LOOK AT ME!

indie multimuse. #livedtough. est. 11.16.19.

[livedtough]

independent, non-exclusive multimuse featuring muses and ocs from sci-fi, fantasy, folklore, and more, written and adored by jamie (25+, est, they/them). muses are 18+ except for icheb, matteusz, and edwin in their canon verses. discord is available on request.

rules / muse page (mobile) / meme tag

[medicusfemina]

So this is it? She’s just supposed to accept that this is all how it goes and step aside to let such an injustice happen?

But then he asks for her help and her stomach lurches, a strange thrum of determination palpitating in her chest as she nods firmly.

“Yes, of course. I’ll help you.”

Time isn’t on their side, so they’ll need to act fast. There has to be a way to get him out of this room without being too conspicuous. Carefully pondering their options, Lucy glances at the gurney, eyes lighting up with an idea that may just work.

Grasping the bars, she tugs it from the wall and pulls back the white sheet, “Get on. I’ll wheel you out like a cadaver on its way to the morgue and no one will be the wiser.”

[livedtough]

He really, truly, would not have held it against her. She's done enough by patching him up, something not a lot of people would have done, especially not with his blood's tendency to glow. He would be fine if she wanted to wash her hands of him, both literally and figuratively. No ill will.

But she agrees, and he cannot say that he isn't flooded with relief, and with more gratitude than he can say. It's always the case, these days. The amount of people willing to help them seems to only be getting smaller, so he will never take for granted anyone that will help.

Except, he's looking at her, and he follows her eyes to where they catch, and though he isn't any less grateful, he does feel a little less relief. It isn't like he hasn't had to do worse, but the idea isn't exactly thrilling. Still, it's the best they have, and now isn't the time to be squeamish.

He hesitates only a moment before nodding, exhaling a breath before stepping over and lifting himself onto the gurney, ignoring the pain in his injury as he did. As long as he doesn't start dripping blood, he'll be fine. "You sure about this? You can still walk away."

[therapardalis]

Thera's not looking for a bond - Jake told her long ago that that's not going to happen and she's taken him at his word. For herself she knows there'll be a shade of something, the thing that casually has his back even if he doesn't or needn't know, that will keep him from dying if she can. But that's just her, something she'll neither speak of nor expect back.

And the rest? There is no 'rest'. Only heat and touch, a haze she's walked into with her eyes wide open.

It's retribution, a dare, where she cracks through the shell that covers Jake Lockley and he retaliates, coaxing her to give way, to replace the grin on her face with panting his name. Something she's going to give him as she squirms, the way that wants to help him slide the last annoying barrier down her legs and out of the way.

He wants her to want him? He has it, open in her face, in her breath; the way she pushes toward him and her hands slide down his back. Challenge cedes to demand, to a low, urgent sound as she pulls him closer - the nearest she might ever get to 'please'.

[livedtough]

Something most people don't know is that Jake is not all blood and violence. An animal he may be, but he's not a monster. He hasn't exactly been given a chance to form much in the way of meaningful relationships, but like an animal, he's a man of his pack. He's not sure that she's a part of it, but if she is, then she'll have him at her beck and call. Which, really, is why he's less than eager to let her in. If he's going to be her dog, he'd damn well like her to earn it.

But he isn't, not now. Animal though he may be, now is no time for the rest. Even if he is sure she'd like to see him on his knees.

Maybe next time.

Right now he has her breathing his name for a different reason, and he's not willing to give it up. He's in control, and that's where he likes to be. Something about spending the majority of his existence locked up makes him want to test the boundaries every now and then. He's a good servant, and he makes a better dog, but right now he's not answering to anyone.

This is a sort of bareness that doesn't bother him. It's not his body, anyway, right? And she's not asking for the rest any more than he's giving it. Her skin is hot against his, and he's back over her properly once the last of their clothes have been shed, responding eagerly to the feel of her hands on him. He wants this, wants her, a fact that he's sure is hidden from no one. The sound she makes thrills him, delights him, really, really turns him on. He responds with a sound of his own, part moan, part growl, as he reaches down to guide himself into her. The movement is sharp, not enough to hurt, but enough to let his want be known.

