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alicerosejensen · 1 year

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Okay, this is my headcanon! But I think Leon needs a REGULAR civilian girl. I have nothing against Ada (I love that woman) but with Leon you can hit me a dozen times, I can't see her. Their relationship, in my understanding, is toxic. Leon is clearly tired of playing cat and mouse with Ada.

So, my main (and favorite) headcanon is that Leon's partner is still younger than him, and is a student at the College of Arts and Culture. Perhaps she knows how to play the piano or some ancient instrument (the lute? guitars are for wimps). If she knows how to shoot or Leon himself taught her this. Of course, she does not carry a gun with her, but a gas spray must be! Leon will remind her several times to keep it in her jacket pocket.

Her gun always pulls a bit to the left. But in reality it is not, she just shoots askew. But playfully blames Leon.

Leon teaches her how to properly hold a weapon, reload it, but sincerely hopes that this will never come in handy for her. (Besides, I'm just sure that Leon will definitely praise her if she hits the target. It can be nice words or a gentle kiss on the back of the head).

Fluffy Leon. He is very gentle with her, flirts a lot, sometimes even too much. Sometimes he says various smut, only to deliberately embarrass her. But he likes it when she starts to play along, although he likes reddening cheeks from embarrassment more. And no, Leon will not tell her about his work until the last. He does not want to endanger a dear person. Relations with him are also not easy, because Leon is a very reserved person: he is ready to lend a helping hand, but hates to accept it. So it's hard to know what's on his mind. And all if you knock on his "shell" a little, I'm sure that Mr. Kennedy would allow himself to be comforted by insignificant signs of attention. In addition, it certainly relaxes him, as his beloved talks about some historical person.

“Do you know Anne Boleyn? I recently read Alison Weir, "Anne Boleyn, a king’s obsession. Henry VII is just a big pig! He wanted a son, but in the end, his daughter became the Great Queen anyway! He didn't deserve any of his wives."

Leon is unlikely to listen carefully if he has just returned from a mission. Most of the time he will disappear into the bar emptying the stocks of whiskey, but if his mental state is stable, then he is really interested, but not always...

She is literally his sunshine! Unfortunately, when Leon is drunk, he can rudely push away (not physically. Raising a hand to his beloved is beyond impossible for him). He will definitely apologize the next morning, but will feel like a bastard for having snapped at his love. Even if she forgives him.

Tries to fix a mistake. A gift or help around the house... Leon understands that it's hard with him, understands that she can find another good guy, and he will let her go without problems, considering himself not the best option for her. Yes, it will hurt him, but if it's for the best, he'll understand. True, leaving him will be accompanied by another hard drinking.

"I don’t want to leave, but I don’t understand what is happening to you! You are very dear to me, it hurts me to see that you are ruining yourself, Leon!"

The words that at least someone needs him, not as a federal agent, but as a person will break him. Leon would hug her, bury his nose in the crook of her neck, and most likely let himself cry. He's fucking tired of B.O.O, he's always dreamed of having a family and helping people as a cop! His life shouldn't be like this!

Their sex balances on the verge of tenderness and rudeness. I don't think Leon has a fetish for choking, for example. He can grab him by the neck, but he won't squeeze. Suddenly he miscalculates his strength and causes harm ... nevertheless, he still dominates, although Leon is a giver, so he will make sure that his partner gets the highest pleasure from making love to him.

The agent reacts quite calmly when his girlfriend puts her leg on his hip. True, he doesn't like it when she takes up the entire bed, trying to push Kennedy to the floor in his sleep. Sometimes she can be very active in this.

He's fought B.O.O., zombies, and more, but he doesn't always manage to stay on his bed at night. Because this woman prefers to take everything.

The couch is also comfortable.

"Why were you sleeping on the couch?

Leon will come up with some kind of go-ahead, but will not tell the truth

Nothing strange, just a man with the last name of the president lost a bed to his girlfriend.

I think because of the age difference, Leon is afraid to marry his girlfriend. To be more precise, he is afraid that she will become a target for his enemies. If something happened to her through his fault, he would never forgive himself for it. And let the D.S.O shove all the programs to protect the relatives of their agents up their ass (I hope they have such)

If an outbreak of a new virus occurs again, Leon will climb even to hell for his beloved. He's already protected Ashley from the ganado and Las Plagas, so keeping his beloved safe from the new stuff will be a priority for him. Leon is trained to deal with this, but she is not, but this does not mean that she will not hit the zombies with a tire iron or a bat in order to protect herself, but once again she will not stick out from behind Leon's back. But she may have to take a few shots, which is unlikely to kill the zombies.

"You have to shoot right in the head."

"This is my friend! You SHOT my friend! He... he... I could..."

"He's not human anymore."

"HE WAS MY FRIEND! Who gave you the right to kill people?!"

Yeap, she fired first, but...Leon realizes it's just a shock. He didn't tell her anything about where he actually works, so her fear is entirely justified. The gun she found will be in his holster, and he will carefully make his way with her through this shit to leave her in a safe place.

Hit a zombie in the head with a tire iron when he wants to attack Leon from behind? She has courage. Maybe she's not a spy like Ada; she doesn't look like Helena or Claire, but she tries her best to hold on even if she has nightmares afterwards.

Some riddles can be solved faster than Leon. Need to quote Kafka or remember an important historical date? Next to Leon is a walking encyclopedia. Play a couple of chords? Problematic, but not critical.

She is his sunlight... or the light from a flashlight. Leon's lantern broke, so...

"Please don't shine in my eyes, baby." "I'm Sorry."

Leon will have to say goodbye to his leather jacket, but it's a joke, he'll give it to her himself.

They will walk this path together. Most likely, Leon will leave her in a safe place, thinking that she does not need a relationship with him. Most importantly, he saved her life.

-Hey, Mr. John Wick, - Leon turned around in confusion at a face stained with someone else's blood, where a tired smile bloomed. - Will you teach me how to suplex when you get back?

-Better we just take a hot shower together.

- I don't think I'll be going back to college any time soon, so I'll wait for you to come back. And I'm sorry about what I said to you on campus. I probably wouldn't have survived without you. Damn, I'd be torn to pieces.

- I understand.

- We'll talk calmly when it's over, right? I probably didn't know much about you. Will this end, Leon?

- Sure.

He'll be back, really. When he finishes off another bastard who has arranged a new outbreak of the virus.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #original male character #resident evil #resident evil vendetta

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omegajasontoddweek · 3 days

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“I challenge you to a fight to the death,” Dick says, determined. “I hate you.” I’m sorry. “I know,” Dick replies.

“Last rule-!” Zayd chirps, staring at Nightwing, “You’re not allowed to throw the fight either. If I feel like you aren’t putting the effort I know you have, I will shoot one of them. You won’t know which, but it will be one of them.”

