Monterey Bay Aquarium
@theartofmadeline
Kaledo Art
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Andulka
Jules of Nature
Product Placement
trying on a metaphor
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
#extradirty
Cosimo Galluzzi
JBB: An Artblog!
Kiana Khansmith
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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wallacepolsom
sheepfilms
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from United States
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seen from Indonesia
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seen from Saudi Arabia
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seen from New Zealand
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@hayema
#𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐌𝐀 ( noun, arabic ) ; the loving one , the passionate one , the lost one. ♫
— a queue-based multifandom multimuse. slow going, general vibing, and fun only allowed. written by k. ( she/her/26 ) / rules & muses under read more
𝒊𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒙. ✽ 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈. ✽ 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒔. ✽ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒐. ✽ 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍.
this multi is so chill i'm on ever here for self-indulgent writing and i love it so much.
(✿◕‿◕) die (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)
PLOTTED STARTER ↷ @hayema
It wasn’t a realization, the way it came to her — like the slightest hint of a headache lingering at the back of her head, threatening to overwhelm her the minute she lost focus. Sam had been slipping into unhealthy coping mechanisms for months now. Lara’s interventions —minor, half-hearted attempts to reengage— had only served to drive her further into the kind of spiral she’d tried to avoid herself. It was maddening; no matter what she did, no matter how many bars she dragged her out of, Sam would always return. If she’d had any humor left in her, perhaps she would have called it emotional whack-a-mole.
There was tension, there. Hovering out of sight, out of reach … but always there.
“You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going like this.” It felt wrong, somehow, to be the voice of reason for once. Perhaps seeing her drunk again after spending hours cleaning her scraped knees had finally done her in. “Do you not get that?”
Anger was calling the shots now — rage born out of care, out of love, but rage nonetheless. Lara rushed her, grabbing the neck of her vodka bottle with both hands and twisting sideways; almost losing grip of the bottle as she ran to the sink with it. It wouldn’t help, she knew. Nothing ever did. But it was all she feasibly could do.
“I’m done, Sam,” Lara said, dumping the contents of the bottle into their gloriously overfilled sink. “I’m not letting you do this.”
time is a funny thing, sam had always thought. it passes too quick or too slow, and she's often just caught in the ebb and flow. ever since she had moved away from her parents, she had found a home she'd never known. growing up between the states and portugal had been fun, sure, but she's never lived until lara croft became part of her life. there's something about lara that makes time stand still, every moment worth documenting and remembering. sam had been obsessed with documenting time since her childhood, but she's never really cherished it until she met lara.
then yamatai happened. and time stood still once more.
sam has done everything since to force herself out of the quicksand, but every night she feels the white hot rage of himiko shred apart her insides and drag her back into the undercurrents. and she has felt it, the firey torch lara plunged deep into himiko's chest, a constant pain that just never goes away, can only be dulled, masked, drowned in anything sam can get her hands on. alcohol, smoke, name it. she's architectured the reputation of the party girl and has been keen on upholding it. it's all part of the sam nishimura experience.
the bottles became security blankets, sam swapping empty for full with ease. there's some sense, now she sneaks around the flat or escapes to the roof when she can't bare the look in lara's eyes. she's on her way when lara catches her and she's entrapped in her frantic rant, you're going to kill yourself. maybe that was the point.
the groan rips guttural from the back of her throat as her eyes roll towards the ceiling, she can't hear this anymore. every time lara starts it feels like fingers tightening around her neck, ❝ give it a freaking rest, lara, it's just a night cap. you're being dramatic. ❞ sam dismisses without meeting her gaze as she takes a generous swig and pats down her pockets to make sure the box of cigs is on her.
she's frozen, suddenly, like a dear in headlights when lara charges at her, her feeble grip on the bottle is nothing in comparison to lara's. she even flinches and stumbles back into the wall, watching with eyes so wide they would pop out of her head when lara crosses the length of their flat in seconds, and she watches her pour the contents of the bottle down the sink. white hot rage, it splits her head and claws at the back of her throat.
❝ what the fuck is wrong with you ? jesus christ! ❞ sam begins shaking her head, with the bottle gone, sam has no choice but to rip a stick of tobacco from her box and try to light with shaking fingers, ❝ you know what, no. i'm the one who's done with this holier than thou thing you've got going on. i'm trying to move on and live a little, you should try it too. you're in this damn apartment all the time. ❞ the raging storms calm as the smoke sweeps into sam's lungs and she continues on, searching for her boots, ❝ i'm going out. ❞
Alexandra Trusova
EMILY CAREY Photographed by Rachel Smith for WWD (2022)
❝ back to my place then. ❞ fuck him sideways, he has no idea what he's doing. the urge to reach up and rip his hands through his hair is powerful, but he resists. they spend enough time studying one another that he knows anya will spot the nervous tell. and right now more than ever, teddy knows that he can't afford to look unsure about this. if he does --- even for a second --- she'll pull back. close off. throw up those walls that she keeps permanently around her like a fortress.