[huntresscaraquinn]

“Is that just your way of saying you’d never let them date? Because trust me, it will backfire,” Cara replied with a smirk. “My dad was strict about that sort of thing, especially with Ari, which only led her to finding the most... ridiculous guys at school, guys she didn’t even like, just to bring them home and scare the hell out of our dad.” As for what he said about watching his sisters with his dad, and how neither he nor his dad ever got to see them get married, and maybe it was better for everyone involved, his attempt at keeping things light-hearted fell flat. She could hear and see the sadness in those words, on what both he and his father had missed out on, and she softly said, “...I’m sorry. I wasn’t - I was just talking about silly hypotheticals and possibilities.” But it had been a fine line, given he’d missed out on most of the lives of his family members, and as for hers... They’d all been cut short.

After that, they fell further down the rabbit hole as the inevitable discussion of children was laid right out in front of them. Bucky explained that he used to want kids, but now he didn’t know as it hadn’t even seemed to be a possibility, and he just couldn’t see it. Then he asked if he should return the question, or pretend she didn’t ask at all, and she shook her head, “I don’t want our relationship to be like that. I spend so much of my life hiding. Doing my job, being my job. When I’m with you... I want to be a person. I want to be real, even if it’s difficult or uncomfortable. But the truth is... I don’t know if I can have kids, Bucky.” She sucked in a breath after that, afraid of what his response might be.

And how they got back to discussing that dreadful book, Cara would never know, but she shook her head, “So you’re saying it would be different if it was all girls? And of course not, I just want to know more about what you enjoy reading, especially if we plan on building that home library together.” She then rolled her eyes at him ‘saving himself’ from dancing with her, gently teasing, “Aren’t you supposed to be a superhero? I’ve seen you take on monsters and aliens but dancing with me - that’s just too dangerous.” After that, he was taking her hand, telling her to ‘show me what you’ve got,’ and she restarted the song. She moved slowly at first. Sheepishly. But then the lyrics and the beat - the memories of dancing with Ari and her mom - took over, and she was singing and dancing along with abandon, attempting to take him with her.

[livedtough]

"Probably," he said, though he knew she had a decent point. The more objections he made, the more they'd act out, and that would just make things worse between them. "But I don't think I'll have to worry about that when their dad's the Winter Soldier. Probably wouldn't exactly be beating them off with a stick." Wouldn't, he said. Not won't. Nothing that suggested that children were a certainty, or even a possibility. It wasn't something he could have, and not something he would have. Hell, the only person that was anywhere on his radar to have children with was Cara, and neither of them were in the place for that. Not now, probably not ever. Besides, if either of them were capable of having kids, it'd be as much a shock as it would be a miracle. Still, he didn't want to get upset, and he didn't want her to think he was anymore than she already did, so he shook his head, smiling softly. "I know. It's okay. Back then, you know...between the wars, they had him stationed at a camp, somewhere safe, but...accidents happen. Just a part of how things were." Which was an understatement, but he'd ruined things enough. "I like talking about them," he said after another moment. "So don't stop, alright?"

Back to kids, now. He might have preferred to talk about his family, but this was something that needed to be talked about at some point. Every thought rattling around in his head was coming out, and maybe that was a good thing. He listened to her, truly giving her his attention, and he nodded. "That's funny. I was just thinking the same thing. I figure the chances of even one of us being able to have kids is just about zero. I don't know what they did to me, but even if it wasn't intentional..." A pause. "I don't know. The Russians sterilized the girls they used for their projects. I don't feel like that makes my chances very good." Maybe she meant can more emotionally, but either way, he doubted it.