Omega Jason Todd Week 2024 - Jason wins a challenge fight

#ojtw2024 #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne #Lian Harper #Original Male Character/s #Roy Harper #RoyJay #Not Rated #Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings #Day Five #challenge fight

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asimplearchivist · 5 months

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𝓒𝓗. 𝓥𝓘 — [𓎿𓇋𓇋𓏏] (‘𝓗𝓼𝔂𝓽’ | 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu indulges you. (only because you annoy him, of course—not for any other reason.) pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 6.3k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ this took far longer than it should have to churn this out, but writer’s block is a bitch and my muse is nothing if capricious. I swear I’m still working on this fic little by little, but it’s mostly in the later parts. hopefully the plot will start to progress a little faster now that we’re out of the first year. (I don’t know how this ended up being a christmas/new year’s chapter, but…here we are. it’s a little early but c’est la vie—happy holidays to those who celebrate!) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The holidays were in full swing as winter snuck into London like a thief. Seemingly overnight, decorations crept up like invasive vegetation to suffocate the city in green, red, and white decorations. Khonshu was bemused by the practice, if nothing else—but what about humanity didn’t perplex him?

True to your word, your schedule grew more complicated as the air grew colder. You were running more tired than ever before, and he did his best to direct you to wrongdoers who wouldn’t put up much of a challenge to your ever-improving skills and reflexes. You’d grown quite adept at defending yourself by then, relying more on instinct than memorization. The local police stations were abuzz with the new active vigilante roaming around at night, and the newspapers were referring to you as impossibly foolish names.

In what world did ‘The Mooner’ seem like an apt title?

You found it amusing, if nothing else, watching the evening news with Lizzie and casting Khonshu a smirk while he brooded in the corner whenever a small blurb would pop up about the latest criminals you’d apprehended—you’d remarked to him once that you wondered if the attention would get you an invitation to join the Avengers…or at least get an introduction.

“That Thor guy would probably get a kick out of you still hanging around, huh?” you’d teased. “Did you guys used to be drinking buddies back in the day?”

“The Asgardians are reveling warriors fattened on their successes,” he’d responded dryly. “You would appreciate their laxness as much as their debauchery.”

“Sounds like someone never got invited to the pantheon orgies. You’re just jealous of the Fabio hair, aren’t you? I bet he doesn’t even use any product, what with all his…divine genetics, or whatever.”

Khonshu was not jealous of another god, only of your attentions. He had to admit that to himself, now, because it was becoming unignorable.

He could scarcely stand to separate himself from you anymore, too addicted to your presence to stray very far, even in the daylight hours. It was difficult to maintain his vigil over the opposite side of the world when it was plunged into night, but he managed it. It wasn’t as if you could patrol the entire earth to apprehend every last wrongdoer, anyway—not with Ru becoming more active with every passing week.

The boy was nearing half a year old, and he was more vocal than ever. Khonshu was bemused by the litany of squealing and babbling that you treated as full conversations, speaking to him as if he understood completely. Khonshu had grown more accustomed to handling him, as well, even if the babe did everything in his limited power to shove the god’s fingers into his investigative mouth. He found it more amusing than annoying, although he did try to keep an eye on the boy while he exercised in ‘tummy time’ just to make sure he didn’t ingest something that would harm him.

Even though you hadn’t informed Khonshu of such, it seemed that the ‘Christmas spirit’ had infected you thoroughly. You’d been brimming with excitement, shopping in your off-time for decor, special groceries, and gifts in preparation for the momentous holiday. The television stayed on most of the day, playing those horrendous, formulaic romantic comedies that made him want to gag at their saccharine plot lines and mediocre acting, and in the evenings the radio crooned songs older than you (they were far more tolerable, much to his relief). You cooked and baked almost constantly, pleasant aromas saturating the rooms with sweet and hearty spices. The apartment was soon littered with festive memorabilia, and before he knew it there was a live tree set up in the corner of the living room.

“Come on, Big Bird—dealing with humans all these years hasn’t clued you into Christmas?”

Considering the contentious and hypocritical origins of the holiday, I haven’t given it too much consideration, he said wryly. There are so many different ones now that I don’t bother to keep up.

“You’re missing out,” you beamed up at him through the branches, glittering red garland wrapped around your arms as you wedged yourself between the boughs and the wall to reach the back of the tree. “There are so many good foods and family traditions and old memories that go with it!”

It is mass-marketed and materialistic, he responded, reaching out with the end of his staff to free you from entanglement.

“If you let it be just about presents, then it is,” you told him sternly, wiggling free and adjusting the strand to your satisfaction before repeating the process in a tapered spiral. “But it’s about connection, to me—friends and family being together and enjoying the festivities.”

Then why are you not with your family? Khonshu questioned before he could think it through.

You paused, expression pinching, but continued to futz with the arrangement. “…I couldn’t get everything together,” you replied quietly, “what with the shift schedules and all that. They’ll understand. We can try again next year.”

It was none of Khonshu’s business, he knew. Normally he wouldn’t rightly care about the inherent complexities of your interactions with your family—but only if he hadn’t known you for as long as he had, even if you were still unaware of it. He had witnessed your life change irreparably in the last year, had even lended a hand in it. A brief brush over your consciousness confirmed his suspicions—the shame of your self-perceived failures overpowered the guilt of not meeting their expectations. You hadn’t gone home since the divorce, and you had barely afforded them the occasional phone call to assure them that you (and Ru) were doing all right despite your circumstances. They had only seen Ru through a camera.

In some (somewhat selfish) ways, Khonshu was glad that you had remained fixed in London, remaining with Lizzie. It meant that he wouldn’t risk losing you as his Moon Knight prematurely. It meant that he didn’t have to share the pair of you with anyone other than your best friend and your coworkers. It meant that he could have you (mostly) to himself—and he was uncertain of what you would think of that.

Ru is still very young, he said finally, lowering his voice and glancing towards the child sprawled on the floor mat asleep.

“…Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed, expression easing slightly. “It wouldn’t really be good for him to fly right now, anyway. It’ll be easier when he’s a little older.”

Khonshu nodded, and you fastened the end of the garland near the tip of the tree. You can barely reach the top.

“Which is precisely why serving a nine-foot eldritch horror is so advantageous,” you remarked, stepping over to the couch and rummaging through the assortment of boxes you had pulled out of storage for this express purpose. You turned back to him brandishing a diaphanous, crystalline star cradled in your hands. You smiled sweetly. “Would you do the honors?”

You are insufferable, Khonshu grumbled, plucking the ornament out of your hands and extending his arm to place it on the uppermost point. There. Happy?

You squinted and tilted your head slightly. “It’s a little lopsided.” You waved your hand to one side. “Just a little to the left.”

Khonshu readjusted it.

“Better. Thank you!” you chirped, grabbing a bundle of lights that looked tangled worse than Apep’s tail used to after the barque’s guardians got through with him at the end of the night. “Can you help me with the lights, too?”

Ru stirred and grumbled at the most opportune moment.

Khonshu scooped him up from the floor and tucked him into the crook of his arm. He’s hungry.

You frowned at him. “How do you even know?”

His forehead wrinkled, Khonshu responded simply, moving over to the kitchen to fetch a bottle from the fridge.

“I’m trying to let him cry a little more,” you complained to the god’s back. “You’re not supposed to cater to them too much, you know.”