but christ, having her in his place? surrounded by his things? probably bulldozed over by his dog? eating his food, showering in his shower, sleeping in his bed ---- he's in over his head and he knows it. he could just argue her other point, give himself something else to distract them both. but he can't trust himself to be level headed and relaxed about her claims that her coach is looking out for her. because she's not. there's a difference between looking out for an athlete and pushing them, and then over-extending them to the point of breaking. anya is a certified badass, hell on blades and dynamite on the ice, but she's not unbreakable.
teddy leans down to scoop up her bag, hoisting it over his shoulder as he watches her hobble on the crutches. his jaw clenches and he has half a mind to just lift her by the waist and carry her all the way out to his car, but he needs to choose his battles carefully, and he's just won a major one. ❝ i should warn you, ❞ he clears his throat, attempts for some semblance of his usual casualness, ❝ puck --- my dog --- his bark's a lot worse than his bites and if he gets in your way, just give him a little nudge. he can get a little... underfoot. ❞ maybe he should warn her about the heap of laundry in his closet that he still hasn't done. or the haphazard pile of hockey equipment still taking up space in the corner of his living room, or the fact that he's pretty sure he never cleaned up the kitchen from last night. fucking hell, this was a bad idea. ❝ you uh... you got anything we should grab before we head over there? ❞
some people would attribute this as some sort of milestone, to be in each other's homes. but anya doesn't think of it that way, her home has always been on the ice, and teddy's been a first unwelcome, then welcomed guest for quiet a while now. now, she thinks he's inseparable from it, intertwined with everything that makes her feel whole. so it's lost on her, possibly, the magnitude of teddy's offer. it doesn't even dawn on her that, while anya's life has been devoid of any secret crevasses, she's only ever been a figure skater first, teddy likely knows everything about her ... she doesn't know much about his life prior to skating. maybe that's what really picks at her mind, teddy has gone above and beyond to really know her, and she can't say she's done the same.
her lips split into a smile, a little strained as she puts her weight on the crutches when he mentions the dog. ❝ so that's one mystery solved. ❞ she reaches to pick up a long strain of golden hair from teddy's shirt, a brow arched as she flicks it away. ❝ i can't wait to meet puck. ❞ she extends another smile, this time it's kinder, to dispel the tension that still clings to them both. she takes a moment to find balance on her crutches, it brings back bitter memories of her year in recovery, but she shakes off that cloying from her chest as she takes a tentative step forward, one then another.
anya hums as she mentally checks the items in her bag now resting on teddy's shoulder, as she does thrice every single morning, before every practice. when she's sure she needs nothing she shakes her head, all her effort is going into not sinking into that inviting abyss she feels like dances at the precipice of. the truth is that, anya doesn't even need to be prompted to be aggressive with her own recovery. the year she took off the ice had to be one of the worst years of her life, the unknown of whether she'll ever get as good as she used to be before, the looming of her aging out of competing brackets for the title she desperately wanted to win. she couldn't forgive any injury or allow for any vulnerability. she's at unease knowing now teddy would barricade her charge forward, and she's not sure how to feel about it. there's a part that's grateful for the allowance, no one's ever given her the space. not even herself. her expectation are set so impossibly high that knowing she's falling short is just the final nudge that could push her over the edge.
somehow she manages to miraculously hobble over to teddy's car, shaking off the familiar ache of carrying her weight on her arms as she slides into the passenger's seat. her hands fold nervously in her laps as she waits for teddy to appear next to her, eyes flicker between the mirrors as she forces herself to sit with the fact she wouldn't be practicing today. ❝ we should work on playlists for the long program. i had a couple of ideas. ❞ she pipes immediately as she rubs a red patch into the base of her thumb. in her mind, they've already qualified. not skating the nationals in a few days is simply not an option.
there's a moment when the music fades out, when the applause becomes a white noise and all anya feels is the beads of sweat freezing on flushed skin, the warmth of @ofthclight's hands where they lay on her in the finale of their performance, the entire rink becomes silent except for labored breaths forming clouds between them. anya thinks of that moment as what heaven could truly be like, refractory bliss that eventually gets invaded by the announcer's boom that splits the silence for applause and cheers to infiltrate and anya and teddy return to earth.
it's a high anya rides and chases and craves in its very intensity, she leaves teddy in the dressing room as the event draws to a near end, as she treks out to the parking lot, packed with with cars of the audience and cars of contestants and their coaches. the song from their earlier performance plays loudly from the earbuds she's wearing, she's too indulged in their victory, as the medal swings upon her chest along with the literal skip in her step. now is the perfect time to gift teddy one of her favorite books, wrapped and stowed in the car's trunk for this very moment, when they're so close to their goal.
