#continued threads

[resolutevalor]

@protectxthem

When Lucy grabs him by the arm to prevent him from leaving Molly's, he wrinkles his nose and squints at her. He didn't feel comfortable being there around everyone while they drank, since he was a recovering alcoholic after binge drinking for months with Tori; very few knew about his drinking, and nobody knew he was getting help and going to meetings. He moves his arm out of her grasp and moves out of the way of the door, bringing her with him so he was out of ear shot of everyone who mattered.

"What is it?"

_______________________________________

There's a nervous breath that scantly eases over the curvature of her lips as she moves to halt Carver's movements. Chen takes considerable pains to make sure her grasp is firm but gentle upon his arm. "You okay?" She can almost sense his complete discomfiture. She allows himself to free himself. "You look-" She pauses, "like you're not having fun." She ambles shyly. "You want to go somewhere else and talk? Or something?" The Rookie cop is clearly concerned about him.

[timeguardians]

@legends-and-savages

Send 👀 to walk in on my muse naked| Accepting

Bruce had come in after it was pouring rain. So he had stripped down, but he had gotten distracted. A towel at least over his waist as he sat in front of his computer. Something had caught his attention and then he heard a noise. "I didn't realize you were here." He said.

____________________________________________

Wayne Manor is more impressive up close and personal than it is in all the glamour shots of it etched in the ruddy ink of the papers. It is not the luxury or the wealth that draws the soldier to the grounds. No, she comes for one purpose and one only. Bruce.

In him, Cap had found a strangely kindred spirit. A fellow drifting loner who, yearned to make the streets of their city better, safer. There's a pressure, an insurmountable weight, that they were both willing to shoulder. In the unspeakable undercurrents of every inhale and exhale, existed a palpable grief. A shared grief. And it is in Bruce Wayne's presence, that Stephanie found a sense of belonging, a renewed sense of purpose. He had given her the courage to pick up the shield again. She had NO RIGHT to do anything less.

Azure orbs rake down Bruce's muscular form, appreciating every well-defined curvature and groove. Despite the smatterings of injuries, he really is quite stunning to appreciate. Especially, when there was a dewy dampness still lingering from the rain. A blustery shade of rose inhabits her cheeks at the somewhat impure thoughts that had occurred to her in regards to him. Allowing her pearly-whites to sink into the plush of her lip, she scantly refrains from indulging the desire place a kiss to his nearest shoulder. (Not that she had any permission to FEEL that way or any inclination that the feelings may, in fact, be returned) Still, the temptation is ever present; equally as present as the persistent thrum of her own heartbeat.

Just as Cap resettles the shield upon her shoulders, she becomes aware of Wayne's piercing eyes upon her. The blonde tremulously hazards a step forwards but makes no effort to infringe upon his personal space.

Flustered, Cap's gaze averts. "Sorry. Your Butler let me in." Alfred, as she has come to realize, was a man of incredible character. Brave, learned, and astute he had proven to be time and time again. It does, however, shock Stephanie that he had been perhaps, briefly careless. "He mentioned that you could use the company."

Sheepish and worried orbs slowly return upwards, locking on his between webs of thick eye-lashes. "Do-do you want me to go?" She hesitantly prods.

[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

Late Night Swims:

@avictimofthejazz Continued from X

Meaningless dribble all too easily transpires over the tongues of those who think Barstow's looks should be at the forefront more than her work. Cosimo Eichelberger, heir to both a steel and titanium fortune, seemed to consider that her efforts were wasted, tinkering away in Wilton's garage. He spoke to her of countless opportunities. Ones Bonnie gave a polite, but firm declining. Still, the insufferable and rather spirited man, couldn't seem to take no for an answer which, is when Michael interceded. Michael was good at injecting himself into things at just the right time with just the right excuses.

Bonnie had never been as refreshingly liberated as Michael. The conventions of polite society are well ingrained in her nature, to even consider departing from them gives her pause. Still, there is this side to her that yearns for a taste of that freedom. So when the opportunity presents itself, she seizes it with open arms even if she had to give a few wary glances back towards the glitzy party.

------------------

Who knew that sneaking out of parties with Michael Knight could be so utterly intoxicating?!! How was it possible to get such a contact high from simply holding on to his arm? Bonnie muses, allowing her turquoise orbs to adoringly flit over Michael's form.

Debonair and dashing, he may appear tonight, but the imp still lingers beneath the black suited exterior. It is clearly evidenced in the animated way he's conversing. A fit of laughter rumbles past her lips at the new mental image of "stuffed turkeys" interposed over the patron's faces. God. And the mention of ovens?! It's something she can't UNSEE. Especially over Cosimo's -- Porcelain fingers abruptly move to mask the sheer levity of her spirits conjured up by his words. It is a feat that proves all too impossible as another roar of laughter quakes through her chest with the subtlety of a freight-train.

