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@lcdrreinhardt
❰❰ JAG CORPS - LCDR. REINHARDT ❱❱ indie. selective. medium activity rp for top gun : maverick oc. lcdr. melissa reinhardt. judge advocate generals corps. a study in balance and the scales of justice , broken hearts , being fine, fresh, fierce and having it on lock , overcoming self doubt and being the best damn lawyer the navy has ever seen. written by dev , 25 + , she/they , gmt.
[ BIO. ] [ PINTEREST. ] [ PLAYLIST. ]
FILE : REEVES , DEXTER HUGO
@lcdrreinhardt said : [ CONSTANT ] : after days/weeks/months/years of endless flirting back and forth, sender finally dares the receiver to go beyond flirting and break the tensions between them properly. [ NO LONGER ACCEPTING. ]
— “ you’ve gotta stop looking at me like that, liss. ” dex says suddenly, the words half a laugh as he shakes his head, “ or i’m going to do something really stupid. ” he feigns at lightness, but his throat is dry and his pulse thrums hard the longer she stares at him. they’re sitting in a blanket fort, for fuck’s sake - it all feels a tad juvenile. but the things he feels for her, on the other hand? well. not juvenile in the least. gingerly, he lifts his head to look at her, only to find her staring back at him with that same look he’s been trying to avoid. this is not particularly fake married of them, is it?
“ melissa- ” he begins, but he’s stopped in his tracks by her voice. are you going to keep staring at my lips, or are you going to kiss them? come on, slugger. take your shot. oh. dex springs into action then, shifting forward to close what little distance remains between them to hold her face in his hands and kiss her soundly. there’s a peaceful silence in his head. no racing thoughts, no heartbeat pounding like the heaviest baseline he’s ever heard. just silence. he’s fucking consumed by her. when dex finally pulls himself away, forces himself to breathe, to slow down - he can barely find two words to string together. he settles for a soft “ shit. ” as he stares at her. no going back now.
WHEN YOU WERE A KID, YOU’D LICKED THE END OF A BATTERY ; mel remembered the sensation like she remembered everything else from her childhood. with a certain sepia tint of burnt orange coloured sunlight and the piercing yell of her mom across the dinner table. she remembered the thrill of doing the thing she wasn’t supposed to do. the tingle on her tongue and the new sensation that had flooded her nerves and rattled through her body - all flickering eyelashes and the warm laughter that had burned in her chest at the risk. or what she thought was a risk back then , of doing something new. his kiss felt the same way. not the metallic edge and the pool of fear that had formed in her gut back then - but the spark. the way he’d moved so quickly as if her words didn’t even matter. as if the look would have been enough. it’s CONSUMING in the best possible way and she wonders why they’d waited so long in the first place. a groan heaves deeply within her chest , the neediness making itself obvious as she presses back against him. resonation rumbling against his lips as she surges , rough pads of his thumbs resting against the apples of her cheeks in a way that somehow makes her feel safe and balanced on edge at the same time. as if she’s gonna take one wrong step and ...
❛ ... shit ? ❜ she mirrors him as her eyes flicker open to meet his bright temperant blues , eyebrows lifting for a second as her tongue darts out to rub against lips where she swears she can still taste him - grin flickering and only faltering for a second as she fights the urge to repay the favor ❛ s’not like i was looking for a compliment right now - but something other than shit might be nice. ‘cos for the record i really liked it ... ❜ her nose wrinkles playfully as they stay close together and voice remaining low , edging toward him with an upturned jaw and heavy lidded eyes - mood of their comfortable little fort not entirely lost on her. ❛ ... you’ve gone and done it now, dex. no backsies. ❜
✶ photos of MELISSA REINHARDT : 001 / ?
mustanged:
not even three minutes after her fist had connected with tobias’ smug face she had called melissa. lawyering up seemed like the right choice when she had assaulted an officer, granted he had been the one to edge her on — plus she did not leave unharmed either. an icepack was taped to her left hand, knuckles bruised from when they connected with his nose. sitting in the blonde’s office, getting the scolding of a lifetime. she couldn’t even blame it on alcohol, stone cold sober on the tarmac for everyone to see as the pilot fell to his knees thanks to her mean left hook.