she doesn't hear the footsteps behind her, nor does she sense the shifting gravels as they approach. suddenly she's thrown into a car's hood, the ribbon of the medal tightens like a noose as they fling her aside. air gets knocked out of her chest with the force of the impact, she doesn't even hear her own voice, she doesn't remember if she screams as her arms come up to push against the scrawny chest of the man who flings her once more, this time the mesh sleeves decorated in strass rip in his grip, and she lands palms first onto the ground, head bounces off the concrete, earbuds clatter somewhere under the car, the song still plays, the smooth riff of a bass guitar scores her horror when the pipe rises and strikes her knee, and footsteps scurry off as more draw close, rescuers, perhaps? the rink's security ? random parking lot stragglers ? more attackers ?
she's too shell shocked to think, the world around her becomes too loud for anya to register. she can only hear the muted song play on and on, the earbuds still connected to her phone. red and blue lights flash, there's a distant siren somewhere, someone is wailing, the axis of the world around her shifts and she realises someone sits her up, she realises she's the one who's wailing, her face is red and hot and swollen with tears, her throat is so closed from the force of her cries she can barely breathe. that's when she sees the flash of blonde and blue, and she clings to it desperately, as she's gathered into a familiar warmth, and finally she finds the words, ❝ my knee, god, my knee ...❞
semi plotted starter for teddy wyatt.
the better part of the past few months have been about building trust between them. or rather, it's been about getting her to trust him --- trust that he won't fuck this up for her, trust that he won't taint her precious, pristine image, trust that he won't drop her on her ass on the ice. right now he's thinking that maybe it should have been the other way around. because right now? with her blinking up at him with that gentle expression in her eyes, nodding her head and mouthing an agreement that he doesn't quite feel, he's not so sure he can trust her.
teddy exhales a rough, scraping breath, tilting his head even further forward until the tips of his hair brush against her forehead. his eyes capture hers and hold them there, and it terrifies him a bit that as hard as he searches out a hint of insincerity or falsehood in her promise, he can't see it. but he knows her. knows her well enough to know that when her coach calls her tomorrow for a last minute practice or drill or something, she'll be hauling her cute ass out of bed and making it to the rink.
despite his better judgment, teddy nods and his hand lifts to curl gently at the back of her neck, keeping her head tipped back so that she's looking up at him. they don't need the extra practice on the routine, she could do it in her sleep and he could match her movements as easy as he breathes or blinks or exists. and as much as it is the routine that gets them the scores, their chemistry matters just as much with the fans and judges alike. and that, that might just be his in.
❝ okay. ❞ he finally relents, fingers slipping through her hair where it cascades down her spine. ❝ but you're coming to stay at mine so i can make sure you're keeping to your word. ❞ it'll earn him a grimace or a glare or a sharp tongue, he already knows that. same way she probably knows that it won't deter him. turning ( and keeping one hand on her waist just in case she gets any kind of ideas about getting up herself ) teddy grabs the crutches and holds them up for her to slip off the table. ❝ full rest --- or i'm telling everyone that my knee's fucked up again and my coach isn't the same type of hardass as yours is. ❞
over the months of training, teddy had become someone anya's knows like the back of her hand. so well that she can see his tension flow freely in the way he regards her unsurely. she's never quiet minded throwing off people in her company, sometimes she even enjoyed it, but at this moment she didn't enjoy the way teddy's looking through her, as if hoping to find something, uncertainty rippling across his features in throes. he knows her just as well, then.
so she lets him get closer that they're sharing air, her eyes watch his as his hair brushes her skin, and her hand squeezes his as her other one lands against his waist, tugging lightly at the fabric of his shirt. caution abandoned, it's not like their relationship is a secret, and even though her coach didn't seem too pleased by the fact, she didn't object because it fed directly into her performances. which is what anya's counting on. though she can't help but wonder, now, if the choice came down to it, would she choose teddy? she hopes she never has to find out.
anya lets the weight of her head press into his hand as she looks up at him, shoulders fallen and relaxed when he finally relent, and he does, on one condition that is not made better received by the soft motion of his fingers moving through her hair. anya huffs at loud, head shaking, and holds the profanities instead as she shoots teddy a silent, really ? is that necessary ? well rounded, stern eyes. he's onto her, clearly, she didn't suspect it but now she's sure.
