eyes lighting up

"it fits him" you comment before bursting into a fits of giggles

"we call him bossman in our group chat too!" mark shares, laughing at the coincidence

. . .ᝰ.ᐟ

you rush out of your cubicle as you make your way towards the lobby where mark had just texted you that the clients have arrived

by the time you got to the lobby, you could see mark was already talking with said clients. the closer you got to the group, the more you noticed that they were around your age

"anyway thank you for taking the time to visit. i'm mark, a senior business development manager and.." mark pauses, looking behind to see you. the exact person he was looking for

you smile politely at the group as you walk in

"hello. welcome to zhong inc. i'm jung y/n, sir zhong's assistant. i will be accompanying you all in his place for today's tour as he is currently busy attending to his own matters" you introduce yourself smoothly as you stand next to mark

"and the two of us will be giving you the tour around zhong inc." mark smiles, clasping his hands together

the two boys nod as they take a good look around

"it's a pleasure to meet you, ms. jung" one boy steps up and holds his hand out, "i'm jaemin and this is my co-founder and basically the ceo of our little start up, jeno" jaemin introduces himself and jeno who also holds his hand out

without missing a beat, you shake your hands with the both of them politely

"and this is our secretary, winter" jaemin moves to the side to reveal winter who was right behind him

"such a grand entrance. wow" she says sarcastically, giving jaemin a look who just laughs

winter clears her throat before holding out her hand open for you to shake, "like they said hi i'm winter. it's nice to meet you. i think we're going to get along so well" she adds, smiling at you

you almost wanted to laugh at her introduction. you can tell she was also their personal assistant but decided to just guise it with the title of a secretary. you smile at her as you shake her hand

"i bet we will. now shall we start the tour?" you look around at the group who all nod their heads

"great! now if you all could follow me" mark takes the lead and ushers everyone to follow him while you stay right behind them just in case

you could only hope that this tour would end in a good note

BUSINESS PROPOSAL ᝰ.ᐟ . . . GOOD JOB

✎ . . . things aren't going as planned the way you thought it was going to be. especially the part where you find yourself falling in love with your own boss– which was definitely not part of the agreed proposal.

[ PREV / NEXT ]

✎ AUTHORS NOTE . . . this feels like a tv show almost tbh also dont forget to stream tear bridge by the love of my life

✎ TAGLIST . . . @mrkleelvr @jenodigital @https-dandelion @rik0shii @spacejip @yyangj3lly @multifandomania @taroddori @222brainrot @amouriu @defzcl @va1entinaa @carelessshootanonymous @onlywonb @flaminghotyourmom @do-you-remember-summer-127 @grimlinshere @yayayaiheardyouthefirsttime @hoeingthefuckup @meltinghershey @alwayswook @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @dudekiss3r @sibwol @planetmarlowe @doraemiz @morklee02 @httpsxnox @firydst @yuyita-rosier @ayukas @cottonjaems @monomya @neocults26 @greenyweirdo

[baronessvonglitter]

🔥Vulgar Display of Power🔥

(Part 1 of "The Assistant From Hell")

Marcus Moreno x OFC Cat Cruz | WC: 4.9K

Summary: Being Marcus Moreno's assistant is an easy gig for Cat Cruz. Until she makes an impulsive decision to show she's more than meets the eye.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! M for Mature. Allusions to smut. Adult language. First person narrative and maybe even an unreliable narrator? Mentions of pyromania. Petty violence. Brief allusions to kinks. One vulgar (but also pretty cool) display of power. Cat is basically a walking Intrusive Thought.

A/n: Hi my name is Adriana, and one time when I was a kid I ate an entire bag of miniature Milky Ways and then I threw up. We were on a road trip and I was reading while the car was in motion.. so that's how I found out I get motion sickness 😎

A couple months ago I was really stuck on a couple of fics I was working on, and so to get unstuck I started a stream of consciousness exercise, written entirely in first person. This is the result - with some polishing and editing lol. Cat's story is going to be told through parts rather than chapters, because it might be one of those stories that doesn't really have a true end, just a collection of adventures. I plan on sprinkling in a few P-bois in later chapters (and this one!)

dividers by @kodaswrld 👑

MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You can call me Cat.

Not Catherine. Only cops and judges call me that.

And don't you dare start with Cathy or the godforsaken Kitty.

The last man who called me Kitty.. well..

To put it lightly, that man is no longer among the living on this earth.

To put it darkly I jammed an ice pick through the base of his skull.

But let's not get caught up in that. I tend to get easily distracted, so bear with me.

Anyway it's a typical fucking Monday and because I live in a society I'm driving my shitty canary yellow Saturn SW to my job at Heroics HQ instead of relaxing on a nude beach somewhere getting tan all over or partying somewhere in Dubai and getting a billionaire to give over all his money.

It sucks being an adult. But you already know this. I'm not here to tell you things you know, I'm here to tell a story. So be quiet and listen.

😊

I pick up a couple drinks at Starbucks and cruise into my assigned parking space at work. Mine says Employee of the Year in thick black marker, as it has since the day I started working there and wrote it in thick black marker. It should say Milennium instead of Year, but there's not enough space on the sign and I always forget how to spell 'milennium.' Anyone else who tries to park here mysteriously gets their tires slashed. It's a crazy and sad world we live in. Some people just don't have any sense of right and wrong.

Anyway, I haven't had to slash anyone's tires in awhile, which has made for a boring few weeks. Did I mention how boring my job is? But it's safe, and it pays really well. Plus my boss.. well, you'll see..

