#and when that woman talks about how every year they have to keep rotating the same few photos of the kid I’m like

[angelltheninth]

Simon Being Free-Use for You

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, free-use, established relationship, dick riding, cum eating, blowjob, hickies, kitchen sex, size kink, cockwarming, size difference

A/N: Why is it always the woman who is free use? It can be a big, strong guy like Simon too!

Took a very long time for the both of you to be comfortable with this arrangement

Simon is all about your pleasure, even if he can act otherwise when you're having sex but he will never be a selfish lover, which is why he wants you to be able to fuck him whenever you want

He knows that you'll get tired before him anyway and it will be up to him to tuck you into bed at the end of the day

Almost always naked for ease of handling and because he knows that just the sight of his big cock makes you drool for him

Doesn't mind being woken up with your mouth, it can easily turn into throatfucking so you best be ready to choke on his dick when he's fully awake

He could be reading a book and you'll pass by, see his cock and get on your knees, start to rub him until he's hard and telling him to read loudly

Keeping his voice even is a struggle when he's feeling your prefect mouth sucking around the tip of his cock or your hand making a rotating motion near the base, squeezing and leaving his cum with nowhere to go until he's done with the page

Simon has more love bites on him then he has scars from various missions he's taken over the years, the issue is that you have to renew your love bites a lot

Not that either of you mind

Walking behind him gives him a small smile because he'll tilt his head back just a bit and see you mirroring his smile as you reach to his front and take his cock in both hands, keeping him still while you milk him

You often struggle with getting him into the position that you want because of how huge and beefy he is

Because of this it makes you swoon when you see how willing he is to be pulled wherever you want whenever you want it, on top of you in the kitchen, his hands gripping the counter the same way they were when you were sucking him off and not letting a drop of his cum go to waste since you swallowed it all

One moment he's talking to his friends, the other his phone is on silent because you decided you needed his dick right there and then and started riding him hard

Every time Simon comes home he knows that he will spend the next week being cockwarmed by you, the only time he will be away from you is when he's going out for errands

He will fuck you into the ground because you want it so bad you can't contain yourself anymore, he will give you his cock day in and day out because he knows that your pussy won't be able to stop aching otherwise and he will hold you against his chest while he does all of this because you're the most precious person in the world to him

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #mw2 headcanons #mw2 x you #mw2 smut #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader

[vapolis]

romance options.

intro post. demo.

your boss and the owner of the Saints & Sinners. Orla has worked hard for everything she has but has lost a lot along the way as well. it's hard for her to trust and even harder to rely on someone but she's been keeping you around long enough for something close to a relationship to develope. as one of the power players of the city, she has gained influence by allowing both the high society and less respected citizens of Vapolis to enter her club in search of secrets she can use for her own gain.

Orla's high stress job has lead her to an attachment to cigarettes she always keeps as close as her signature stiletto knife in case trouble does slip past her tight security.

appearance: 1.82m tall, curvy, black woman aged 40 with close cropped hair. she has dark brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and wings tattooed across her back. a thin scar runs through the corner of her mouth, only visible from up close and she's rarely not dressed to the nines in gowns, feathers and glitter. anything that makes her stand out as the owner of her beloved club.

[ orla playlist. ]

the right hand man of Orla and member of Mirage. Jax has been around for as long as you remember, leading the day to day in the club and taking care of any trouble by the door as one of the bouncers on rotation. he's not afraid to get his hands dirty for the club or Orla but has always met the same devotation in you with scorn.

Jax has a weakness for fast cars and shiny guns and has trouble tunring down a bet.

appearance: 34 years old, 1.94m tall, muscular man with brown skin and blue dyed hair that falls in waves to just below his jaw. Jax has dark brown eyes, thick eyebrows and a square jaw that's usually full of stubble he never shaves. both of his arms are tattooed, with one of them depicting the signature eye of the gang he's part of. his style is a point of pride for him and he's never not dressed up in vests or suits when you're around. the colors are rather dark but never plain.

[ jax playlist. ]

the bartender of the Saints & Sinners and an occasional hacker. their job has them around the high powered of Vapolis more often than not and since knowledge is power -- something Orla has relentlessly drilled into the heads of all her employees -- it makes Royal someone that knows a lot they shouldn't. their loyalty runs as far as their tattoos are deep but as long as they're heard and taken care of, they don't care much for the games Orla and others play to stay relevant. as a native to Vapolis they're used to the fronts people put on to survive but never got a taste for the violence of the city.

Royal is a massive flirt and has trouble toning it down when it really matters.

appearance: of average height at 1.74m with pale skin and an orange mullet. they are quite muscular, with a softer belly and most of their strength lying in their arms from their job. they are 25 years old and have eyes that are blue. they have a septum piercing as well as both ears fully pierced. there's a faded scar running from the corner of their lip to midway of their cheek they never talk about as well as a dark tattoo spanning their throat. their style is quite modern and revealing with colorful make up looks they change up every now and then. when they smile, they have a dimple in each cheek.

[ royal playlist. ]

the new dancer that has caught not only the eye of Orla. they are a bit of a mystery and a fairly recent addition to the dancers lineup in the club but seem well liked regardless with their easy going attitude and easy charm. Dante/Delilah seems to be someone that knows how to keep a secret if it's Orla of all people that keeps them closer than the others but you recognize their bruised knuckles and barely healed split lip from a mile away as someone just as much in it for the thrill.

appearance: they are slightly above average in height with 1.78m and have an athletic build as most dancers do in the club. their hands are calloused and rough which is unlike the line of work they're in. they have olive skin and dark purple wavy hair with white streaks at the front they wear shorter than the back. it never gets longer than to their jaw before a new cut. they have hooded eyes and one of them is a dark brown that's almost black while the other is a dull silver. their style is quite practical and muted in colors outside of what every dancer wears in the club.

[ dante/delilah playlist. ]

as the weapons dealer of your choice, echo has been around fairly long and counts amongst the few people you trust with more than just your credits when it comes to outlandish ideas on new weapons you might or might not end up needing. their shop has become somewhat of a safe haven when times got rough or you simply needed a place to duck into to avoid the heat of a job gone wrong. that is, until you ended up blowing up half their shop. since then things have been a bit more tense than usual but doing a job or two or twelve for them could land you back in their good graces.

appearance: echo is above average in height and has tan skin. their nose has a noticeable bump in the middle and they have a fuller bottom lip. their brows are bleached and they have snake bites as well as an uneven scar that goes from their jaw to just below their eye. their eyes are dark purple and their hair shaved at the sides and longer at the top. their hair texture is curly but due to bleach it's heavily damaged and changes color often. their chest and back as well as both arms up to the knuckles are tattooed. both of their ears are pierced, however on the left side they wear a lone earring that dangles down to their throat. they tend to have some stubble across their cheeks. and one of their legs is a prosthetic in silver. their style is oftentimes relaxed, but put together.

#remember you will die #rywd #**characters #**playlists #c: jax #c: royal #c: dante/delilah #c: orla #**descriptions #bc ppl asked <3 #**mine

[pedrito-friskito]

the domestication of steven grant rogers - a study in red, white, and blue

summary: when Steve came out of the ice, you were one of the first people he met outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., and quickly became the only thing that made sense to him.

warning: smut, fluff, my heartache over steve rogers, explicit sex, canon-typical violence

a/n: I wrote this last year (DAMN) in honour of my favourite star-spangled man with a plan’s bday, and since it’s been a whole year and I haven’t posted a steve fic on here yet, here ya go!

| main masterlist | ao3 |

2012

Steve Rogers has gone to the same cafe every day, sat at the same table, drank the same black coffee, since he came out of the ice. When the weather’s nice, he takes the table in the middle, with the clear view of the clock above Grand Central Station. If not, then the one just inside the cafe, right beside the front door. Sitting at the table, he fills journals with notes about what he’s learned, general musings, sketches in the corners of the pages.

He’s spent every night sifting through the files S.H.I.E.LD. provided him with, catching up on some of what he’s missed. His head spins over something new every day, and so he’s kept up some sort of routine. Same cafe, same table, same coffee. Something, anything to keep him tied to the earth, make him feel some sort of normalcy once more.

He learns the staff rotation of the cafe pretty quickly. During the week, there’s an older woman named Dolores who brings him his order without a word. She introduced herself the first day he went to the cafe, quickly understood Steve wasn’t one to talk, and kept the coffee coming. On the weekends, a tall, lanky guy named Eric who doesn’t have the same social radar Dolores does, and will talk Steve’s ear off for an hour before finally leaving him in peace.

And then, a few months into his routine, something changes, and it throws him through a loop.

He shows up Monday morning, a fresh journal tucked under his arm and a perfectly sunny day ahead of him. He takes his normal table outside, cranes his neck towards the cafe entrance, but instead of Dolores’s familiar figure, he sees you.

And damn it all if you don’t take his breath away.

He catches himself. His feelings for Peggy Carter are still fresh, the thought of what they could have had if he had survived hanging around the back of his head like an unwelcome shadow. He knows she moved on, that she married, had kids and built a life with her husband, and he can’t fault her for it. Knowing what he does, he’s glad, in a way, that she did, that she didn’t let the loss of him get in her way. Peggy’s still alive, he knows. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to go visit her in Washington, not yet. 

You walk towards his table, steaming cup of coffee balanced on the tray in your hand, an easy smile on his face. Y/N your name tag reads, and he commits it to memory. There’s a uniform for the cafe, a light yellow button up and a black skirt, and you wear it well, the shirt tied up at your waist, red chucks on your feet, hair piled atop your head in a messy bun. The skirt clings to your curves in a way that has Steve stifling the blush that creeps up the back of his neck, and his mouth goes dry when you come to stop in front of him, lifting the coffee cup from his tray and setting it in front of him.

“You must be Steve,” you say, and your voice is melodic in a way that makes Steve want to ask you a million questions, if only to hear you talk more. In an instant, he’s hooked.

He’s staring, he realizes after a moment, his mouth apparently forgetting how to stay shut and his palms going sweaty. “I…uh…yes.”

The smile you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Dolores told me about you. You were her favourite regular. She told me to take good care of you.”

“What happened to her?”

You spin the tray once in your hand and then tuck it under your arm, pulling an order pad from the apron around your waist. “She retired. Her and her husband are moving to Florida, right on the beach.”

“Sounds peaceful,” he says.

You hum in agreement. “It does, doesn’t it? But I’ve got her shifts now, so you’ll have to settle for me instead.” Across the tables, towards the cafe entrance, someone calls your name, and your head turns toward it. Steve is still staring. “I gotta go, but let me know if you need anything, okay? Table’s yours as long as you want.”

He watches you go, until you’ve disappeared into the cafe once more, and an elderly man at the table beside him pipes up, leaning back over his chair. “Ask for her number, you moron.”

Steve spends the rest of the day hunched over his journal, pencil in hand, sketching. He’s never been great at faces, but you make enough appearances outside that he gets all the angles he needs. You catch him staring a few times, winking when his gaze meets yours, and he blushes every time.

The sketch is rough, and the paper is filled with a few different versions, but it’s still your face. He’s pretty pleased with himself, and tears the page from the journal. He scribbles a note beneath his sketches, and leaves the page folded beneath his empty coffee cup, a ten dollar bill along with it.

See you tomorrow.

+

When Dolores announced her retirement, and your boss at the cafe asked if you were willing to pick up the extra shifts, you were more than happy to oblige. You were bouncing between two jobs, the cafe at Grand Central, and some retail shop on Broadway, but you liked the cafe better. The atmosphere was nicer, the pay was better, and people tended to tip heavier when they were in a hurry to catch a train.

So you said yes, altered your schedule, and gave your two weeks at the other place. Dolores gave you the rundown of her day-to-day, when she’d come in, what she’d get done before the cafe opened. She also filled you in on all of her regulars; where they sat, their orders, how long they usually stayed. She had it down to a science, nearly, and supplied you with detailed notes in a tiny red book. 

Steve was the latest entry on the list, his details specific enough: table in the middle (outside unless it’s raining - right by the door if it is), black coffee (keep it coming), he’ll stay as long as he needs, handsome.

The last word was underlined three times, so hard the mark had scratched through the page, and it made you laugh.

She was right, he was handsome. However, she’d failed to mention who he was, though part of you wondered if she knew.

Captain America. 

Captain America was now one of your regulars. Captain America had spent the day drawing sketches of you from his spot outside, and had left you the evidence with a promise scrawled along the bottom of the page: See you tomorrow.

You certainly hoped so.

The history was common knowledge. You’d read the books in high school, listened to the lectures in the history elective you’d taken in college. You knew the story, at least what was shared with the public: the experiment that had turned him into the super-soldier he still was, all the lives he’d saved crashing a plane carrying enough explosives to level the state. They’d searched the world over for his body, but if they’d ever found him, you didn’t know about it.

Until you stepped out of the cafe with a black coffee on your tray and realized you were delivering it to Captain America himself. He’s just as handsome in real life as he’d been in the photographs you’d seen, maybe even more so. The same floppy blonde hair, combed to the side in true forties fashion, piercing baby blues that would make the ocean jealous, broad shoulders that were definitely something to write home about. He was…Captain America. Steve Rogers.

Your interaction had gone smoothly enough, and you’d kept an eye on him through your shift. You didn’t press him; he looked…spooked, in a way, like a deer in the headlights, and you didn’t want to make it worse. He didn’t once move from his table, only asked for a refill after you pressed him, and spent most of the day hunched over his journal. Towards the end of your shift, you’d stepped outside to find his seat empty, and gone to clear the table, only to find a folded piece of paper beneath his empty cup, with a ten dollar bill.

It was you. He’d drawn you. Over and over again.

It occurs to you that in another circumstance, maybe you’d maybe find it creepy, but the detail is so good that you find it almost…endearing? He even managed to sketch the clover-shaped necklace at your throat, a gift from your parents when you graduated.

You put the paper in your purse, hang up your apron, and head out of the cafe. The night shift has arrived, and you bid everyone a goodnight before stepping outside.

And straight into Steve Rogers’s chest.

“Oh!” you cry out, startled and nearly tripping over your own shoes. Steve catches your wrist easily, his grip warm and his skin soft on yours. “I thought you went home.”

“I did,” he replies, “did some thinking, decided to come back and ask if you’d like to have dinner with me?” His voice hitches at the end with the question, and you can feel a grin pulling at your mouth. He starts talking again before you can answer, dropping your wrist and taking a step back, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and staring down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, if that’s too forward, I just…well, you’re very nice. And beautiful, and I…” He trails off, finally looking back up at you. “I am not very good at this.”

You wave him off. “No such thing. I like the forwardness. Dinner sounds great.” You look down at your shirt, stained with coffee from a rogue pot and your skirt dusted with flour from the pastries you’d helped bake earlier in the day. “But if we’re going to go to a restaurant, I need to change first.”

“Of course,” Steve says, gesturing with a hand in a way that makes you giggle. “I should have just asked for your phone number, like a normal person, made plans for another day when you haven’t been on your feet for eight hours.”

He pauses for a breath, but then opens his mouth to keep talking, and you lift a quick hand, pressing your finger to his lips. There’s something so endearing about him, you can’t get past it. The whole man-out-of-time thing is working, not to mention those blue eyes make you want to roll over and die. “Steve,” you say, laughing, “it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you drop your hand. “It’s been a long time since I asked a dame on a date.”

You scoff a laugh. “Dame?”

He blushes. “Sorry. Girl. Woman?”

He’s got you laughing again, and you shake your head at him. “I live a few blocks over. I’ll change, and then we can go to this little Italian place on the other side of the park.”

Steve doesn’t say anything more, but just nods. He offers you his elbow, bending slightly, and you slip your hand into the crook of his arm and lead him away from the cafe.

+

Half an hour later, Steve is standing outside your apartment building, leaning against the fence on the sidewalk. You’d asked if he wanted to come up with you, but he’d declined. Was that appropriate now? To be alone in an apartment with a girl you barely know? Woman? Dame? His head is spinning, but he’s hooked onto one thing: you said yes. If he’s honest, it’s the best thing that’s happened to him since he came out of the ice.

The door opens again and you step outside, yanking it shut behind you, and for the second time that day, you take his breath away. Gone is the coffee-stained uniform, replaced with dark pants that cling to you, and a white top made of flowing material that makes Steve think of fairies from stories he read a long time ago. 

You’re beautiful, and he’s struck by it. Again.

“Ready?” you ask, your lips painted a deep pink colour. He wants to kiss you. Is that appropriate? Damn it.

“Uh, yes,” he replies, and offers you his elbow once more.

He lets you lead as you walk through the streets of the city. It’s familiar to him in a strange way; the streets themselves haven’t changed much from what he remembers, but the buildings that line either side are completely different in some places, identical to his memory in others.

You both talk as you walk. You more than him, but you don’t seem to mind. He asks more about you. Did you grow up in the city? No, you’re from the South originally, but your parents had moved a lot when you were a teenager and you’d ended up in New York for school. Any siblings? Only child. What did you go to school for? You were a history major in Columbia, graduated a few years back with a minor in creative writing as well.

Learning what you studied answers his next question, the one he’s been dying to ask. “So you know who I am.”

You pause, seemingly choosing your words before you reply. “I do. The second World War was one of my focuses in senior year. I wrote my final thesis paper on Allied experimentation.”

Steve’s brows lift. “Impressive. I might know a thing or two about that.”

The easy smile returns to your face, and Steve’s gut clenches when you bite your bottom lip gently. “Your name came up once or twice. I did a lot of research, and I’ll tell you, I don’t usually know my dates this well before meeting them.” 

“I’m assuming you don’t usually date men from your history books.”

Something changes in your expression then, you brows pulling down. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know. What happened to you. I mean, if you want to, then I’m all ears. It must be…shocking, I don’t know.” You pause, put your hand on his arm, stopping you both. You’re in the middle of Central Park now, the streetlights just starting to come on. “Are you okay?”

Steve balks for a second at your question. The truth of it is no, he’s not okay. 

It’s been a strange few months to say the least, and he doesn’t know the last time someone asked him if he was okay. They’ve poked and prodded him enough to know he’s healthy, but save for Fury, few have had the courage to speak to him, let alone look him in the eye. Most people he’s encountered in public have either resorted to whispers behind their hands, or snapping pictures from afar.

And yet here you are. 

“I’m fine,” is what comes out of his mouth instead, hands clenching into fists at his sides and continuing on down the pathway. After a moment, he feels your hand around his wrist, your skin warm against his. He lets you unfurl his fingers, and your hand slips into his.

“I could try and help, if you’d like,” you offer, double-stepping to get a little closer to him. “Answer whatever questions you have, try and catch you up on the world. I know my history pretty well, and I’m a master of reality television.”

His brow lifts. “You’d do that? I’ve got a lot of questions. Lot of stupid ones, probably. Like, what’s a selfie?”