❝ she looks out for me, okay ? you don't need to be so harsh about her. ❞ anya's defense is weak, as she slips her arms through the supports of the crutches and pulls herself up. it takes a minute to find the right balance, keeping her foot off the ground so not to trigger any pains, as she peers up at teddy finally, ❝ back to your place then ? ❞ anya arches a brow to show she's game, she's not resisting at all. there are worse places to be, after all.
he hates that his attention snags on her hair, and he hates more that this isn’t the first time he has. it’s a complete contradiction to how he envisions her. long tendrils of loose curls that he knows, from brief experience, are softer than they appear. her hair has always struck him as wild and untamed, so unalike the woman that she presents herself to be. anya herself can be cold and icy, rigid. and it’s moments like this when teddy can’t help but marvel at her a bit. she’s like a puzzle, or a math problem, and despite the fact that he’s never been the type to enjoy either, he finds himself wanting to pry her apart piece by piece to find out how she works.
❝ pretty sure the paint splatter guy and the guy who painted a bunch of shapes would disagree with that, ❞ teddy murmurs. whereas anya’s reputation in this community is for being precise and pristine, his own is practically the opposite. he played hockey before, and in so many ways he still skates like he’s chasing a puck. he’s brawn and muscle and yes, his movements have been critiqued for not being quite as fluid as some of his counterparts. he’s not exactly graceful, but what he makes up for in the lack of grace, he makes up for in dedication and showmanship. he might not be what most people envision when they picture a figure skater, but ( according to critics, twitter users, and a few coaches ) there’s something damn appealing to watching him skate.
teddy watches her as she skates towards the remote. it’s impossible not to watch her skate. her job is to look beautiful and elegant and effortless, and his job has always been to make her look good. to catch her, and to present her, and to play her opposite in their show. anyone that watches her might make the mistake of thinking she’s a natural at this, that skating and performance comes to her as if its a second nature — but he knows otherwise. anya practices every day, for hours. and when she’s not here, he knows she’s doing other things. working through the routine in a ballet studio, making adjustments to her movements. she lives, breathes, and sleeps this sport, and he won’t be the one to let her down.
before she can leap into his arms though ( he likes this bit of the routine, always feels like it makes him look heroic and dashing and he knows it’ll be the moment that people fawn over for the next several years ), she deviates. like he always does, teddy follows. he stops several inches behind her, but then he braves the distance, setting a hand at her waist and leaning over the railing with her. quick breaths, her foot picking the ice — it looks to him like it might be something closer to panic than anything else. ❝ ayn, ❞ he shortens her name to just the first syllable, deep voice softening as he coaxes her focus towards him. ❝ trust me — for the next fifteen minutes, alright? and then you can throw me through whatever sadistic drills you have in that head of yours and i won’t even complain. ❞ his hand slides up from her waist to find the taught space between her shoulder blades and teddy rubs once. twice. shifts his hand so that his thumb can stoke the taught muscle at the back of her neck. ❝ i’m not gonna drop you. ❞
anya's always been fascinated by figure skating from her youth, even as a little girl she would find the shapes and draw them with chalk into the sidewalk and try to glide on solid ground, as much as a little girl could. she's grown an understanding of how the literal form of figure skating became the art that it is today, she grew up watching the grace on eyes on dancers male and female alike and fell in love with their swan songs. she wonders how a man like teddy became a figure skater, with what seems like so little regard to the sport's history, even though he was good, not that she'd ever admit that out loud. something about the ruggedness in the way he moves paints her a picture of who he is, and it's certainly not the smug joker before her, cracking limericks at any chance he gets. though she's usually annoyed enough by him that curiosity never forges through the thick veil of her ire, he's quiet impressive on that front as well.
all that is pushed aside when the routine starts, but anya's resolve crumbles when the worry flurries through her and leaves her as raw as a livewire. teddy stays close, almost in step with her as he always is, while she leans over the railing and draws in sharp, curt cold air into her lungs. she taps the ice with her inhales, but even the taps are staggered as her breath is, it leaves her lightheaded, gripping the siderail of the rink even harsher, almost sure the edge of the rail will leave red welts into her cold palms. it's not his touch on her waist that pulls her back, but his voice, low and careful, as he shortens her name into an unfamiliar nickname, and she blinks owlishly ahead, air stilling in her chest as her head turns only briefly, not fully towards him.
his hand moves between her shoulders, coaxes the icy air to thaw her chest and escape in a shudder from her glossed lips as her eyes finally peer up at him, properly, not out of her periphery. he's so good that it cajoles a half-hearted eye roll from her, not quiet packed with vitriol so much as it's laden in a wary tut at his promise. fifteen minutes. anya's eyes close when his thumb pushes into the chords of her neck, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she plants her blade into the ice and blinks away that cloying feeling that keeps her earth-bound, rather than a soaring grace in his arms. she doesn't think much of the touches, touch is simply how they communicate. if anything she preferred it better when they talked with their bodies, rather than banter and unending tit for tat.
i'm not gonna drop you. her lids drag over her eyes as she slow blinks up at him, everything in his language, both audible and visible, steeps in the sincerity of his words. not a promise, but an oath. this partnership is never going to work if she doesn't trust him, and anya would be damned if she's the hurdle that stops her from achieving the goal she so desperately craves. ❝ alright. ❞ she finally whispers, even her own voice sounds foreign to her in this moment. she doesn't recognize it, but she clears her throat as she releases one hand from the railing and instead presses her palm flat against the center of his chest, bracing herself against his. ❝ alright. let's start from the top. ❞
@hayema | Closed Starter.
