#reinforcedpolymer

     there is a knock at the front door , maria standing in the kitchen when it sounds . odd , she thinks . it’s been awhile since a SHIELD agent has checked on her , but she also knows why : their secrets are out . it only makes sense that no one would be assigned to keep an eye on her when an entire organization is crumbling to the ground . . . hence her skepticism at having someone at her home . cautiously maria approaches the door , though she won’t open it just yet .     “ who is it ? ”     standing on the tips of her toes , she checks the peep hole at the door ; she’s never seen the man on the other side before .

@reinforcedpolymer said :     “     that’s not going to happen .     “ 

acts of affection (accepting!) | @reinforcedpolymer

she’s always had a penchant for choosing the wrong guy. the wrong face in a bar, the wrong cocky gait and crooked smile. if there’s one thing she does right, it’s picking the wrong guy. and to be fair, there’s a few moments where she maybe convinces herself that this isn’t the case. he’s cute. he’s interesting. he’s smart. and yet the second he kisses her, alarm bells sound in her head. because somewhere deep down, she knows he’s not the good guy. not the wholesome ‘bring home to meet the parents’ ( if she had any left ), ‘walks you to the door after a date,’ ‘pays for dinner and buys you flowers and kisses your forehead’ type of guy. and she might have had her suspicions before this, but the kiss merely seals the deal. because he certainly doesn’t kiss like the right guy. and god damn her, but she can’t help but kiss back, molding her mouth against his, fingers tugging his hair, craning her neck to reach upwards and kiss him back just as hard. 

Her nose twitches slightly, a dead giveaway that he’s hit the nail on the head. But she won’t give in that easily. She’s frustrated. Irritated. She knows he won’t take it easy on her, but still, this is....ridiculous. Pointless, even. ❝ What, you want my whole sob story? How about yours, Mr. I Have No Emotion Ever. ❞  

Snafu has had people over at the house before. Like, veterans. Like, military people. Brad and Ray came over with their dogs. But this is different. Jones is weird in the space and he can’t put his finger on why. It’s like trying to find the one instrument in an orchestra that’s half an octave out of tune, so slight that you might even miss its tunelessness if you’re not paying attention.

Deacon is Gene’s dog by name, but he spends most of his time during the day, when Gene is in classes, lolling on the sofa while Snafu kicks it in an armchair and reads. Deacon’s usually ambivalent bordering on friendly towards strangers, but this one has put him on edge for some reason. He’s constantly an inch away from Snafu’s feet, just shy of tripping him over, and he even growled when Jones came in. Snafu’s trying not to let it make him feel standoffish. Maybe this is why it’s different.

The twenty bucks thing – it’s an old joke, only it doesn’t seem funny any more. He almost wishes he hadn’t brought it up. If this is a bad time...

          The moustache is an odd touch. It makes the thick growth along his own jaw itch.         “'Course I am,” he pitches his voice low, “and, y’know, I could say the same to you.”            Of course I am, he says, as if he knows any more about this man than Pneuma or the rest of them, as if he isn’t putting on a show for posterity’s sake like most of the faces in this room. Nameless Faceless had a spouse and children. He owned a home. He once killed things and was paid for it. Nameless Faceless used to be alive, that much they can agree on.