You let out a laugh, and Steve’s gut twists. Your laugh is just as pretty as your face, and he wants to drown in it, wants to hear it again as soon as it stops.

“Come here,” you say, your grip tightening on his hand and pulling him closer to you. You angle yourself in front of him, pulling something rectangular and metallic out of your pocket. Your finger swipes across a blank screen, illuminating it, and it takes Steve to realize that it’s a phone. The screen is covered in tiny icons of all different colours, and you press down on one. A moment later, the screen changes, and he can see the two of you reflected back on the screen.

You hold the phone at an arm’s length, reaching back with one hand to pull at his shoulder. He crouches slightly, positions his face close to yours.

“Now, smile!”

You press a button on the screen, there’s a strange sound from the phone, and you pull it close to you again, swiping at the screen again and pulling up the photograph. It’s the two of you, a beaming smile on your face, a toothy grin on Steve’s. He’s in awe, shocked that you can see the picture right away.

The confusion must be clear as day on his face, because you slip the phone back into your pocket and take his hand again. “Okay, maybe we need to start a little smaller. Do you have a cell phone?”

S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him some sort of phone when they’d released him into the world, with a quick tutorial on how to use it. He still didn’t totally understand it, but he didn’t have anyone to talk to, so he hadn’t investigated it further.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the silver flip phone, and hands it to you. You flip it open, start tapping away at the keypad, and then hand it back to him. “There. Now you have my number. Number two on your speed dial.”

“My what?”

“Press the two,” you say around a smile, “and it’ll call me.”

“Huh.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and takes your hand again. “It’s a start,” you say, lifting a shoulder.

You go a few more steps before he asks another question. “What about the internet?”

“Oh.” You blow out a breath, shaking your head. “Food first, Captain. Then we can get into that.”

+

Dinner is lovely, and Steve Rogers is nothing short of a gentleman.

You sit out on the terrace, the whole patio covered in little twinkly lights that are cliche as anything, but still put a smile on your face. The food is delicious, as it always is, and the expression on Steve’s face when he tries your gnocchi keeps the smile in place. You share a bottle of wine, and he’s quick to offer you his jacket when he catches you shivering at the slight chill in the air.

He has a lot of questions, but you didn’t expect anything less, and you’d meant it when you offered your help. The internet probably takes the longest time to explain - and admittedly, there are parts of it you still don’t understand - but he has a decent grasp by the end of it.

By the time dinner and dessert are done, you’ve covered the important parts of 2012, best that you can think of. You’re sure you’re missing something, and you can tell by Steve’s expression that he has more questions, but you’re both tired with the information overload, yawning around your wine glasses when the waiter brings the check.

You reach for your wallet, but Steve waves you off, pulling a surprisingly thick money clip from his pocket and pulling out enough bills to cover the check and a decent tip. “Apparently whatever money I had back in the forties just sat in the bank collecting interest for seventy years,” he tells you, tucking the clip away. “I’d buy you breakfast too, if you’d let me.”

Your brows raise. There’s an innuendo there, and you know he doesn’t mean it that way, but to say your mind hasn’t wandered in that direction a few times over the course of the evening would be a lie. “I start work at eight,” you reply, “but before that, I’m all yours. If you’re willing to get up that early.”

The waiter returns to collect the cash, thanks Steve for the tip, and he waits for the waiter to disappear before responding, leaning his elbows onto the table. “I slept for seventy years, Y/N. I’ve had my fill. Besides, I’d rather spend my time with a beautiful girl than dreaming of a life that isn’t mine anymore.”

The words are both sincere and sad, and it pulls at something in your chest. Before you can think any better of it, you lean forward, reaching for the collar of his shirt. Your fingers curl in the fabric, thumb pressing against a button, and you bend across the table, your lips meeting Steve’s in a sweet kiss that tastes like wine and tiramisu.

When you pull back, he’s flushed as anything, and you sink back into your seat slowly. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, chewing your lip, “if that was too forward.”

His gaze goes far off for a moment, and then focuses on you again. “I like the forwardness.”

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” you ask.

He swallows hard. “…yes.”

You nod, reaching for your wineglass and draining it to it’s dregs. “Not bad.”

Steve just starts to laugh, a low chuckle that shakes his shoulders. His laugh is infectious, and it’s half a second before you’re following suit, laughing along with him. After a second, he gets to his feet, offers you his hand, and leads you off the patio and back towards the park. You’re both quieter on the way back, full of food and wine and information.

All too soon, you’re standing outside your apartment again. You give him back his jacket, thank him for dinner, and ask Steve if he wants to come up for a cup of coffee, but he politely declines. “I’ll see you for breakfast?”

You nod. “Pick me up at six thirty?”

“It’s a date,” he replies, and you go to turn away, stepping up towards the door that leads into your apartment. He reaches for your wrist before you can reach for the door, and spins you backwards, your feet slipping on the step. You all but fall into his arms, and he catches you easily, his arms around your waist, yours around your shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmur, and this time, he’s the one that kisses you.

It’s different than the soft kiss you’d shared at the restaurant, which was quick and gentle and over before it had even begun. This is much different, his lips moulding against yours in a way that has your toes curling in your shoes, your fingers twisting in the fabric at his collar. Your bodies press together, heat sparking deep in you, and you can feel his palm pressed against the small of your back.

He makes a noise when your teeth glance across his bottom lip, and you pull back, nearly stumbling out of his grip. He follows you up the step, crowding you into the corner beside the doorway, his arms finding your waist once more. You fist both hands in the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, your mouth on his. It’s…intoxicating.

You pull away before he does, and Steve’s lips are a perfect shade of pink, his cheeks flushed in a way that makes you want to kiss him some more. “Are you sure you don’t want to come upstairs?”

He chuckles again, and takes a step back, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I should go home. To my apartment. Where I live.” There’s a pause, and he leans forward, kissing your lips once more before pulling back again. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile, the taste of him still on your mouth. “Goodnight, Steve.”

You watch as he heads down the sidewalk, waiting until his figure completely disappears from view before you head inside yourself.

+

Steve doesn’t get much sleep. Not that he’s really been getting any; since he came out of the ice, it’s like everything is constantly on high alert, and his body doesn’t want to stop. He can’t stop.

And then there’s you. You, who have completely turned the world on it’s head, before he could even recover from the first flip. You, with your pretty eyes and your voice like a song he’s never heard before, but somehow known all his life. With your laugh and your questions and answers. He could have sat on that patio forever, listening to you talk, watching you move.

It’s a miracle he didn’t stand outside your apartment and kiss you until the sun came up.

He spends the night as he normally does, sifting through the piles of information S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, flipping through his journals. He finds himself sketching faces; Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, the Howling Commandos. Faces he remembers, faces he’ll never see again.

But then, just as he had at the cafe, he draws you.

The sketches are different than what he’d drawn earlier in the day. You’d worn your hair down to the restaurant, the ends curling around your shoulders. He’d wanted to run his fingers through it, and cursed himself for not doing so when he kissed you outside your apartment.

By the time the sun comes up, his pencils are dulled and one of his journals is full. He changes quickly, swapping his button up for a white t-shirt and his leather jacket. Is it awful that part of him hopes it’s cold outside, just so he can see you wearing his jacket again?

The subway is bustling for six in the morning, and he hangs around the doorway, waiting for his stop with his hands stuffed in his pocket, foot tapping impatiently.

Bucky would give him hell, to see him all doe-eyed and anxious over a girl like this, but things are different now. Everything is different now.

You step onto the sidewalk as he’s approaching your building, dressed in your cafe uniform once again, a denim jacket tucked under your arm. You spot him quickly, stepping off the porch and heading for him. Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands, not sure how to greet you, but you beat him to the punch, a beaming smile on your face as your hand settles on his chest and you lean up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning,” you murmur, and when you pull back, he can see your eyes are a little droopy with sleep, that infectious smile still on you lips. Your hair is tied up again, a stray strand curling around your cheek, and before Steve can stop himself, he reaches up and tucks it behind your ear.

“Morning,” he replies, then offers you his elbow. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, your hand slipping into the crook of his arm. He lets you lead again, and to his surprise, you don’t take him to a restaurant, instead to a bagel cart a few blocks down from Central Park. You order two everything bagels, bacon and cheddar cheese, and two coffees, one black, one with cream and sugar. He reaches for his money clip again but this time it’s you waving him off. “Put it away,” you say over your shoulder. “I got this one.”

Bagels and coffee in hand, you lead him through the park, down a few pathways he hasn’t ventured through yet, and come upon a mostly empty stretch with benches lining either side. You take the closest one, sitting down, tucking one leg up underneath you. Steve sits down beside you, and you hand him his bagel and coffee.

You eat in silence for a while, but Steve can’t help the groan that escapes him when he takes a bite of the bagel. You let out a little giggle, smiling at him around yours. “They’re good, huh? Best bagel in the city, I swear.”

“I think this is the best bagel I’ve ever had.” His knee knocks against yours. “Although, the company definitely makes it better.”

Your eyes light up in a way that makes his heart leap in his chest. “Are you flirting with me, Captain Rogers?”

Surprising both you and himself, Steve leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. You make a little startled noise that makes him smile against your mouth, and you taste mostly of coffee. A little bit like bagel, but he doesn’t mind. 

For a moment, he thinks, everything else can wait. It can all wait. For a moment, just a moment, he just wants to be this. He just wants to sit on this bench and kiss a beautiful girl until he forgets his own name.

It can all wait.

He’s been so tired. He’s the kind of tired that sleep won’t fix. The kind of tired that seventy years in limbo couldn’t fix. The man out of time, the super soldier, the good man. And he’s trying. He’s trying so hard, trying to feel like he has a place in this world that chewed him up nearly a century ago and spit him back out into a future he doesn’t understand.

And then there’s you. Bright-eyed and gorgeous and somehow knowing just the right things to say. He talks to you, and he feels…light. Like maybe things won’t be so bad. He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care.

So he sits on that bench beside you, one hand cupping your cheek, keeping your face tilted towards his, and kisses you until the coffee goes cold.

+

The weeks that follow are the same routine for Steve, only you have now implanted yourself into his daily life. And he’s grateful for it.

He still goes to the cafe everyday, you always waiting with a fresh cup at his table. You even put a little reserved sign on it, so no one else will snag it from him. Most nights, he has dinner with you, exploring the different restaurants New York City has to offer. Your favourite places, mostly, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

You’re off work from the cafe on the Fridays and Saturdays, and those days are for adventures, you decide. The Met, the Museum of Natural History, the Guggenheim, everywhere. You have to physically drag him into a Yankees game, but Steve doesn’t really mind it that much - especially when the two of you get caught on the jumbo-tron and you plant one on him.

You help him find a boxing gym, and Steve’s quick to get a membership. He’ll spend a few hours everyday there, practicing his kicks and punches until you’re off the clock or his body is too tired to carry on. It takes his mind off of everything, off the sneaking feeling he’s been having lately that something is coming, but he can’t put his finger on what it is.

His phone starts to ring more often. You always call him when you’re grocery shopping, talking his ear off while browsing the produce. You show him how to text, and it takes some getting used to, but he gets the hang of it pretty quickly.

There’s a number he doesn’t recognize that keeps calling as well, but those calls he declines without a second thought.

Whatever it is, it can wait. It can all wait.

Things between the two of you…escalate. He’d be a fool to try and deny his attraction to you, and there’s more than a few nights spent at your apartment that you end up straddling his lap, your hands in his hair, the two of you breathing the same air. He’s quickly become addicted to the feeling of your body in his grip. Your hips fill his hands perfectly, and more than once he’s slipped a hand up the back of your shirt, feeling the notches of your spine. It’s heat and longing and seventy years creeping up on him in an instant.

He wants to. There’s no question about that. On more than one occasion, he’s…taken care of himself once he got home from your apartment, images of you flashing through his mind. He’s not shocked at how quickly he finds a release, but he also wishes you were there to share it with him.

But Steve Rogers is a gentleman, through and through.

Nearly a month into your romance - is that what he’s supposed to call it? - Steve finds himself alone one Friday night. A few of your girlfriends from college had dragged you out to a bar to celebrate somebody’s birthday. You’d extended an invitation, but he’d declined. He wasn’t there…not yet.

However, when his phone rings at three in the morning, and he sees your name flashing on the screen, he answers in an instant. “Y/N?”

“Can you come get me?” Steve can barely make out your voice over the loud music in the background. You’re practically shouting into the phone, and repeat your request. “Please?”

“Where are you?”

You rattle off a street name, telling him you’ll text him directions once you hang up. He’s out of bed the moment you hang up, changing quickly and heading out the door without a second thought. He stops in the 24-hour bodega around the corner from his building, and the clerk gives him quicker directions than the mess you’d texted to him as he was leaving.

Twenty minutes later, he’s jogging up to the front of a club, a large man standing by the door, neon lights flashing and painting pictures on the sidewalk. He spots you, leaning against the window, teetering on heels that look sharp enough to kill a man. You have your face in your hands, and you’re swaying slightly. As he steps up to you, the large man by the door lifts a hand. “Hey.”

Your head snaps up, and your face is streaked with makeup, black smudges beneath your eyes. “Steve.” You turn to the man. “It’s okay. I know him.”

The man gives Steve a look, but lowers his hand. You step towards him, teetering like a newborn deer, and Steve grabs your elbows, keeping you steady and leading you away from the building.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Your arms wrap through his, fingers tightening around his forearms.

“My friends are assholes,” you say, and your voice is so sad that he just wants to hug you.

Before he gets the chance to, you wrench yourself out of his grip, and empty your stomach into the trash can beside you. Steve flinches, but reaches for you, pulling your hair back and keeping it out of the puke. It takes a while - he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone throw up that much, not even when Bucky dragged him on the roller coaster at Coney Island - but when you’re done, you stumble back away from the garbage can, and Steve pulls a tissue from his pocket, offering it to you. You wipe your mouth, smearing your lipstick in the process, and before you can say - or do - anything else, he scoops you into his arms, heels and all, and starts walking back in the direction of his apartment.

He has to stop once a few blocks in, you scrambling down from his arms to toss your cookies once more into a trash can. After that, he picks you up again, and you settle against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

Someone is walking out of his building as you two approach, and blessedly holds the door open so Steve can carry you straight up. It takes a little bit of manoeuvring to get his keys out of his pocket while you’re nearly comatose in his arms, but he manages. He nudges the door shut with his foot, flicking the lock before carrying you into his bedroom.

You mumble something unintelligible as he sets you on the bed, rubbing a hand across your face as you do. Steve just chuckles to himself, and reaches for your feet, undoing the multiple buckles on each of your shoes and pulling them off your feet. He sets them on the ground at the foot of his bed, but then freezes. You’re sweaty, your dress stained with what he assumes is alcohol (thankfully no vomit), and while the dress is pretty, he can only imagine it’s not the most comfortable thing.

As he’s sitting there contemplating what he should do next, if it’s appropriate to change you out of your dress or not, you sit up, mumbling again and smudging the makeup under your eyes further. Steve just watches as you shimmy off the end of the bed, grab the hem of your dress in both hands and yank it up over your head.

He definitely doesn’t miss the black lace panties and matching bra, and needless to say has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he crosses the room, reaching into his closet for a t-shirt and tossing it onto the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Hm?” you mumble in response, but see the t-shirt on the bed and reach for it. He heads for the door, but out of the corner of his eye, sees you hold the shirt to your nose, inhaling heavily and breathing out his name. He all but sprints for the kitchen, pours you a glass of water, then retreats.

He doesn’t expect to find you sitting in the middle of his bed, your bare legs crossed beneath you, and his compass in your hands.

Your eyes go wide when you see him in the doorway, looking back at him like a little kid that got caught with her hands in the cookie jar. But you make no move to put the compass away, and say, “She’s very pretty.”

Steve inhales. “She is.”

“Peggy Carter,” you say, and his brows lift. “Right?”

“Right.”

“She’s very pretty,” you say again, your voice hitching a little. You snap the compass closed, and put it back in it’s place on his night stand. Your eyes meet his after a moment, and there’s something in them that makes his chest go tight. “I really like you, Steve.”

He steps towards the bed, hands you the glass of water, and then sinks onto the edge of the mattress. You sip the water, and he toys with his hands, staring down at his knotted fingers. “I really like you, too.” You give him one of your signature beaming smiles, and down the rest of the water. You reach for his hands, fingers twining easily between his. “Wanna tell me what happened at the bar?”

You just lift a shoulder, but your eyes go glassy. “I told you. My friends are assholes. They’re not even good friends, not really.” You shake your head. “I should have just spent the night with you, like we usually do. You’re a much better friend than they are.”

“Friend?” Steve asks. Somehow, the words feel like a punch to his stomach. “Is that what I am?”

Your brows shoot up, and you cover your mouth with your hands. “No! I didn’t…shit. I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant…” You groan, push your palms against your eyes and lean back on the bed. “I just meant I have a better time with you than anyone else. That’s all.” After a moment, you move your hands from your face and your eyes lock with his. “You’re not just my friend, Steve. I don’t know what we are, but you’re not just my friend.”

“I don’t know either,” he agrees, feeling the tightness in his gut ease, “but I know I like you. And…how I feel about you, I can’t just be your friend.”

You stare at him for a long moment, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, if I wasn’t still kind of drunk, and hadn’t thrown up in front of you less than ten minutes ago, I’d probably have sex with you right now.”

“What?” He swears his heart skips a beat, and instantly his cheeks are on fire.

You, on the other hand, dissolve into giggles which quickly turn into a yawn you can barely stifle. Steve stands, trying his best to ignore the zap of heat that your words sent straight to his core, and goes to get you another glass of water. When he returns, you’re curled up on your side, your head on his pillow, eyes shut.

He sets the water on the nightstand beside the compass, goes to get a damp cloth from his bathroom, and then perches beside you, moving you gently and wiping the makeup from your face as best as he can. You don’t open your eyes, sound asleep in his grasp, eyelids fluttering as you dream.

Once he’s done, he goes to leave the room, content to sleep on the couch and give you some privacy, but before he can even get off the edge of the bed, your hand curls in the front of his shirt. “Stay.”

So he does, toeing off his shoes and settling on the bed beside you. You adjust yourself against him, one arm slinging across his waist, your head on his chest. The ends of your hair tickle his nose, but he doesn’t mind. He runs his fingers through it over and over, listening to the steady in and out of your breathing, and finds himself falling asleep with you.

+

You wake the next morning feeling surprisingly okay, despite the copious amounts of alcohol your so-called friends had shoved at you all night. You suspect your multiple puking sessions and all the water Steve had given you aided you some, and your head throbs slightly, but it’s not unbearable.

It’s early, the clock on the nightstand reading half past six, and your mind starts to race as you realize where exactly you are. And that you’re alone.