@lcdrreinhardt ⏤ LCDR MELISSA REINHARDT : ❝ no, i can’t fix everything for you this time. it’s your mess. clean it up. ❞
❝ but he deserved it?! ❞ kai defends, their history kept under wraps thanks to his rich family. unsure if she was even willing to share it with melissa, everything had been buried six feet under. a single news paper clipping stating an outburned porsche was the only evidence of their accident — driver and passenger left out thanks to a hefty check. ❝ i even warned him, told him that if he cat-called me or touched me one more time i’d break his nose - he did this to himself! ❞
it’s not that she doesn’t have zero sympathy. in fact, she has a bucket load, a metric fuck tonne if you will. but mel also knows how these sort of things pan out in the long term and for all kai might have been morally right to smack the asshole in the mouth, heractions and the consequences weren’t exactly all that flexible when it came to the black and white of the code of conduct. mel’s eyes flicker from the taped up pack to kai’s face again and again , the red blood clear even through the thick and slowly melting layer of ice and plastic. the way her eyes flicker with a sort of hesitation, half fear half rightieuous fury. ❛ ... and trust me - i wish i could just make this all disappear. but the fact is he’s an officer. and as much as i believe you when you say you warned him it’s not gonna fly with anyone down the hall. ❜ arms cross her chest as she takes a couple of steps back towards her desk, skirting around the edge, to the drawer on the left where she pulls out a dictaphone and taps it a couple of times. at least it’s charged up. a heavy sigh falls - mel’s left hand lifting to push against her forehead as if she knows this is a bad idea before she’s even started. she knows this kid. she also knows how kids with admirals for dad usually get treated in this place. correctly or otherwise. nepotism really is a pain in the fucking ass. ❛ i want to help you, flores. i do. but i need to know what happened in the last couple hours and why you really felt the need to swing at him. have you got any witnesses who can back you up ? anyone who was there - someone you can rely on if i need to speak to them too ? ❜ diving in with both feet always feels a bit weird at first, almost like for a second she can’t even float - second guessing her options and the way her compass is settling , feels like true north if it’s any indictation of honesty. but if mel knows two things , it’s that kai flores isn’t the type to swing without a solid reason and it’s that she can swim with the sharks if she needs to. both of them can. so why resort to physical violence ? ❛ this isn’t me doing you a favour. this is me using my judgement to try and get this straight for everyone involved. and if he’s calling out anyone, anywhere - he’s gonna feel the entire weight of this situation on his shoulders. might even crush him if we’re lucky. ❜
THERE’S ALWAYS A PLACE FOR THE 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐍 [ … ] BUT HIS 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 IS PURE AND HIS 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋. © [ lt. dexter reeves: a top gun original character, loved by motley. ]
She-Hulk Attorney at Law (S01E07)
“Now tell us, what’s it like being a female lawyer?”
CALL SIGN : REBEL
— no charges, that’s good. that means his career isn’t about to go up in smoke, even as much as he can smell the burning. he takes the ice pack without argument and holds it to his lip with a slight hiss - still hurts, even after so many fucking fights. he never gets used to this part. you slammed him face first into the bar, dex. yes, he had - he’d hoped that mel hadn’t found out about that part quite yet. “ there was a girl, this guy wouldn’t leave her alone. he got what was coming to him. ” under better circumstances, dex knows that mel knows he’s not violent. a few cracked jokes about punching her boss or tiffs on the tarmac aside, violence is not his default answer. and yet it aches in his bones all the same, that frantic desire for mayhem and destruction in his wake, in a way that overwhelms him beyond compare. there is so much anger and nowhere to put it. “ can we just be happy that i’m not being thrown in the brig? i don’t want to do this right now. ” or at all. free hand cards through auburn curls as his head tips back, blowing out a sigh towards the speckled ceiling. he wants to go home, to get changed, to throw his uniform into the fucking ocean and be done with the whole thing.