And you’re taking aspirin to combat the headaches it causes. Khonshu popped the nipple into the babe’s mouth before Ru even fully realized what was going on—but his body relaxing as his contented hums filled the relative silence of the apartment were confirmation enough. Khonshu didn’t feel he should tell you that he had felt Ru’s stomach pangs even before he’d awoken. Continue your decorating. I’ll tend to him.

“You’ve been doing that a lot more recently,” you pointed out, bemused. “Are you trying to weasel your way into being his favorite?”

Khonshu shook his head and sat on the narrow expanse of the couch that was not occupied by your collection of shiny bobbles. No need to ‘weasel’ my way in when I already am his favorite.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to kick you out, Granddaddy Long Beak—then what’ll you do?”

Enjoy the blissful peace and quiet.

You flung a chromatic red sphere at him. It bounced harmlessly off his arm and rolled onto the rug. “All the things I do for you and this is the thanks I get.”

I am keeping my end of our agreement, he reminded you, propping Ru up briefly to emphasize his point, so we are even.

“You’re turning my own son against me.”

I am doing no such thing.

“Look at him. He never looks that happy when I feed him.”

Perhaps he prefers my methods.

“God, you’d think you were his father,” you grumbled.

Khonshu stiffened, but you continued to gather ornaments to hang on the tree, completely oblivious to the fact that he had been perfectly capable of hearing you.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

#moon knight #fanfiction #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #original character(s)#original male character(s)#original female character(s)#khonshu/you

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wrylu · 3 months

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LMAO, i actually drew this and right before i posted it i went to check my notifs, and i saw this

ur in luck @purpleart00 and everyone else who loves my silly boy

here u gooooo <3333

no effects vers:

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ashrillvenheim · 9 months

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A little WIP. Working on something a little bit more elaborate :3

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ghostofaboy · 5 months

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Rock Bottom - Benny

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

After settling into his new life Frankie gets a chance to catch up with Benny.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 1927 Chapter: 21/?

Warnings: Talk of sex and prostitution, mentions of PTSD, mentions of drug use

Note: This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 20 / Part 1 / Masterpost

After a few weeks, Frankie had started to settle into his strange new routine. While working two jobs was tiring, it was certainly filling up his savings account, which he knew he’d need later down the road if he wanted to get joint custody of Sofia. And finally, he’d spoken to Will about the Vets Rehab program and was now officially on the waiting list. At the assessment appointment, he’d been told the waiting time was two months. Will, who had come with him, had cursed under his breath at Frankie’s side at that, but honestly, Frankie was grateful to have been accepted. Two months wasn’t too long, and considering the waiting lists for other programs, Frankie knew it could have been a hell of a lot longer.

After the initial flurry of sex during the first weekend, Tilly had only used his services once more since. He’d wanted a quick blow job before he left for a business meeting the following Saturday, and after covering Frankie’s face in come, that had been that. After that day, Frankie had spent the rest of the weekend and the one after taking stock of the garage and working on the cars. The only downside of the past few weeks was that things with Tyler had slowed somewhat after he had started his job with Tilly, but thankfully, they had not completely stalled.

This week had been going by slowly. The repair shop was practically empty, with only a few regular clients to keep them all busy. The unfortunate reality was that there wasn’t enough work for them all. So that morning, Malcolm had called a team meeting to ask for volunteers to go home for the rest of the week. Frankie had immediately put his hand up.

The way he figured it, he was going to be leaving the shop at the end of next week anyway and had no right to take money out of the pockets of any of the other guys. Plus, with his job at Tilly’s, he had more money than he’d had in years. As he gathered his things, he could hear the others still grumbling as Malcolm asked for one more volunteer before heading back to his truck.

It was only Wednesday, and Tilly wouldn’t be expecting him again until Saturday, which left Frankie with more free time than he’d had in almost a year. Sitting in his truck, he knew exactly who he wanted to see and, pulling out his phone, immediately started to text Tyler. After some thought, he composed what he thought sounded like a good enough message. To the point, sincere, and hopefully not too needy.

[Hey, I know things have been a little weird with us since I took the job with Tilly. I’m off for the rest of the week and was hoping to see you. Frankie x]

Pressing send, Frankie dropped the phone down onto the passenger seat next to him. Now what? Tyler might not even reply, might not want to see him, might not… Gripping the steering wheel, Frankie took a long, deep breath in. The last thing he needed to do right now was spiral.

His head was getting clearer, but he still wasn’t sleeping too well. His body was exhausted, and he often felt like he could sleep for days. But no matter how tired he was, Frankie found himself sleeping in bursts, interrupted by bouts of nausea and the increasingly frequent nightmare. Vivid, awful dreams of Tom covered in blood. In the dreams, sometimes Tom was alive, following them through the mountains with his head half gone. He was angry at them, screaming at Pope or Frankie about their failures. Other times, Tom was just the first to die, and Frankie would watch as each of his friends was taken from him by unseen enemies.

But the worst dreams were about something terrible happening to Sofia because of him. Frankie’s mind had managed to conjure up horrific scenario after horrific scenario, covering every possible way his tiny little girl could come to harm.

After a few minutes of focusing on his breathing, Frankie felt a little better. His phone sat silently on the seat next to him, with no reply yet from Tyler. Resisting the urge to pick it up, Frankie started his truck and set off. He didn’t really want to sit at home and stew, the thought of being alone right now didn’t seem like a good idea. Then again, just heading over to Tyler’s trailer also might not be well received. And as much as Frankie wanted to see him, he also knew he needed to give Tyler space.

After that initial weekend at Tilly’s, Tyler had come around to his place just as they had arranged, but the atmosphere was tense. Tyler had admitted his jealousy and discomfort, while acknowledging that he felt like a hypocrite because of it. In the end, they’d watched a movie before Tyler left for the night. Since then, they’d seen each other a handful of times. Each time was getting easier, edging closer to the normalcy they’d once had.

Stopping at a red light, Frankie ran over the options in his mind. Home would drive him stir-crazy and let him dwell on bad shit. Tyler’s wasn’t an option just yet. Then it hit him. Benny. He knew the gym Benny was training at and that he’d be there every day. With a destination in mind, Frankie felt his shoulders relax a little as he set off toward the gym.

Benny was based in a new gym converted from an old factory. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, a little shabby even. But as Frankie made his way through the front door, he was met with a clean and modern gym set-up. The young guy at the front desk looked up when Frankie approached.

“Hi.” He smiled, setting down his notepad. “You lookin’ to join?”

“I’m just looking for Ben Miller.” Frankie shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m an old friend and-”

“Wait.” The young guy’s smile grew. “Are you Catfish?”

“Yeah?” Frankie cocked his head, a little confused.

“Oh man!” The guy stood up and made his way around the desk. “Ben talks about you all the time! It’s so cool to meet you! Come on, I’ll take you through.”