You’re sprawled in the bed, still in Steve’s t-shirt, pillow bunched beneath your head. Stretching your back and hearing a symphony of cracks and pops as your body moves, you reach for the empty space beside you, the whole bed still smelling of Steve. Your hand lifts to the pillow, and your fingers brush paper, spotting a note with your name scrawled across the front.

It’s a sketch of you, your hair tumbled across the pillow, arm slung around your face, peaceful and asleep, and below, Steve’s familiar chicken scratch.

Gone to the gym for a bit. Will return with bagels and coffee. There’s aspirin on the nightstand, and a towel for you in the bathroom. - Steve xo

You can’t hide the grin that breaks across your face, nor could you stop it. You smooth your hand over the note, fold it back up carefully, and set it on the nightstand, swiping the two aspirin and the glass of water waiting for you.

Sitting up, you toss back the aspirin and chase it with water, rubbing sleep from your eyes and peering around the room. Steve had brought you straight to the bedroom last night, and you hadn’t seen much of it before you’d passed out.

The bedroom is basic, his closet filled with neatly hung clothes and all the furniture matching. There’s a small stack of books on the dresser, and you recognize a few titles. The Hobbit. To Kill a Mockingbird. Fahrenheit 451. There’s a pile of papers beside the books, file folders all stamped with a strange logo you don’t recognize, CONFIDENTIAL stamped in big red letters across the top.

You leave those well enough alone, and head for the bathroom.

It’s hard, not having your shampoo and conditioner like you do at your own place, but the hot water is exactly what you need, and the pine-scented body wash is good enough. It smells like Steve, and you inhale deeply, letting the steam fill the bathroom.

The apartment is still empty when you’re done, and you pad around the rest of the space, curiosity getting the better of you. The living room is sparse, and the kitchen even more so, both rooms filled with the basics - a sofa and television, dishes and mugs and a coffee maker that looks like it’s seen better days -  but something in the corner of the living room catches your eye, tucked behind the small table and chairs.

It’s an army uniform. You recognize it; your grandfather had been a WWII vet, and you’d seen the old pictures of him and your grandmother on their wedding day, him in his dress uniform and her in a white dress.

There’s a number of badges on the lapel, most of which you don’t know the meaning of, but you recognize the Purple Heart, awarded to soldiers wounded or killed while serving in the military.

Your fingers are hovering over the badges, and a voice from behind you makes you flinch. “It’s on loan from the Smithsonian, apparently,” Steve says, and you whirl to find him standing behind you, a brown paper bag in one hand and two coffees balanced atop one another in his other. You take them from him quickly, setting them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He drops the bag beside them, shrugging out of his jacket, and you watch him carefully. There’s something about the expression on his face, something in his tone that has you on edge. Then he takes a step towards you, reaching for your wrist. “I gotta tell you something.”

Your brow furrows, and you pull him towards the sofa, sinking down onto it and settling close to him. He holds your hand between both of his, and your free hand goes to his shoulder, then his face, pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Steve, it’s okay,” you murmur, and there’s a slight waver in your voice, but you hope he doesn’t notice. “You can tell me anything.”

“I have to leave,” he tells you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. “I have to go, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. I don’t want to leave you, but…” He won’t meet your eyes, his gaze hard and far away. “But I have to do this.”

Slowly, you nod. “Does this have anything to do with those files in your bedroom?”

His brows raise, and he finally looks at you. “You didn’t…?”

“Read them? No. I know better than to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and his gaze goes far off again. You’re both quiet for a long while, and right when you feel that swell of anxiety starting to crest, he opens his mouth. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I like you. A lot. And I don’t know what…this is, between us, and I know I don’t want it to stop. But I won’t ask you to wait for me.”

“You don’t have to ask,” you tell him, shaking your head slightly, “and you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant-”

You crack a smile, and reach for his chin, turning his head and cutting him off with a soft kiss. “Go save the world, Cap,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

+

He takes you back to your apartment in the late afternoon, after you’ve eaten your bagels and spent some time kissing on his couch. Steve feels bad, having no other clothes to offer you except a grey sweatshirt, and almost laughs when you pull your dress back on and the sweater overtop. It’s comically large, the hem touching the tops of your thighs, but to put it simply, you look adorable. More so than usual.

He wasn’t sure what you’d say at the news of his departure, but he hadn’t been anticipating the kind words and gentle touches. He’s grateful for them. Grateful for you. For all of you. You’ve made things feel…normal in a way he hasn’t experienced since coming out of the ice. Things feel clearer, more concise, like a fog has been lifted. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but he’s ready for it. He has you.

He’s falling for you, he thinks suddenly, you falling into step beside him in the sidewalk, one hand threaded through his. He’s falling for you hard.

If anything, it only motivates him further. Work with S.H.I.E.L.D., get the Tesseract back, do his duty.

And then come back to you.

You ask him if he wants to come up with you, but he declines. Fury had called him shortly after he’d walked out of the gym, confirming that he was actually onboard or not. When Steve had said yes, Fury had informed him there would be a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at his apartment to pick him up later in the evening.

“I should…pack, I guess,” he says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wish I could tell you more, but I-”

You press a finger to his lips, standing a step above him outside your apartment. “Don’t. Just tell me what I need to know, and promise me something.” You don’t move your finger from his mouth, so he nods. “Keep yourself safe.”

There’s a glimmer of tears in your eyes, and it makes Steve’s chest ache. “I will,” he says against your fingers, and you throw your arms around his neck a second later, pulling him to you. “I promise.”

“And don’t get yourself killed,” you mumble in his ear, your voice a little thick, “cuz that would really suck.”

He chuckles at your choice of words, but hugs you back tightly, pressing his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scent is a strange mix of his body wash, coffee, and something he has no name for, but it intoxicates him all the same. He waits for you to pull back slightly, then reaches for your face with one hand, his lips finding yours easily in a sweet kiss.

It’s a good few minutes before either of you break away, but Steve is the first. He needs to go home, needs to get ready, needs to disentangle himself from you before he changes his mind and stays with you instead.

+

The days that follow blow past you in a blur. You work double shifts, keep yourself busy at the cafe, mainly to keep yourself from worrying about Steve.

Your phone is too quiet, and you understand it, you do, but you wish you knew that he was okay.

You find yourself mulling over what happened between you and Steve, both of you admitting that you felt…something for the other, but still not entirely sure what it was, what it meant.

It’s insane, in the grand scheme of things. Captain America carried you home drunk from a club, made sure you were okay, made sure you drank enough water and left aspirin by the bed for you. Captain America kissed you goodbye.

The nights are spent on the couch, wrapped in the sweatshirt Steve had given you, your bed suddenly feeling too empty. True, you’d only spent one night together. You hadn’t slept in the same bed until that night, and yes, you’d woken up a little heavy-headed, but the truth of it was it was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. Steve makes you feel…safe. Content.

Happy.

The cafe is busy, even without your favourite regular taking up the middle table, and the steady stream of patrons keeps you distracted enough.

You’re standing inside the cafe when the bright beam of blue erupts from the top of Stark Tower, and you stumble through the doors as every head in the vicinity turns in it’s direction. The portal opens in the sky a moment later, and when the monsters start pouring through, people start to scream.

There’s a strange whoosh overhead, and then the explosions begin. Stone and brick are thrown through the air, the patio furniture outside the cafe turning into twisted heaps of metal in an instant. People start running, yelling, screaming as they push past you. Debris scrapes at your bare arms and legs, and you rush back towards the cafe, darting inside as one of your co-workers holds the door opened for the panicked public running inside.

“What are those things?” someone asks, and you shake your head in disbelief. This can’t be happening…

…can it?

+

The moment they land in the city, Steve’s mind drifts to you. He’s worried, and can only pray you’re somewhere safe, that you finished work and went home before the hole in the sky appeared.

You’ve been in the back of his mind the entire time, from the moment he set foot on the Quinjet. Agent Coulson was kind, and the conversation kept him focused on the task at hand. The debriefings and meetings were tolerable, even when Stark gave him a hard time, but Steve knew what needed to be done, so he did it.

He fights his way through the streets, through the ugly alien creatures and piles of debris. Anytime he catches a glimpse of someone running past, someone with your hair colour or about your height, his head turns and he has to see if it’s you or not. It gets him hit a few times, and he has to focus harder, a little voice repeating in the back of his mind that you’re fine, you’re alive, you’re safe.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you’re not.

When Clint tells him the Chitauri have cornered civilians in the bank on Madison, he rushes in that direction, his heart sinking into his boots when he sees that the cafe has been reduced to a pile of rubble outside Grand Central.

Steve sprints inside, brandishing the shield, and when he tosses one of the Chitauri over the railing of the upper floor, he sees you in the crowd below. Relief washes through him, despite it all. You’re alive. A little dirty, your uniform streaked with dirt and your face smudged with dust. He can see a few marks on your cheeks and arms, but you’re alive.

The bomb the Chitauri had detonated goes off, and he’s blown backward, the shield taking most of the impact, and he sees the look on your face go from happy to terrified in a split second.

He’s thrown through the window, and collapses hard onto an already-crushed policy cruiser, groaning as the metal creaks beneath him. Cops swarm forwards, trying to get to the civilians inside, and Steve struggles to his feet, turning to head back inside. He has to get to you. He needs to get you somewhere safe.

“Steve!” he hears, and his head turns in the direction of your voice, seeing you sprinting from the bank, pushing past people as you run for him.

He catches you with a quiet oomph when you launch yourself at him, your arms going around his neck. He’s got the shield in one hand, you in the other.

“Are you okay?” you cry, breathless, pulling back only to take his face in your hands, your thumbs swiping across his dirty cheeks, eyes darting across him, trying to find any injuries. “What’s going on? Why is this happening?”

He wishes he had an easy answer for you, and God only knows he can’t explain the whole thing to you right there on the street. “It doesn’t matter right now,” he tells you, his arm still holding you against him. “I want you to go to my apartment, okay? It’s far enough away that you should be safe there. You can get in through the fire escape. If the fighting gets closer, you leave, but if it doesn’t, you stay and wait for me to come get you. Understood?”

There are tears in your eyes, fears he knows he can’t ease right now, and you nod. “Understood.”

He kisses you hard, holding you as close as he possibly can before he sets you back on your feet. You almost don’t let go of him, and he has to give you a little nudge. You lean up on your toes and kiss him again before turning on your heel and sprinting down the road, dodging debris and heading in the direction of his apartment building.

There’s a wolf-whistle in his earpiece, and Stark’s smug tone. “She’s very pretty, Cap. Shoulda known you had something sweet waiting for you in the city.”

Steve rolls his eyes, readjusts the shield in his grip, and heads back into the fray. “Let’s finish this.”

+

The noise stops about an hour after you reach Steve’s apartment.

You’d gotten in through the fire escape, just like he’d said, squeezing your way in through an unlocked window. You’d landed on the floor in a heap, and just stayed in place, your eyes glued to the window, watching carefully in case anything came close.

You’re still shaking, your limbs caked in dirt and dust and your left ankle aching something fierce. You suspect it’ll be a while before the shaking stops, and your nerves don’t cease, your gut clenched hard, until, nearly four hours after that, there’s a careful knock at the door.

You rush for it, flicking the locks and yanking the door open to see a very tired-looking Steve Rogers on the other side. He’s still in his uniform, the shield held in one hand, a white plastic takeout bag in the other. His face is as dirty as you feel, and his hair is sweat-soaked, hanging over his forehead in a way that’s frustratingly endearing. You could have died - he could have died - and your first thought it how cute he looks.

“Left my keys in my other pants,” he jokes, stepping over the threshold. He hands you the bag. “Brought you some food.”

It’s the adrenaline, you think, and you set the bag down carefully, then take the shield from Steve’s hand and lean it against the wall beside the door. The door is shut, the locks slid back into place, and then you take his hand, pulling him down the hallway and into the bathroom without a word.

He’s just watching you, his brow slightly furrowed as he watches you move towards the tub, cranking the water on and moving the shower curtain into place.

Then you start undoing the buttons of your shirt, and you can see the wheels turning in his head, his mouth opening slightly as he finally catches on.

“Oh. Oh.”

Your shirt hits the ground, skirt, socks, and shoes joining the pile a moment later. Steve flushes red when you step towards him, clad only in your underwear, and reach for his belt. It takes some time and a bit of manoeuvring to figure out all the clasps and buttons keeping the uniform in place, but you manage, and soon enough, he’s just as naked as you are, only wearing a pair of tight black boxers that leave little to the imagination.

You’d turned the water hot, and there’s steam filling the bathroom. You’re still silent as you give him a quick once over, concern filling you when you see the series of bruises and marks that travel from his left hip and up around his rib cage. It looks painful, but as you look at it, you can almost see the bruises starting to fade, the super soldier healing from the inside out.

Steve catches the worry in your features, and his hand lifts to your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, and his thumb swipes across your skin. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

Your heart is rioting in your chest, and you just nod. Your brain is still processing everything that’s happened, and the only thing that seems to make sense is the man standing in front of you.

Still without a word, you step out of his reach, moving the shower curtain and stepping inside, still in your underwear. Steve follows, reaching for your waist as he crowds up behind you. You both hiss at the temperature, Steve reaching around to adjust it slightly before you both step under the spray. You reach for a washcloth and his body wash, lathering the cloth and then reaching up, dragging it slowly across his chest, cleaning the dirt and blood from his skin.

He just watches as you do, and you feel both his hands settling on your hips, fingers twisting in the wet fabric covering you. Once you’ve cleaned him as thoroughly as you can, he takes the cloth from you, and it’s your turn. Then he moves onto your hair, and you return the favour.

You both move slow and languid, the hot water making both of you feel infinitely better, easing sore muscles and tense bodies. Steve barely takes his hands off of you, and the water is still hot when he crowds you against the tile, one hand slipping up your back, and puts his mouth on yours.

It’s a desperate kiss, an oh god we almost died kiss, and you can’t get enough, your hands plunging into his wet hair, holding him as close as you can. It’s not long before he’s hiking your leg around his hip, his body rolling against yours, pulling a noise from your throat that makes you both blush.

He pulls at your underwear, and the wet fabric slides down your hips a little awkwardly, pooling at your feet. His head dips, mouth skimming along the swell of your breast, and you make that noise again, unable to hold it back. Your bra is slipping from your shoulders, and you groan when you feel Steve’s fingers along the inside of your thigh.

“Do you want this?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head and staring you dead in the eye. “Do you want me?”

You nod, enthusiastic. “I do.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and husky, and it sends a zip of electricity through you.

You kiss him hard, your hips canting towards his hand, gasping when his fingers brush against your core. “I’m sure.”

He captures your lips again, his kiss searing it’s way into your brain, and then reaches around you to shut the water off.

+

Steve carries you to his bedroom, both of you dripping water the whole way, but he doesn’t care.

When he lays you out on his bed, almost completely nude except for the bra that’s leaving little to his imagination at this point, he knows he’s the luckiest man in the world.

He’s not a virgin - God knows Bucky had called in a favour or two and made sure he wasn’t back in the forties - and the attention he’d received after he’d debuted as Captain America had been enthusiastic. There’d been a few dames back then, a sweet redhead who’d caught his attention and held it for a while.

And then, of course, there was Peggy. Not that they’d…fondue-d, but the notion still stands.

You, however, are uncharted territory. An island he wants to explore every inch of. He wants to know how your body reacts, where he should touch, kiss, bite. Wants to feel every part of you, memorize it until he’s an expert on you.

He hovers over you on the bed, plants an elbow beside your head and finds your lips again. Your hands are soft along his jaw, your skin still damp under his touch, and his free hand skirts along your body, travelling over your ribs and down over your hip. The pads of his fingers skim the silky-soft skin at the inside of your thigh, and when he brushes over your core, finds you wet and ready, every instinct he has seems to heighten.

Your back bows off the bed when he pushes one finger inside, crooking it just so as you moan into his mouth. One becomes two, and one of your hands falls from his face and reaches for his waist, pushing the wet boxers over his hip, fingers dipping past the elastic and closing around him.

It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by a woman, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come on the spot when your hand strokes him, your thumb swiping over his tip. You swallow each other’s moans, your other hand going to his waist to push his boxers down further. He thrusts his fingers once, twice, three times more before you’re gasping his name, your lips parted in a perfect o.

“Steve, please,” you whisper out.

He detaches himself from you long enough to kick his boxers off the rest of the way, and while he’s gone, you rid yourself of your bra, tossing it to the side and scrambling a little further up the bed. He follows, stretches out beside you, and you reach for his hip, pulling him back on top of you easily. Your hands skim up and down his ribs, your nails catching on his skin every so often, and he drops his face into  the crook of your neck, lips closing around his pulse.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says suddenly, pulling back, and you let out a quiet giggle, your hands tightening at his sides.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’m on the pill.”

He nods once. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m sure,” you whisper, pulling him back down to you and kissing him hard.

Your legs widen around his hips, your body rolling against his as he ruts against you. He feels flushed and out of breath and everything is almost too much, but it feels so good he can’t stop. Your mouth moves along his jaw, teeth nipping at his skin, and he thrusts into you, sliding home, and it’s like the world stops for a moment. There’s only you, your breath against his ear and your skin against his. Your nails digging in ever so slightly, keeping him grounded to the earth, and your low gasp when he starts to move, pulls out almost all the way and then slides in again. “Oh god.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs, and he reaches up with one hand, using the headboard as leverage. His other hand plants itself beside your head, and he groans out, eyes almost rolling back when you clench around him.

With each slam of his hips, there’s a coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter, and he feels your hands slide down his back, one grabbing a handful of his ass, the other pressing against the dip at the base of spine. He’s losing his mind, losing himself in you. “You feel so good,” he manages to say, unable to hold it back.

You moan, your head tipping back against the pillow, and then a second later, you’re reaching for his shoulders, tipping him sideways and rolling until you’re on top of him. He’s still inside you, and the new angle makes his jaw drop, his vision going nearly white when you plant your hands on his chest and grind your hips against his.

He thrusts up into you, and it catches you off guard. You collapse against his chest, your hair a curtain around the two of you and his arms go around your waist, holding you tight against him. His name stutters from your mouth, your eyes screwing shut, your hands flexing wide on the mattress on either side of him. “Oh god,” you say again, your voice hitching. “Steve, please.”

He can’t stop, won’t stop moving, and plants his feet, giving himself more leverage as you move against him. You gasp again, a moan following quickly after, and he knows you’re there because he can feel it. Your whole body goes tight in his grip, your insides clenching around his cock, and his own pleasure only grows. You go limp a second later, and he still can’t stop, the coil going completely taut before his entire body floods with warmth, hands tightening on you before his grip goes slack. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and you both heave out a breath.

It’s a long moment before either of you says anything, and you’re the first to speak, propping your head up on your hand and looking down at him. “We should have done that a long time ago.”

Steve chuckles, one hand trailing it’s way up and down your spine. Your skin is still damp, from the shower and with sweat, and his fingers catch slightly. “Guess an alien invasion is all it took,” he replies, laughing.