Jill is hanging about the bridge with Joker and Lt. Alenko, waiting for the last of the Normandy’s crew to arrive.
Their chatter mostly revolves around the one thing everyone on the ship has been talking about: what kind of shakedown run is this? Mission details have been sparse, so far. All they know is that they’re headed to Eden Prime. And to make things more… interesting, they even have a Turian Spectre on board. Jill doesn’t know much about Nihlus except that he’s one of the most decorated Spectres of the Citadel Council. It still doesn’t explain why he’s been assigned to supervise a human crew on a shakedown run. Shouldn’t Spectres have more important things to do?
Perhaps once everyone is here, Captain Anderson will give them more details. Really, they’re only waiting for one person to join them.
The mere thought of seeing him again makes Jill want to jump in excitement. Of course, being the professional that she is, that excitement is hidden behind a display of calm and collected demeanor while she casually chats to the two men in her company.
Commander Jackson Shepard will be arriving soon. Jill hasn’t seen him since he was awarded with the Star of Terra medal after the Skyllian Blitz. Something that humanity will remember for years to come. But saving a colony is far from being the only thing Jill remembers about Commander Shepard. Before becoming a war hero, he was a savior—her savior.
The events of that day have stayed with her for so long. Not just because of Shepard’s involvement, but because of everything else that transpired. An investigation of an old, supposedly abandoned base led to the deaths of almost every single member of her squad. A trap set by her own commanding officer, turning her and the rest of the team into test subjects for Cerbersus’s latest experiments.
Jill had to watch many comrades die that day, and if it weren’t for Shepard’s intervention, if he hadn’t shown up with backup when he did, Jill wouldn’t have made it out alive, either.
She dreamed of working alongside Shepard again ever since, and today, that dream might very well come true. If only he’s here.
Isn’t he late? Jill checks her omni-tool for the time. The meeting is supposed to be in less than five minutes. Everyone else of the skeleton crew that’s been assigned to the Normandy is here. Everyone except for Commander Shepard. Could something have gone wrong?
Jill leaves both Joker and Kaidan in the bridge, walks past the combat information center, headed to the comm room to find Captain Anderson and check with him. That’s when the door to her left glides open, and in walks the subject of her thoughts.
In shades?
Everyone around her snaps into a hard salute, including Cpl. Jenkins and Navigator Pressly. It takes Jill a second before she comes out of her daze and does the same, holding a firm salute. There’s something awfully strange about the man in front of her. “Commander Shepard, sir,” she manages anyway. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
normally, being pulled out of his leave for a tour would have come with resistance on jax's part, but he could never deny anderson. the captain hadn't tried to wax lyrical about the commendations that come with being an executive officer of a decorated edifice that is the newly minted normandy, a bridge in turian-human affairs that is meant to pave way for future of expansion in the alliance's powers. jax had memorized the public relations manifesto, and frankly, all the star spangled wander had left him on that day on elysium. not enough bars or stars could bring back what the blitz had taken away from him.
of course, anderson understood that. in fact, it had been anderson who ram-rodded jax's integrity when the blitz had beaten him into a shell. the colony had survived, the efforts of jax and the squad of soldiers, civilians, law enforcement had all been hailed heroes after the debacle. but the empty nights linger, the faded memories, the black outs. a lot of what jax is now is intertwined with the pillar that is anderson, crawling to salute like grapevines that would crumble to the grounds should the captain ever disappear. jax owed anderson a lot. he owed him this. so ... he's the executive officer of the normandy.
he'd gone through the ship's manifest. pressly, one of his brothers-in-arms who survived elysium with him. kaidan, a childhood friend who was brought back to jax's life through the alliance ( one of the very few things that jax is now grateful for the alliance for ), joker, an unlikely friend made in the adversity of foxholes that is alliance mandated wellbeing sessions. but another name stands out, valentine. he remembers her, of course he remembers her. and now, he knows she'd remember him too.
the thought bares down on him heavier than he expects. his pre-tour benders tend to get ... out of control, this one even more so. he drags his aching body into picture perfect marine presentation, uniformed and suited and clean shaven. his features are fooling no one, ashen skin and sunken eyes, but readies himself to brave the nostalgia of the man he used to be in the eyes of someone who has likely only kept up with him through the alliances endless PR exhibitionism of the elysian hero. he shies away from the glare of hero worship and the artificial daylight alike as the shades hang low on the bridge of his nose.
he barely makes it in time for assembly, he makes it, jax is never late, but barely. and the glare is there at the threshold, personified in the young corporal's eager and barely contained smile behind the sharp salute, and valentine, who speaks first finally, just as dazed, her salute is delayed. he doesn't mind it, but he doesn't let his own ease show as he looks her over above the rim of his sunglasses. he's never yearned more for the artificial nighttime aboard tour ships as he was now.