Frankie couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he was led through to the main gym and to the back of the large workout area. Men glanced up as he passed, some frowning at his jeans and obvious lack of gym clothes. Frankie blushed as a fit, younger man shimmering with sweat winked at him. Finally, at the very back, Frankie could see a group of men standing and chatting next to a couple of punchbags. And there, in the middle, throwing his head back as he laughed, was Benny.

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. Even after all this time, even knowing that Benny would never be interested in him, Frankie couldn’t help admiring his friend. Benny was laughing and talking with his friends or trainers, topless in just a set of baggy shorts. Sweat clung to his toned body, making him glisten in the artificial light. Benny turned as head as Frankie approached and his smile grew.

“Fish!”

In a flash, Benny’s sweaty arms were wrapped around Frankie, his face buried in Frankie’s neck, and suddenly everything seemed right in the world. For a few moments, Frankie let Benny just hold him, before Benny eventually stepped away.

“What are you doing here, man!” Benny slapped his shoulder playfully. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Work’s slow, so I’ve got the day off.” Frankie smiled. “Thought I’d come and check up on you.”

“I’m almost done here.” Benny gestured to his trainer behind him. “You ok to wait, then we can go get some lunch?”

“Perfect.”

A couple of hours later, Frankie’s cheeks ached from smiling. It felt so good to spend time with Benny. It felt like old times. Benny told the same crappy jokes, and Frankie laughed at Benny’s terrible Spanish. It was like South America had never happened.

They ate lunch before heading back to Benny’s apartment and sat talking about Benny’s fighting. As the hours passed, Frankie could feel the tension leaving him. He needed this. He needed his old squad. He’d spent far too long in this new world created of his own mistakes, and this afternoon felt like a return to normalcy.

“So…” Benny licked his lips before taking a sip of his tea. “Work is slow?”

“Yeah.” Frankie nodded, blowing on his own drink to cool it. “Only a few regular jobs, not enough for all of us, so Malc asked for volunteers to take the week off.”

“And you volunteered?”

“Yeah.” Frankie cocked his head at Benny. “Why?”

“And you can afford to do that?” Benny was looking at him strangely over his steaming drink.

“Yeah, I can afford it.” Frankie frowned. This conversation had taken a strange turn and he wasn’t sure he liked the way Benny was looking at him. “What’s this about Ben?”

“Have you been working with that new friend? What was his name? Tyler? The streamer?” Benny took another sip. He was keeping his tone light, but Frankie knew this was an interrogation. Benny was digging.

“No.” Frankie answered honestly. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to do any video with Tyler. Pausing for a moment he weighed his options, before answered making sure to keep his tone equally as light. “I took a private mechanic job. I’m working it on the weekends until I finish my notice at Malc’s place. Ben…” Frankie set his drink down, leaning forward in his seat. “Ben, what is this about? Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“I’m just worried that’s all.” Benny let out a long sigh. “You’ve only just got clean again and…”

“And?”

“And, a buddy of mine said he saw you a few weeks back.” Benny looked uncomfortable, his cheeks growing redder as he searched for the right words. “You were, um, it was at Cutler’s and… he said he saw…”

As Benny trailed off and Frankie could feel his face beginning to burn with shame. Cutler’s was a dive bar Gavin had taken him to a few times. He’d blow guys in the dimly lit parking lot and sometime get fucked around the back of the place. The last time was around five weeks ago and Frankie had sucked three cocks in the parking lot while Gavin chatted and sold coke.

“And your friend saw me blowing some guys?” Frankie let his head drop, peeking up at Benny from under the brim of his cap. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Yeah.” Benny slumped down in his chair, looking at Frankie with those goddam big sad eyes. “He said, fuck, he said that you had a pimp.”

“Fuck.” Frankie could feel his hands shaking as he reached up to take his cap off. Throwing the Standard Oil cap down onto his knee, Frankie heard himself speaking before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. But… that’s over now. I’m clean now, I swear. It’s… all that… I… I don’t have a pimp now.”

“Fuck Fish.” Benny looked heartbroken, and Frankie had to force himself not to bolt out the door. “Fuck. How did you… how did that start?”

“You really wanna know?” Frankie could feel the tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“Tell me everything.”

#frankie morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x male character #frankie morales x original male character(s)#rock bottom fic

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drinkingwithkhonshu · 9 months

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I was going through the mcu timeline wiki to get a better idea of the events for Promises Kept and apparently Marc became Khonshu’s avatar on 02/14/2015????? He was his avatar for ten years????? (Bc Moon Knight is listed on Disney+ after Hawkeye in 2025 around April-July based on the museum exhibit, implied April bc Steven’s talking to Donna about the posters like it’s all new so that means Wendy died in February?? Right??? Bc Marc said that happened two months prior to him leaving Layla and moving to London?? God why is the MK timeline so confusing)

God this would ruin my whole fic if it weren’t for the fact that I’m flipping canon the bird and going ‘nuh-uh’. We’re going hardcore canon noncompliant in this bitch, full fanon mode

I thought Marc was his avatar for like five years at most

If I kept that it would make Ru fricken two and a half at that point bc his birthday is 07/03/2012. Ugh why is canon always so complicated and why do I always do this to myself

…Ru would be fifteen during the events of Moon Knight without tweaking the fic’s rough timeline at all oh god

Oh no we’re not doing this, the baby is not growing up that quick nuh-uh no sir nope not doing it

#moon knight #marc spector #khonshu #reader insert #fanfiction #khonshu/reader #original male character(s)#ao3: promises kept #mine #fisara’s scrawlings

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flashhwing · 1 year

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This Man 👨 Is NOT 🙅‍♂️ Aedan Cousland! 🚫

He Is A Ferelden👨‍🌾 Mage 🧙Named Hawk 🦅

Do NOT 🙅Let Him Into ⛔️ Your Landsmeet!!!

#i did my best okay fjkdls his face and nose are not the right shapes but what can ya do it's origins CC not da2 CC #and you can tell that the only male hair mods are from the 2000's #they are ALL emo boy haircuts #i love them tho fjkdls #also he has an earring because for some reason that was the only version of the classic hawke beard i could find #not complaining. he makes it work #warden hawke au #hawke #dragon age #this has been a post #also i still have the fucking. the tevinter robes mod which worked so well for emmy but i gotta get hawke into some real armor asap #or y'know. warden robes. probably those actually afdsjkl #ALSO also i have no idea what color hsi eyes turned out because i cannot SEE the fuckign color on the character creator #i hope they're brown. they're supposed to be brown. i have no idea

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lewis-winters · 8 months

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bones get tired, and they can’t carry all the weight

or in which Robert Grogan-Welsh has a conversation with someone about his pregnant wife

(originally posted here and on ao3 in 2021, and edited on 09/09/2023)

tw: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dementia, Alzheimer’s Disease, Mortality

“Are you waiting on someone?”

Bobby blinks, turning to the unexpected speaker sat next to him on the bench. Snow white hair, large wire-rimmed glasses, and sunken cheeks, all wrinkling around a small smile that is just on the side of polite enough for a nonthreatening stranger. He waits there, expectantly, looking so kind in that distant way, and Bobby feels his initial surprise sink into a brief and painful pang of grief that quickly fades into a familiar weight in the pit of his stomach.