one eyebrow arches neatly as her head cants , placing her hand against the icepack and pushing it a little more fimly against his lip with a furtive glance. it’s not that she’s angry -- it’s more a quiet sort of resignantion. he’s not violent - not in the way so many of them are. he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that his anger lingers close to the surface sometimes ( she sees it, she can feel it - somewhere hidden beneath layers of memories and encounters. she swears sometimes she can almost see the truth of it when he speaks about virginia in that broken, splintered way ... ) she just worries. more of an unspoken concern right now as mel struggles not to sigh again. instead reaching up to fiddle absentmindedly with the biro pen she’d tucked into the tight knotted braid at the back of her head - mainly in an effort not to reach forward to push through his thick roughed up curls. ❛ didn’t cross your mind to just leave it for a second, did it ? to speak to the bar staff ? ❜ tongue darts out to rub across her lower lip as her head shakes slowly from side to side, chin dipping as she lets him handle the ice alone - pulling her fingers back to drag them along the curve of her waist, to dry the moisture on the rough navy material of her dress blues. ❛ we don’t have to do anything right now. but what i do need you to do is sign a piece of paper that means i get to drop this. ❜ mel’s toe taps again at his shin as she watches his eyes drift up to the water damaged ceiling of her office - both hands finally resting on her hips as she settles for the fact he isn’t getting written up. again. ❛ if you’d rather not see me about this kinda thing i can always point you in the direction of jack’s office. i’m sure he’d love to read you the riot act. no ice in over there, by the way. ❜
@lieutrebel asked : 032. a quiet hospital room
gold crosses your palm - broken sheered metal, a ring cut into two halves that your eyes flicker over again and again and again - as if the strenth of your will alone will forge it back together. truth is, it’s easier to focus on the jagged lines where the medics had cut it off than listen to the constant beep of monitors that echo without pause around the room. the doctors in the field had done it ( and you both knew he probably shouldn’t have had it on anyway ... ) and yet the feel of it in your hands hits home harder than the news that he had been recovered and was back on the roosevelt. because none of that had felt real ; not the transcript of the news from the carrier - not the way jack had called you into his office to sit down and allow you time to gather your thoughts. even the phrase had pissed you off - gathering your goddamn thoughts. as if it was easy to scoop them all up into a neat pile. the tension in your hands had caused them to flex into a balled fist slowly and surely. every single semblance of thought had been gathered within minutes into absolute clarity. absolute focus. compartmentalizing your emotions is part of your job. part of who you are to some degree. but when it comes to him, everything bleeds into everything else too easily. everything becomes one mass of feeling that you struggle to control. you know that to get through this you should switch off the part of your brain that worries, the one part that wants to sink into the bed next to him and cry over the state of his injuries and just how exhausted he looks. instead you sit and stare at his ring in the plam of your hand and how it’s been halved almost perfectly.
❛ i’m sorry --- ❜ the words fall quietly and you’re not sure why you’re apologising. but it kinda feels like the thing to do -- and you know a part of it is guilt. part of it is because everytime you’d told him he’d come back in one piece you’d believed it. that he was made for this run -- the invinsibility you’d built up within dexter was a form of self preseravation for yourself because the alternative was unthinkable. and yeah , maybe you’d jinxed it. not that you believe in fate really. but the alternative is unthinkable and you can’t allow youself to sit with it for any longer than necessary.
❛ i’m sorry this happened. i’m sorry it wasn’t how you wanted it to be ... ❜ a beat, as your eyes gaze upwards slowly to where he lays looking so fucking peaceful, your body juddering for a moment. the part of your brain that worries -- the part you’ve been trying to quiten down suddely making itself heard as you move quickly - pushing the two pieces of gold onto the table and finding a space on the bed beside him - tentative fingers tailing across his forhead to card through dark auburn curls gently. ❛ you really scared me , baby. ❜ eyebrows that knit together as you search his face for any sign of consciousness, any sign that he’s going to come around ❛ i thought i was gonna have to call your mom and have a really serious conversation, dex. i didn’t think you were coming home to me for a hot minute -- ❜ it’s rare the way your voice breaks, the crack in your armour becoming wider and wider as your eyes shift to the neck line of the blue hospital gown and the brusing that flares up and across his chest , dancing at the edges of the collar. gold lays on the third finger of your left hand that sits beside his own, resting easily on the bed. gold that catches the light of the one lamp that illuminates the room , as you lean in to whisper millions of hushed and pretty i love you’s against the shell of his ear --- worst case sceanarios beginning to burn and flake away from the back of your mind. because he’s home -- home and as safe as he can be given the situation. home -- and as his fingers twitch slowly, moving across to drift across the gold he gave you, moving as you smile and press a delicate kiss to his temple - you know deep down that everything is gonna be okay. and hell - it isn’t okay, it definitely isn’t the end.