❝ at ease everyone, i'm here. let's get this show on the road. ❞ jax pulls the sunglasses from his face, his lips curve upwards when he meets pressly's gaze, a knowing nod exchanged before pressly returns to his post. jax looks over the young corporal who is practically bouncing on his heels, and bites back his own tongue, ❝ get ready for assembly, corporal. ❞ he orders him, and nothing more, watches the young marine visibly deflate. good, better get the stars out of his eyes before they work on the field together.
finally, he turns to jill, clears his throat as he tucks the sunglasses into his closed palm, makes a good show of looking at her stitched in name and leaning a bit closer to read it so she doesn't get the notion he remembered who she was. ❝ lieutenant valentine. walk with me. ❞ he nods along for her to follow as he treads the familiars design towards where the executive officer's cabin would be. ❝ you've been apprised to this mission's details? ❞ he has no doubt kaidan has done his homework, but jill remains to be seen. if he's going to depend on his lieutenants for this inconspicuous shakedown run, he needed to know her head was in the game.
There’s something about the way Kaidan looks at her. Something that is reciprocated in the way she looks at him.
Whether it be respect, gratitude, admiration, or something else completely, it’s there. There when they’re in the same room for a post-op debrief. There when they pass each other in the hallways with lingering eyes and smiling faces. There when they meet in the shooting range or the cafeteria or even the med bay. When he drops by her office or she finds him in the armory. When they bump into each other in the parking lot, either on the way in or out.
Something that grows and solidifies with every passing day. Something that draws her closer to him and ignites a curiosity she never felt before. To find out more about him. Get to know him. Spend time with him. And that curiosity soon turns into longing, for their banter, for his voice, for his presence, for the sneaky touches they exchange along with files, for the not-so-accidental bumps when they walk by each other, for standing at close proximity despite there being plenty of space in a room, for gazing into his eyes, and, occasionally, at his lips.
And that longing stays with her when she returns home, to her lonely apartment and lonely bed, where his company joins her in the form of a memory. Distracting her from the extra work she brings into her home office. Thoughts of him are all that fill her head, and they stay there with her when she goes to sleep, all the way until the next day. Thoughts that stir ideas she knows she shouldn’t act on. Unprofessional and inappropriate and definitely prohibited. Ideas she struggles to fight off every time their paths cross. Ideas that haunt her dreams to the point where it’s hard to tell them apart from reality.
Because when she’s walking down that hallway, and he’s walking toward her, and she’s fighting those ideas, for a second there she thinks she might be dreaming. When he recreates a scene she fantasized about more than once. When he takes her by the wrist and drags her into an empty conference room. When he closes the door and pushes her against it. When his hands claim intimate spots on her body and his face leans so close. When their bodies press and heat explodes within her.
But her voice is ever calm and cool and contained when she speaks—whispers, against his mouth, “What’s that?” A question that’s not really a question, because she can see the answer in his eyes already. Even before his mouth takes hers in an eager kiss. Her own hand clutches around his shirt, holding him in place. Lips moving relentlessly against his, devouring every little inch, savoring his taste and melting right into him.
This is far better than anything she ever imagined. Because it’s real. It’s so real she can barely wrap her head around it. So instead, she wraps her arms around him—throws them over his shoulders and locks them behind his neck. And she pushes away from the door and further into the room, allowing herself enough space to jump up and wrap her legs around his waist. She trusts him to hold her in the process and support both their weights. Her head tilts to the side, seeking to intensify the kiss. Her ponytail falls to her front, strands stick to his beard and tickle her face.
But none of that distracts her from the way his lips taste in her mouth. The way his body feels against hers. The way desire sets her body ablaze, and burns a little stronger with every passing second.
A fire she never wants to put out.
kaidan's adherence to regulation keeps him from admitting what he feels, and what he feels is that jill valentine become a constant invader of his waking moments. it drives him to seek her out and remain in her presence, walk her through his reports and search for her approval as they exchange knowing glances and growing admiration. he's no fool to think it's just professional, kaidan's gained the favour of his superiors before. he's also clashed with commanding officers before and got thrown out on his ass for it. this is neither this nor that. it's beyond the boundaries of a professional relationship. that threshold has long been crossed, even if kaidan doesn't admit to it.
his body betrays him, relinquishes to tightly wound control he has on his instincts and he slips, he pulls jill into a private room and kisses her and finally lets himself admit, he's wanted to kiss her for weeks now. kaidan's arm wraps around her waist, pulling her to him almost desperately as his lips press against hers. the fabric of the collar of his shirt burns into the back of his neck as jill pulls at it, his other hand moved to cradle the back of her head as she pulls him closer, bending down a little to maintain as little distance between them as possible.