Despite it, Bobby smiles back.

“No, sir. I’m on the way home,” he tells the old man. “The missus will be the one waiting. She’s. Uh. She’s pregnant, you know.”

The old man’s eyebrows go up in delight. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, letting a bit of pride leak into his voice. “Just a few more months to go.”

“That must be so exciting.”

“It is.”

They’re quiet for a moment, lulled into silence by the abrupt meditation of life that always seems to settle over people when they’re confronted with the possibility of a new child. Or a dead body. Bobby flinches, mentally berating himself for going there, but finds his eyes slipping, discreetly, toward his companion, who is now staring at the ground with a small smile. Similar to the polite one he’d had on from before, but this time tinged with a sense of nostalgia and excitement. Like he’s thinking of somebody—somebody he loves very much—who would also love to hear this excellent news.

Bobby’s eyes grow warm.

“I hope you don’t mind,” says the old man, who looks over at Bobby with that same smile, oblivious to his distress. “It’s not the same, but my... wife and I. We can’t have children. But our very good friend—we served together in Europe—he’s going to have a baby soon. We can’t wait to meet him.”

The old man smiles wider, and the growing warmth finally spills over.

“Oh,” he exclaims, smile falling as Bobby hurries to catch his stray tears with the back of his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. Here—have this.”

He shakily hands over his hanky and Bobby takes it without any fuss. Quickly, he wipes his face and resolves to hold the rest of it back. “I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. “That, uh. That happens a lot.”

“It’s alright,” his companion tells him, kindly, reaching over the scant distance between them to pat Bobby’s shoulder then give it a reassuring squeeze. His grip is not as strong as it used to be, Bobby notices. The thought sends a sharp lance of pain down his chest. “It’s alright. It must be frightening, huh?”

Dumbly, Bobby nods.

“I’m sorry. Babies are a handful no matter how much you must want them. Are your parents going to help?”

The warmth threatens to spill again. Bobby closes his eyes to keep it in. “No, sir,” he says, bringing the handkerchief up to his running nose. “My mom died two years ago. Dad followed couple months after.”

The old man’s brow furrows in solidarity. “I’m sorry.”

“S’just me, the missus, and my godfather now,” Bobby confesses, dangerously close to hiccuping, a habit he hasn’t managed to kick from his childhood. “And my godfather… well. He’s. Uh. He’s sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the old man says, hand now rubbing up and down Bobby’s back, clumsily, in a soothing gesture he clearly isn’t used to performing but is, nevertheless, trying very hard to. “And I’m sorry I made you remember.”

Bobby shakes his head in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, refusing to look up and focusing instead on the hanky. It’s white and pressed, sans the wrinkles he’d caused gripping it so tight in his hand. Little by little, he forces his grip to relax just as little by little, he forces himself to look back up at his companion, taking him in for the second time today; the down tick of his mouth, the lines on his face, the crow’s feet at his eyes’ corners that run all the way to his temples where the snow-white hair begins. Except, Bobby realizes, it’s not all white. There are stray strands of copper still there, holding on to hope. Just one or maybe two. They poke out of the colorless expanse to wink at Bobby in the setting sunlight.

His eyes too, though clouded over by cataracts, are themselves not devoid of all color. They are a dull blue-grey behind his glasses, though more grey now than blue, like a gentle mid-winter morning. Or maybe like someone had made him cry so much that it washed all the original color out.

Bobby sniffles, brings the hanky to his mouth to stop the sob that threatens to spill out. He disguises it as a cough.

“It’s cold out today,” Bobby deflects, turning an eye up to the darkening sky. “You should get inside.”

“It’s alright, I’ve handled colder before. Besides,” the old gentleman says, giving Bobby another pat on the back before taking his hand back to hold in his lap. Bobby watches him lace his fingers together, eye drawn to the gold band wound around his left ring finger. “I’m waiting for Lew.”

Bobby’s voice shakes when he asks; “Oh? Where’d he go?”

“Just to the store,” Dick answers matter-of-factly. “We’re out of milk. I like to wait for him outside, so that I’m the first thing he sees when he gets home.”

Oh, what a kindness it is. Forgetting.

“You can wait for him inside, sir,” Bobby urges, reaching out to wrap an arm around Dick��s shoulders to give him a hearty squeeze. “C’mon, you’ll catch a cold out here.”

Dick blinks. Then blinks again. “But—”

“Sir, I insist,” Bobby says, smiling through the wobbling of his chin. The pooling distress in his eyes. “Let me help you, since you helped me.”

For a passing moment, Dick looks uncertain. He looks at Bobby, really looks, his eyes for the first time today sharpening a bit in something resembling hesitation and suspicion.

But it’s only for a moment. Whatever he’s looking for, he must have found—or maybe, he’d forgotten he was looking at all. Just like he has everything else. “Alright,” Dick says, tiredly, docile as a lamb. “Alright.”

“Ok, up and at ‘em,” Bobby urges as he helps Dick up to his feet with little difficulty. The irony is not lost on him. The good major’s still so spry for his age, walking around and sitting in the cold with no help, not even from a cane; but with a mind so shattered he could barely recognize his own godson.

Just thinking about it makes Bobby want to cry and cry and never stop.

You held me in your arms once, he thinks, helping his hobbling godfather to his assigned room. Now it’s my turn.

“There we go,” Bobby says, finally, after he’s managed to get Dick back in his bed and under the covers. Already, he’s starting to nod off, thin eyelids drooping over his tired eyes. Carefully and slowly, so as not to startle, Bobby takes his glasses and lays them on the bedside table. “I know it must be a foreign concept to you, sir, but try and get some sleep, yeah?”

“But,” Dick grumbles, struggling halfheartedly against his soft pillows. “Lew hasn’t come home yet.”

Bobby lets out a laugh that sounds very much like a sob. “It’s alright,” he soothes. “You know he always makes it home.”

Except.

Except—

“Fine,” Dick huffs, finally giving in to the pleas of his tired body and sinking back into the soft, hospice sheets, tipping his head back to lay against the soft pillows. “Wake me when he gets back, alright?”

Bobby hums an affirmative and in minutes, Dick is asleep.

Quietly, he stays for a few moments, watching Dick breathe and timing his own breaths to the steady rise and fall of his thin chest. Once he’s satisfied that the old man will not wake, Bobby stands and reaches into his pocket for the clean handkerchief he’d brought with him, placing it on the bedside table next to the glasses before pocketing the damp one Dick had lent him. He’ll have to wash this one, too, and return it soon. If he keeps doing this, Dick’ll run out of hankies. And he has so few already.

Carefully, he bends at the waist and places a small kiss to his godfather’s brow in a poor mimic of the way Lew used to kiss Bobby and wish him a good nap, when he’d stay over at their farm house.

“Sleep tight, Uncle Dick,” he says, gently touching his delicate wrist. “I'm going to go see Uncle Lew, now. Be good to the nurses, ok?”