At least they still had something good to talk about, or, at the very least, something that wasn't so serious. Cara made it very clear that she had no love for the damned book, and would consider nothing about it to be good. "Maybe. I figure girls would have a better chance of not killing each other if it came to it." But, then again, maybe not. He did know what girls could be like when it came to it. Having sisters did open his eyes to the feminine capacity for cruelty. Still, they had to be better than a group of boys, right? "I liked The Hobbit," he admitted, almost reluctantly. "And Tom Sawyer, when I was a kid. I liked H.G. Wells. That sort of thing. It's been a while since I picked up anything written this century, though." A pause, and a small smile. "That alright with you? Does that pass?" Forced to dance, criticized for his taste in books. Was this what life would be like? He didn't really think he would mind that all that much. "Yeah. That's about it. I'm glad you understand." He might not have been all that familiar with the song, but watching her enjoy it was enough for him. He let her get into it before he tried to dance with her. He wasn't able to match her energy, his own happiness mostly stemming from watching her, but he was trying.

[beheworthy]

Fiyeraba + kisses

[indie-navarrete]

GLINDA UPLAND — 2024, Wicked // dir. Jon M. Chu

[cheshmenoor]

[dynastymuses]

The way Hawk said “careful" sent a shiver up and down his spine. He haven't gotten this close to a man in so long the way he smelled the way he looked at him the intensity it was almost too much for Tim he wanted to pretend that he was sophisticated with this man can possibly rattle him but that was instantly coming alive because of course he could he could do whatever he wanted to do and him probably accept it even if he couldn't or shouldn't more likely. He swallowed hard, his heart in his ears wanted this man all of a sudden well it wasn't all of a sudden but he had to control after all who knew what was safe and what wasn't ❝I assure you I would never do anything against my country❞ he said he almost said illegal but the thoughts he were having could be considered illegal to some so he couldn't even say that

[livedtough]

He wouldn't do anything against his country. That was an interesting way of saying it. But what did that mean, exactly? Depending on who you asked, even Hawkins Fuller, war hero, was a traitor for the time he spent in the building behind them. Bulletproof he may be as long as he gave no one a reason to suspect, but what happened if he did? Well, that was why he didn't. They would see what Tim Laughlin would do. He would do nothing against his country, and Hawk had no intention of asking him to, but he certainly had intention of asking him to do the sort of thing a lot of people upstairs didn't like. "Good to know," he said, an ounce of teasing sneaking into his voice. Mr. Laughlin was a serious boy, wasn't he? Well, he'd just have to hope he had enough time in his schedule for a little bit of play, too. "But don't worry. I'm not gonna ask you to." A small, teasing tilt of his head. "Not everyone's as nice as me, though."

[therapardalis]

Thera exhales through her nose, her modern tourist clothes paired with eyes that are not so old as the artifacts around them, but right now are holding every year.

"In London, and now here." Another breath, past the sensation in the base of her throat that feels the same as gritting her teeth. She's tired anyway, but all of a sudden she's incredibly, brutally, bone-deep tired in a way that wants to clench her fists and scream. It makes her almost wish, so very almost, that she was just some plain, ordinary damsel in distress, who had an excuse for not doing this, good reason for just curling up and leaving Marc to do his macho Avatar thing.

Except that this is the second time she's come in and found Steven a terrified mess, this time in immediate danger. Except that there's a god involved, meaning something bigger, and since nobody is telling her anything she's working on it as best she can. It's not her fight, not in the microcosm, but for the wider repercussions it's possibly going to be. Even if she could somehow pick Steven up and take him safely home, her own duty to Gaia would bring her right back.

So right now, she really doesn't need Marc Spector being a petulant arse.

"It showed me a face, and purple light. A sense of power." That last fairly obvious, if it's who is sending the creatures out on the hunt. "But only that. Those jackals aren't exactly Einstein in the thought department."

She pushes past Marc and walks toward the door, blades snapping back into the housing of her staff. The museum clerk is still lying out there injured, and someone needs to make sure they get help. "Is that scarab thing still safe?"

[livedtough]

She's frustrated with him, too, and that sure as hell isn't gonna fly. He didn't ask her to come here, didn't ask her to get herself involved with his life, with his problems. He's handling it fine, and if she wants to go, he isn't going to stop her. He neither needs nor wants her to be a damsel in distress, because he isn't interested in saving her. He just wants her to stay out of his business.