I saunter into the office and--

Did I mention my outfit? I didn't, did I? Well I look fucking good. 😉

Much of my paycheck goes to keep me dressed in L'ecole des Femmes, which isn't cheap, but holy fuck have you seen the clothes?? Today I'm in my usual Belle de Jour dress with the oh-so-necessary black Louboutins (genuine, thank you very much!) with white ruffle socks and my hair in a high ponytail with a black bow. My hair's dark so the bow doesn't always show, but I like knowing it's there, making me look very coquette. The red lips and black winged liner let everyone know I'm not to be fucked with.

Here we go.

I waltz in, drink holder in hand as I flash my badge and am given entry to the building. Blowing the security guard a kiss, I make my way to the elevator bank, the doors gliding right open for me as if they know I'm here. The ride goes by so damn slow but no one in this building seems to give a damn. They're all a fit bunch who take the stairs. Well la-dee-da my preferred cardio is--

Eep. Fourth floor. My heart rate speeds up a little bit. Adrenaline courses through my veins, waking up every sense, firing off neurons left and right. I feel all tingly, like my spider senses are activated.

He's here! I can already hear his voice from out here in the hallway.

Sauntering into the office (by the way, have you ever "sauntered" in Louboutins? It ain't easy work, honey. It's a goddamn art, which I have perfected. Most people would probably fall and break their nose trying to walk a mile in my shoes but that's okay because I am Cat Full of Grace and I am a rarity among all).

Fuck, I got sidetracked. Okay, so I saunter into the office and am met with the sight of my boss, arms crossed as he leans against the doorway of his office, speaking with one of the other employees.

Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears starts playing in my head and as if in slow motion he turns to look at me, a little smile on his face.

"You're late, Miss Cruz," he says, a bit sternly.

"Fashionably so," I do a little spin in my outfit, hoping he'll get excited by how short my skirt is.

"It's ten thirty. You're supposed to start work at eight." He is most definitely not looking at my legs. Bummer.

"I'm late because I stopped to get you a drink," I hand him a cup, lighting up when our fingers touch.

"What is it?" he asks, looking pleasantly surprised that I'd thought about him on my morning commute.

"Actually, I'm not sure. But surprises are the spice of life, am I right?" I take the cup from him and sip it, swishing it around in my mouth for a bit before swallowing. "Mocha latte, extra whip," I proudly announce, handing him back the warm cup of coffee. He stares at the ruby bloom of my lipstick stain on the lid.

"Did you know they just make a bunch of drinks and then leave them out on the counter, completely unattended?" I giggle as I put my purse away, finally taking a sip of my own drink and getting a big gulp of matcha. Ugh. Well, at least it was free.

A confused look crosses his face as he pieces together what I'm saying. "Cat, I think these are mobile orders for other people. You literally stole drinks off the counter."

"I prefer 'swiped' over 'stole'," I correct him. "And anyway, those lazy fuckers can just go through the drive-through or wait in line like everyone else. I swear, some people are so self-righteous and egotistical."

The look on his face is priceless. His deep brown eyes get all big behind his glasses (did I mention he wears glasses? Rawr, people are a thousand percent hotter with glasses) and his lips get all pouty and o-shaped beneath his mustache--

Okay, stop. I know what you're thinking.

No, I don't have a crush on my boss. That's ridiculous and I'd laugh right in your face if you were here right now.

Marcus Moreno is conventionally attractive. That's all. Stop giving me that look.

Do you know how many hot guys I see every day? I work with goddamn superheroes. The abundance of testosterone makes every one of my coworkers a little more attractive. It's a pull on the pheromones or the ovaries or something, I'm not a scientist.

He's standing there, watching me with that adorably clueless look and I'm standing there like an idiot, watching him because he's so cute.

"Don't you have some work to do? While you're still employed by us?" he says, a little smirk on those lips that I definitely don't dream about kissing or imagine how soft they'd be on my skin.

"I'm right on top of that, Rose!" I say cheerfully. Marcus just gives me a blank look.

I put my hands on my hips, feigning annoyance. "Haven't you ever seen Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead?"

"Umm.." his lips pout as he genuinely tries to remember.

"Dude. that movie's like thirty years old by now. Do you not watch movies?"

"Of course, I watch movies with Missy all the time," he says a little defensively as he speaks about his daughter.

"I don't mean Pixar movies." I roll my eyes.

"Miss Cruz. Back to work," he says, a tinge of iron in his voice.

"Yes, sir." Jesus, when he says it like that, I can't help but follow orders.

I need to start on something to do, but I immediately start browsing Dolls Kill. There's a sale on platform heels! I think Marcus wouldn't mind if I get settled in before going through all those boring emails.

My nameplate says, I put the Ass in Assistant on the side that faces me. The other side just says Admin Assistant. (I've asked Accounting for a new one, but the department head is a bitch and says only team leaders are allowed personalized nameplates. But she has one. I asked if she's a team leader and she said no, just a department head. So I asked why she has a personalized nameplate. She said no, she's just a department head and I said well why do you get to have one, that doesn't seem fair, and she had no reply, just stared at me open-mouthed like a bass caught on a fishing pole.)

So yeah I started a small fire in her office, but she was okay and all the other accountants were at lunch, so nobody else would've gotten hurt anyway.

See? I got sidetracked again. C'mon, I need you to keep me from doing that!

God, it's boring. Does anyone else have a problem just diving into work? Who would dive headfirst into a pit of needes? I need to merge my way into this evil Monday morning.

I spin in my chair, sliding to my left to get a view of Marcus, who's typing something on his computer. His brows are knitted together, a small stray strand of hair falling over his forehead which he doesn't seem to notice. He looks so Clark Kent right now. Seriously, you'd love him.

Not that I do. Shut up!

Typically I wile the work day away as Marcus's personal assistant. I answer the phone and respond to emails, and I'm also in charge of his schedule, both work and personal.