No answer, not that he expected one. Dick sleeps on, and Bobby takes one long look at his feeble frame before silently exiting the room, leaving the door open behind him.

title from "Remembering" by Ashley Campbell

#band of brothers #winnix #dick winters #lewis nixon #original male character(s)#i've been wanting to fix those run-on sentences for ages #now i have #estrella_marie

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naughtyservant · 24 days

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CW: Bones / Skull

Well, a different commission from usual but certainly I had so much fun working on this load steal theme!

A very big thanks to the customer that allowed me to draw his boy Louie messing with Daniel hehehehe

Uncesor version on my A/ryion and T/witter as always ;3

Don't forget like, reblog and follow me to see more cute femboys messing with Daniel 7v7)r

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archives-of-camelot · 2 months

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Assurance

Characters: Eli, Evelin (@nimue-hidden-lake)

Series: Evelin Anniversary

This one's a little more self indulgent than usual. I know this whole thing is self indulgent, but it's been on my mind so...

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

It was 7pm on a Sunday...or...was it 5am on a Saturday...? Eli wasn't paying attention, his mind flooded with preoccupied thoughts and questions. He'd been laying there for hours, the dim glow of the neon string of lights above washing over his body. The lights' fade function was set, and Eli had counted the cycles as the colors rotated between each other. He didn't move, and he barely blinked...

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple...

His expression was unmoving, eyes glassy. Mere minutes seemed like hours.

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple...

He barely left his room all day...in fact, he forgot if he even left at all. All he could recall was laying there, entranced by his lights as he fixated on questions and machinations as they swirled about his headspace, crashing into each other, and against the walls of his psyche.

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple...

He was tired, but couldn't sleep. Maybe exhausted was a better word. He hadn't done anything, but he was spent.

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple-

The spell was broken as a new light creeped in from the corner of his vision. He looked over at the door and there he saw Evelin. He shook off the feeling and sat up in his bed.

"Anything I can do for you this evening?" he tried to smile.

Evelin shook her head and sat on the bedside.

"I figured I should check on you. Pinro has been wondering where you've been all day. And so have I"

He sighed and sat his head back down. staring back at the ceiling and the lights.

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple...

"You ever feel like anything and everything you do is not enough...? Like there's some arbitrary expectation you're supposed to meet, but you don't know how high it is so you just keep climbing...?"

She nodded along.

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple...

"And then you're stuck wondering what to do, because what you're climbing's turned into a tree, and there's a whole bunch of branches you gotta consider? And then the fact that picking the wrong one will cause you to end up right back where you started , or lower...?"

She nodded again, listening intently.

Red...yellow...green...blue...purple...

As he thought of hypotheticals in his mind, he finally relented, and decided to try once more.

"I still can't figure it out...why...? Why me?" he finally asked.

"Ah, so that's what this is about" she nodded again.

"All this time and I still can't figure it out...why'd you choose me?"

This question haunted him off and on. Was it insecurity? Maybe, but it sparked alot of introspection, and more questions. Eli never thought highly of himself. He wasn't anything special. He was just him. No outstanding talents, or abilities. He wasn't particularly charismatic or sociable.

It made him question...'why?' Why settle for him?

"Do you want the answer?" she shot straight.

He nodded, at a loss still.

"I chose you...for you" she said simply.

"But...there's nothing really great about me. I'm just me"

She nodded.

"You can't see it can you...?" she inquired.

He shook his head.

"No...I've always tried to prove I'm worthy of those around me. But, sometimes I wonder if I truly am. I...just want to match expectations"

He felt his head lift up, and then back down as he found himself being straddled, looking up into her eyes.

"And what expectations would you say others have of you?"

"Well...I...I don't know anymore..." he sounded lost.

"Maybe that's because there's nothing to match" she replied as she gently caressed his hair. "Sometimes we delude ourselves with our own outlooks and opinions of ourselves...often depriving ourselves of the truth of what those important to us say and think"

"You sound like you've been down this road before..." he sighed.

She nodded.

"Inadequacy...thoughts of 'not good enough'...envy of those who match the image we want for ourselves..." she recalled like it was yesterday.

"Exactly...that's exactly what I've been thinking..." his eyes widened as she spoke exactly what was on his mind.

She continued to caress his hair, running her fingers through it's fibers as she spoke.

"Regardless of your own opinions and thoughts, I want you to know this" she bent over and kissed his forehead. "Even if you feel like you haven't matched or met your own expectations...know that you never needed to for me" she smiled. "I chose you for you. Not who you think you are, or what others say you are. Eli...is Eli...and that's all you'll ever need"

His mind was slowly put at ease as her words impacted him. Such a simple answer and concept...but it was profound, at least to him, to hear it from another's lips. Especially hers.

"Hey, Evelin...?"

"Hm?"

"You're the best anyone could ever ask for..."

"Anytime"

Masterlist

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asimplearchivist · 10 months

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𝓒𝓗. 𝓥 — [𓂧𓁷𓏏] (‘𝓭𝓗𝓻𝓽’ | 𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu knows, logically, that your shared arrangement will not last forever—it cannot. such is the nature of humanity, to change on a whim. he realizes, however, that it is difficult to face. ⤏ an unexpected boon granted from the child he’d blessed makes that concept complicated still. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 11.0k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ this is one of those chapters that I struggled with greatly, if the length of time between updates is any indication. the first scene spilled forth effortlessly. the rest of it? like prying teeth. i am not one to utilize time skips to help with progressing plot because i feel it is over (and so often poorly) done, but due to the nature of this fic and its (admittedly loose) timeline in my mind, i will have to work out of my comfort zone and let it slide more than keep it rigid. hopefully the end result is halfway smooth. my apologies that it took so long—y’all’s comments really kept poking my conscience to get me going again. please enjoy! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

Human courtship rituals had never made sense in ancient history, and they certainly didn't in the present day—even less so, perhaps.

What one culture might have found offensive, another regarded it as a necessity. Taboos and essentials abounded without any sense of rationality, nor any modicum of moderation. Such social constructs appeared difficult enough to navigate without accounting for the fickle natures of mortals with their own individual preferences. Everyone had a 'type', and everyone expected a certain list of behaviors to be demonstrated by suitors of that type—often without communicating such needs to their partner, expecting them to intrinsically know what to do, and when or how to do it.

The entire ordeal always seemed pointless to Khonshu. At the end of the process, no matter how varied, the result was the same: the humans copulated, and most produced children as a result of the union. Many realized that their partner was not as appealing as once anticipated or chose to deceive them, so splits in family units were common—though so much more in the past couple of centuries than ever before. Children were always torn in the tumult that such division wrought despite its necessity at times.

Khonshu had observed it time and again, this so-called "love" about which humans waxed so wistfully in endless records of poetry and songs and art, frequently the perpetrator of heartache and sorrow and war. It blinded and leached and crumbled anyone and anything it touched. Once he was called upon by new couples for assistance in starting families, to heal their loved ones or children, or to protect a traveling husband and father while journeying back to his home throughout the night. That alone wearied him, dealing with the outer echelons of matrimony and the like—he had never understood how his kin could deal so intimately in the very heart of those matters, as messy and complicated as such feelings grew to be, without feeling exhausted at all times.