kaidan's sturdy as jill's leg wrap around his waist, his hand drops from her head one of her thighs, a firm grasp into the flesh of it as he hoists her up and walks back into the conference room. muscle memory serves him well, he's calculated, knows how many steps he takes into every room in this place to find his place. her hair catches against his stubble, uncharacteriscally he's not clean shaven today, a distracted mind does that, and kaidan finds that he enjoys the feeling of even the airiest parts of her clinging to him. kaidan turns around and kicks one of the desk chairs out of the way as he sets jill on the conference room table, but keeps her thigh pulled up against him as his hands take hold of her waist and hold her close, hold her in place, as his lips distract from hers.
kaidan's mouth drags into her skin, against her chin and along her neck, nipping and kisses and tasting the smooth flesh there as he drags his teeth into the collarbone, and reels back from letting his mouth dip lower to wear the swell of her breasts invite him. instead, his chest and back heave out a heavy exhale, blinking himself out of the bliss that is jill valentine as his lips seek hers again, ❝ we shouldn't be doing this. ❞ he whispers as he dives in for another kiss, his hand leaves her waist to wrap her ponytail around his fingers and twirl it gently as he presses forward, almost visibly pained at trying to hold back from satiating his true desire to press her down on that conference room table.
something shifts in the air when @iknowwhataradiois walks into a room, kaidan senses it before he even sees her. it had been a pull in her direction, an instinct that started as a nagging restlessness to step out of form, and now demands he turn his head to see her before anyone else does. and when their eyes meet kaidan feels everything around him come to a standstill, for a fraction of a second, then he turns away. it's been like this for week, ever since she summoned him into her office to explain away his discharge.
at first, kaidan thinks it's unease. as if jill knowing his secret is a threat to his very presence in the bsaa. but that thought is quickly cast off the next moment he sees her after their conversation and she smiles, and he thinks there's not an ounce of deceit in this woman's soul to bare enough mastery of feigning a smile like that. he even chastises himself for allowing a moment of doubt at jill. the unease, after that, is quickly cast off.
then he thinks it must be the juvenile excitement of sharing a secret, giggling children whispering in a playground about their make belief. though it feels unfair, to him, and the weight of that secret. it doesn't explain the pull, where he automatically takes a step to be nearer when she's around, where their shoulders brush and sparks fly through his arm and leave a yearning tingling at the tips of his fingers, and they twitch and almost reach out. but they don't.
until today, as he treads down the hallway and sees jill in the distance walking towards him. he feels that pull drag up his heart to the back of his throat, the tingle prematurely makes his fingers twitch, his fist closes in on itself as the distance between them lessens, and somehow kaidan realizes they will meet just shy of a door leading into an empty meeting room. he doesn't think and lets go of every inhibition, ignores the screaming voice in the back of his head to let go of his last working theory as to why he's feeling like this, and reaches for jill's hand once he makes sure no one else is in the hallway, before he pulls her into the meeting room.
he hurriedly closes the door and turns to her, still holding her hand as he finally lets his eyes linger and wander and take all of her in the way he's wanted to for the past weeks. then he pulls her to him and turns to press her body between him and the door, ❝ i want to test something. ❞ he husks already so close to her lips as he lets go of her hand to let his hand snake a path around her waist, the curve of her ribs settles into the crook of her elbow as he pulls her up against him, not fully pressing her to the door, instead wanting her all to himself.
he waits a moment as his hand comes up to caress her cheek, thumb dragging against the swell of it then across her lips, and he feels his entire body is on fire just holding her to him this way. he can't wait another minute more. his lips crash down against hers as desperate as a drowning man gasping for air as his fingers push through her hair, grasp at the roots as he listens to the erratic beating of his own heart in his ear and forgets entirely the need to breathe.
plotted starter for jill valentine.
Jill has never been more thankful to have done that background check on Kaidan.
It wasn’t out of distrust or suspicions or anything of the sort. No, it was curiosity that drove her to learn more about Kaidan. Back when he joined, the BSAA was flooded with new recruits, following the Terragrigia Panic, the FBC falling apart, many members who left it opted for joining force with the BSAA instead to continue on their mission of fighting bioterrorism.
Walking down the hallways of HQ those days, there was a new face everywhere Jill looked. But eventually, things calmed, as assignments were finalized and operations took place. She would hear about the new members here and there, but the one she heard the most about was Kaidan. Outstanding performance, true dedication to fulfilling mission objective, but also a trustworthy teamplayer. Someone who knows how to rely on his comrades and lets them rely on him.
And it was during one lunch break that Chris made a comment.
That Kaidan guy. We’re lucky to have him.