But she won't go, and he knows that. Not for him, of course, but for Steven. He knows she doesn't give a damn about him, and he can't say the feeling isn't mutual, but Steven worships the ground she walks on, and she's been nice enough to let him. Marc just has the unfortunate luck to be the man whose body the poor sap lives in. So maybe they both got the short end of the stick.

But that doesn't matter now, because there's a man on his radar that matches the description that she gives. There's a man that he followed here that looks a hell of a lot like the man she describes. He could keep being a dick, and he probably will be, but he can't let that get in the way of his responsibilities. It is, after all, how he's always handled Khonshu.

"Yeah," he says, allowing the suit to fall away. At least he's dressed the way he wants to be, isn't set up as Steven. Marc was the one to bring them here, and Steven's interference was only minor. "I know the guy." Khonshu's been cagey about this one, but he's told him some. Not much, though, beyond a name. He's not all that surprised that he seems to have the jackals under his control, or that he's sending them after him. After all, if Marc knows him, he undoubtedly knows Marc.

He runs a hand over his face, eyes on the spot where the jackal had been. He's tired, and he's feeling a little spacey. Nothing he can allow himself to linger on, though. Never has been, never will be.

She's shoving past him, and he guesses he can't blame her for the attitude. After all, he's given her no small amount of his own, and he's probably not going to stop any time soon. He means it about not wanting her here, and since she doesn't seem interested in leaving, he's not above being, as she thinks of him, a petulant arse.

He's really getting tired of the English.

He follows after her, not necessarily to help, but to scan the room, to see if there's anything he's missing. The clerk might be a problem, but no one's going to believe any story that might be told anyway, so Marc can't imagine that the problem will elevate into anything. "Yes," he says, which isn't exactly entirely true. It's clear that the other man, Harrow, has his eyes on it, and safe isn't the right word for it, but he doesn't need her thinking that he's fucked up any more. "I've got it under control."

Which is, of course, probably one of the biggest lies he's ever told.

[sophie-baek]

BRIDGERTON 4.06 "The Passing Winter"

[avengerscompound]

Tom Hiddleston as Loki

The Avengers

[mantcdea]

Nothing that happened to Taylor would make Mantis want to leave. The empath had just enough self-preservation to walk away if she was treated with cruelty, with disdain. A lifetime with Ego had been enough. She would not endure abuse, would not let herself be silenced, would not tolerate people lashing out at her for trying to help. If Taylor did and said hurtful things willfully, then Mantis would step back to preserve her inner peace. But if something happened to Taylor, Mantis would not abandon her. She was a friend, and Mantis did not leave friends behind when they needed help.

She studied the books that her friend had picked for her with increasing interest, teeth working at her bottom lip indecisively. Finally, she spoke.

"...Can I buy them all?" Her smile widened, bright and happy. "I know you said I don't have to, but I want to! They look great, all four of them."

[livedtough]

It wasn't exactly that Taylor thought herself evil, that she herself was cruel or unlovable, only that there was something inside of her that was wrong. A second self, a monster kept away kept away for so much time that still had the ability to ruin lives--both hers and others'--in a single night. It was an ugly thing, and she wouldn't blame anyone for walking away from it. If Taylor was innocent, but the thing inside of her was blood-soaked, what did that mean? She was too afraid to find out.

But no one was making her, at least not right now. And if one day they did, whoever they might be, then maybe she would discover that she'd been kind enough that she wasn't entirely alone. It was a selfish desire, and she knew that, but she was afraid.

With Mantis, though, she was less afraid.

She laughed softly, and she, too smiled widely. "Of course you can. I'd love it if you did, and not just because it helps me keep my job."

[reverdies]

Animals as metaphors for humans can only be taken so far before the comparison stretches beyond breaking point. Yes, they are technically animals, and plenty of evidence could be presented to support this; but enough evolution separates the two paths that glancing between them too literally is a risky prospect. He finds it most useful to take whatever helps him understand the situation better and discard the rest.