You purse your lips at him, shaking your head. “Remember what I said before, about you only telling me what I need to know?”

He nods. “I remember.”

“I think I need more than that.” He opens his mouth to say more, but you put a finger to his lips. “Not now. Now, I just want to lie here, and be happy you’re alive.”

+

A few days later, Steve has business in Central Park. You’ve been at his apartment since the invasion, barely getting out of bed - except for food and water - trapped in a perfect bubble of love-making and heavy petting. You don’t want to leave the bubble, but Steve also informs you that he has something planned once his business is finished with, and you find yourself stopping at your own apartment to pack an overnight bag before getting on the back of his motorcycle and heading for Central Park.

He’d filled you in, for the most part. The story had taken a while to process, and parts of it still made no sense to you, but Steve had done his best. You had some common ground, something that made no sense to either of you.

You hang back as Steve approaches the rest of the group that had saved the city - the Avengers. Their faces had been all over the news since the day of the Battle, and you already know who Tony Stark is.

Some words are exchanged, Stark saying something to Steve before gesturing to you. Steve turns to look at you, gives you a broad grin, and you lift your hand to wave. Tony waves back.

There’s a bright blue cube - Steve had called it the Tesseract - given to the man you know to be Thor. Then there’s a flash of rainbow-hued light, and Thor and Loki - who you now know orchestrated the attack on the city - disappear.

Steve says his goodbyes, then jogs back to where you are, still sitting on his motorcycle. He doesn’t say anything at first, but takes your face in his hands and kisses you softly. “You ready?” he asks when he pulls away, a giant grin on his face and a slight flush to his cheeks. You nod in response, and he swings his leg over the bike, kicking the stand up. You scoot closer on the seat, putting your arms around his middle.

The engine revs and you bury your face in the back of his leather jacket. The bike zooms forward, and you disappear down the road, holding on as tight as you can.

—————

steve rogers tags: @ancientbeing10 @woomen23 @itwasthereaminuteago @williamjzanders @enchantingqueenkitten @a-zterisk @i-simp-much @loonymagizoologist @pariahsparadise @greeneyedblondie44 @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @alyona-romanova

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#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fluff #marvel #a study in red white and blue #my fics

[heathersdesk]

Just got back from church. Am absolutely screaming inside.

So months ago, I was talking to God knows who (tell me if it was you) that high council Sunday is the worst because it guarantees the most speaking time per year in every ward to the same man. We hear from the high councilmen in total more than we hear from anyone else in the Church, including the prophet.

This bothers me. It was something I was praying about. From what I've seen in this stake, it's the first time they seem to rotate everyone on the council each month. That alone is a good change, but I'm so tired of having incredible female leadership I never see or get to interact with.

Our stake is now sending a woman leader from the stake to speak on every third Sunday with the high councilman. They're creating a standing reservation for women to speak in sacrament meeting every month.

This was my first time seeing and meeting my stake Relief Society president. She gave a phenomenal talk about the sacrament. And the high councilman who was with us this week opened his talk by expressing his confidence in her. They've both lived in this area for many decades, so they've served together in the Church for many years. It was lovely and it was the nicest fulfillment of what I was imagining in my head when I previously criticized the formula for "Dry Council Sunday" in saying it needed improvement.

I went up to the stand afterwards to thank her and introduce myself, and to let her know that her presence was the answer to a prayer for me. We had a wonderful conversation and I confided in her what this means to me personally, my history of feeling frustration with gender dynamics in the Church. She listened so well and embraced me, thanked me for sharing, and said she would let the rest of the leadership of the stake know that this is a meaningful and well-received change.

All this to say: when there is something about the way the Church functions that is painful and unfair, don't keep it to yourself. Tell God in prayer. Pour out your soul about what you think and feel. Leave that hurt on the altar where it belongs, especially if it never should've been yours to carry. Trust your Heavenly Family to know how to help and rescue you.

It may not happen immediately, but change will come. I've seen this so many times in my church experience. God hears us and cares when we suffer. That suffering is held and known completely in the body of Christ, where it can also be healed. And in time, change will come.

#mormon #lds #mormonism #tumblrstake #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #religion #faith #queerstake #christianity

[mariacallous]

Ukraine: Enemy in the Woods is a surgically precise, raw and devastating documentary about a seven-week mission undertaken in November 2023 by the Ukrainian Berlingo Battalion. The stakes of the Berlingo’s mission are extremely high. The 99 soldiers must defend a section of a railway line that runs through the forest that lies north-west of Kupyansk. If the Russians were to take it, they would be able to resupply and potentially push on to Kharkiv, the second largest city in Ukraine.

This film does not so much explain the mission as show it in visceral detail. You will see death and dead bodies; these images are unlikely to leave your mind. I have never seen war portrayed in this way, so close up, grotesque and frantic.

While the soldiers discuss their experiences in interviews, we also see battles from two other positions. The first is through drone footage. Viktor and Denys are drone pilots who fly explosives, or what they call “gifts”, over the Russian troops and their “foxholes”. With FPV (first-person view) drones, the pilots wear goggles, giving them a direct view of the explosives reaching their targets. When they blow up, the screen cuts to fuzz.

In one attack, from the sky, we see a Russian soldier enter a house. The drone follows him in through the front door. A second drone captures the explosion that follows. The Ukrainian soldiers speak frankly of the thrill of it and how they feel about the men who die: “Why should we feel sorry for them?”

In their own foxholes, the Ukrainian soldiers eat, talk, joke and pray. They hold up rudimentary explosives, made from soap and petrol. They extract mice from their food supplies. They talk about the Russians and ask, again and again – sometimes asking captured Russian soldiers directly – why they have come to this country.

The Ukrainians know they are outnumbered. Maksym, who is 19, says more Russians come every day: “They just die, but they keep coming and coming and coming.” Watching a livestreamed battle on a laptop, Dmytro, a company commander, says: “We kill a thousand, they send another thousand.”

Bodycam footage brings horror from another side. We see decisions made on the fly, hectic and desperate. The Ukrainians shoot at Russian soldiers and the Russians fire back. Foxholes are destroyed by Russian drones. We watch the men discovering the bodies of their comrades, then carrying wounded comrades, groaning in agony, through the forest. In the snow and ice, there are so many bodies. To hear the rapid, panicked breathing of these men – to hear the adrenaline and the fear – is so utterly intimate, direct and powerful. It is deeply disturbing. And it should be.

Over the course of just one hour, we get to know these soldiers, who are deep into a rotation they should have left weeks ago, but there was no one to replace them. Natalia, a combat medic, is the only woman in the battalion. She has a veterinary degree, but now she treats people. She has become “emotionless to certain moments of life”, she says, unconvincingly. Vlad, a unit commander whose family fled Kherson during the Russian occupation, has been rapidly promoted through the ranks. He is “fully 19 years old”.

This film is full of haunting landscapes. In one moment, a soldier examines by torchlight a heap of bags piled on the floor. These are the possessions of the soldiers who have left the battalion. Many are injured; some are dead. A battle takes place at night, in the black of the forest. It is lit only by the flashes of gunfire and explosions. The sky turns red. It is a vision of hell.

But the soldiers of the Berlingo often talk about the after times: what they will do and what they dream of in a free Ukraine. Sometimes, these dreams are as simple as football and festivals, life as it was before. They would like houses, dogs, to spend time with children. In war, in all the loss of humanity, there is a sliver of hope.

Many of us find ourselves scrolling through social media feeds that casually drop in images and footage of conflict and war, among holiday snaps and selfies, flattening these nightmares into a swipeable passing moment. Documentaries such as this insist on the opposite. It is distressing in its frankness – of course it is. But it makes the conflict real and asks you to look, understand and remember what is happening, not so far away.

Ukraine: Enemy in the Woods aired on BBC Two and is available on BBC iPlayer

[withoutcontxt]

Would you consider doing HCs for how VAT7K interacts with the Tangled crew?

(Absolutely love your hcs btw)

Oh boy, do I.

Tangled Crew loves their collective baby bro, and would die for him, but when he went off on a 2-3 year journey with almost NO COMMUNICATION back home. They are needless to say, very shocked when he, out of the blue, walks into the castle. And oh boy, he went through a life changing experience.

His hair is slightly singed, wearing clothing that he definitely didn’t own before (they were gone for 2-3 years, at some point team radical changed their clothing styles and now have similar looking clothes, still unique to them but similar), about 6 inches taller, with more friends (and a bf, but they don’t know that yet), no adult supervision, and without the very woman he went to go find . “Varian if you went on this journey to find, and if need to rescue, your mom, and bring her back. Where is she?” “Oh yeah, she turned into a demon and tried to kill us all. Don’t worry she’s gone now.” “She did what now?”

Varian did actually send letters, mainly to his dad, but most of them were intercepted by enemies or Don.

Rapunzel gets along well with Nuru, and before the younger girl has to go back to her kingdom they paint stars together and talk royal business.

Anytime Hugo and Eugene see each other, it is 👏 on 👏 sight. At least for the first week, after that Hugo keeps making piano jokes (that varian is giving him) and Eugene is tired.

Varian and Hugo both work as Royal Engineers and Librarians, with rotating days of who works where and what place is open for business.

Cass doesn’t trust any of Varian’s friends for the first 40 minutes she meets them, then Yong says hi to her and she’s like: Oh my god a child, must be protected at all costs.

Eugene is tired with a Hugo’s bs, but he makes a varian happy so it’s fine.

Rapunzel doesn’t understand any of the inside jokes any of them have. What’s this about Hugo’s mom once being apart of a gang?

Hugo and Varian REFUSE to tell them what actually happened in the library. The place is very important, useful, and they like their jobs there, but if Raps, Eugene, Cass, Quirin, Lance, or anyone else found out? Oh no, that place would be closed for good.

Raps likes Hugo, thinks he’s a good match for Varian. Unfortunately for her, and everyone else, she doesn’t know much about what happened in vat7k.

Since Varian’s letters never came, no one really knows what all happened during vat7k outside of team radical and few others.

Yong and Cass get along very well! Big sister and little brother vibes. They like to prank Varian, Eugene, and Hugo together.

Lance loves all of them equally <3 and will make favorite foods.

Hugo helps Eugene with teaching guards on how to catch thieves, since Eugene has been out of the game for a few years and it’s good to know what tricks are new and not.

When Varian comes back, Quirin absolutely starts telling his son more about his life. (I saw someone else have a hc like this but can’t find it, whoever came up with that is a genius)

Yong visits every month or two, and then proceeds to cause chaos with Varian and Hugo. After that, he knocks them both out so they can get some god forsaken sleep. The tangled crew have never been more grateful.

Nuru will also visit a lot (like Yong) and cause chaos with varigo.

If Nuru and Yong ever move into the castle, team radical would be thrilled. The tangled crew would only ever dread game night.

I have more headcannons, but their mainly varigo based. Otherwise this is all I can remember right now.

#varian and the seven kingdoms #vat7k #varian and the 7 kingdoms #hugo vat7k #varian vat7k #vat7k varigo #varigo #yong vat7k #nuru vat7k

[pandorafallz]

Vampire AU | To the Forests

Jake kept his gaze on different people as he ate. Mostly the avatar group to see which ones actually were eating. Again, the usual two weren’t. A third wasn’t but that was because he looked near asleep and inhaled the vapours of his coffee with reverence. Not a morning person.

He was still warming up a few ideas in mind but he had no access to proper data he wanted to see possible location. He was sure that…even if Reza said no to coming herself, she’d give him her Samson and claim ignorance than risk him going and stealing someone else’s and possibly getting hurt. He’d certainly needed supplies to go. He had seen vending machines about; he was sure he could get some emergency food and supplies via there or directly at the store cupboards once he knew where those were.

Still, he’d give himself a week to properly get everything gathered.

His attention turned from the table as a shadow moved into the corner of his eye, turning to see a pilot but not the one he knew.

“Hey, you Sully?”

“Uh-hum” he confirmed slowly.

The woman nodded away towards the door “The Coronel wants to see you in the amour bay. Come on.” She patted him in passing as she led the way.

Jake dropped his cutlery and rolled after her.

“I’m Trudy.” She offered as they went, though he felt a mild prickly sensation that… Augustine was watching him but he forced that from the forefront of his mind. Not his problem.

He let Trudy do most of the talking as they went, informing him about her job here, like moving the science ‘sorties’ around Pandora, passing through to the large bay where there were a ton of metal AMP Suits were lined up. Some being repaired or replaced or basic maintenance. Overly large weapons were being moved around and Jake almost got hit by a selection of Samson missiles on wheels.

“There’s your man,” Trudy gutted her chin out to a makeshift gym that was covered mostly by metal cage walls.

He fist bumped the pilot as she left then wheeled onwards to see the Coronel was bench pressing a series of weights. Almost impressive before the reminder that Pandora didn’t have the same gravity; humans would press more to get the same effect of a lesser amount. Otherwise, their bodies would get too used to Pandora and struggle when back to Earth Gravity.

Still, he had a feeling this display was for a show.

“This low gravity makes you soft,” Quaritch spoke, pushing up the last rep. “You get soft, Pandora will shit you out dead with zero warning.” Quaritch racks the bar and sits up, sweating but not winded. “I pulled your record, Corporal. Venezuela -- that was some mean bush. Nothing like this here, though. You got heart kid.” He rose to his feet calmly.

Jake considers what to say for a moment, before shrugging. “I figured -- just another hellhole.” Playing ball would certainly keep off anything on him; no one was expecting him to bail but he wasn’t going to raise any flags if he could help it.

Quaritch chuckled with some level of respect though looked past him out to the suits and made forwards. Jake rolled back to allow the Coronel to pass.

“I was in First Recon a few years ahead of you. More than a few. Three tours in Nigeria, not a scratch. I come out here; day one“ He pointed to his scarred face. “Think I felt like a shavetail louie? Yeah, well they could fix this if I rotated back. Make me look pretty again, but you know what? I kinda like it. Reminds me every day what’s out there.”

Jake chuckled humourlessly, though he could respect the man wearing his trauma how he wanted to. He rolled along towards the lift platform as the Coronel made to climb up the AMP suit’s leg.

“The avatar program is a bad joke –buncha limpdick scientist majors. However, this does present an opportunity both timely and unique. Clear!” The Coronel continued, adding the last to the mechanic to back off from the back exhaust vents.

It make Jake’s eye twitch a little at the insult towards his brother’s job and…another reminder that he was a tool. Sure, he was no scientist and would be in a different sector but this was far different to what he expected; a guard if best if he had any plans to stay.

Quaritch continued as he fit on the AMP suits gloves.

“A recon gyrene in an avatar body. That’s a potent mix. Give me the goosebumps. Such a marine could get me the intel I need on the ground, right in the hostiles’ camp.” Quaritch turned his focus fully onto Jake as he continued, “Look, Sully, I need you to learn about these savages from the inside, and gain their trust. Find out how I can force their cooperation, or hammer ‘em hard if they don’t. Maybe you can keep some of my boys from going home bagged and tagged.”

Jake dropped his gaze down for a moment, his hands tightening on his wheel bars for a moment to consider. A mole. A smart move not going for one of the scientists, they weren’t trained for it and could certainly cave to any pressure Augustine put on them if she suspected them of answering to other people.

But, being around soldiers would interfere with his bail plans.

“I still with Augustine?” Of course, being around a vampire was even harder but there weren’t as many of those around so he thought he had better chances.

“On paper. You walk like one of her science pukes, you quack like one, but you report to me. Can you do that for me, son?”

Jake nodded softly, composing himself to look convinced. “I can try, Sir.”

Quaritch moved, the huge suit shifting as he stepped out from his line. The massive suit mimicked the man’s actions as he tested out the range of motion “Look, son – I take care of my own. Get me what I need, I’ll see you get your legs back when you rotate home. Your real legs.”

Jake smiled, “That sounds real good, sir.”

“Well, alright then.” Quaritch nodded, swinging his arm down to bring down the canopy of the suit and walked off with heavy KLUNKs.

Jake’s smile vanished immediately, his eyes dropping down to his failed legs. A mole for legs. If he wasn’t committed to bailing, it may well have been a tempting offer. But that was committing a lot of time and emotional input into the Na’vi people and any failure on his part would lead to the fact the operation for his back would be taken away. They may not like humans but to get into their clan…to be trusted and to stab them in the back…. He could see that would only end poorly. For the Na’vi, they’d lose all trust in humans. Him, he’d lose his avatar. His brother’s avatar.

No, thank you.

He could live with his disability in peace at the cost of nothing. He had his avatar now, after all. He could live through that.

Jake had noticed Augustine’s colder looks which were somewhat amusing as the day went on, given she hadn’t talked to him despite knowing what transpired between him and Quaritch. She couldn’t, not without questions. He counted two others also in the program, other drivers which set his current count to four vampires.

Jake had since realised that…the vampires were doing their best to remain a secret. Not a total take-over just yet. Hence why Augustine hadn’t addressed anything with him, why they looked to put in the effort to be at the mess and… why they were using clearly forged biomarkers on their link-bed readings.

It presented an opportunity he would capitalise on. Their desire to remain secret would be his gold card to escape. They needed humans to survive, and all the humans here, he doubted would be happy to know they were on the menu. He didn’t know all their weaknesses or what was yet true against what was fictional but he had downloaded a lot more books onto his hard drives from the Hell’s Gate entertainment systems that he had missed out on.

The whiplash with interacting with Augustine in either forms was still a very jarring experience. From someone who was cold (in a few ways now) and critical but in her avatar, she was far warmer and open… looking like she had an enjoyment for life. Was she still a little snide today, yes but it wasn’t nearly so obvious as she worked and showed him about their plants in the avatar compound as they kept building up their avatar’s body.

She also gave him a fuck-ton of data-pad books and told him to get reading. He hadn’t but he kept the data pad anyway because she had given him a ton of useful information. Norm had been suckered to his side, probably on her orders to try and start learning the language but the scientist had been far too interested in the plants and telling him about them to get around to it. Jake didn’t seek him out on it either.

 -

It took three days before things happened.

Jake had been stolen…or more accurately, he had convinced Norm to give him a load of dried seeds from a few of the fruits and vegetables from the Avatar compound garden to ‘study’. His mother’s jewellery box was open and a ton of earth seeds in little baggies were scattered about his desk as he inventoried on what he actually had.

Tom was a genius, Jake had realised when he had first really paid attention to this. Tom had planned to take all of these with him, and possibly for his own benefit as well; fresh seeds were hard to come by on earth. He had spent a lot of money to secure these, Jake had seen the amount he had paid for for a small bag of corn kernels and carrot seeds. Thousands of dollars worth of seeds now lay adorned on his bed from years of collection. Tom was a botanist; he was sure that he had a plan for them to be grown here on Pandora.