He never has anything in his personal schedule. It makes me really sad for him. The most exciting thing he has planned this week is price comparing Roombas. (Yes, he actually carved out time just for that. Isn't that adorable?)

I line up work meetings, sometimes snoop around at his music collection. (I don't think he knows it's paired to my Bluetooth.) And often I'll play songs on my speaker that are his own playlist and he'll peek his head out of his office and say something cute like "Is that 'Porcelain' by Moby? I love that song!" and I know he loves it because I'm playing his playlist.

Right before lunch is when I feel it: like a fire in my bones (I'm not attempting to be poetic, that's really how it feels!) and a buzzing in my brain. My hearing goes all staticky and it's a battle just to keep control of my faculties.

'Hello, darling.'

Aw, damn it.

"What the fuck do you want?" I whisper to the voice in my head.

'Quite a rude way to greet an old friend, isn't it? Whatever happened to hello, how are you?'

"Get out of my head!" I whisper harshly. I hear Marcus's fingers abruptly stop typing.

'Thinking about that man's hands again, aren't you? They'd make a good necklace, wouldn't they?' the voice teases. 'I know you've always enjoyed the rough stuff.'

I hurry out of my seat and past Marcus's office. "Hey, you okay?" he calls out.

"Fine! Period emergency!" I shout back, making haste to the corner of the front hallway where no one goes.

"Seriously, dude, you need to leave me alone!" I whisper-hiss to the evil voice.

'You used to like when I come into your mind like this..' I can almost hear the pout in his voice.

"You're not welcome here!"

'Too late.'

My stomach heaves when he says that because it means he's actually near.

The elevator dings and the doors open up on my floor to reveal him -- the bane of my existence, the curse of all good things.

Come on, we've all had that ex.

"Not now!" I whisper

But he's already here, his entire personality taking up so much space in the hallway, brown curls falling over soulful dark eyes, a cigarette between his lips. There's no smoking allowed in the building, but what do I care, I started an office fire, remember?

"Why is that damn elevator so slow? Hey, don't I get a hug?" He opens his arms wide, his watercolor print shirt rising up a little to show his tummy.

"You can get fucked for all I care," is my stone cold reply as I cross my arms, not making a move towards him, showing him I Mean Business. "Go away! I didn't call you. How'd you even get past security?"

"You don't need to call me. I know when I'm needed. And I have my ways of getting in to where I want to be. You know that, Kitty Kat." He sidles up to me anyway, and I wince when he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

I groan at the nickname. "It's just Cat, with a C. And by the way, I need you like I need a limp dick."

"Classy as always, Cat-With-a-C." He makes himself at home in a chair in the empty waiting room. His cigarette never ashes, never gets used up or goes out. If he flicks it away he simply makes a new one appear and starts over again.

"I need you like I need a UTI. Speaking of which, how's the new wife?"

He groans. "Darling, you can't keep bringing up old shit. I thought we were past that."

"I am past it. You're the one who came to me." My arms are crossed, not relenting even a little, not even when he appraises my outfit. I already know what he's thinking.

"Something important is going to happen today," he says, grinning at me like a fool.

I sigh deeply. "What exactly?"

He says in that singsong voice I've come to loathe: "Don't pretend like you don't know..."

I pause, my body so still I swear I can feel the thrum of my heartbeat in every part of my body. "No.. no, please!" I whisper.

"I am afraid, darling, that it's not up to me. You forget that I know everything that's going to happen."

"Not true. You've always been a liar."

"And so are you. You're an extension of me. Aren't you tired of pretending, Cat? Don't you want to show everyone what you're truly capable of?"

Just then Marcus approaches, and I back away from my unwanted and uninvited guest as if to let him know hell no I'm not with this dude.

He appraises us with a look of concern, his dark gaze flitting between me and the disheveled goon smoking like a chimney.

"Is everything okay here?" Marcus asks. "Miss Cruz?" He looks at me, those big puppy dog eyes full of concern. It's so heartwarming.

He must have heard us from his office. Damn his supernatural sense of hearing.

"He was just leaving." I smile.

But nooo, this idiot decides to introduce himself to my boss. He extends a hand towards Marcus. "How's it going? My name is Lu-"

"Lucien," I interrupt. "This is Lucien, my...uncle?" I hate the idea of introducing Lucien as someone I've ever been romantically involved with.

There's an evil gleam in Lucien's eyes (when is there ever not?) and he plays along with it. "That's right, I'm her uncle," he says as Marcus tentatively shakes his hand.

"I'm Marcus Moreno," my boss introduces himself.

"Good to finally meet you." Lucien's eyes light up as he glances my way and I give him an imperceptible shake of my head. "Kitty talks about you a lot. You should hear some of the things she says about you."

"Oh, that's enough out of you!" I laugh and try to shuffle Lucien down the hallway. "Don't listen to him, Marcus. He's had a recent brain injury. He says things that aren't true."

I have to give credit to Marcus, he's incredibly calm during all this, though I can sense he has a million questions on the tip of his tongue.

Nope, don't think about his tongue. Or his lips, which are right now curving into a smile as I continue to push Lucien out the door. "It's a pleasure to get to meet you, Mr. Cruz," he says politely. "Your niece has been a great addition to our team."

"Mr. Cruz?" Lucien whispers to me, barely containing his gleeful laughter. "It's DeLeon to you, and a thousand happy returns, my good man!"

"Shut up," I hiss at him, grabbing him and walking him back to the elevator. "Get the fuck out. Don't come here ever again. Don't tap into my brain or I will perform the necessary task to get rid of you for good," I threaten him.

There's a brief flash of fear in his dark eyes, just a flash, but it's there before he resumes his usual sagacious demeanor.