Abe has done his time, fought his battles. He doesn’t feel done, he’s not ready to lie down; and yet some part of him at least can see the appeal. It’s hard work. As years pass, the well of verve, of motivation, it’s not replenished at the same rate. Now he keeps himself going by sheer stubbornness. The anger is still there, but embers rather than flames. Hawk is an enigma, a strange mix sadly common these days where survival takes precedence. Abe can understand the impulse without sharing it in quite the same way. Or maybe they’re not so different as he supposes— their disarming charms may look different on the surface, but it’s the same tactic deployed for a similar purpose. Navigating modern life without becoming prey, choosing the moment to show just how sharp their teeth were, and to whom.

On a safer topic, at least seeming to skirt deeper waters, he nods loosely. “You ever been to Coney Island? It’s not California, but if it’s got nostalgia going for it, not so bad.” He pauses, peers closer at the memory. “Now, I’d stay on the shore, read a good book. Still a good time.” On the one hand, personal detail; on the other, nothing that can’t be sleuthed out from his accent alone. It’s unmistakably New York, only mitigated slightly by all the years he’s spent elsewhere. He’s not handing out an address, just a fact.

In a way the question is both— the choice lies with Hawk as to how he’ll take it. The answer is vague but plausible, especially given the elaboration. He knows exactly the type, and just the mention raises his hackles. The idiocy doesn’t surprise, only disappoints. Some are lacking in intelligence to begin with, but as for the rest, they’re idiots with the only excuse a perfectly preventable hubris. Self-reflection would save everybody a lot of time and headache.”Yes, yes.” Of course Abe has a certain handicap that someone named Fuller doesn’t have to accommodate, but when he’s just another face in the crowd, anonymous? Sure.

“They ought to know better,” is what he eventually says. He can have a scrap of feeling for them, since they’re all swimming in the same shark-infested waters, and if anybody bleeds red, it’ll be a feeding frenzy. But the two-faced hypocrisy, he doesn’t have to forgive that. “If anything comes of it, they only have themselves to blame.” And the system, but he's not jumping out of his seat to fight it for them. They can get in the back of the line. In the meantime, here where stakes are as low as they ever could be, he’d rather indulge in small talk that could pass for gossip if it wasn’t from the horse’s mouth. “A choleria on them. You could do a lot worse than an old friend. And so could she.”

[livedtough]

Hawk isn't sure whether he's done. He's fought his literal battles, has received his honorable discharge and the scars to go with it. The one on his back is mostly dead. only aching occasionally, and the same more or less goes for the one in his head. Some time alone and a will that had been honed over a life of understanding that the only one that was going to protect him was himself helped with that. Now, a decade later, a good Scotch and a record turned up is more or less enough to help him forget the remarkable similarity between a thunderstorm and the boom of the Germans' railway gun.

The rest, though? Well, he fights every goddamn day. He's not sure he's angry, though. Maybe not in the same way as the others, as Abe himself might be. The sort that lines up with signs, the kind that walks into the line of fire with their head held high. Them. More power to them, certainly. His best friend's a Black man, and he'd love nothing more than to have everyone else see him as an equal, but he's not interested in civil disobedience. It's privilege, and he knows it, but it's not so much that he doesn't believe in the cause as much as he's not looking to be marked. He'll take his fight privately, in the form of his friendship. Besides, Marcus doesn't want his pity. He's just as soon knock his teeth out for it than take it. It's one of the things Hawk likes best about him.

The topic is changed made lighter, or at least given the option to be. He thinks about making a joke, saying he prefers Rehoboth, that little beach down in Delaware that seems to be attracting men of a certain breed, but no matter what he thinks about his new pal Abe, that's not a line he feels like crossing. He prefers to be vague when it comes to his innuendo, allowing for more doubt. Instead, he nods. "Couple times, when I was a kid. I liked the shows." The shooting shows, the demonstrations, but he'd never been much for the freaks or what passed for curiosities. "I don't know if I'd have the heart for it now, though. I hate watching people gawk, and I'd rather have the beach to myself." He has fond memories, but he'd probably rather end up in the sun or the water than the boardwalk itself. He's always been a magnet, socially speaking, but he doesn't really care much for people.