REMEMBER, BOYS, NO POINTS FOR SECOND PLACE! i’m a little too lazy to devote the time to making a masterlist / keeping it updated - but i also think it’s important to help people find blogs + writers within their fandoms for growth and interaction. so, please feel free to hit reblog if you’re writing a 𝗧𝗢𝗣 𝗚𝗨𝗡 𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗢𝗣 𝗚𝗨𝗡: 𝗠𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗞 muse/s, whether they’re canon, original, or simply have a verse that’s applicable to that timeline. (this goes to you navy / military muses that might be aware of the weapons school as a whole.) make sure you put in the tags and little details you’d like to disclose such as character name / canon v oc v verse / etc - super helpful, especially if you’re on a multimuse. from there, we can use the notes for the sake of finding folks. happy flying!
@lieutrebel asked : 018. an otherwise empty parking lot .
❛ you’re a really good friend, dex ... ❜ there’s a low hum on the car radio. a flicker at the shell of your ear as you look down with a grin and dark eyes cascade across the curl of hair that hangs across his forehead. you closed the restaurant - just friends. talking, laughing - lips that curl into warm smiles and laugh at jokes that wouldn’t be funny to anyone else as hours flicker by. but that’s just something you share with him. that prickly humor that tugs at the same kind of darkness that bleeds out, just below the surface of what others would call normality and you think of as just another layer to be peeled backwards. but now, in the dim light thrown from an overhead street light, in an empty parking lot - you straddle his lap and feel his palms smooth out the lines of your dress, brushing at the the way it clings to your hips and lingering longer with a cocky look that makes his blue eyes crease at the corners. he still smells a little like jet fuel. a little like the fight the creeps and flexes around the jagged edges of him. maybe a little like axe deodorant and the shower block back on base. but it makes you smile, lips parting as you lift a hand to allow your fingers to card back through his auburn curls and push yourself down over him in a way you know he’ll like. here in the empty parking lot of a restaurant with slightly off trip advisor reviews. here, where your very unofficial date, a thinly diguised dinner for a couple of friends - quickly moved again into territory somewhere inbetween and uncertain. a no man’s land of endless sighs and growing pleasure that you don’t mind visiting with him when you get the chance. ❛ you know ... ❜ you pause, head dipping and teeth running against the edge of his jaw , cheeks flushed as you feel just how much he’s enjoying this friendly moment between collegues and you move against him again, just to press home your point. ❛ if we get written up for this i’m pretty sure i can get us out of the ticket. ❜
just some mel headcanons to brighten (?) your day :
sometimes, on bad days she really can’t look in a mirror. mel has suffered with low key body dysmorphia since she was a teenager - partially due to exposure to the entertainment industry and her mother’s own obsession with plastic surgery. it’s never stopped her from achiving what she’s wanted but it does hang like a cloud over her when she’s hit a rough patch or things at work aren’t going her way.
she actively tries to be body neutral because of this. she does have lip filler and wears contacts ( glasses if she’s tired and/or at home ) she doesn’t diet but she does work out - not obsessively bit enough to make a difference.
her favourite band are the red hot chilli peppers. she’s seen them live four times and will not take any questions on them at this time.
her coffee order is a hazelnut latte with an extra espresso shot.
mel grew up around bel air - her parents still live between an apartment in the city and their home in malibu. their three story beach house was on selling sunset one time. she has the episode saved.
for all she grew up with money, mel doesn’t take any hand outs from her parents. that all stopped after she graduated. she lives on her navy paycheck and rents an awful navy apartment in miramar. when she set out to do her own thing she took it seriously and she still does. proving herself on her own merit is more important to her than anything.
she tallys her wins in court in a notebook she keeps in her desk. a single line for a win means a lot to her. she writes them in red pen.
she uses sarcasm as a defense mechanism when things get too heavy. she’s also really good at faking that she doesn’t care about something as much as she really does. her blank expression could win an oscar.