(Sagacious is my word of the day. I think self-improvement in one's vocabulary is a wonderful thing. But I still enjoy saying "fuck" a lot.)

"You will see me again," Lucien promises. "No matter what, you and I are bound together. Forever."

He takes his leave right before I get the chance to punch him or kick him in the balls. I watch him from the window, making sure he's really gone. He gets into a jet black Ferrari Testarossa and speeds away.

I miss that car.

"He seems nice," Marcus says, appearing at my side, also watching Lucien burn rubber on the road.

"He's Satan Incarnate," I say glumly.

Mondays suck and this is the suckiest Monday ever to Monday, but this particular Monday sucks for another reason: team meetings.

Everybody hates them, probably none moreso than me. Meetings suck, Mondays suck. Why clump them together? I've asked Marcus but he says it's on the orders of the higher ups.

At two p.m. we begin the journey to the main board room. During our walk Marcus practices his "no nonsense" look. But no matter how hard he tries I can tell he'll definitely tolerate some nonsense. He's just too good of a guy.

When I realize there's no backtalk in my brain, that means Lucien really is gone. My thoughts are my own again. Thank the gods. Now I can concentrate on how cute Marcus looks, that little crease between his brows deepens as he likely thinks over what he's going to say to the others.

"Good luck, gorgeous." I wink at him before we go in, and smile just as I see a faint pink blush rise in his face.

"I'll need it. Thanks," he mutters. As we enter the room, one by one the other team members turn to look at him, their looks varying from annoyance to disappointment and disdain.

I keep my smile on even as I glare back at them. The disrespect is blatant in their eyes and I will not tolerate it. Marcus may be a good guy, but I take no such fuckery lightly. I have complete faith in Marcus's ability to get them to agree.

I'm starting to see the reason for Lucien's appearance. He's only around when something bad is about to go down. People fight, argue, kill each other when he's around, and it seems the very air he breathed out has now infected the rest of the team. They're a fidgety, pompous lot. Superheroes are perceived through the media in a very positive light. Let me tell you, they're actually all dicks. And poor Marcus has had to handle their bullshit on a daily basis.

He stands at the head of the table and I sit at the side of the room near the door. First one out in case there's a fire. (Seriously, I've told you about the random acts of pyromania that go on around here.)

Marcus stands at the head of the table, a confident and serious expression on his face. "All right, let's just get straight to it, shall we? I'm sure you're all aware that I've been out of the field for some time now."

"We're aware!" someone yells from the back. "You leave the field then think you can make all these changes! We won't take it!"

My boss's gaze darkens but he keeps his composure and I mentally applaud him for that. "I'm well aware of your concerns, however, despite not being on the field as much, it doesn't make me any less of a leader."

"A leader should be with the team during battle! When's the last time you did that?" another complains.

I can already see the vein in Marcus's forehead start to twitch and my own body tenses up with anger in a purely empathetic response.

"Before my wife passed away and I was left to raise my daughter on my own.." he says quietly. "That was the last time I fought alongside you all."

Oof. He really just played the dead wife card. Not a fun card to play. He must be able to zone in on my thoughts, though, because his eyes seek out mine and I feel as if my heart is on full display for him when our gazes meet. I start to rise from my seat, my first instinct to pull him away from this stupid meeting and just make him feel better.

"It's not the same," another hero says with less ire in their voice. "We need a leader who's out there with us, not just up here calling the shots."

Marcus nods in acknowledgement. "I understand your concerns, however, my duty as leader has shifted. I look after operations, training, public relations, and Miss Cruz has been an adept assistant at my side the whole time."

I stand and do a little curtsy in honor of being recognized so kindly. I must give Marcus a proper thank you when the meeting's done. If you know what I mean..

Anyway, Marcus is continuing, so let's listen.

"...but each and every one of you have something in common. You're not just heroes.. you're all egotistical, arrogant bastards."

The whole room erupts in chaos. People rise from their chairs, papers are strewn, threats are made, basically it's a mess. This group is calling for Marcus's head on a stick and it's then that I realize that I can't sit back any longer.

"STOP!" I bellow, the power I so rarely get to use is surging within me. The heroes freeze in place, literally unable to move except for Marcus.

It's the most satisfying thing to see the looks of horror and shock on their faces as I keep them in thrall to me. "Marcus is right. You're all a bunch of egotistical bastards. So for once in your fortunate lives, sit down and shut up!"

I smile, pleased when they have no choice but to obey my command. "You're going to listen and discuss with respect for your team leader.. or I'll explode all of your fucking heads." I smirk.

The group is silent but for a few puttering sighs and pathetic groans. "God damn," Marcus mutters, obviously taken aback by my sudden revelation that I'm not that different from the rest of this crowd.

"They're going to behave now, Mr. Moreno," I announce, releasing them from my hypnotic spell. "Aren't you?" I growl to them.

The heroes all nod instantly, not wishing to challenge me again. Their thoughts come to me unbidden. They're scared, most are angry, some impressed and even aroused by my display of power. But they're going to comply out of straight fear of what I might do next.

Marcus's thoughts are the hardest to ignore. He's thinking about my confidence, my scent, the way my clothing clings to my curves.. I've just silenced an entire room of supernaturally gifted people and the first thing he's thinking is he wants to fuck me.

The meeting goes by smoothly, no further incidents. I was pleased that Marcus's ideas were presented with little objection. And when the heroes leave I feel waves of deference, curiosity, fear, even jealousy as they pass me to exit the room. I smile and drink it all up like a Diet Cherry Coke on a hot August day.

"Successful meeting," I nod to Marcus, who's picking up the loose papers off the ground. With a wave of my hand I sweep them all up into a tidy pile then burn them to ash in less than a millisecond. They were all petitions to demote Marcus from team leader. We can't have that.