Love wasn't simple. Love had layers and contexts and depths that Khonshu didn't care to traverse. It had no concrete definition, no factual basis. It was not his specialty by any means. The judgment and execution of justice had been his closest companion for over a millenia, and it was all he needed.

His proximity to the greatest folly of humanity had narrowed significantly, once he'd reduced his influence. Even still, countless avatars under his auspices had been inflicted by romantic inclination, often resulting in him having to turn them loose to pursue it to its fullest. A mortal with no one for whom to live was a useful implement, lacking attachment—a mortal devoted to another, and to those they may create, was always harder to hone and utilize. Past experience dictated that it was better to cut ties and seek out another mortal more suited to the role he would give them.

He knew it would be better to leave you now, before the turmoil of conflicting interests set in...but he couldn't quite fathom bringing himself to do so.

Khonshu sat wordlessly within a tall windowsill of a bleak, gray brick office building across the street from the multi-level, upper-class restaurant to which your unannounced courter had brought you, arms coiled around his folded knees with his staff gripped tightly in his hands against his shins. The cold winds, acquiescent to his dour mood, whipped through the street below, snarling and biting with frigid teeth at the tails of his tattered cloak. The humans milling about hunkered into their coats and scarves to stave off their shivers, but Khonshu remained deathly still as he peered through the broad glass windows spilling sultry golden light onto the glistening pavement. The gentleman had chosen a small booth flush with the view into the narrow stone garden lining the sidewalk, sitting across from you and leaning attentively forward as you chattered on with a smile. He had driven his vehicle with caution and had opened the doors of both his car and the building for you. You were clearly charmed, fingers coiled around the stem of your glass of wine, eyelashes cast low over your eyes, heart fluttering incessantly against the inside of your ribs—he could feel it as acutely as the odd, foreign tightness within his own chest.

Khonshu had followed from lamppost to banister to rooftop the entire drive into uptown London, withholding himself from your field of vision—you'd grown attuned to his presence while he remained in the astral realm (much to his chagrin), looking over your shoulder like a tense prey animal every time you sensed him near, but if he maintained a certain distance from you he seemed to be able to avoid your detection. He kept his magic as close as possible, folded carefully around himself in a shroud that would (hopefully) conceal him from your view.

Your "date" was a good-looking man, obviously wealthy, with a sincere interest in you—Khonshu could discern no evident wrongdoing in him, no lingering malice. You found him attractive, too, if your subconscious behaviors were any indication. Your clear apprehension had evaporated almost instantly with his disarming, genteel mannerisms. He would likely care for you, with ample room to spare for your child, given his experience with his own—he would unquestionably be able to see to your needs. After that man had ruined your marriage, you'd remained mostly independent, other than your reliance on Elizabeth—but Khonshu hadn't considered that you would potentially, eventually seek out another partner with whom to share your burdens.

Khonshu had no say in the matter. He knew, logically, that he should start seeking out another candidate to be his avatar. It was difficult enough for you to care for your son, maintain your occupation, and serve himself well into the wee hours of morning, all while maintaining your secret from your closest friend—entering a new relationship would be next to impossible to manage. He had favored you for far longer and had devoted more time and power to you than he had to any of his avatars in decades—the reason he'd chosen you to begin with was an unusual one, unconventional by the Ennead's standards. It was bound to unravel at some point. The sands of time would shift, and he would yet again be moving on to another human destined to dwindle away.

And yet...

Khonshu watched you head tilt with laughter, your hand rising to cover your mouth to stifle the noise. The gentleman's eyes shone as he watched, grinning from ear to ear. His fingertips brushed yours to the side of the small appetizer plate, ginger and shy. The boiling inferno brewing within the lunar god caused the ancient wood of his staff to creak dangerously under his unforgiving grip.

Khonshu hated getting involved in humans' personal affairs. He had given too much of himself away in the days of old attempting to garner dedication from his followers—oftentimes his efforts had been shortly forgotten, their faith and worship lost once their needs had been met. He owed them nothing, even if he relied upon them for what scant sustenance he gleaned from day to day—there was a reason that his kindred had all but abandoned humanity thousands of years ago. He ultimately owed you nothing, despite the unusual circumstances of him becoming intertwined into your life.

...And yet.

Khonshu continued to observe (to make sure you were truly safe, of course—it still was his job to protect you for the time being, after all, even if that time may have been unexpectedly cut shorter due to newly developing events). He watched the waitress bring out your entrees and refills for your drinks, watched you eat far more primly than you ever did in the comfort of your own home. The gentleman continued to prove himself responsible, at least—he opted for water after his first alcoholic beverage, since he was your chauffeur for the night. You did the same, for the sake of exercising caution.

Khonshu studied (not for the first time, though he wouldn't dare admit it to himself nor another soul) your features in the borderline otherworldly lighting: the glossy sheen of your hair framing your face, the curve of your cheek, the confident jut of your chin, the feathered, gossamer shadows cast by your lashes—all accented with a brazen splash from the interior of the restaurant against the heathery gloom seeping in through the window. Khonshu hadn't seen you dress in raiment any finer than your work uniforms or your loungewear, much less the soft pigments applied to your face, but you appeared rather fetching to the eye. The gentleman had definitely taken notice, if the frequent tugging at his buttoned collar was any indication.

Food consumed and water downed, the pair of you settled in over a dessert—two separate spoons delved into the same dish. Khonshu turned his attention to the man with a far more critical gaze, noting the tension in his shoulders paired with the tightness in the corner of his mouth. Where minutes before he'd been entirely invested in your company, now he tapped his foot incessantly against the tile beneath the table. Anxiety? Or anticipation?

Mid-bite, the gentleman stopped. He dropped his eyes to the tablecloth, set his spoon to the side, and murmured something that caused your expression to morph faintly into concern. You responded, offering him a small smile, and watched him as he folded the cloth napkin laid over his lap, set it to the side, and stood to make a bee-line deeper into the establishment and out of Khonshus' sight.

Ideas raced through Khonshu's mind. He'd seen such behavior numerous times: of predators growing excited to latch onto their prey. The mere thought that the man could have the audacity to bring you any harm nearly blinded him with boiling rage.

Before he could even form another comprehensible thought, Khonshu had already dropped into the booth across from you in the gentleman's place, throwing down his invisibility with a snap that made you jump and curse out loud. Several other patrons near your table cast sidelong glances of incredulity, murmuring amongst themselves.

You stared at him for a beat, eyes rounded and lips parted, before snatching your phone out of your purse and pressing it to your ear—though your heated gaze never faltered from his.

"You could've given me a little warning," you hissed, and the lingering scrutiny from the other humans was dismissed for the acceptance of your simply taking an unexpected call. "What are you doing?"

He is acting suspiciously, Khonshu growled, leaning over the table. He was comically large compared to it; the tops of his thighs would be pressing into its underside if he were corporeal. I suggest that you leave while he's distracted.

"What do you mean?" you questioned, frowning.