Jake hoped they’d germinate and grow here as well; if he had human food for his human body, then all he’d need to worry about is Pandora food for his avatar. Which he now had a handful of seeds for as well, also bagged and labelled so he didn’t get mixed up.

All he had to hope for now was…that this planet could actually support Earth plants. He could try a few seeds out and hope to god it worked. He made sure to download the manuals on gardening from seeds.

Jake was just putting them back into his mother’s box before there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Reza stepped in, poking her head in first. “Sup. I’ve got—is that a cocoa bean?” Her sentence diverted instantaneously, coming in and immediately picking up the bag with a single white bean inside. “Oh my god, this is a beautiful sight!”

Jake twitched a little, holding his hand out for it. “If it’s possible to grow them, but I’d rather not just yet.”

“This must have been so…expensive!” She gaped, “Did he sell a kidney to get this?”

Jake gave her a tired look. “No….”

Reza looked away from the bag with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not sounding certain, Jake.” Nonetheless, she handed it back with reverence. “What else does he have?”

Jake slipped the precious bean back into the box, collecting up the remaining packets though didn’t entertain the question. “I take it you’re here for a talk, Nadine?”

She pouted a little but brought her leg up onto the side of his bed and tugged up her pant leg until her metallic leg was exposed. From her pocket, she pulled out a thin piece of metal and shoved it into the side panel and…lifted away a small section of it.

“Contraband, my dear.” She pulled out a thumb drive from the small space inside the mechanics “One stick of weed.” She winked, holding out a thumb drive.

“You keep weed in your leg?” Jake laughed because she did look to have a very small joint on the inside of the panel. “Neat.”

“A girl has to be creative with her severed limbs.” Reza sighed, “Why not for the short thrills?”

“I could do with this, thank you.” He abandoned his remaining baggies and reached for his tablet and held it out for her.

[What’s on it?] He typed.

[A virus. It’ll freeze SecOps external cameras for five minutes before the system detects it and removes it. For when we leave.] She grinned down at him as he looked at her sharply, brightening up.

Reza was going to leave with him. It made his heart skip in relief and excitement. He had better chances and company. He could relax a little bit as well. As much as he hated his limits, he could live with them and there was certainly a benefit with someone a little more able. And…well who was going to suspect a double amputee and a paraplegic escaping.

He just needed to get his avatar away first, lie through his teeth to not only security but to a vampire who would certainly know he was lying—he needed half-truths to support himself there when the questions with her present came up and blackmail to keep her off his ass. He may not have video proof nor was he looking for it but he could install some doubt and have Quaritch look into her or let them see what the group were doing to cover their asses.

Quaritch may be a hard ass but he was head of security; he’d find it a good project if he thought another department head might be ‘corrupt’ or hiding something. Jake could respect the man’s resolve to see it done.

[I’ll try and get my avatar lost once we have a location in mind. I’m planning to go to get more intel tonight.] He typed. [Get packed and ready. Get your Samson stripped of trackers and the black box ready to discard. Try and get it with extra supplies in advance.]

[Can do. But the longer we wait, we have higher chances of getting caught decking out my ship] she reminded, [a link shack isn’t easy to carry either.]

 [We’ll make it work, Nadine.] He assured, reaching forwards to pat her arm.

Reza eyed him for a moment, then nodded.

 -

Jake pondered his next move as he pushed his way from the mess one morning before he opted to find Quaritch and talk to Selfridge about his options. If it wasn’t for the fact there were people with super hearing, Jake could have suggested to Quaritch that they set up an ‘accident’ that winds up separating him from Augustine to give him a chance to run and be ‘found’ without it being suspicious on her part that there might be another alternative.

But there were people with super hearing so he had to be careful still on what he said to him. Augustine didn’t have super hearing through her avatar so he’d take advantage of the avatar’s limits on her to make something happen more naturally when they were out taking samples.

“Ah, Sully.” Quaritch’s voice echoed as he entered the control hub. “Just the guy I was hoping to see. You’re with Augustine tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Jake wheeled towards him, “Yes. First day out of the compound and into the jungle. It’ll be nice to see what the fuss of nature is all about given how much the plant nerds keep jumping about when they peek through the microscopes.” He remarked dryly. “I was hoping for a…better debrief of what’s expected of me if and when the Na’vi approach?”

Quaritch looked more interested and then nodded him along towards the holographic table though Selfridge was there, all too happy to see him getting into gear.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Selfridge grinned, “An action man. To put it straight, our mine close to Hell’s Gate is running low on ore deposits, to keep Hell's Gate running and for Earth’s needs, we need a new one. Our next best option, unfortunately, is in Omatikaya territory.” Selfridge spoke, adjusting the image to a huge tree, the 3D scans underneath showing huge veins running underneath. “Now… the best case we can do is get them to move and then no one gets hurt which is where you come in.”

Jake stared at the image for a moment, taken aback by the grand nature of the size. By the structures on the holograph, it was easy to see…it housed a huge village of Na’vi. For a tree to be this big and this big and this well established meant that the Na’vi clan that lived here had been here for generations and generations…thousands of years no doubt.

They were not going to move, short of death. No amount of convincing will even get far and even if he did follow Quaritch’s plan, they’d kill him first and give the RDA plausible reason for burning down this tree.

“That’s one…big tree. Must be thousands of years old,” He whistled, “and a lot of people.” He added, sparing a glance to Selfridge. “It’d take…a lot to even get them to move.”

“You need to figure out what we can do or offer to get them to move. We know Augustine plans for Spellman to be the next go-between given he’s a new face and fits her ideals of communication between the RDA and the Omatikaya but you’re also new and should…also be of interest should you see that opportunity arise.” Quaritch spoke, “We have dozers set to move in, an estimate of three months so you’ll have that much time once you’ve got in to gain their trust and give us a nugget.”

“I see…” He hummed thoughtfully. Three months…not a long amount of time. He knew not to cross them but…if he could help a little, then maybe that might give him and Nadine some breathing room in their territory.

“It’s either….you go in and get them to move or we forced them to move with a lot more heat. I know it looks bad killing the ingenious but there are worse things than bad press and that’s a bad quarterly statement. I don’t make up the rules here.” Selfridge waved off casually as if he wasn’t suggesting the worst possible option that would ruin and kill so many innocent people.

“We have the firepower,” Quaritch added.

“Alright,” Jake agreed, his heart twisting anxiously. “Less amount of bodies, the better. But…if I do this, I need to have a map of the areas, the dozer route, the clans and try and come up with a solution that I can offer them when I get them to go.” He asked though Quaritch looked a little less certain than Selfridge, “Sure, there’s a fuckton of trees but it needs to be as suitable as the old one, or better than the old one. It’d be better to have one not in the way of the dozers either. I don’t know shit about this planet.” He reminded.

Quaritch turned his gaze to Selfridge. “Think it’ll help that much?” but the hesitation was easy to see in his posture.

“Would you rather know your best alternative options than some new guy telling you to leave with nothing else to pull out his ass, sir?” Jake asked, adding the last to be more polite.

Selfridge hummed in agreement, “Alright but I want the tablet back by tomorrow morning before you leave. I can’t let you keep it all.”

“Oh, fair enough.” Jake agreed wholeheartedly with them. He’d see if Nadine could copy it all onto her tablet instead. He didn’t need the original, just a version.

After accepting the tablet, he wheeled off back to his bunk to study.

From the tablet, he looked through to find the abandoned link shacks and their locations first and only focused on shacks that had link beds. From there, the general locations in which they could end up at; a river or lake would be ideal. The flux vortex was a must to cover his ass. He found a viable location and memorised the coordinates.

It seemed that Selfridge in all his occupied glory had forgotten to even log out or secure the rest of the files on his data pad. The RDA Mining plans for the tree, the Bulldozer’s records and schematics and, by gods grace alone, more RDA secrets.

Also, another thing he had Nadine save as well when she had popped in briefly before he gave her his plan of action.

He had a location, he had means to leave and he had a link shack to steal as well. All he needed now was the escape. Twice.

 -

ISV Destiny was dark.

It still thundered on with the velocity of its trajectory outside towards Pandora despite the near-empty fuel tank. The Vault pods of people remained unbothered and only one of the two Valkyrie ships remained where it was. The other was gone and signs of damage were not unnoticed but the ship was surprisingly stable.

“So, to put it bluntly….we have three months before we…crash into Pandora.” The first of the four medical technicians and engineers spoke as they eyed the monitor of the craft and mathematical model of working and compromised systems.

“We can’t stop?”

“We’re two years off course, there’s barely enough fuel to start deceleration nor power for the system to access the emergency fuel supplies or equipment.” The engineer pointed out. “We should send out a distress warning if we’re able to get an ISV to catch up and resupply in motion…we could have a chance. Or give the RDA a chance to stop us before we crash.”

“You mean to kill us?” The fourth medic piped up nervously. “We have a hundred people in cryo! And two avatars!”

“We’d all still die if the RDA did nothing, Teresa. We’re on a collision course with a huge fucking moon.”

“Shut up, Elroy.” Teresa hissed.

The second technician remained quiet as the three continued. Looking over the reports the computer system had pinged up. “We can stop in time.” She announced after a moment. “Cryo vaults are sealed so if we go back into a cryo stasis had have the backup AI aid us. We can turn off life support from the rest of the ship and redundant systems, that’ll give us enough power to access the emergency supplies and keep the AI System running on emergency systems. We’ll stop in time… but the RDA will have to send a ship for more power to activate life support and awaken us and the crew.”

“That’s very risky. We have to help monitor the avatars still.”

“No, we don’t. They’re not been on growth hormones for months; only life support that runs on the same operating system as the cryo vaults, not the ship’s life support. They’ll be fine if you change out the drug systems for a cryo drugs to reduce their metabolism intake and use effectively use the amniotic tank as its own cryo pod.” The second one spoke, typing out their method and idea for the others to check over.

The engineer spoke. “We lost a ton of fuel... We’re still at risk of over and underfiring here…”

“I know,” the second spoke, handing off the data pad to be verified by the others first. “But you’re assuming we’ll be pumping the breaks all the way and the fact we’re still a month behind than a typical deceleration pattern and timings but you’ve not accounted for the fact we were still knocked off course. We start the deceleration as typical and run a slightly tweaked variation to account for being off course and for plenty of warning of the RDA ships that may be in orbit. We’ll avoid the resupply groups.”

“The math looks right,” Elroy spoke out, as he sim red it “It could work. Our chances would be far better.”

They all looked to the first. “Teresa, you deal with the avatars. I’ll get our pods sorted. Elroy, reprogram the greeting chime to inform greeting parties when they attempt to make contact and shut down the pilot’s cryo pods from auto-activation when the manual drive is important. We don’t need them to suffocate by accident.”

“I’ll get our pods sorted,” the third spoke, pushing off down the long corridor.

“Elena, double-check that supplies are secured and run a last check over each vault before we get in. I’ll get the AI systems active on minimum power and see to deceleration has started. Each of us, packs an Exo-mask in case we’re ejected out without life support active. We can’t help each other if we’re dead.”

“Yes, sir.”

 As the crew began to power down areas of the ship, the few lights they had started to go off. Areas. The engines started to kick into life as the first vault of two closed before the latter two joined them asleep.

All was quiet. All remained asleep.

 -

Jake had half expected Augustine on his ass the moment he stepped into the bio lab, though instead she was busy and so, he didn’t seek to open the option either as he packed his Avatar’s bag pack; adding his personal tablet into it as well as and subtly adding an extra canteen of water and snacks into it before putting it on the rack to be taken off to the longhouse.

“Okay, we’re on the flight line in ten minutes, let’s get going,” Augustine called as Max jogged ahead to the link room..Her eyes turned to him for a moment, her gaze surprisingly sharp. “However, a word, Marine.”

Norm was quick to finish up his last bag and scurried ahead with a final look back.

Jake swallowed his discomforts, setting his jaw though it did occur to him that Augustine’s lips and cheeks looked far pinker than the day before; it made him queasy thinking about it so he thanked the poor bastard internally for keeping her too occupied to overhear his talking with the bosses.

“As an avatar driver, you’re in my world. Okay. I know what we’re dealing with.” She spoke intently, “We’re about to enter Omatikaya territory. I get you’ve never been in a forest so I’ll cut you some slack but I expect you to behave with a gun. No shooting everything that moves because the chances are, you’ll piss something off.”

Jake twitched a little, feeling very patronised but it certainly coloured how the woman saw him. A jarhead following orders. He’d be offended about that later. “I have common sense, Dr Augustine. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

“Did you read anything that I sent you?” She clipped her fingers, gesturing him towards the lab.

Jake forced himself to roll after her, irritated. “I glanced at it.” He answered snidely. “I’m not a scientist, remember. Don’t expect me to be a replacement for my brother. I’m not him.”

Her head turned, her face schooled carefully though she looked more annoyed than anything. “Clearly, but ignorance will get you and your avatar killed. If you get lost or separated, the Omatikaya will kill intruders that aren’t in a travelling group.” She warned. “Avatars and their drivers have died before.”

For a second, he thought she was hinting at him that she knew his plan, his heart lurching for a second but the words were also hardly a comfort if it was true; he was dancing with death with his avatar so he’d have to be quick to make sure to get his avatar safe. She wasn’t even looking at him as she shrugged off her lab coat and handed it straight off to the other vampire technician who didn’t bat an eye.

“Wait, died?” This was Norm, peeking above his link lid in alarm. “Who died?”

“Three years ago, two avatar drivers went missing in the Tipani territory after a clash between the Tipani and the RDA, their avatars as well. A jawbone and rib were the only human remains returned to us that indicated their deaths. Another human went missing but no remains were recovered.” Augustine spoke, her nose wrinkling a little. “René also died in the conflict as well.”

“Who?” Jake asked, pushing himself to sit in the link.

“Dr René Harper. He was…the head of the Avatar Program before Dr Augustine. Clearly, after his death, she got his position.” Norm spoke, “I…did some catch-up reading…and people gossip.” He added, noting both Jake and Augustine’s quizzical look.

“He was a good man,” Augustine spoke though this time she actually sounded genuine. “Tipani were…unwelcoming, yet he was the only one who could talk to them….be friendly with them even. I only met the clan twice. The first time, I was refused.” She shook her head, almost sad but also amused. “One day, maybe we’ll actually start talking to the clans.” Her head turned to Norm. “At least with the Omatikaya, they’ll be less likely to kill you once a dialect is established.”

Norm swallowed thickly though nodded nervously and just got into his link.

 -

Jake remained uneasy, even as they landed in the forest, though he couldn’t deny the forest wasn’t overwhelming… the smell of soil…the plants were one thing. But…the sounds of bugs, and the chittering of animals were equally distracting. His grip on the gun was tight, but he tried not to raise it too much as they walked.

He had heard of the school; the building was run down and decaying and so he stood back to let the two collect shit for their work. He could see the effort put into the place, the books and toys even… the blackboard that still had writing on…that had bullet holes in. Behind the board, the entire blind was gone. It wasn’t until he saw Augustine lean more forwards that he noticed the scar on her back that became visible as the fabric lifted, watching for a moment how she straightened up it was near level with the bullets in the board.

“What happened here?” He asked, after a moment.

Her jaw tightened, yellow eyes narrowing intently. “You gonna help us with this equipment or not? We got a lot to do.”

Fair enough.

Delicate subject.

Jake followed along as Augustine led them through a particular route, pausing briefly to gather slice the trunk of a tree and collected it’s sap then rubbed it into her blue arms and face until it was absorbed and encouraged them to do the same to get rid of the insects and to smell like a predator; to avoid viperwolves. He made note of the tree type as he lotioned himself up.

He stood back as they worked, though it was tediously dull, Jake wondered for a moment how far he could get naturally before he was lost or found a way to make his escape. He could probably blame getting lost after wandering too far…

Jake eyed the treeline around him for a moment, though idly followed his impulse to at least explore a little. He smiled a little, still…amazed at how much life there was around him. He watched for a moment as a jelly-fish like plant seemed to float towards him. Dancing on the wind.

Curiously, Jake followed it, passing quietly through the foliage. Its body was...kinda cute, though he wondered what it’d feel like to touch. He dropped his gun as it stopped, forgetting it wasn’t strapped around him and reached his hands out, palms up for it. It drifted down coming to settle in his hands and its touches feeling like little kisses even, before he realised one thing;

Two huge fucking eyes were staring up at him through the foliage right in front of him. Hungry eyes.

[X]

#avatar #avatar au #avatar james cameron #avatar the way of water #grace augustine #jake sully #norm spellman #avatar rda #max patel #vampire au #vampire grace #vampire #trudy chacon

[holligaysduderanch]

Mellowment

Category: SM Humorous and/or Fluff "You're going to love this".

Terribly busy this month, but I wanted to get *something* in before the deadline.

"Come on, just one more." Haruka urged, keeping her hands just below the barbell Makoto was holding.

From the bench below where Haruka was standing, Makoto gritted her teeth and managed to push the heavy barbell up one more time. Haruka helped guide the weight back to the iron stirrups, appreciating the clank of metal on metal. It was a personal best for her friend, and Haruka was rather impressed at Makoto's dedication.

They had been working out together for the last few months. Once a week, Haruka and Makoto would meet up at the gym. It was a good opportunity to stay up to date with each other's lives, as well as to keep each other from flagging when things got tough.

Haruka was wearing a rather simple blue shorts and white shirt combo. Michiru wasn't here, so who was she trying to impress? Makoto, however, had opted for an emerald green sports bra and tight black bike shorts. Makoto almost never took off her rose earrings, even when she was working out, once more they were dangling attractively from Makoto's ears.

Haruka moved over to the nearby pull-down machine, intent on working her triceps. It didn't really fit into her natural rotation, but she wanted to stay close enough to Makoto to be able to talk while her friend rested. As she grabbed the hanging ropes, Haruka took a moment to recall the name of the last girl Makoto had dated.

"So...talked to Mari lately?" Haruka asked in a casual tone, beginning her reps.

"Mari? She's been a little busy lately. We keep in touch, but..." Makoto trailed off, clearly unenthused at the topic.

Haruka, grunting softly every time she did her full extension, simply nodded. Makoto was into both guys and girls, which was something she had in common with their mutual friend Minako. But their respective dating styles were worlds apart. Minako was open (perhaps a bit too open, Haruka mused) to having new experiences and meeting new people. She would sometimes meet a guy for lunch and shamelessly meet a girl for dinner that same day.

Makoto, on the other hand, would regularly fall head over heels in love with people with which she had the most tenuous of connections. Haruka had listened to many a conversation with a rapturous Makoto about everything she liked about the objection of her affection. To her credit, Makoto would usually build up the courage to talk to them eventually, instead of only admiring them from afar.

Of course, this deep capacity for romantic feeling meant that Makoto was often devastated when things didn't work out. Haruka did her part (and then some) to pull Makoto out of her temporary despair by pushing Makoto harder in the gym. The physical exertion helped Makoto to stabilize herself emotionally, and Haruka was happy to help.