"Very successful.. thanks to you." He won't look me in the eye, despite the absolute wave of desire I felt coming off him when I'd shut up his inferiors.

He pauses before we leave. "You know this means you probably won't be able to work here anymore, right?"

My stomach sinks and a it feels like an icy blast hits me right in the chest. "What? Why?"

He shakes his head. "It's against policy to use your powers on others. Some of them could sue saying they were harmed, or under duress in making a critical decision for the future of this enterprise."

Shit. I hadn't thought of that. As usual I'd acted on impulse. And in that moment of reckless impulsivity I may have done irreparable damage to my career.

(Okay, that's the most adult-y thing I've ever said and I'm pretty proud of myself.)

"That's not fucking fair!" I whine. (Annnd there goes my shining moment of maturity down the drain.)

"I know," he soothes, pushing his glasses up on his nose. Oh god damn, I love when he does that. "But it's not my decision. It'll be left up to the higher powers."

"Fuck them! I helped you! You have to tell them that I helped you, Marcus.."

For a moment I can feel the mixed emotions he's going through, regret and sorrow mainly. "Did you.." he starts to say, and my heart skips many beats because I already know the question burning in his mind.

He clears his throat and looks at me with those baby cow eyes behind those glasses. "Did you ever use your powers on me?" He pauses because he senses my struggle. "The truth, Cat," he insists, voice soft, like we're talking friend-to-friend instead of boss-to-employee.

"No," I lie, schooling my features into the epitome of innocence: eyes wide, forehead slightly creased as if to say I would never.

But I did. (I'll get to that part later.)

Marcus looks relieved. "I appreciate your candor, Miss Cruz." (Oh, I guess we're back to boss/employee status again.)

"Yeah, anytime," I mutter, glancing around the room and making sure it's tidy before we leave.

Not even five minutes after I get back to my desk Marcus comes out from his office, a harried look on his face, and he's unable to meet my eyes. He gives no reference as to where he's going but I can already tell. He's off to a meeting. About me. About my sudden and rather vulgar display of power.

I don't often feel anxious but this is one of those scenarios where I actually do, and that anxiety sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach. No matter how many times I check my lipstick in the mirror or update my social media apps, the brief peace I'm granted dissipates and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

The clock makes its interminable half-moon from the twelve to the six and that's when Marcus returns, his footsteps not as hurried as before, yet anxious energy emanates from him like radioactivity. I try not to look too hopeful. What if they've decided to fire me?

Or worse. they could ask me to work with them, buddy up on missions. No thank you.

"What'd the jury say?" I ask as he comes around to my side of the desk.

He's quiet a moment before he nods. "The higher-ups think it's best if you take a couple days vacation."

"With pay?"

"No," he says, and his countenance grows stern as he adds, "and don't try to Jedi mind-trick me into saying yes. It's not my decision. And frankly watching you do that is kind of creepy."

I flash back briefly to the bright burst of lust I'd read in his brain shortly after telling off the damned Heroics. Does he know I know? Was it just a knee-jerk reaction? Does he not like me back that way?

Again, not that I like him that way, it just feels nice to be crushed on.

But if he finds me creepy, that's almost as good.

"Okay, fine. But Marcus, do I still have a job here?"

He can't bullshit me and he knows it. "I don't know. When you come back on Friday you'll be expected to give your own account of what happened, along with some tests they want to run.. your abilities and all that. And a thorough background check. It appears we never gave you one."

Oh, they did one all right, I just made damn sure it turned out completely in my favor.

"So that's it? A little slap on the wrist? 'Bad girl, Cat, mind your manners better next time Cat'?" I ask hopefully. When Marcus blushes I take a little peek into his mind hoping to see him imagining giving me a spanking, but then suddenly he blocks me out.

"I told you to stop that," he warns.

He's pretty sexy when he's strict.

"Alright, alright," I relent, backing off. "But I'm serious.. if they want to go hard on me then you've gotta swing for me, Marcus."

"I can't promise anything," he says with a sigh. "But I'll try."

"Do, or do not. There is no try," I say in my Yoda voice.

He scoffs, turning a little pink. "It's going to be very quiet and very boring without you here. I'll do what I can.."

tagging the peeps who showed interest when this baby was a wip: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @burntheedges @sunshinehaze1 @joelalorian @604to647 @almostfoxglove @inept-the-magnificent

@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @puddles221b @bunniboo0015

@happylove1223 @angiewatson

Comments and reblogs appreciated!! 🖤🖤

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - Bathroom Break

I am baaaaaaaack on the story ! For those who missed it I published everyone's backstory, all are linked in the master post !

@ancha-aus it's been a while since I tagged you here

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I feel like this chapter is way too short compared to the time it took me to write it

Here it was: the moment Dust dreaded the most... going back to work. Not that there was a problem with his job, his colleagues were fine, the customers were usually nice except for some exceptions, but it was to be expected when working in a fast food. No, the thing that worried him was leaving his roommates, because they were basically roommates, alone all day. He wasn't afraid they would fight, thought Nightmare had been quite distant these past few days, he didn't participate in conversations during meals and usually just translated for Killer and asked him a few things, but apart from that he always seemed moody, mad about something and avoiding them. It did worry Dust, maybe it was something he did, or didn't do, that caused the noble to change his behavior ? He'll need to talk about it with him. Regarding the others they all seemed to get along, he noticed Cross would sometimes lower his guard when Killer talked, or rather rambled, to him to listen to what he was saying, which was something important to note as the knight only ever left the door to eat, Dust knew it because he saw him sleeping while still standing. Horror was nice to everyone, just not paying much attention to Nightmare as he seemed to avoid him more than the others anyway, and Killer just liked to chat with everyone, not caring if they understood him or not. So no, Dust wasn't scared they would fight. He was scared they would get bored, get curious and break something or even hurt themselves, that someone would knock at the door and call the cops when seeing them, or many other things they could do that could result in troubles both for them and for Dust. He really didn't need that.