He has grown nervous. He may be preparing to act upon his deceit. I have seen such behavior before in individuals new to malfeasance or working as a front for others.

Your brows wrinkled in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Khonshu squeezed the grip of his staff, propped to the side of the plush leather seat. Despite the lack of moonlight, I can take you back—

"Have you been spying on me?" you interrupted sharply.

Khonshu stopped, taken aback by your anger. I—

"Oh my god, you were," you continued, voice pitching. You pressed your face into your free hand, propping an elbow on the edge of the table. "You were actually—" You let out a harsh sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. "I cannot believe you."

I am trying to keep you out of danger, Khonshu began, voice hardening, and that man—

"Is as harmless as a dove." You lifted your gaze back to him, blazing like wildfire. "I've never tried prying into your personal matters when you're not hanging around me. This is the one night a month I don't have to run around the city for you, and you still can't let me have any damned privacy."

Rarity of rarities, Khonshu was rendered speechless by your audacity. He let out a low rumble, his free fist curling atop the tablecloth. The glasses shivered where they stood, their melting ice cubes rattling. You forget exactly to whom you speak.

"My damned chaperone, apparently," you growled right back. "I am a grown-ass adult and I can handle myself—"

Sodjem eni, Sri mewt—Ianuk mktyek*! the god of the moon boomed from the depths of his chest, rattling the cutlery and porcelain. A couple having exited the restaurant inadvertently let in a violent gust of frigid wind through the door that nearly blew the host at the front off his feet. The other patrons shivered and eyed their table settings warily. You would do well to heed my warning—

"You've taught me how to defend myself, and I'd be able to get away if I had to," you retorted. "But for god's sake, Khonshu, it's just a date—"

A soft, uncertain clearing of one's throat caused you to jump again, turning and placing your phone face-down on the tabletop. The gentleman was back, face wan and eyes reddened, looking rather downtrodden compared to his earlier assured demeanor.

"Gideon, what's wrong?" you asked immediately, concern flooding over you in place of your ire. Khonshu leaned back, eyeing him skeptically. "Are you okay?"

"I am all right, choupinette." He offered you a small, thin smile. "I have already taken care of the bill." You opened your mouth to protest, but he waved you off gently. "Please, it is the least I could do for troubling you." He picked up his coat from the back of the seat, shrugging it on and extended an open hand to help you stand. "I need to discuss something personal with you, however."

You frowned, glancing towards Khonshu, but accepted the man's assistance—he held your coat for you as you threaded your arms through, cradled your purse as you buttoned up and readjusted your scarf, and offered you his elbow as he walked you back out into the cold night air. Khonshu followed closely behind, looming just within arm's reach of you.

"I have thoroughly enjoyed your company tonight," Gideon told you quietly, tucking you into his side to block off the wind blustering by and tugging at the ends of your hair. "You are a delightfully intellectual woman, and I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did," you confessed. You were watching his face, gauging—and you'd occasionally peek over your shoulder at your brooding shadow. "Thank you for taking me out, it was really nice. I appreciate your time—and you didn't have to foot the ticket."

"You are welcome." Gideon's gaze was fixated upon the street. "But please do not rob me of my courtesy—I was raised to have chivalry." He lightly squeezed your gloved hand with his own, taking a steadying breath. "...I was not entirely forthcoming with you, I am afraid."

You tensed slightly. Khonshu observed the flash of several emotions over your face—surprise, suspicion, distrust, namely—in time with your racing thoughts. Is he secretly remarried? Was he just after sex? Did he chicken out because you had repulsed him somehow? "I'd really rather you be transparent with me," you finally said, low and tight.

"It is what you are owed for your earnesty and patience with me." He finally met your beseeching stare, gray eyes glimmering. A fine, misty drizzle began to descend from the mantle of clouds hanging low overhead, catching on your eyelashes. "I...please, do not take this as any lack of interest on my part. You are truly a fine woman whom any man of sense and repute should pursue. Neither did I mean to deceive you in any way."

Your brow rose, just so, and you became a little more guarded. "Alright...?"

"...It's...difficult to express in a manner that wouldn't cause you any offense nor hurt." His expression wrinkled with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. "But I suppose I should just be plain, instead. I...truthfully, I thought that I might be ready to seek out another relationship, after…one that is long-term, preferably, as I would like to have stability for Abielle's sake. You have always been kind to me, and I have long admired you for your talents and capabilities since you were hired. You are dependable and steadfast, and you are not frivolous nor capricious as many other women are. You are one of the sincerest people that I have met here in England, and I..." He sighed and shook his head, voice thickening with every word. He attempted to clear his throat. "I apologize if it seems that I have led you on, but I suspect I will be unable to continue any future dates for...a while yet."

"Oh," you murmured, expression softening instantly. "No, Gideon, that's—entirely understandable. Did you think I'd be angry with you?"

He opened his mouth, debated on a response, then finally nodded remorsefully.

You stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and placed your hands on his arms. He could scarcely meet your eyes. "It's entirely normal to grieve a loved one for a long time," you told him patiently. "If you've had anybody telling you that you should be over it by now, they are entirely in the wrong. Everyone processes things a little differently. You'll know when you're ready to take on any changes in your life before anyone else does, so don't feel pressured to do anything that makes you uncomfortable because it's 'normal' or whatever."

He bit his lip, gratitude bleeding from him in waves. "I...thank you."

You offered him a small, wry grin. "Want to hug it out, Doc?"

Your attempt to lighten the mood worked like magic. Gideon laughed softly, wetly, and pulled you in close for a long moment. You did not release him until he drew back, patting his arm again. He dipped his head, cheeks darkening. "I...suppose I got overwhelmed. I did not know how you would react."

"Believe me, I understand more than you might think." You offered him your elbow this time, instead, and the pair of you continued to walk towards the parking garage on the other side of the block. Khonshu allowed a bit more distance between himself and you, continuing to observe. "I don't think I'm over my ex quite yet, either."

To his credit, Gideon's expression darkened for the first time that evening at the mere mention of that man. "I am sorry for what he did to you, choupinette. No one deserves that, and you least of all."

You shrugged a shoulder, dismissing it before you could dwell on it for too long. "I'm fine with just having Ru for right now. I think I've realized that I don't want to have to worry about a relationship for a long time." You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Maybe tonight was good for the both of us."

"Perhaps," Gideon agreed. "...No hard feelings?"

"None," you chirped. You winked at him. "Now I just get bragging rights in the ward."

His low laughter tapered as you both rounded the corner. "You know it will infuriate the lot of them..."

Khonshu's stride slowed to a stop, the winds all but gone as the drizzle grew into a right and proper rain. The rigidity of his shoulders had fallen, and where once his fury had seethed in the pit of his belly, an unyielding lump remained lodged deep within his chest instead. He heard your laughter over the slosh of tires cutting through the water running into the gutters, almost out of earshot.

Khonshu's fingers tightened, and he slammed the end of his staff into the wet pavement as he punched himself back through the veil into the astral realm.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #mine #original character(s)#original female character(s)#original male character(s)

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