Haruka finished her set and glanced around the gym. There, near the abdominal machines, a young woman was eyeing them. She was pretty, had a nicely toned body, and had her long, dark hair tied up in two bunches that trailed down her shoulders. Haruka gave the woman a polite, automatic smile, but quickly turned her attention back to her friend.

Occasionally, it would hit Haruka just how much she had changed. The Haruka of the past would have jumped at the chance to flirt with this pretty girl, regardless of how interested she actually was. It wasn't just that she was in a committed (very committed, Haruka stressed to herself) relationship with Michiru. There was a time, very early on while they were dating, when that would not have stopped Haruka from engaging in some "harmless" flirtation with a girl that had caught her eye.

No, Haruka had mellowed out in more ways than one. She no longer felt what had so often defined her during her teenage years. Haruka was no longer in the grip of that old, powerful need to prove something to herself. That Haruka could make any girl swoon, that she could outlift and outfight even a friend like Makoto, that she could leave anyone unwise enough to challenge her on the racing track in the dust.

The Haruka from back then would have been too consumed by her own raw feelings to find Makoto's occasional lovelorn ways to be anything but tiresome. Haruka knew exactly who she had to thank for this change in attitude: the love of her life, her beautiful, poised, astute wife Michiru.

Michiru's warmth (Haruka remembered Minako raising an eyebrow at the word, when Haruka talked about it) was what had allowed Haruka to cast off the tough persona that had gotten her through the rockiest years of her life. Haruka didn't know what she would be like right now without her other half, and she didn't particularly want to know.

The Haruka of today was observant and compassionate enough to think about the needs of others. As proof, Haruka noticed a small frown had settled on the face of her friend. Asking about Mari was most likely what had put it there. In a flash, Haruka suddenly knew exactly what to do.

"Don't look now...but there's a girl over by the ab machines. I'm pretty sure she's checking you out." Haruka said coolly as she began another set.

Makoto blinked and (rather unsubtly, Haruka thought) immediately looked over at the ab machines. Haruka was turned away from the girl over there, but she could see Makoto's face: a look of curiosity was there first, then a small blush appeared, then after that, a shy smile. Haruka gave a smile of her own as she finished her set.

"You should go talk to her." Haruka said encouragingly, dropping the rope.

"What, now? I don't..." Makoto began, swallowing nervously.

"Sure, why not? I'll tell you what: You can go talk to her, or we can start on squats. I feel like we should really push it today." Haruka said with an airy laugh.

Makoto made a face at the idea. But Haruka knew perfectly well that Makoto was already alive with curiosity when it came to the mystery girl on the other side of the gym. That was just the way her friend worked. No doubt, Makoto preferred to agonize over it for a while, but Haruka wanted to save everyone involved a little time and get the two of them talking to each other sooner rather than later.

"Okay, okay. What am I even going to talk about?" Makoto muttered mostly to herself, rising from the bench.

"She looks like she's heading over to the shoulder press. Maybe just offer to spot her?" Haruka suggested.

Makoto nodded, took a moment to visibly psyche herself up, and walked toward the mystery girl. Haruka grinned at the sight. Who knew, maybe this would be the one for her friend. Haruka could certainly hope, anyway.

As Haruka turned around to do her last set, she suddenly wanted, very much, to surprise her wife with some flowers. The very particular smile Michiru would have when Haruka gave her an unexpected bouquet was permanently etched into Haruka's memory.

What Haruka wouldn't give to see it again...

#Holligay birthday contest 2022 #submission

[christinesolstice]

That's The Way Of It

Chapter 11: Layer By Layer

Summary:

Jungkook and Brenna are both shaken after talking with the police. They know that something is not right. The rest of the members are in agreement.

Police Officer, Anita Barnes, realized was her sleazy partner is up to, and has now started digging into the background of the Niragi Family, until she answers a call that's not meant for her.

Niragi has someone on the payroll that he's getting information from. His patience is wearing thin and he's craving blood.

Wooyoung starts to spiral into a pit of depression until something snaps his attention out of it.

A secret man on the inside. A hidden friend or a potential enemy?

Officer Anita Barnes had seen a whole hell of a lot in her 35 years of living. More than anyone her age should have ever seen, that’s for sure. Being an LGBTQ+ person of color from the South, she definitely experienced far more than her fair share of racism and bigotry both. And just by being a woman in general, she had experienced many types of mistreatment and sexual advances, even in the workforce as a police officer.

Her life had never been an easy one.

As she was growing up she often had to fight for her voice to be heard, fight to be taken seriously and sometimes she even had to fight to be seen as a human being at all.

That’s one of the biggest reasons as to why she fought so hard to not be partnered up with Officer Hammill. She did everything that she could think of, aside from quitting her job. Her chief, however, seemed think that riding with Officer Barnes would be good for Hammill. Not to mention the fact that Anita was one of the last few in their group that had not had to ride with him.

Hammill’s partners came and went in an almost constant state of rotation. From the stories Anita had heard spoken in hushed tones around the precinct, she was definitely not looking forward to being Hammill’s partner.

For the first time since going into the police academy, she was not looking happy about going into work. Even on bad days, during some of their worst cases, she had faced work every morning with a willing spirit. Since being assigned to ride along with Hammill, her perspective of the job had started to change.

Up to this point, Hammill had been on surprisingly…decent…behavior. However he had alluded, he had hinted, he had tip-toed to the brink of impropriety on more than one occasion. Hammill had done it enough that Anita knew to always keep her guard up around him.

Anita's work ethic had simply always been, “Do it right the first time and you won’t have to do it again.” It was something that her mothered had always taught her and she did her best to live up to that standard. Anita believed in fairness, honesty and hard work.

Hammill was her exact opposite in al of those aspects. Hammill could often be found lying or hiding the truth, creating shortcuts and even shirking his responsibilities onto other people. Which are the exact reasons as to why is was so abnormal that he jumped at the chance to take on Brenna’s case.

Normally during their teams briefings, Hammill would not listen, interrupting incessantly or simply saying that he didn’t have time for their bullshit. That day, however, he was quiet. More quiet than Anita had ever seen him. Too quiet, in her personal and professional opinion. His little beady eyes stayed focused on the Chief, his pencil twitching in his hand, listening very intently to every single aspect of Brenna’s case, even bothering to actually ask a few questions.

And if people were shocked by his participation, it was nothing compared to how shocked they were when he actually stood up and VOLUNTEERED for he and Anita to take the case.

Upon hearing his words, Anita had whipped her head around so fast that she almost gave herself whiplash.

‘What the actual fuck…’ she thought to herself.

Even their Chief’s eyebrows slightly rose in surprise, which was saying something coming from the man who barely showed any emotion a all, even on the worst of cases. The chief agreed to the request and decided let them have the case. Anita had narrowed her eyes in suspicion as Hammill’s face looked like he was the cat that ate the canary - smug and filled with an over-inflated sense of self-importance.

Anita hated it.

*

Sitting in the squad car outside of the hotel Brenna was staying at, Anita had frozen in place, her eyes widening as the snippets she had heard of Hamill’s phone conversation.

Anita rolled down the driver’s side window a little more to try to hear exactly what her partner was saying on the phone. As she listened, her confusion turned to horror and shock.

*

“Yes Mr. Niragi. I’ll send over the pictures that we took of her as soon as I can get away from my partner. I know how important it is for you to find her.”

A pause.

“No sir, nothing. According to the doctor and to her own testimony, she doesn’t remember a single thing before waking up in the hotel, with her new friends.”

A pause.

“Yes Sir, memory loss, that’s right, that’s what the doctor’s paperwork says.”

A pause.

“The men? Two stayed with her when we talked to her. One of them as the one that found her. We had to talk to him for the investigation. There were five more besides those two.”

A pause.

“Yes sir. If she turns out to be one you’re looking for then I’ll let you know her exact location and the information of the pussy boys she’s with.”

*

Anita’s heart started racing as she listened in on the rest of the Hammill’s one-sided conversation.

'That bastard. That fucking bastard! It’s no wonder he wanted the fucking case. Working for the Niragis?!”

Anita knew immediately that this was bad news. Brenna was in some deep fucking shit.

Anita hurriedly rolled the window back up before she could be caught eavesdropping, knowing that she was in a very precarious situation, and she had to go about this extremely carefully.

Anita straightened up in her seat when Hammill climbed into the passenger side of the car, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. He grinned a sickening little grin at her and she felt bile rising in her throat, resisting the urge to cuff him on the spot. But she couldn’t, not yet. She had to have evidence.

*

Niragi’s feral grin became predatory as he hit the end button on the call. A warmth surging through his veins.

He walked to the large bay windows that were on the wall behind his desk, hands on his thin hips, feeling victorious for the first time since before Brenna tried to run away…the first time.

He tilted his head to the side, popping his tense neck, relief radiating down to his tight shoulders. Oh the way he was going to make Brenna realize that she belonged to HIM, only him. He would make her realize how serious he was, that she would never leave him again. Oh the hell that he was going to rain down on the assholes that were holding her hands in front of the cops as if they KNEW her, as she BELONGED to them.

He rested his warm forehead against the cold glass and inhaled deeply, eyes closing in contentment at the thought of the blood that he was going to shed.

“Sweet Brenna. Be very careful or I’ll make you bleed.”

*

Once the hotel door had closed behind the officers, Brenna let out a shuddering breath, nerves overcoming her. She knew that the questioning had not gone as bad as what it could have, but she also knew that something was off about the male cop and it worried her immensely. She had felt sickly nervous since she had laid eyes on the man.

Jungkook immediately folded her into his arms, holding tightly to comfort the both of them. While he had tried to be brave in the face of everyone in the room, it was the first time that he had felt as though he really could be in trouble. When the officer started grilling him, he had even broken into a nervous sweat even though he knew that he had done nothing wrong. His tattooed hand came up to stroke Brenna’s hair gently as she laid her head to rest on his broad shoulder.

Namjoon had taken their manager and their lawyer into the other room to talk in private almost immediately. A muscle in Namjoon’s jaw had been twitching like crazy for almost the entirety of the questioning, his jaw jutted forward signifying that he was truly pissed.

“You ready?” he asked.

Anita just nodded and pulled the cruiser out of the parking space, trying to appear as normal as possible.

*

Niragi’s feral grin became predatory as he hit the end button on the call. A warmth surging through his veins.

He walked to the large bay windows that were on the wall behind his desk, hands on his thin hips, feeling victorious for the first time since before Brenna tried to run away…the first time.

He tilted his head to the side, popping his tense neck, relief radiating down to his tight shoulders. Oh the way he was going to make Brenna realize that she belonged to HIM, only him. He would make her realize how serious he was, that she would never leave him again. Oh the hell that he was going to rain down on the assholes that were holding her hands in front of the cops as if they KNEW her, as she BELONGED to them.

He rested his warm forehead against the cold glass and inhaled deeply, eyes closing in contentment at the thought of the blood that he was going to shed.

“Sweet Brenna. Be very careful or I’ll make you bleed.”

*

Once the hotel door had closed behind the officers, Brenna let out a shuddering breath, nerves overcoming her. She knew that the questioning had not gone as bad as what it could have, but she also knew that something was off about the male cop and it worried her immensely. She had felt sickly nervous since she had laid eyes on the man.

Jungkook immediately folded her into his arms, holding tightly to comfort the both of them. While he had tried to be brave in the face of everyone in the room, it was the first time that he had felt as though he really could be in trouble. When the officer started grilling him, he had even broken into a nervous sweat even though he knew that he had done nothing wrong. His tattooed hand came up to stroke Brenna’s hair gently as she laid her head to rest on his broad shoulder.

Namjoon had taken their manager and their lawyer into the other room to talk in private almost immediately. A muscle in Namjoon’s jaw had been twitching like crazy for almost the entirety of the questioning, his jaw jutted forward signifying that he was truly pissed.

Hoseok burst up into the room as soon as he heard the front door click into place. Yoongi and Jimin followed closely behind, all three having been spying from the living room doorway. The three men all had ticked off looks clouding their handsome faces.

Brenna looked at Yoongi and reached out her hand for him, needing the feeling of safety that being with him had brought her since their first contact. Jungkook unwillingly let Brenna go into Yoongi’s open arms, fighting the urge to drag her away from Yoongi’s touch, knowing that he was being unreasonable.

“What the hell was with the gross cop? What’s his deal?!” Hoseok said loudly, sticking his tongue out at the door and flipping it off.

“For real! The way he kept staring at Brenna was creepy as hell.” Jimin said, flopping down into the chair on the other side of the table, his blonde bangs falling into his face before he pushed them away. “Plus the way he kept going after Kookie? I wanted to punch his stupid face!” Jimin fumed, crossing his arms over the chest of his big purple hoodie.

“I don’t like him. I don’t think we can trust him.” Brenna whispered quietly.

Yoongi ran his tongue over his teeth, deep in thought, his arm tight around her shoulders. “Hmmm. I think you’re right,” he agreed, “There is something really off about him.”

Jungkook nodded, “His questioning… was weird. It was like.. he was trying to get more information about me than he was about Brenna.”

“Yeah, he’s strange. MAJOR creep vibes.” Hoseok stated.

*

The man rewound the security tapes, listening closely to the voice coming through the speaker phone serting on Niragi’s phone.

“Interesting.” He said, rubbing his jaw with his hand. “This is good news for us.”

He then proceeded to save a copy of the video of the conversation on his personal hard drive, a plan forming in his mind, taking his spare phone out of a hidden pocket in his jacket.

*

Wooyoung sat on the couch in the house that he and Brenna had inherited, curled up underneath Brenna’s favorite old blanket, Mr. Worthington tucked firmly into his arms as he stared blearily at the TV screen, not even sure exactly what he was watching anymore.

It was noon right?

He looked out of the window and watched the sun try to shine down through the lightly fallen snow.

Yeah, it was noon.

Sleep had been alluding Wooyoung for several months but since Brenna went missing, it was like sleep was determined to escape him. He had tried teas, sleeping pills, meditation – everything that people always said would help. But it never really did. He may have slept for only a few hours at a time before he was woken up with terrible nightmares of Brenna, blood and Niragi’s smiling face looming over him.

Wooyoung and the gang had all been trying in vain to get ahold of S. Texts and calls going unanswered, the phone shut off for he was there, as was custom for his family. They all knew that S was dealing with a family death, it’s why he flew to Korea to begin with, but this was serious too. They were stuck between giving S the time to grieve or interrupting and letting him know that his friend was missing. It was hard for them to decide which course of action would be best. They knew it would be a while before any of them heard back and so, they were all waiting impatiently for him to get the messages.

Wooyoung tried to shut his bloodshot eyes for a little while longer but after several minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling, he knew that it was no use. Anytime that he closed his eyes, all he could see was Brenna’s face. Lee Know’s story about what he discovered had been haunting Wooyoung every single second since he heard it.

He had known that things were bad, he could see it every time Brenna would come see them. He could hear it in the way her voice had changed, how she had lost a little bit of the sparkle that had always been in her eyes. Hell, he even knew Niragi was fucking shite the first second he laid eyes on the psychotic weasel, which had actually taken a while to happen.

Brenna, who was normally honest with Wooyoung about everything in her life, had been hiding the fact that she had met someone new, let alone started dating them. Wooyoung only found out because he had seen a message come through on her phone and then, in true best friend fashion, confronted her on it, waving the phone in her face and ranting about how best friends were supposed to tell each other EVERYTHING.

Brenna admitted to it instantly, having already been feeling guilty about the dishonesty. She apologized profusely for hiding it, hanging off of Wooyoung’s arm with puppy dog eyes until he forgave her and snuggled up against her in their shared bed.

The two had shared a bed since they were kids, never willing to be without their comfort person for more than a little while at a time. Even in the orphanage, Wooyoung would sneak his way into the girl’s dormitory to climb in bed with her. There had never been anything sexual between the two, they had always been purely friends, non-romantic soulmates.

Wooyoung and Brenna had stayed awake all night that night talking since she was finally opening up about her secret Romeo. When Brenna showed Wooyoung a the pictures saved on his phone, he had jerked the phone out of her and screamed out about how “fucking sexy that asshole is” and “do you think he’s bi like me? If you ditch him do I stand a chance?” as well as, “do you two need a third?”, causing Brenna to dissolve into fits of laughter.

Wooyoung had pouted at her laugh, because, hello! He was definitely sugar baby material!

Brenna had stated that the guy, Niragi, was just so amazing that she wanted it to be s special-them-alone thing for just a little while longer before she told people. Brenna talked about how she had never experienced anything like what they had and she didn’t want the magic to fade away. Wooyoung had gone along with it at first, ever the gooey and hopeless romantic, eating up every single tidbit and morsel of information that she would feed to him.

And then he met Niragi in person and all of that quickly changed.

Brenna had finally decided that she wanted her best friend and the “love of her life” to finally meet. Niragi had even suggested to Brenna that they all meet up at one of Wooyoung’s favorite restaurants.

(His best friend having a hot boyfriend who let’s Woo choose the food and offers to pay for it? Yes please!)

Wooyoung instantly hated him and could tell that Niragi felt the exact same way. The guy was hot, but in person, he had bad vibes. And Wooyoung was a ful believer in trusting the vibes.

When Brenna was around, Niragi was, in all aspects, the perfect boyfriend. Devilishly handsome, well mannered, smart, doting. But when she left the table, the air turned sharp and cold, Niragi eyeing Wooyoung like a disgusting bug that needed to be squashed as soon as possible.

Wooyoung had kept the indecent to himself at first, not wanting to rain on Brenna’s parade, trying to be a supportive best friend, thinking that maybe Niragi had just had a bad day. But after Brenna had canceled plans with him for the third time in a row, his concern started rising. Brenna started acting distant, not even bothering to text that she wasn’t coming home that night.

Wooyoung finally called their friends together to give him advice on what to do. All of them agreeing that it was so weird that Brenna hadn’t introduced Niragi to the rest of them at all. When he finally mentioned Niragi’s name, Yunho and Chan, both, had started freaking out. Yunho immediately called Brenna repeatedly until she picked up. Yunho told her that she needed to meet up with them ASAP, that it was an emergency. Brenna had snuck out of the Niragi’s clutches somehow and met them at Chan’s Bar, their port of safe harbor.

The men had all shared a serious look when they took in the state of their friend’s being. While to the unknowing eye, she might have looked perfectly fine, they knew her well enough to notice the weight loss, the bags under the eyes, the bruises on the inside of her wrists, the way that she flinched when Chan had accidentally set a glass of water on the table in front of her a little too loudly.

Together with the other three men, Yunho and Chan had told Brenna everything that they knew about the Niragi family. Wooyoung’s stomach started turning as Yunho recounted some of the encounters his men had had with the other Family.