Dust sighed, preparing yet another burger and putting it in a bag for those at the drive through, he didn't need to think about it anymore, the movements were basically muscle memory at that point. Should he introduce the others to burgers ? Maybe he could order everyone a burger once he got his paycheck, and he could buy soda and potatoes to make the fries himself ? Would they even like it ? Nightmare would probably despise the grease, maybe Cross too as he seemed to be very in shape, but he had a feeling Killer and Horror would like it. Well, that could be a plan for later then.

He felt someone tap on his shoulder.

- Break time, I'm taking your place.

His colleague said. Was it already his break ? He didn't see the time pass, for once. Well, he usually didn't have much to think about, so he must admit he wasn't particularly focused on the time that day.

- Oh, okay, thanks.

He finished the burger he was making before putting down his apron and going to the changing rooms to grab his phone in his locker. He then went to the bathroom, not that he needed to go as he was a skeleton, but he liked sitting on the throne in his little cabin, that way he didn't have to sit in the staff's room and make small talk with the others, he could just scroll on his phone for fifteen minutes without being disturbed. He sometimes wished he had a digestive system so he could take a dump on company time and be paid for it, but he didn't have one, anything a skeleton consumed was either turned into magic or would get thrown up if the body couldn't "digest" it. What a shame, honestly.

He wondered for a moment if he should call home on the land-line, but he soon figured it would be useless as he didn't teach them how to pick up a phone, so he just hoped everything was fine and went on socials to see what new brainrot was available to pass the time.

His alarm went off after fifteen minutes, indicating the end of his break. He sighed.

- Alright, here we go again...

He muttered to himself, getting up without flushing, and opened the door to step out of the cabin. He tripped on a branch and fell face first on the grass.

Cross flinched, planting his sword in the ground as to maintain balance when he felt everything shift around him. The house had dissapeared, and he found himself in a field surrounded by a forest. It felt like a few days ago, when he appeared in Dust's backyard, he had felt the air sting and crackle before everything shifted, and when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

Where was he now ? He pulled his sword from the ground, holding it tight in case a threat would appear, and looked around him, were the others here too ? He heard a noise behind him, and quickly turned, only to see Killer gripping on a branch, hanging from a tree. As he was about to run by his side he saw Horror coming out from behind a bush, leaves and twigs stucked in the furr of his coat. Killer saw him too.

- Horrooooooor ! Adiuvaaaaa ! He cried.

Horror jumped, not expecting to hear a voice above him, and quickly went to grab Killer and put him safely on the ground. The Roman then immediately opened his bag to make sure all of his stuffs were with him, and sighed in relief before looking up at the Viking.

- Gratis..

Horror nodded, then looked at Cross.

- Vel ?

He asked, thought Cross didn't understand, but he supposed Horror asked him if he was doing good, as he looked concerned. Cross was doing fine, he wasn't hurt and by chance landed on his feet and on a plain surface, unlike Killer who ended up in a tree.

- Eo vais ben, mercit.

He thanked him, before hearing a spine-chilling scream.

- Google noooooooo !!

All three of them turned quickly, startled, and saw Dust, a little farther, kneeling on the ground with his little magic rectangle in his hands, visibly distressed.

- Dust ? Killer called, bene facis ?

- Google's dead ! Dust cried out, holding his rectangle in the air, it's mort, morz, mortuus, liflátinn, dead !!

Cross froze, who was dead ? Who was so important that Dust had to announce their death in five languages ? Was his rectangle dead ? Wait, wasn't the rectangle what allowed them to communicate ? Oh. They might have a problem then.

They looked at each other for a minute, not knowing how to save the rectangle from death, before Killer went to the wheeping skeleton and kneeled before him, looking through his bag. Dust looked up at him when he took out the thick book Dust had been reading recently: the Old Norse dictionary. Cross remembered Killer shoving the book in his bag when Dust left without it, saying he would keep it safe until he returned. Dust looked at the dictionary in awe, taking it carefully.

- Oh my fucking god, Killer, I love you so much right now, gratis.. !

Killer smiled, happy to have been useful.

As Dust was getting up with Killer's help they heard a new noise, and as they turned, they were met with a rather unusual sight: Nightmare, the very sophisticated Nightmare, was laying face flat in a mud puddle, the only mud puddle in the whole field, and looked particularly horrified, and disgusted, when he stood on his elbows, his face covered with mud. Killer couldn't help but burst out with laughter, especially when Nightmare tried to get up only to slip and fall again. Cross heard Dust fight back his own laughter and Horror chuckled, but even if the scene was indeed funny, Nightmare trully looked distressed, and Cross couldn't leave him like that.

- Sire !

He rushed to his side, helping him up by letting him grab him for balance, not caring if he dirtied his armor as it was rather easy to clean.

- Vous trouvez cela amusant !? Nightmare yelled, angry, and shaking slightly, asking if they found it funny.

Horror raised his hands in an apalogy motion, but Killer was still pretty much dying on the ground, wheezing and holding his non-existant stomach, Dust simply avoiding his gaze. Nightmare huffed, a shameful blush on his cheeks as Cross helped him step out of the puddle and sit on a log nearby as he tried to wipe the mud from his face, taking his gloves off as they were just as muddy anyway.

- Estes-vos blecié, sire ? Cross asked, wanting to know if he was hurt.