♪ You know I’m in love with an uptown girl ♪
how can lawyers argue without crying
↪ 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 ( a collection of various settings meant to inspire drabbles or be used as prompts . will be updated . )
001. the seaside , as the sun is setting .
002. a cabin in the middle of the woods .
003. a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .
004. a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .
005. a private jet miles high in the sky .
006. a funhouse’s room of mirrors .
007. an office building , bustling and busy .
008. the back row of an empty movie theater .
009. a run-down (or abandoned) motel room .
010. a loud house party on a suburban street .
011. a university lecture hall during a class .
012. the rooftop of a very tall building .
013. a great ballroom during an elegant party .
014. the back of a wailing ambulance .
015. the wine cellar of a large mansion .
016. behind the school’s gymnasium .
017. a bonfire in the middle of the woods .
018. an otherwise empty parking lot .
019. the bar of a loud , dark club .
020. an empty summer camp .
021. a large hedge maze , easy to get lost in .
022. a neglected or derelict treehouse .
023. a spacious , light-filled meadow .
024. an underground / illegal fighting club .
025. an abandoned scrapyard .
026. a large penthouse overlooking the city .
027. an apple orchard in the middle of spring .
028. an empty playground with squeaky swings .
029. an extravagant greenhouse .
030. the base of a large waterfall .
031. a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .
032. a quiet hospital room .
033. the dark depths of an abandoned mine .
034. the deck of a fishing boat at night .
035. the thick crowd of an audience at a show .
036. a long , winding road .
037. the site of a car accident .
038. a hiking trail in the mountains .
039. a cramped dressing room .
040. a dusty antiques shop full of relics .
041. the street of an unfamiliar city at night .
042. between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .
043. a building abandoned during construction .
044. a house without power or running water .
045. a mysterious trail found in the woods .
046. the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .
047. the inside of an elevator that won’t move .
048. fairgrounds during a large event (or after hours) .
049. a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .
050. a childhood home or bedroom .
CALL SIGN : REBEL :
— “ liss, ” there’s a note of discordant anger that grates harsh across his tone, even as he knows who he’s speaking to. under better circumstances, he’d never lash out, not like this - but the anger that floods him even as he sits in this office with bruised knuckles and a busted lip makes it difficult to think straight. there’s blood on his khakis. might be his. might not be. “ i know they’ve got you in here with me to make me feel better, or lecture me, or whatever - but i really don’t want to hear it right now. please. ” dex finally looks up then, fingers drumming on his thighs and knee bouncing to let out some of the pent up energy that still lives in him. “ can you just tell me if i’m getting charged? ” [ @lcdrreinhardt mel come get ur fuckin moron ]
❛ he isn’t pressing charges. ❜ her voice is even -- but when he says her name like that it’s all she can do not to offer some kind of reaction. instead the ice pack that rests in her palm is presented to him with a look of absolute resignation, mel’s eyebrows lifting into a sort of self assured expression - her lack of surprise evident as she gestures toward him insistently with the blue bag that drips cool condensation across her hand. the cut at his bottom lip has made it swell and she finds herself focusing on it just a little too long. blood on his uniform. his fist curled into a tight ball still, even with reddened and grazed bone pushing through translucent skin. the way he bounces, fingers tapping against his thigh -- it screams that whatever happned down at the hard deck, it definitely wasn’t the end of his frustration. a practically baited sigh tumbles from between her lips . ❛ that doesn’t mean you get to skip out and pretend this didn’t happen --- you slammed him face first into the bar, dex ... ❜ but there it is - a wave of something more gentle as the bag is waved under his nose again and her head cants, tip of her shoe pushing forward to needle against his calf with a gentle tap - the switch from concerned lawyer to concerned girlfriend subtle but sweeping as she moves closer between his splayed legs ❛ what the fuck did he do ? ❜
Erin Moriarty (250x400)