Kaidan was with the Special Operations Units. Unlike her and Chris, who were agents operating mostly solo or in pairs. But Chris told her about his latest op, where an SOU had to intervene and back him up, and Kaidan was part of it.
In Jill’s book, anyone who saves her friend’s life is someone worth her utmost respect. That day, in passing, she stopped Kaidan in the hallway when their paths crossed, and told him, “I heard what you did out there. Thank you for saving Chris. And bringing him back in one piece.”
And Kaidan is… one of the most humble men she’s ever met in her life. It’s not everyday you meet someone who is as skilled and capable but still manages to downplay his strength and not get too cocky about it. And that… it draws her in.
So she decided to read his file, and while most of it was full of impressive achievements, there was something that felt… missing. Or off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Kaidan was supposedly honorably discharged from the military, but nothing on his file suggested a solid reason for that. Why not keep someone like him in the force?
And that was when Jill did some digging—she always loved herself a little detective work. But what she found out wasn’t at all what she expected. Not that she knew what to expect—perhaps a dispute with a commanding officer, or disobeying orders, or something like that. But what she learned was far, far more complicated.
Jill kept it to herself. She didn’t tell anyone what she found out, except Kaidan. It wasn’t to scold him for lying, or blackmail him or threaten him or anything like that. She was too impressed by what she’s seen of him and what she heard. It was really just to understand. To hear his reasoning, and make sure that he was still capable of operating without any danger to his life.
And it isn’t up until this moment, that Jill is no longer sure.
Still, she sits there with him, hoping her presence provides him with even a sliver of comfort. Hoping being here with him makes his pain just a touch more bearable. She gives him her hand when he seeks it, keeping the other one in his hair, stroking gently.
“Don’t apologize,” she says. “I signed up for this. For you. And I want to see all of you. The good and the bad.” And she wants to be there for him, during the ups and the downs. She doesn’t want him to hide anything from her, especially not a part of himself like this one.
the events that led to kaidan joining the fold of bsaa officers had been a whirlwind. it starts with a fateful incident he barely survives and a debilitating head injury that discharges him from the marines and leaves him unmoored. and it ends with a flurry of recruits, unmoored like him, scarred and marred by terrors of war they couldn't see outside the scope of it, rushing to fill the ranks of newly united nations minted bsaa.
of course, covering up his medical record had been a task, one kaidan tried to do above books - no forgers involved, it was a tricky business to get all the wording and directions right, a favors owed from civilians he'd helped, kaidan slips into the bsaa's grueling training unnoticed, despite his commendations and achievements, he manages to somehow join without being flagged for his injury.
it would have been foolish, even a little naïve to think, he could have remained under the radar for long. of course it had been the one time kaidan broke protocol to aid chris redfield on the field, that put him on jill's board. he hadn't thought twice about it, his rank and expertise allowed him to assess situation and decided he was needed and he provided. that's just how kaidan operated. that had been the tipping point, after that the rest ... is history.
now kaidan lays with his head cushioned in jill's lap, pressing the pads of her palm to his eyes to push back on the throbbing pressure inside his head. strings of pins and needles carry down his spine from where her fingers pull lightly at his hair, from root to root. he focuses so much on it that it helps dull the persistent ache. though it's not just physical comfort that jill provides. the corners of his lips turn up at her words, and he dares to open his.
even upside, even in the dimmed room, kaidan appreciates the beauty of the woman hovering over him. beautiful not just in the sunken, broad bridge of her nose and the arch below her full bottom lip, the features he can see best from where lies, but beautiful in soul, in spirit. kaidan likes to know who he's working for, and he'd done his research on the founders of the bsaa. of course, there was a lot of information padding to cover up the truth but through his initiation he's come to realize, jill valentine's seen her fair share of demons, and she fights on, like all of them do. to kaidan, that's beautiful.
honeyed browns peer through heavy lids as he pulls her hand towards his chest to lay above his dogtags, his true heart, ❝ a little cheesy, boss. ❞ he murmurs, and his feature sober up a little, never allowing himself the reprieve of the fantasy as caresses his thumb over the back of jill's hand, ❝ it's not usually this bad. ❞ he promises, his lips press once more into the apologetic smile as he keeps up the caress of his thumb against her skin, more so to soothe him as well as he revels the smoothness of her hand, ❝ i really appreciate this. you. i appreciate you. ❞ kaidan tugs her hand to his lips, letting lay idle against her skin as he murmurs the words into them. kaidan revels in the moment before his words take a life of their own, he's already laughing at his own joke before he presses it into her skin. ❝ if i'd known this is all it took to get you into bed, i would have done it earlier. ❞
KAIDAN ALENKO IS MY KING ( citadel edition )
CAMILLA LUDDINGTON as JO WILSON Grey's Anatomy 19.15 Mama Who Bore Me