Nightmare shook his head, he wasn't hurt, physically at least. Cross nodded, standing straight again to look at the others: Killer had stopped laughing and was now catching his breath, Dust was looking at their surroundings, and Horror was looking at Nightmare, thoughtful, but didn't come any closer.

Now that everyone was here, they needed to think of a plan. They needed to figure out where they ended up, or when, if they could seek shelter somewhere, or if they couldn't and would have to build a sort of nest at least for the night, what they could hunt or gather, take turn to stand guard, ... Horror didn't seem to have his axe with him, which was... rather inconvenient, but he was pretty sure Killer still had his knives in his bag so it meant they were at least two with weapons to defend the group. He looked down at Nightmare again. They had to find water.

He sighed and gestured to everyone to come closer. He would rather they didn't split up.

- Nos devons trover eaue, he said, glancing at Nightmare who was still staring at his hands, senz se séparer, he added, looking back at them.

- Okay wait, Dust stopped him, "eaue" means water, right ? I mean he does need to wash himself so it would make sense he needs water... wait I think I remember the translation... he thought for a while, looking throught the dictionary, okay so.. aqua for Latin ? Aaaand... vatn for Old Norse.

Killer snorted.

- Sordidus est, aqua eget.

Cross wasn't sure what that meant, but judging by Nightmare's glare it most likely was a mockery, or one of the Roman's usual tease at least. He wanted to reprimand him, now wasn't the time for teasing, but Horror was faster than him and gave Killer a gentle nudge on the shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly, to which Killer whined but didn't push it. Horror then pointed at the woods.

- Vatn.

Before anyone could reply, he opened the way. He had fallen in a bush and heard running water in the distance when he got up, surely there was a river nearby.

- Wait wait wait ! Dust interrupted again, Horror stopping to look at him. We're just gonna accept that we apparently got tossed throught time ? I mean it ain't you guys first time but it is mine ! And I actually have to go back to work !

Cross frowned. Work ? He knew what work meant, but why was Dust talking about work ? Oh, right ! Dust was supposed to be at work ! But he couldn't get back to work now, they didn't even know in what time they were, but surely it wasn't Dust's time anymore as these strange buildings were nowhere to be seen. Cross shook his head, Dust couldn't go back to work for now.

- What do you mean no ? I need the money.

Cross thought for a while, trying to remember the translation for money, and shook his head again.

- Nos sommes denz une altre époque, pas de "work".

He tried to explain, telling him they were in a different time. Dust frowned at him, before sighing.

- Well it's gonna be one fucking long bathroom break then... He mumbled, before following Horror again.

Cross held out a hand for Nightmare but the noble got up by himself, and simply followed the others from a distance, Cross walking behind to make sure no one deviated from the line and no threat appeared.

After only a few minutes they heard running water, and at the next turn around a tree, they saw a small river. Nightmare went to kneel on the shore and put his hands in the water. Killer went next to him, crounching down, and ignoring Nightmare's glare to rummage through his bag and take out a piece of cloth that he handed him. Nightmare looked at it for a while before taking it without saying a word, still bitter that they laughed, and put it in the water to clean his face. Dust stayed near Horror, looking at the trees.

Cross stood back, watching them all, making sure everything was safe for them to stop here.

He really hoped they could find a shelter soon.

[itertarot]

Warning:

Hello everyone 👋🏻 i just wanted to thank each and every one of you who have been with me up until now. I truly enjoyed doing readings here on Tumblr, it was really fun to create the PACs. As I've mentioned before, my husband hasn't been receiving any income because he hasn't been able to work. The reason for that is because he recently got a job at a company, and now he'll be receiving a regular salary. The big issue is that until next month, he won't receive anything, since he can't do extra work on the side anymore. And even when his first paycheck comes in next month, it will only be about half of a full salary because he joined the company mid month. Basically, we are in a very tough spot right now. We've already started selling our baby’s things, as well as other items we have at home, just to try and cover the bills until then.

Because of all of this, I won't be able to post any more PACs or open new free readings. Another reason is that I’m studying really hard to pass an exam for a job, so everything is very overwhelming at the moment. I will keep the paid reading open because we need it, but after we receive his salary i believe i will delete this blog as i can't focus here anymore😞. Thank you so much to everyone who's supported me, you've helped me more than you know 🩷

[yandere-paramour]

Why is noelle so openly unhinged towards darling? Does it stem from hidden fears? At least the others try to find common ground.

Noelle has DEEP psychological problems stemming from her childhood. Basically, Noelle grew up in a shitty 3 bedroom house with her mother, 4 sisters, and a rotating cast of stepfathers. She shares a father with her older sister, Odette, but is half-siblings with her younger sisters. She has no idea who her father is because he dipped when she was a young toddler.

Noelle's mother is a... complicated woman. To put it simply, she was a serious alcoholic more interested in trying to keep a man than she was raising 5 daughters, which left Odette and Noelle with most of the responsibility. After school, they would both go home to make bottles, give baths, clean the house, cook dinner, and basically raise the other sisters. Mom brought home a paycheck, but it was sparse and usually only enough for rent and a few groceries. Odette and Noelle went without food more than a few times so the younger ones could eat. It was worse when they were younger, but once Odette and Noelle got to their early teens, they started working to supplement the meager income.

In addition to this, Mom was also not too selective with the men she brought home. There was always a new man sleeping in the house one door down, and the bedsprings were always squeaking, making another little sister to take care of. Multiple men were creepy with the many girls, but Noelle always managed to threaten them/scare them off before anything too bad happened, but it seriously scared her; they never slept without the doors locked. Noelle and Odette escaped because they did well in school and got scholarships, but they are both deeply scarred by their childhoods. Their mom is older now (40s), and it's harder and harder to keep a boyfriend, so she mostly drinks, leaving the younger sisters home alone. They're teenagers themselves now, and Odette and Noelle send money home to help out and visit when they can, but they don't interact much with their mother. None of them really do.