He thinks he's starting to rub Abe the wrong way with his complaining, and he makes note of that. He'll pull back, which doesn't bother him. It's not like he's all that eager to sit here and tell the man just the way his head works. It's better if he's the man they think he is, even if they do all know that he's Senator Smith's fixer. Maybe Abe doesn't, though, and he wouldn't be surprised. He might pop up in the papers now and then, but he's not a celebrity by any means. He's not even the Senator's son, at least not by any blood. Keep it easy, then, Fuller. You're getting too intense.

He doesn't know if Abe believes what he says, or if he's just saying what he thinks Hawk wants to hear, but either way he's in no rush to push it. "Nothing like eternal vigilance, huh?" Hawk's been on alert for the better part of the last twenty years, and it's the price he has to pay. At least they can talk about something less serious, even if the weight of it is all too heavy. He even laughs. He feels like he's being shamed by someone's grandfather. Maybe he is, but, then again, maybe he wouldn't know. He never had much of a relationship with either of his own.

"I could. She's a nice girl. Puts up with me, and I guess I could do worse than someone who's already seen me at my worst, anyway. Though I will say, I was a delightful as a teenager." Which may or may not be true, but generally is. Depending on who you ask, of course.

[mantcdea]

The marketplace is brimming with music, color and life. Peddlers and entertainers wander the busy streets, showing off their skill and their merchandise. Dressed in traditional Easik garments, Mantis remembers attending the festival last year. She remembers being in awe — purchasing a multitude of things for herself and others, including a blade for Loki. He never thanked her. He didn't have to.

He did say, though, that he would visit the annual Easik festival. Even though Loki does not show it, the empath can feel the exhaustion radiating off him in waves. It is present every time she sees him, following him like a shadow. He spends too much time in his head, wallowing. Mantis knows he has no desire to be friendly, but he is here, and she appreciates that.

His question draws a smile from her, and she fiddles with the small bag in her hands, filled with pastries she bought at a food stall minutes ago.

"It is a cultural event, or — anniversary. Once a year, the people of Easik like to celebrate the day they were free of subjugation. They were under the yoke of the Shi'ar Empire, so this festival is both a reminder and a celebration." Mantis tilts her head. "Will you get another blade?"

[livedtough]

That's one of the more significant reasons why he tends to avoid the little bug--he knows that she can feel him, and he cannot stand it. To be seen from the inside out is bad enough, but to have it done be done without his permission is unacceptable. But still she comes to him, and still he allows her to convince him to talk, to go to this festival. He does not know why.

But here he is. And, really, it's not terrible. The stalls are selling fascinating goods, though he is almost hesitant to purchase anything. Why? Because it might show some weakness? That Loki is a person, capable of want? Of course he wants. All he has ever done is want. He does eye a few things, though. The craftsmanship for some of the items is remarkable. He's not surprised that the blade Mantis gifted him came from here.

And he is tired. He is so, terribly tired. But that does not matter now. Now he's here. A tourist. How quaint. And at a celebration of freedom, no less. Ironic, too. Tiny people and their tiny celebrations. He wonders if the people of Earth celebrate his defeat.

"Asgardian celebrations aren't considered a success until blood is spilled." Not a slight on these people. If anything, a slight on the people he once thought his own. He eyes a stall, considering her question. "If one catches my attention." Really, the answer is yes, but he won't do it just to do it. A blade must not only be aesthetically pleasing, but functional. As stylish as it is lethal. He'll see what he finds.

[tcbefearless]

Amelia raised her brows at the joke, though a small smirk formed "Oh I really wish you didn't know my rank, Sargeant" She responded, though her gaze kept in front of her. Already she was beginning to warm up to Bucky, most would have told her to fuck off by now, to deal with her own problems yet here he was..walking her to her safehouse. At the question, the young woman nodded "Fine..best we keep walking" she mused, finding that she was beginning to lean on him that little bit more with each step.