The whole time Yunho and Chan were talking, Brenna looked as though she was slowly sinking more and more into herself, becoming withdrawn, her lips compressing into a deep frown.

Changbin and Lee Know both stepped up with stories about how the Niragi family had tried to steal them from the Jeon employ, outlining the terms that the Matriarch had listed, the things that they were going to be made to do.

Changbin had reached out to cover Brenna’s hand with his own, and she had jerked her hand back as if she had been stung. The room went silent, each man, each friend, looking at her in shock.

Brenna had always been there, had always been their rock, their comfort, the one with the best sense. It was in that moment that some of them realized that she had done more for them than they had ever done for her. After all, why would she be with a guy like that unless she was trying to compensate for something that was missing in her life?

Brenna looked up, her eyes filled with tears, shaking her head no, not wanting to believe their words. Refusing to believe their words, filled with confusion and sadness, a deep wound opening up inside of her.

Why were they making her feel this way?

Why were they doing this?

Niragi had said that this would happen. He had warned her.

He was right, even after she had denied that her friends would ever do that. He was right.

Wooyoung had started trying to tell Brenna about what happened at the restaurant, but by the stubborn look in her eyes, he knew that it was too late. Her head had been stuck in the clouds for too long, twisted by Niragi’s words and actions.

Wooyoung wasn’t strong enough to bring her back down.

That had been their first big fight.

Their first true blow up.

Growing up together they’d had plenty of arguments, but that was the first one to where Brenna stopped talking to Wooyoung completely. He didn’t know what to do during that time, feeling like a piece of his soul was missing, feeling shattered. Did she miss him? Was she sorry? Did she hate him?

If only he could have known that the real reason she wasn’t talking to him was because Niragi had her on lockdown, moving Brenna in with him.

It was a long time before they were finally able to make up, Brenna was finally able to try to see her friends again, her inside man helping her be able to accomplish this.

After that, Wooyoung started keeping his thoughts about Niragi to himself, not wanting to cause any more issues between himself and Brenna, or causing any reason for Niragi to be angry with Brenna.

Wooyoung had lost every person that was in his life from childhood, the only one he had left was her. He couldn’t lose her too.

‘Maybe I SHOULD have said something.’

‘Maybe I SHOULD have been willing to fight.’

‘I should have tried harder’

‘I should have fought for her.’

Wooyoung groaned, tired of his thoughts spinning in the same ridiculous circles over and over again. Rubbing his hand over his tired face. He was just about to get up and finally take a shower when his phone went off.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hello Wooyoung

WOOYOUNG: Who is this??

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Let’s just say a friend

Wooyoung looked at his phone in irritation.

WOOYOUNG: Look, I don’t know who this is but I’m really not in the mood for fucking games so piss off.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I have information that might help you find Brenna

“WHAT!?” Wooyoung screeched, staring at his phone is disbelief.

WOOYOUONG: HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT BRENNA?!?!?

UKNOWN NUMBER: I told you I’m a friend

Wooyoung chewed on his bottom lip before answering.

WOOYOUNG: Okay friend, what do you know?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Find an officer named Anita Barnes. Trust only her, not her partner. Talk to her in private, tell her what’s happened. She will help.

WOOYOUNG: And if I don’t take your advice?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Then Niragi finds Brenna first.

Wooyoung’s nostrils flared and his fingers sped over the keyboard of his phone.

WOOYOUNG: How do I know I can trust you? How do I know this isn’t a trap?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I’ve saved your life before, remember?

*

Officer Anita Barnes was keeping a very close eye on her partner after overhearing his phone conversation. She had been purposely finding menial things for them to do together, making it to where he did not have enough alone time to send those pictures to the Niragi family. She could tell that Hammill was getting more and more frustrated as the day wore on, more antsy, more shifty.

When Hammill wasn’t around, Anita was researching the Niragi family, her lunch curdling more and more as her eyes flew through the articles that she could find. The Niragi family was old. Very old. Very powerful. A force to be reckoned with. Anita’s dark eyes squinted as she read page after page of crimes and murders that had connections with the family, although none had been proven of course, the Niragis getting off Scott free every time. The only thing that she couldn’t find was a picture or name of the current Head of The Family.

‘How can one person be so well hidden in this day and time??’

She was reading a very in-depth article about the passing of the late Matriarch when Hamill’s phone buzzed beside her. Glancing over she saw that the contact simply said Boss. Looking around carefully to make sure that Hammill wasn’t in the room, she picked up the phone and slid the answer button over, holding her breath and not saying a word. Picking the phone up to her ear, her eyes widened as a voice began immediately talking.

“I’ve that I don’t want to wait for your evidence. I’m sending my men to her tonight. Be ready to cover up a goddamn blood bath.

The call ended and Anita lowered the phone back to the desk, her hand shaking as a call from a Jung Wooyoung was patched through to her desk phone.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #bts fanfic #alice in borderland #fanfiction #bts fanfction #alice in borderland crossover #ateez crossover #bts crossover #jungkook #yoongi #jimin #hoseok #niragi #changbin #yunho #stray kids fanfic #straykids

[solasan]

20 - 29 + vórimë 💕

OC DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS

20. what is your oc’s personal hygiene like? is it important to them? what is their daily routine for this like?

it's as important to her as it is to most elves; she certainly doesn't like to go around stinking of horse or dirt — or, worse, sweat! — and if she happens to start feeling gross while on the road, she'll bathe in the rivers or lakes in her path. in rivendell, she keeps herself clean, which usually means at least two baths a day, since she spends the hours she isn't guarding arwen training to keep her combat skills sharp. but even by the time of the war of the ring, she's gone to war at least twice already, and war's a dirty, bloody thing, so it isn't like she'd find a bit of dirt so unbearable that she couldn't function.

21. are there any public events your oc would love to go to? concerts, plays, movies, parties, etc? what about ones that they would hate? why?

hmm this is a toughy, bc while i think that she does enjoy having a good time with the people she loves, crowds make her a little nervous. she enjoys celebrating nost-na-lothion while living in rivendell??? and i think she has an interest in plays/storytelling, but i couldn’t expand on that i dont think dshjdjssjkd. there’s no big public events that i can think of; maybe a vague interest in seeing aragorn crowned, but she’s a little busy helping mirkwood recover after the battle under the trees at the time to make the journey to minas tirith. oh!!! she probably regrets not being at arwen’s wedding / coronation? 

22. how quiet or loud is your oc? are they easily capable of sneaking around without being heard, or do they feel it’s impossible to stop talking?

i'm sure she'd like to think that she's very sneaky, and in some ways, she is. she's good at blending into the background of events when The Important People are talking, courtesy of the ~2000 years she's spent as basically a glorified bodyguard. she can keep her breathing quiet, and her steps in the forest are so silent it'd be tough for the best hunter in middle earth to track her. but she doesn't have the patience for true, calculated stealth; vórimë’s the character in the horror movie that calls out “hello?” to the pitch-black hallway the murderer’s hiding in. she’d rather throw herself into a situation and get a proper handle on/understanding of it than lurk in the shadows. 

23. how difficult is it for your oc to get to sleep? do they fall asleep the moment they hit the pillow, or do they have insomnia? any reason why?

it’s... not easy. as an elf, vórimë doesn’t need to sleep as much as a woman of rohan or gondor would, for example, so she’ll generally go a little longer without it than she probably should. when she does bed down for the night (usually at the suggestion of arwen or elrond in rivendell; thranduil or her closer companions among her soldiers in mirkwood), she usually has to resort to breathing techniques and counting exercises to lull her mind into resting, otherwise she’ll stay up half the night planning training exercises or guard rotations or god knows what else. she doesn’t have as many trauma-nightmares as she once did, at least, so those don’t keep her up at night to quite the same degree, but they happen occasionally. for the most part, she just has a very active mind.

24. how dramatic is your oc? do they make a big deal over every little thing, or do they fail to react to even the most crazy of events?

vórimë doesn’t seem dramatic at first glance — more formal and dutiful than anything, if maybe a little intense — but yeah, she can be. she’s proud and stubborn as a mule, and those she butts heads with (like thranduil, in the weeks leading up to the battle under the trees) are exposed to her dramatic side; she’s got quite the set of lungs on her. she won’t make a big deal over a sudden inconvenient but minor change (even if it’ll probably annoy her a bit), but if she feels particularly strongly about something — say, y’know, convincing the elvenking his realm’s in danger — she’ll unleash some oscar-worthy drama. she probably definitely threw something at thranduil’s head in the early days of their acquaintance.

25. how does your oc handle being sick? do they pretend not to be? do they complain a lot? how susceptible to getting sick are they?

she can’t actually get sick!! i suppose i’ll compromise and talk abt what would happen if she was poisoned though? which would be... nothing good. she’s a very “keep calm and carry on” type oc 🙄 she’d probably pretend everything was fine and dandy up until the moment she ended up passing out lmao. after getting better, she’d complain about being off her feet for so long and definitely throw herself back into the saddle too early, so to speak dhsdjk.

26. how stylistically fancy is your oc? or would they rather go for comfort and plainness instead?

honestly, vórimë likes pretty things!! i mean, i’m pretty sure that appreciation of aesthetics is a very elven trait? and she’s certainly not immune to that; she spends less time in gowns than most of her elf-woman kin, but that’s purely for practical reasons, not for a lack of appreciation. u can’t exactly fight in long skirts. but her armour is very well-kept and beautiful even before thranduil gifts her an honestly stunning set for her first departure from mirkwood post-war. her hair is usually very intricately braided to reflect her love of beauty, too, and she’s been known to wind flowers or leaves into it from time to time. the girl likes to look nice <3

27. what’s your oc’s preferred mode of transportation? walking, vehicle, (or in a sci-fi/magic setting) teleportation?

she prefers walking over riding a horse, but she’ll do either if she has to. she likes to be on her own two feet, always ready to move at a moment’s notice. carriages / carts make her feel a lil uncomfortable bc she needs to always be doing something, and she doesn’t like just sitting around and waiting.

28. is your oc always late, always early, or always right on time? is there any reason for this?

right on time; she’s pretty good at sticking to a routine / schedule, and she makes sure to keep herself very busy throughout the day. vórimë’s got a soldier’s regimented perception of time, i think, even if she does have much more of it available to her than a man or dwarf. but because it is so regimented, she’s not often early to things; she has things to do with the time she could be spending waiting around for things to start.

29. how empathetic is your oc? or are they closer to being a sociopath? any reason why?

pretty empathetic!!! she’s a very protective person — protective over arwen particularly, but also over all her people in rivendell, too — and that protectiveness stems from a genuine love for and connection with the people around her. she can be a little pridefully ignorant about men and dwarves (the latter particularly) but she still sees them as people; probably just... as children, rather than adults (on account of her age). seeing them in pain is, to her, like seeing a child in pain — and that discomfits her, she wants it to stop. she’s just seen a lot of ugliness over the years, and she doesn’t think that’s the way things should be — why have horror when you can have goodness?

#ch: vórimë #answered #chuckhansen #thank u sm airika i am hugging u SO TIGHTLY ilysm <33333 #these questions are rly good lmao im Learning Sm abt her as i go

[karenarella22]

Seventh.

This Chapter Contains Graphic Content, Read it at your own risk.

***

-Today is August 16th 2018, it is 10:38 and we will begin with the statement of Elizabeth Morgan, you can introduce yourself and tell us your age and relationship with the victim please-

-My name is Elizabeth Morgan...-

-Looking at the camera, please- I point to the device over my left shoulder.

-I am 40 years old and I am the widow of Nick Morgan-

-When was the last time you saw your husband alive? - I look at the notes in our file.

-I saw him on June 27th when he was getting ready to go to work- she moved her hair out of the way on a ponytail.

-What time was that? - I take note of his words.

-At approximately 8 in the morning...sorry I don't understand what are we doing here, the police already took my statement from me when they went to notify me of the death of my husband...-

-We know that, but in order to build a good case against your husband's murderer we have to have all the facts clear, it is good that the statements are recorded in case at any time the jury needs to see them as evidence, don't worry, these are formalities so as not to run the risk of the statement changing and this influencing the investigation, you just have to say if you think that you require a lawyer here and we'll call one for you, but it's just a routine statement, I don't think you'll need a lawyer, right?-

-Of course not, let's continue then- she smiles and settles in the chair, one leg over the other keeping her scrupulous eyes on every detail of my attire.

-Do you know of someone who would like to hurt their husband?-

-I really don't know, as I already told the previous officer- she clarifies with a hint of annoyance in his voice- Nick was very patient with people, he worked in customer service at a car dealership all day, so he didn't knew if he had enemies or not, we didn't talk about work when we were at home-I nod.

-Perfect- Dylan intervenes- How was the relationship between you two?-

-Well we weren't perfect, we had our arguments but we resolved our differences- she shrugs, downplaying the situation.

-Have you ever heard the name of Thomas Wester?-

-No, who is he? - She asks.

-According to the phone records of your husband's cell phone, Thomas Wester and your husband were lovers- she furiously clenches her fists, rising from her chair, hitting her hands on the metal table that separates us.

- How dare you say such barbarities about my husband? – Serenely I took a sheet of the evidence folder and placed it in front of her eyes.

-These are the conversations between the two victims that our digital forensic analysis team managed to recover from your husband's phone, some are explicit messages and others not so much but they profess an eternal love between the two of them, don't you think?-

-Then it was true...- she growls between teeth as she takes the sheets of papers to read them. She drastically changes her gaze letting us see the true self of this woman, aggressive and dangerous.

-Giving your attitude I assume you already knew about it- I crossed my arms accommodating my anatomy on the chair with my gaze fixed on those empty eyes that were hiding behind the façade of grieving widow.

-I suspected it actually- Elizabeth takes a seat back in her place-Not really until the date he disappeared-

-What made you change your mind, Mrs. Morgan? - I make more observations in my notebook.

-The day he disappeared I received a brown paper envelope, it had no address or postal code, what it did have were certain photos- she shakes his head from side to side as if trying to prevent these memories from reappearing.

-What photos?-that's Dylan again.

-Photos of my husband, you know- she rotates her hands clearly uncomfortable-.

-No, I don't know, ma'am, I remind you that everything you don't say or stop saying can be misused in court I need concrete information, if you need a lawyer to advise you, we'll call you one, so I'll ask you again to be explicit, please-

-They were photos of my husband with that Thomas guy- she gnashes her teeth with fury.

-You must have felt a lot of anger I suppose-

-That's right, but I just wanted to find him- the widow's pseudo-lament is interrupted by the door that opens, revealing Cadet Becket with a piece of paper in his hand.

-Becket it better be important...-

-Yes, of course, excuse the interruption- he approaches the table without taking his eyes off the woman- we found something that you guys should know- I take the paper reading it briefly.

-Thank you very much, cadet, this will be very helpful- I look back at the widow- well ma'am we'll take a minute, I have to check some information I'll be right back- I turn off the video camera, leave the room and walk directly to the conference room where Dylan is next to the sergeant.

I watch the screen for a few seconds, inside the interrogation room there are always two cameras available to the police, a manual one that allows us to interview criminals and close-up shots of the confessions that are later analyzed by the behavioral analyst of the police. Brigade and one built into the wall, usually to record interrogations of victims and possible suspects who, so that they do not feel intimidated, is always recording from an angle where they cannot see the camera, even when they are told that they are being filmed.

A completely different woman is the one I see now; she angrily walks from one side to the other as if she were a caged lion looking for a way to escape, rubbing her restless desperate hands in search of a little peace.

-Make the call I'll go for the prosecutor- I take the phone and dial the number written on a small crumpled piece of paper on the table. I look through the screen waiting for some new development. The phone rings on the other end of the line, the widow reaches into her purse and pulls out a mobile phone. Answering what appears to be an urgent call.

-Hello?-

-Hello Elizabeth or should I call you fury? - I walk back to the interrogation room- I think you will need a lawyer now-

-What are you talking about?-is she really playing dumb?

-Elizabeth Morgan, you are under arrested for 6 counts of murder and the attempted murder of Thomas Wester, in addition to illicit association to commit the crimes- I take the woman's arms and put the handcuffs on her with a little effort- you have the right to a lawyer, if you can't afford one the state will provide one...-

-Wait please, what can I do to save myself from death penalty?-ok... that was faster than I thought it would be.

-Depends on what you can offer us- I sit her back in the chair abruptly.

-I want it on paper, a deal that ensures that they will not give me the death penalty and that I will be serving a sentence in a minimum security prison- I hear the prosecutor enter the room.

-Good afternoon detective... Mrs. Morgan-

-Greg- I greet him without taking my eyes off the harpy widow who is complaining about how painful the handcuffs are.

-We don't usually negotiate with assassins, ma'am, why do you think that with you the situation will be different-

-I know the identity of all the participants in the murders, and the place where they usually meet, there are the plans of all the murders, they were planned and are meticulously detailed and also I know who the last victim is- she mocks.

-Who?-

-I want the deal, then I'll tell you everything- she leans on the back of the chair, I look at Greg who, with no other alternative, sits in front of her and begins to write the paper that will seal the fate of the life of some poor soul that he will not even know what he did wrong to fall into the clutches of this malicious group.

It all comes down to a sheet of paper and a pen.

Once I remove the handcuffs without second thoughts, the woman who at some point called herself fury takes the pen and signs her name at the bottom of the page.

-Ok now speak- I demand.

-Take a seat official because this will be very long story to tell-

-About 8 months ago I received a letter on the porch of my house, just a piece of paper with an address inside and a quote that said "I have information about your husband's adventures" this caused me a lot of intrigue because it was right at the time in which Nick began to act differently, the usual late arrivals, phone calls at strange hours which he answered in another room, the typical of an affair. Believing that he was a jilted ex, I decided to approach the address and see what was happening.When I came to a forest just outside of Little Peak, a very old cabin with a small windmill by the door near a creek, I thought for a moment that they couldn't get more romantic, the place is right in the middle of nowhere I was sure no one could find it- my stomach churns at his words.

That old oak shack was almost dismantled by the elements after we abandoned it, I don't think it's the same place but how many shacks in the middle of Little Peak can there be with a windmill at the door.

-When I got to the entrance the door was half open, I decided to go in, I went through the central living room of the house where there was no one...-

-Without so much detail please, this is not a novel- I interrupt anxiously, I move my leg trying to release the anxiety that just remembering that gloomy space causes me.

When I got to the back garden I saw at least six more people, the one I assumed to be the owner of the house began to speak, at first I was angry, I thought it had been a bad joke since neither my husband nor his supposed lover were there, in his place were six strangers whom I had never seen in my life, the supposed leader began to read from a book, old leather- she makes some gestures with his hands- it seemed like a bad joke but as he was reading his reasons seemed logical to me, he talked about getting rid of the impure people around us, of the problems that they bring us, he said that we should continue with the legacy that the universe had placed on our shoulders, he said that we should plunge this town into chaos again in order to cleanse our souls, his arguments were so convincing, as if a force controlled us since we entered that house, and we all agreed to do so.