When he falls, he makes a loud splash one that sent a wave of chlorinated water into her opened toed shoes. Oh! Bonnie can't quite believe she did that! Devon's going to have a five-act lecture on the expense of the, probably ruined, suit waiting for her. Should he ever find out about this.

What was that for? For every unpunishable offense he had dealt her over the years, probably And in truth, the temptation had been far too difficult to pass up.

He was, however, very right about the party.

Damn. Heat singes her cheeks red. If Barstow thought Michael's statuesque features were alluring before, he was beyond the realms of pulchritudinously exquisite now; with his luscious curls sopping went and drooped over his forehead. She can't quite pry her eyes away. The dewy gleams of silver catch the pallor of the moonlight in a manner that causes him to appear more ethereal than human. Plus, she can't quite remember the last time he smiled a genuine form of that damnable grin; outside of a few quips here and there.

The brunette leans closer to the edge of the pool, with gleeful mirth swimming in even the deepest fathoms of her turquoise eyes as they peer down upon him. "You looked like you could use some cooling off. What with those ovens, the ones you were convinced would come on and fry all the stuffed turkeys." She teasingly remarks with her brows wriggling. "I didn't want to see your goose cooked too." It felt good. No, it felt natural to dish back what he served. "You're too--" Oh no. She better stop while she's ahead. Any complimentary line she employed could and probably would be used against her. "You're too...likeable to get back burnt--" She coyly tacks on after a moment or two.

Feeling another round of laughter sneaking up on her, Bonnie cheerfully prods. "How's the water?"

[timeguardiansarchive]

A River Rescue

  @honorhearted​   continued from X   

                          The brunette had been off-duty when she heard the cries of onlookers. Without hesitation, she jumped in to perform the rescue. It was a blessing the man wasn’t heavier. Otherwise, she alone would not have been able to lug him out of the perilous foaming rapids and onto shore. 

His state, however, brings no relief to the anxious lifeguard. He is struggling to grasp even a full breath, it’s obvious by the way he is wheezing. His pulse is thready and threatening to quit. Shaking hands press down on his chest with expert precision, trying to inspire the water to move out of occupied lungs.

“Don’t you die on me....” She murmurs through gritting teeth. Somewhere in the back of Melody’s mind arose the commentary about how to cope with losses. With a grimace, she pushed it back. This gentleman would not be added to some impersonal statistic. She was NOT going to lose him; even if she knew nothing about the stranger. 

                                                Samuel?

Mel’s attentive gaze swivels about trying to find the other man as she shrugs off her clingy red waterlogged coat. She could not afford to have it hindering her right now. No one stepped forward from the eager-eyed onlookers. Her heart sinks like a cumbersome rock straight into the pit of her stomach. 

Sam? 

Once more her expectant gaze examines the onlookers. Not a solitary soul steps forward.

The sensation didn’t get any better.....

With a tremulous worried lilt, Melody breathes, “it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m ---- I’m here...” Her knuckles slowly set adrift over his clammy cheek. “Take it easy. Focus on getting all the water out. Easy now.” She murmurs. When he finally rolls over to expel the water, Melody coos encouragingly. “That’s it.” Her hand claps down on his back firmly a few times in an effort to urge the water out. 

The Baywatch rookie nods to an onlooker who volunteers to call for an ambulance. Even if the man insisted he was fine, she was getting him to greater medical help than herself. Besides, she’d hate herself if he ended up suffering from something as awful as secondary drowning. 

Stroking her free hand through his hair, she once more searched the crowd for any indication that they had seen his horse. They hadn’t. “We’ll find her. I promise....” Her cheeks tinge red as Mitch’s voice enters her head, reminding her not to make promises that she obviously can NOT keep. “What does she look like---” A horse obviously. Brown, red, purple, green. She figures, as long as he is talking, he is conscious. And Lord knows, she needs him to remain conscious. 

The sounds of far off sirens start to resonate in the air, their piercing wails growing louder and more pronounced as the rescue vehicle approaches. 

“I need a name....” She entreats ernestly. 

[annastrxng]

A Not So Helping Hand

                                 @honorhearted​ continued from x

 An active challenge dawns in the breadths of Anna’s maple orbs as she sharkishly closes the distance between herself and Ben. The smoking pistol feels like a heavy, dead weight ensnared by her trembling fingers. “You called that under control?!” She scoffs with a ill-contained snort. “I should hate to see it, were you to consider it being out of hand.” Why was it her every move was to be met with ridicule in his eyes? Could Tallmadge not, this once, find some measure of pride in the fact that she committed a despicable act in order to SAVE his life? Truthfully, he was just as bad as Abe in that respect. 