It didn't take too long to get to the rather plain looking building. Tall with white walls, and a black door that had the number seven just beside it. Amelia however initially did not trust it; after everything that had just happened she was caustious. "Wait." Her tone was blunt, hazel hues scanning the walls, door..trying to find anything out of place to even the most minut detail. "..seems safe.." as if anyone could truly tell. Except a Holmes. She grabbed the key that was hidden under the flower pot, "What? No need to be totally smart..there is such thing as being too clever"

She put the key in the door, turned it in its lock and with a click unlocked it and opened the door. She stepped inside, flicking on the switch. It was a neat little place, a kitchen and lounge which also held a small dining area with a flight of stairs that lead to the main bedroom and bathroom. "First aid is in the kitchen" Amelia commented kicking the door behind her with her foot, fingers gripping onto Barnes's jacket, fighting with herself not to pass out from either blood loss or the sheer pain she was in.

"It isn't often my Uncle pulls rank on me..usually only happens when I really am in trouble" Amelia spoke in a playful tone, "only a few people know this place is here..my father, Watson..My Uncle..and now you, I suppose."

[livedtough]

"I know," he said, feeling somewhat pleased with himself despite the fact he had no intention to abuse this knowledge. Well, mostly no intention, anyway. He wasn't the sort to push a joke into unwelcome territory, especially when the subject of the joke was currently bleeding against him. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He may wish that he could pull away, that he could separate himself from whatever it was he was getting himself into, but he was in it already, so he figured he may as well help. Especially since she was growing heavier against him with each passing moment.

At least they reached the building quickly. It struck him as potentially dangerous to hide out so close to where she'd been attacked, but she didn't have it in her to go much farther, so it would have to do. Besides, if they were being followed, then they weren't safe anywhere, and if they weren't, then they'd be fine for long enough to get her patched up. She seemed confident that they were safe, that the safehouse was secure, and that was enough. His eyebrows rose as she took the key from the planter, though he shook his head as she spoke. "I didn't see anything."

He helped he into the building, scanning the room as he did. He would have done it anyway, even without the threat that could have followed him. He held her against him, nodding as she spoke. He could do that. They needed to keep moving. It was a miracle, or a testament to the strength of her will, that she was still awake. He walks her to a nearby seat, helping her lower into it before going to the kitchen. "My old man was an Army man, too. Had me and my sisters between wars, but he died before I was enlisted." A pause, as he returned with the kit. "Point is, he would have done the same thing." He crouched in front of her, opening the kit. "Don't worry. I can keep a secret."

[boyd-stevens]

SMALLVILLE 1.03 - Hothead

[mantcdea]

There is joy to be found in every corner of the galaxy, Mantis thinks. She truly believes that. She does not view herself at the source of that joy — rather, she merely finds it, not naively but stubbornly. There is beauty in all things, in all beings. Life is more than a meaningless amalgamation of tragedies. It has to be. She needs it to be.

There is so much beauty to be found in Iggy: in his muzzle stripped of color, in his soft adorable ears, in his happy expression and his friendly nudges, asking to be pet, to be told that he is good.

Mantis' fingertips gently scratch the corgi's head and behind his ears, letting out a giggle.

"Who's a good boy? You are a good boy! Yes you are!" Her eyes flick to Taylor, and her smile softens, still petting Iggy calmly. "He is so sweet! Cosmo would love him. They would be such good friends."

[livedtough]

Taylor, despite everything she's been though, has always believed the same. Or, if there isn't joy to be found, there is at least, if she looks hard enough, love and beauty. There is friendship and family, and there is the sun in the sky. Maybe some days are bad, and maybe sometimes the weight of the world seems too heavy to bear, but there is still love.

Her family loves her. Her friends love her. Iggy loves her. And she loves them, too.

Iggy wiggles as he's pet, an attempt at a wagging tail from a dog without one. Taylor worries about his hips, sometimes, but they seem okay. Stiff, maybe, but okay. The fact that he won't live forever terrifies her, but she tries not to think about that too much. He's here now, and he's happy.

Taylor smiles warmly as she watches Mantis and Iggy, the two new friends. It makes her happy that they like each other, even if she wasn't all that worried. They're two of the most likable people she knows. "Yeah, he is. He's a good boy." Her head tilts just so to the side. "Is Cosmo your dog?"