That house, damn house seems to influence the thoughts of everyone who enters there.

-I need an exact map of the place where the cabin is located, please- I impatiently handed her my notebook and pen, as well as the names of all the people you met.

A Machiavellian smile appears brightening his face as she writes with all the patience a human being can have. The prosecutor motions for me to step outside for a moment, leaving her in Becket's hands.

#crime investigation #crime fiction #crime drama #crime #novel in progress #dark novel #female protagonist #female writers

[innoparticularorderblog]

His Girl Friday.

Intern year is a steep learning curve: part of it is spent acquiring the basic skills to work the EMR, hospital protocol, and rotation logistics and the other is spent fighting insecurities. The identity of a newly minted doctor, when one doesn’t feel anywhere close to competent, is a difficult role to fill. I liken it to a child playing dress up.

In October of my intern year, about four months into being a “real doctor,” I found myself on the Hematology/Oncology Service at the Veterans’ Affairs Hospital. I was following a patient that was particularly fascinating to me for several reasons. One being he had stage 4 pancreatic cancer. He was 87 years old. Looking at him, he seemed much younger. He was spry; his mind sharp as a dagger. There was a gastric mass now compressing his esophagus, and requiring him to have a PEG tube for his major source of nourishment. He was willing to try another round of radiation and chemotherapy, and I often wondered how patients younger, with more fortunate situations, were much less hopeful than this man. Despite his age, PEG tube, and a particularly grim prognosis, he was fighting each day. And he was filled with joy, humor, and fully aware of his circumstances, but peaceful about it.

He fascinated me too because of the way he treated me. I saw him every morning and asked him the same questions about his symptoms. It honestly felt like I was playing a role. Even when others would mistake me as a student, nurse, or CNA, he never did. He called me Dr. Lutchi. Despite my feelings of inadequacy, he insisted I was taking great care of him. When I felt like I was the most useless on the team and that my biggest role was making sure that his bowel regimen was up to par, and his nausea was under control with Zofran, he made me feel as if I was just as important as the physician planning his weekly chemotherapy and radiation schedule.

In our conversations, another fascinating fact was revealed: he was a retired financial planner and he was particularly expert in retirement funds. This was fascinating, because as an intern, this was my first “real job” with a paycheck. And being as excited as I was, I had begun storing away like a squirrel preparing for the winter, some tidbits into retirement. I mentioned it to Mr. D.  His response: give him a call when he gets discharged so he could help me with my future financial endeavors. He had written on a napkin his phone number and in his blue eyes reflected a man who had become my friend.

Mr. D did go home. On the day he was discharged, I remember our conversation: he told me that I was his girl Friday. It made me smile. I realized he was building me up. He was instilling in me confidence. He was pushing me to fulfill my role as a woman physician who had earned her degree, and her position. I was the only one who was keeping myself from truly accepting my role. We both left the service at that point in time, “graduating” from the Heme/Onc service together--him as the patient, and me as the physician.

A few days later, I was shuffling through my papers at my work desk, attempting to organize myself during my clinic week. I came across the napkin Mr. D had scrawled his phone number on. A pang of guilt hit me as I realized I had not called him like l promised. Would he even remember me if I did? Would he recall the insignificant intern who had visited him daily and talked to him about 401(k) and IRA accounts? Would he know how much I valued the way he made me feel like a real doctor, despite the little I felt I contributed medically to his care?

I called; the phone rang. My heart fluttered with apprehension. It went to voicemail.  I tried again. Voicemail. I was disappointed, but relieved too. I wanted to see how he was doing. But truthfully, I was more concerned that he would not remember me. Silly, of course, but these are the things an intern worries about.

Not long after, I ran into a co-intern who was currently on the Hematology/Oncology service, and who said he had read my notes on a patient that had returned: Mr. D. I felt compelled to call him but waited a few days before working up the courage to try again. In the mess at my work desk, I still had the napkin. I tried the number. Disconnected. My heart sank. I remember sitting and calling the number two more times, just to make sure. I somehow hoped for a different outcome—that it would go through. Mr. D would be on the other end, advising me on what stocks I should keep my eye on.

As time would have it, I came across my coresident a few days later. I asked him if he had any updates on Mr. D? He was a nervous one: jittery and quick. But at the name, his face quickly transformed, and he paused long enough for me to know something had changed. He shook his head. Mr. D had passed away. I felt the deep pressure that comes with loss. I thought about my attempts to call, his line disconnected. He had already passed away the day I called, but I had not known.

There’s some patients that leave me, only their faces, or a conversation, or a brief encounter. And there’s some that leave an impact far profound. Mr. D was that way; he fascinated me. And still does, to this day. For the way he pushed me to look past my own insecurities, embrace my role, and realize that it’s not just a costume—I am a physician. I am still thankful for his unwavering confirmation of this.

#hisgirlfriday

[loucutie]

super depressed and in pain bc it’s 38 degrees out and i physically can’t do anything when it’s cold like my body is Stiff and it fucking sucks and i took my adderall this morning bc it helps distract from pain but i’m also just so throughly depressed like i’m 24 and i can’t do anything without assistance in some capacity. i always feel like a burden and i drain everyone around me i feel like a bottomless pit of take take take and no matter how much my partner or my family or friends say i’m ok i feel useless. i can’t drive, i haven’t gone to college yet, i don’t have skills, i can only work a job for so long before i get fired or quit bc of my pain. i lost the house i grew up in after grandma died and my mom was getting paid to take care of her so she lost her mom and her job and i feel responsible. i got sick in middle school and she was in her last rotation for dental assisting but she left school to help me bc i couldn’t get out of bed without physical assistance. she could’ve had a career and financial freedom but she left school to take care of me full time and i carry that with me everyday. my dream is have a history doctorate i want to study archiving i want curate entire exhibits. i haven’t even gone to community college. i tried but had to fail out bc of attendance. professors were unwilling to prerecord lectures or even let me attend virtually. that’s why seeing how quickly schools made accommodations for virtual learning made me so angry. the exact protocols for online learning especially in the area i went to school are things my mom and i spent my whole high school career fighting for. when i requested to be able to zoom into class i was told it was ridiculous and it was just never going to happen but flash forward 2 years and it suddenly matters to accommodate able bodied students. location shouldn’t stop a child from learning! but it didn’t matter when it was me bc i’m already a lost cause. black, poor, physically disabled, why should we help her pass? it’s not like she’ll make anything of her self so let’s not waste the resources. i graduated by the skin of my teeth. i start working at a second hand teen clothing store (iykyk) it’s great and they’re willing to accommodate my needs. i work there for years but my body gave out and i couldn’t pretend to be “normal” so even with all the accommodations i still had to leave bc i couldn’t handle it. i apply for community college and it’s great for a while until my professors decide not to accommodate me anymore. one of my professors is also disabled. he had no interest in my 504 plan. i emailed him my dr note for missing class a couple days in a row and he emailed me back saying essentially he can’t worry about me and even if i have notes he refuses to record his lecture and so any info i miss is my problem. i asked what i could do to make my accommodations easier for him. keep in mind this is a cis white man who also uses mobility aids. he told me that i need to help myself more and stop relying on others. at the same time i’m also being medicated for my adhd for the first time and trying to adjust. i asked my english teacher for extra explanation on an assignment and she took every single opportunity to belittle me. i even explained my recent diagnosis and she said that if it’s not on my 504 she does t have to do anything about it and told me to ask classmates about it. she constantly critiqued without teaching us how to do better. a truly vile woman who is def racist (like when she failed my paper on the angry black woman stereotype bc “i don’t understand how being powerful and strong could be a negative thing. women have been seen a delicate and too weak to do anything so this must just be something you made up” and in the next essay prompt she put a little not that said not to talk about taxes or religion or social justice bc “my taxes are high enough.” like she writes grants for the hospital in the area which is terrifying. a racist writing grant for a hospital that has a history of profiling it’s patients.)

all of this to say i’m having the worst time with self worth and confidence in my abilities. i don’t have anything to show for living this long i can’t even drive a car or cook that well or move around when the weather is cold. laying in bed for rest is the most isolating experience. when i was a kid my days were just taking medication that would make me sleep for hours, wake up to eat something and watch animal cops, take more medicine, and fall back asleep. it was truly the worst experience of my life. i lost so many friends and even family bc i couldn’t physically get out of bed.

this pain has taken everything from me and so tired. i want to do something with my life but i’m terrified i’ll have to give it up bc i can’t stand for too long or be in cold temps too long or bend over or lift anything heavy. it’s so isolating. my partner is helpless when i’m having a bad pain day bc she’s a doctor but knows she can’t do anything for me in the moment. i know how much of a burden my disability is on my friends and family and i hate myself so much for it. i’m grateful they love me but i don’t want to trap them in this with me. they say they don’t mind but can see the toll it takes on them. i hate seeing my partner cry bc i’m in so much pain and she can’t do anything. i feel so guilty when she gets home from work and has to help me bc i couldn’t get out of bed all day. i feel like i’ve been afforded too much kind that i didn’t earn. all i do is ask for help or hurt myself trying to do it myself. both are humiliating in completely different ways.

i’m so exhausted like physically mentally emotionally exhausted.

#i’ll be fine tho i just need therapy #haha #mine #personal #disability #ableism tw #depression tw

[anotherfacelessjournal]

My grandmother probably isn’t going to be around for much longer, and visiting her might be one of the hardest things I ever have to do.

About two weeks ago now, I got a phone call from my parents. They told me that my grandmother had tripped over her cat, and that the fall had left her unable to walk. She couldn’t reach the phone from where she had fallen, and she’s always stubbornly denied the need for a duress alarm, so this eighty-something year old woman had no choice but to drag herself out to her front yard and hope that someone would find her. She was stuck there for almost four hours before one of her neighbors got home from work, heard her begging for help, and finally called emergency services on her behalf.

Apparently some strangers had walked past her front yard at some point, but when confronted with the sight of this feeble old woman, covered in her own blood and begging for help, they decided to run instead of stopping to help her. This knowledge has shattered what little faith I still have in humanity. Every time I think about it, I’m filled with a mixture of disgust, fury, and sadness that I can’t even begin to describe. Emotions that I have no idea how to express or process in a healthy way.

She was stuck in hospital for about four days, and given how much of a recluse my grandmother normally is, I know that she found every minute extremely uncomfortable. Her treatment was a necessary evil, of course, but I still despise the thought. They had to call in a specialised surgeon to stitch her back together, too, and he had to visit multiple times to fix everything properly.

That wasn’t the end of things, though. While operating on my grandmother’s leg, he found a tumour.

My grandmother is home now. She’s on permanent bed rest, with traveling nurses visiting her three times every day. She’s supposed to be building up her strength so she can have the tumour cut out, but apparently she’s barely eating. She gave her cat away to one of her other grandchildren. Even now, she refuses to entertain any discussions about getting a duress alarm, or a full-time nurse, or moving into a nursing home. Apparently she’s been talking about how the fall was actually a good thing, because it revealed her cancer, but my mother doesn’t believe her. She’s believed for a while now that Nana is just waiting to die, and I fear that her actions suggest as much.

My parents have been arranging a rotating schedule of sorts, to make sure my grandmother has a visitor every day. They’ve even reached out to some cousins that they haven’t spoken to in years, just to try and fill in the gaps. They keep encouraging me to join in, and I know that I should. I really love my grandmother, and I have plenty of fond memories of her from my childhood. If I don’t go and visit her before she passes away, I just know that I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Seeing her in such a sorry state will be hard, but ultimately worth it, just to enjoy her company one more time.

There’s one little problem, though. Her home is the place where I was sexually assaulted as a child. I haven’t visited her in several years, purely because the thought of going back there fills me with dread.

My grandmother was a foster carer for a troubled teenager. I was so young that I hadn’t even started to go through puberty, had no idea what sex was, and I idolized him as my ‘cool older friend’ in the way that only young children can. We had known each other for several months without any issues, and we had the house to ourselves one day, when he suggested that we try playing Truth or Dare. It started off innocently enough, and even when things started to get darker, I was too young to realise that what we were doing was wrong. That it was the sort of thing I was supposed to tell the adults about.

I don’t blame my grandmother for what happened to me. She had no idea what was going on, and even if she had, she would’ve been powerless to stop it. This teen regularly locked her in her room, threatened and abused her, stole money from her. She opened her house and heart to this stranger, and ended up as more of a victim than I ever was. She was too afraid to report him, to get him moved to another home, for fear that he’d come back and take revenge on her.

I need to see my grandmother again. It has to be soon, before that option is stolen from me forever. But I’m not sure I can ever go back to that house again, even now, long after that horrible person is gone.

I’m going to try. I’ve picked a date, and I plan visit then, come hell or high water. I just  hope that my courage doesn’t fail me when the time comes.

[tarryloesinne]

OMNITRANYL - 16. Despertare

“Somnus vitae, rudis sik... sik...”

That word is so hard to pronounce! Thought Gwen. Even so, she kept trying.

“Sikhtar... Sikhtiear... Ah, what the hell,” and walked off across the room.

It takes a lot of care and discipline to perform the spell. One wrong word and maybe Ben's head would appear glued to his right thigh. So every word needed to be said with perfect diction; every hand movement needed to be performed with the delicacy of a watchmaker; every particle of magical energy needed to be channeled in a surgical manner. Primum nocere, as medicine says.

“Somnus vitae, rudis sikhetaerdür, expirs sar thurr... Not thurr, dhurr...”

And he walked back across the room.

The young woman was apprehensive. Although she studied every detail of the book, she could not predict exactly how effective the spell would be. What if it got worse! No. This was not the time to think about that...

But what if?

She looked at her unconscious cousin lying in the hospital bed. According to Dr. Lünderg, Ben might wake up after a few hours. He didn't. He could wake up after a few days. It has been two days and nothing so far. Months? Years? It was impossible to predict.

He thought about his grandfather. The pain in his eyes. The guilt. Grandpa Max always took care of us, imagine the pain he must be going through right now...

She thought of Kevin. A hard shell on the outside, but soft at heart. He didn't know how to deal with situations like these. He already lost his father, his mother, now his friend...

He thought of himself. Ben was more than just a boring, show-off cousin. He was his best friend. It was because he had found this crappy watch that they were able to have the most amazing adventures! He found out about his anodite nature. He met amazing people and exotic worlds. And all this was about to end...

No.

It wasn't.

Gwen stood at the foot of the bed. She adjusted her posture. Both hands palms up, one on top of the other, not touching. She closed her eyes. He began to levitate.

The violet glow of his eyes flooded the room as soon as he opened them.

His hands made a circular motion, drawing a circle of magic.

“Somnus vitae.”

The circle grew in size, covering Gwen and Ben's entire bed.

Gwen's hands moved in a symmetrical motion, drawing geometric shapes. New shapes appeared drawn in the air and delicately positioned themselves around the room.

“Rudis sikhetaerdür.”

On his forehead three small circles appeared, one inside the other. The circles began to rotate, each on a constantly changing axis.

“Expirs sar dhurr.”

Around Ben's head, three hexagons were drawn in the air. They each rotated in one direction, with the young man's head acting as the central point of rotation.

The room was bathed in a violet glow, accompanied by white and pink beams that drifted through the room.

Slowly, Gwen returned her hands to their original position. She stretched her neck, moving her head back and concluded:

“Despertare!”

A metallic sound like a large bell echoed through the room. A white luminosity began to cover Gwen's body, turning her into a huge silhouette of light. Suddenly the luminous form began to twist and distort, being sucked into the moving circles that had previously occupied Gwen's forehead. Then there was silence.

In the room, no sign of magic or spells. Just Ben and the medical equipment keeping him company.

◇───────◇───────◇

When Gwen entered the interior of Ben's mind, at first she feared she would find various Sumo wrestlers battling each other, video game characters, or secrets that only the internet history had the displeasure of knowing. After all, we are talking about the mind of a teenager in full hormonal prime.

But this is not what she found.

Gwen was in Bellwod, her home town.

Of course, it was not a Bellwood like the one in real life, because if you paid close attention to the horizon, you would see that the image would distort or even disappear. But other than that, it was all the same.

In fact, something very important was not the same either: there were no people.

Gwen walked through the city, through the commercial area, walked along the avenues and even highways, walked through parks, and passed in front of her school. And in every place there was not the slightest sign of people.

Several times he called Ben's name, but received no answer.

He headed towards the residential neighborhood, maybe he would find some clue at his cousin's house.

As soon as he turned the corner and entered the street, he noticed the presence of the Rust Bucket parked in front of the house. Deja vu? Aside from the fact that it was daytime, the image of the parked trailer reminded him of the night Ben had his first crisis.

Not thinking about that now...

Gwen approached the trailer. On tiptoe and with her hands helping to filter the light around her eyes, she looked around for someone inside the vehicle. Nothing.

As she walked towards the door of the house, she watched the windows from a distance, with no sign of the residents' presence. Even so, he pressed the doorbell as good manners dictate.

Two arms came out of the house as soon as the door opened and pulled her by the shoulders into the house. Closing the door soon after.

Gwen prepared a mana ball in her left hand, ready to fire. What stopped you was recognizing the owner of the arms.

“Ben!” she said.

“Shh,” with a finger over his lips he called for silence.

“What?”

Ben looked through a crack in the living room curtain. With one hand he waved a “wait” at his cousin. He needed to make sure that the area was safe.

“I needed to make sure that the area was safe,” he said, although I had already said so.

“Safe from what?” she looked at the surroundings.

From above ― destroying roof, furniture, and perhaps some of the moral integrity of both cousins who screamed at the sudden appearance ― a creature falls in the center of the living room. Its appearance was difficult to comprehend, but its form was large, bipedal, with a broad chest and arms. Its head and legs were tiny compared to the proportion of its torso. Somehow, looking at the creature caused discomfort.

“Safe from that!” shouted Ben.

#ben 10 ultimate alien #ben10 #ben 10 uaf #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 #writing #fiction #fanfic

[neuropteran]

love that all of the og party have different family positions and you can see it in them clearly. lucas is the oldest child, mike is a middle child, will is the baby, dustin is an only child. and i love that the girls also bring a different family dynamic too; max has step family & el is in the shadow of a dead “sibling”.

#this post has no point I was just thinking about it #child death in tags tw #I’m watching broken on Netflix and up I’m to the cheap furniture episode #and when that woman talks about how every year they have to keep rotating the same few photos of the kid I’m like #I haven’t watched further bc I had no idea it was so common furniture fell on children and killed them #when she was talking about having to pull the dresser up I had to stop #that doesn’t have much linkage either I just #el rlly has to live in Sara’s shadow #and also when mike & Lucas argue you can SEE the big brother vs middle child in them #Lucas *pacifies condescendingly* mike *goes absolutely feral at being big brothered* #Dustin is *pacifies like he’s never had to share* #dot post #st chatter