“You do understand that not all defectors have pure intentions. Right?” The brunette adds pointedly. There’s an ill-veiled inquiry in her words. “Couldn’t you see, he wasn’t going to tell you anything? He’s a plant. He’s one of Simcoe’s men. I recognize him from the tavern.” Anna hopes the revelation resides upon his shoulders just as intensely as it had her’s moments ago. “No doubt, he came for blood.” Her nose crinkles as she stands over the body. She’s relieved she had the foresight to act, even if he was not. There was a far more disturbing possibility. That Simcoe’s man was not only a pretend detractor but also a double agent that had gone rogue. A double - agent who was taking aim at Washington’s Intelligence department. Anna, having known Sackett had been a target, worried the same about Ben. 

“We?” Anna snorts with rampant amusement. Suddenly, he was demanding her help. Minutes ago he had rebuked her for lending assistance. It was ironic to her how quickly he shifted. She averts her eyes as they roll. Course, what choice did she have but to help now? The dead soldier donning patriot garb would require more than one person to carry him off the main path. “Are you sure my delicate nature won’t offend you some more?” Anna prods. The words singe like a bitter lemon across her tongue even as they are hurled in Tallmadge’s direction.

Biting back the temptation to give into an accusatory flare, Anna softly asks. “Why are you so hell-bent assured he would have had relevant information?” She moves to ransack the dead man’s jacket.

[detectiverickitubbs]

Pickpocketing:

@crime-boss-steve-j-mcgarrett​ continued from X

Long dark lashes flicked upwards with a certain severity the very second his powerful hand ensnares her own. A surprised audible gasp rumbles past her parted lips. She hadn’t entirely expected him to be in possession of such cat-like reflexes. Had she not tamed her own reflexes, her free hand would have balled up and taken a swing at him. But she hadn’t been given cause to defend herself yet. The breath catches in the back of her throat when he addresses her. 

Thinking quickly, Tubbs daringly closes the gap between them. Her mind spun for any excuse good or bad for her to be clutching his possessions. “I wouldn’t have to pick your pocket to get your name and number if you’d noticed me about ten minutes ago.” She pulled the shameless flirt card. Would it work in her favor? Had he figured her for a simple thief?  What was it they said about ignorance? Even pretended ignorance. That it was bliss or something to that effect?

Or worse, had he picked up on the truth? That she was a cop trying to get proof positive to condemn him. The best way to catch someone off guard was to playfully cast aspersions upon him. “Don’t tell me,” she starts tipping her head upwards unabashedly, “you’re a cop.” Of course, she assumes that by pretending he is a cop, he won’t suspect that she is one.

Having pulled his jacket, she is fully aware of who he is. Steve is an ex-cop and ex-Navy Seal turned crime boss. He is extremely good at what he does!! While no one could directly link him to his crimes, in the extensive criminal underworlds Steve McGarrett has a reputation for ruthlessness. That only makes this predicament all the more precarious for her. 

[honor-to-us-all]

You’re Different

@fallsekings continued from X

His eyes glowed of the Emperor’s riches, a shade of gold rivaled only by that of the sun. Shan Yu was the only individual Mulan had ever been close to with eyes the anomalic shade of yellow or any variant there of. A part of her is fearful that the medic is part of the Hun army. But why would any of the enemy take pity on her, a fallen, disgraced, and crumpled imperial soldier? Surely, they wouldn’t if they were Huns.

“Are you a Hun? Or what is it about your eyes?” She presses. 

Self-conscious and weathered hands fumble to pull a blanket tight around her wounded frame. Nervous eyes seek an exit, one that did not immediately present itself. So her eyes return to him.Swallowing sharply, she did not reclaim the mantle of Ping. But rather answered sheepishly as Mulan, the woman who should be seen, not heard. Besides, there’d be no concealing the truth now. Someone had already patched up her side, which had been so badly bleeding she’d passed out. 

“I only did it to protect my father.” Her gaze is turned downwards, her eyes are stricken with incredible shame.

[unyieldingvalxr]

@moretreasurewithin continued X 

Whimsical, his smile grew till it nearly touched his earlobes. Mashka was right. What did a simple soldier like him know about baking? He could tell her everything she wanted about artillery, guns, and uniforms. The goods they had been tasked to handle were far better looking than fire-side meals or those camping packets they were sometimes gifted.  

“Don’t tell her this. But I agree with you,” he laughingly returned. “Although your skills far exceed my own.” He lifted up a rather shabby example of his icing work. It was supposed to look neat and orderly but instead, it looked more pathetic. “Please tell me this isn’t going to be on display somewhere.”

But for all that he lacked in cooking skills, he enjoyed spending time with her. That is what really mattered. The silly project would surely fade into the memory books in comparison with the fun they shared. 

“Think anyone will notice they’re all lopsided?”