Obviously you can see why Noelle is the way she is. She doesn't eat because she's used to skipping meals to feed her younger sisters. She has insomnia/sleeps very lightly because she's used to staying up to study/watch the locked door. She works/cleans/controls constantly because that is all she knows how to do to keep herself sane. Every aspect of her adult life is controlled by her shitty childhood.

This clearly spills over into her relationships too. The reason Noelle takes so much time with stalking gathering information and getting to know her Darling during dates at first is because she doesn't want to make the same mistake her mom continues to make over and over again. She needs to know you, needs to know how you'll react and if you'll be able to love her because any uncertainty scares her. Once she knows she loves you, she can't let you go. She can't let you walk out like everyone else in her life.

She keeps you inside because the inside is safe. She can control the inside, she can keep you safe and pure away from a heartless world that will crumble you up and spit you out, god knows she knows that. She wants to keep you pure and unspoiled by the horrible facts of life, untainted in the way she isn't. Your virtue and loveliness purify her, make her feel like her past doesn't have to haunt her so bad because you are here and you love her so maybe she is worth loving. She loves you so so so so much, she just wants to keep you close and safe because she doesn't want you hurt, she has to protect you.

Since Noelle does so much surveillance with you, she also knows you quite well and tends to pick a Darling that she knows will be receptive to her love and (eventually) love her as much as she loves you. Noelle's Darling tends to be someone who is overwhelmed and exhausted, afraid of the endless painful choices of life, and who wants someone to swoop in and take care of them, treating them like a precious treasured spouse while they sit loved and adored on a soft pedestal. Noelle will absolutely do this for you. She will shower you with gifts and luxury as long as you're a good girl who listens to and obeys her. She knows what's best for you, she loves you more than she loves anything, just let her protect you and everything will be okay.

When she lets you out of the house, even if you're with her and in her sight, she feels like she can't breathe. The world is dangerous and unpredictable and if something random happens and hurts you and she can't prevent it, she'll never forgive herself. She can bring anything you need inside, or she'll ask Ata for a favor and make sure no other people will be at the event to hurt you. She can protect you, she's not a little kid anymore, she's stronger now. Just please please let her protect you.

She doesn't know if she can handle it without you there at home, knowing you are waiting for her with a cuddle and a kind word, making her feel like she's worth something.

[petrichor-musings]

TOMORROW WE PAY RENT

We have enough for rent!! As long as there are no surprise bills over about $40, we should be good until unemployment, work, & other financial aid comes in. Thank you all so so much.

Ko-Fi

$510 out of $500 (102%)

We won't be able to send all the rent in tomorrow because it takes a few days for the bank transfer, but our landlord will waive the late fees as long as we give him a date when we can pay it all. Thank you again.

See the notes in this post detailing how you can get free art commissions if you sent us money!

Some more context under the cut:

Our household is 4 humans:

Us - physically disabled/chronically ill, haven't been able to work for over a year & a half, currently trying to find new work through staffing agencies & government services, but everything is likely going to be too slow to get any kind of paycheck or financial aid in time. Not to mention any work we do find is going to be less than ideal & just make our health worse, since we're still in the beginning of getting treatment. We're also trying to get on the waitlist for disability, but that's an even longer process & we're unlikely to qualify since we're married.

Our wife - former mechanic, with dual bachelor's in History/Business. She's been chronically ill for the last few months, something we're still trying to figure out. Her direct bosses were more than willing to work with her, but corporate management got impatient & basically fired her. She's looking for new work but the loss is hitting her hard. She's also applied for unemployment but the application hasn't been approved yet.

My brother - fresh out of high school, kicked out of the family household because he came out as bisexual. We took him in because there was literally no one else. He's not on the lease & needs to be as soon as he finds work, but that's another $250 none of us have. His living situation was… not ideal before, & he needs a lot of personal help to find work, something which we don't have enough time to do.

Partner/roommate - another partner & roommate who lives with us, also because her old family kicked her out (& also not on the lease). Also severely disabled, the only income she has is food stamps & blood plasma donations. We're also trying to get her help to reapply for disability; but as anyone knows, that's a long & difficult process. Her last attempt several years ago was denied; it's likely she needs a new application.

What happens if we can't pay rent ontime?

We're asking for more information from our landlord, but we're likely not going to be evicted first thing. Even if we do receive an eviction notice, WE HAVE RESOURCES. Unfortunately, they don't activate UNTIL we get that notice. Very helpful.

If worst comes to worst & we do get kicked out, it will likely be VERY BAD. None of us are "fully functioning/capable" individuals, a lot of us depend on specific equipment & setups in the apartment, & almost all of us are on a variety of very necessary medications. Everyone here has a mental health situation of some kind that will be made a lot worse by losing our apartment. We don't think it will come to that, but it's still something that makes everyone here super anxious.

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Also, for anyone that follows our mostly inactive after dark blog, be sure to look for a similar post there coming soon (tomorrow?). We have things we can offer & commissions we can do if folks are interested.

[bimbo-on-board]

hi i am strugglin

hi friends!!!! so my work has been closed all week because our company hasnt fixed our heater yet (we have portable heaters, but we cant plug too many in and the warmest it is in there is. 55f/12c) so i lost out on a big chunk of my paycheck! currently i am broke! and i dont get paid until 1/30! and so basically i am asking. if my content has been funny, horny, sexy, whatever- if any of it has meant anything to you, please consider donating? i really hate my job and everything going on with the heater has just been so stressful... i appreciate everyone who reads this, even if they ignore it. thank you for being here.

cash-pp: $moonbeamdove