#Star Stable recruitment

[thegnomelord]

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

[ex-foster]

Marilyn Monroe was a foster child.

Sasha Gray was a foster child.

Both of these women became a sex symbol. Marilyn was a pin up model and famous movie star. Sasha was a porn star who was depicted in degrading scenes (and later spoke out against the porn industry she once advocated for. She has said she was coerced into the industry).

The foster care to sex trafficking pipeline has always been a problem. Girls that lack parents or a stable home life are especially vulnerable to sexual exploitation. In the age of the Internet and the porn industry however, the sadistic and misogynistic sexual abuse of women has become mainstream.

Girls age out of the foster care system and get sacrificed on the altar of pornography. Their rape is shared on Reddit subs under tags like "dead eyes" and "barely legal". Young boys consume porn and these scenes they watch become normalized. They adopt these sexual scripts as normal behaviour and they become the type of boys who think it's normal to choke, strangle, beat, degrade girls during sex.

Self proclaimed feminists defend the sex industry and dismiss the horrific cases of abuse in porn as outliers. They argue that "sex work is work" and that some women genuinely enjoy it. However, let me argue it this way. There is supply and demand. If the demand for prostitutes, porn stars or "sex workers" is high but the supply is low (meaning women don't want to do sex work), where will the supply come from? The answer is marginalized women. Women from foster care, homeless women, refugees, migrant women, racial minorities, substance dependant women.

And so, who will supply the demand for porn audiences who want to see taboo niche videos? What if the demand is for rough anal sex of a barely legal teen until she cries?

The recruitment of the sex industry is predatory. This is why sex trafficking victims are overwhelmingly women from foster care. When girls age out of care, they are disproportionately at risk for homelessness. Research the outcomes of foster kids.

[juliaqueendragon]

Wake up SSOblr

I have two finals this week and I just got invited for a PowerPoint evening on Friday so I have to make a funny presentation Friday afternoon. I settled on the topic

"War crimes, Cult-like behaviour and other questionable things in Star Stable Online"

Give me your worst ssoblr. From drugging security guards to recruiting 18-year-olds for your cult. I need the worst of the worst. It doesn't need to be canon it just has to be absurd.

[aryamistwood]

NEW CODE + CHALLENGE ALERT! (Sept 10)

Star Stable announced today that there is a new community challenge - recruit 60,000 new Star Riders by Sept 21. To do that, they released a FREE 7-DAY STAR RIDER CODE:

ITHASBEGUN

Share this code with friends to give them access to the first week of the event and contribute to the 60,000 new Star Riders.

Rewards will be given to all players at 30,000 and 60,000 new recruits.

I expect more codes will release throughout the medieval birthday event, so check back here or on instagram (I believe they post codes on Monday and Thursday, I'll try to confirm their post schedule)

[banamine-bananime]

just listing some of my headcanons (mostly appearance/demographics) because i like listing things and i’m procrastinating hard

caboose - 18-19 in 2552. went straight from hs graduation to basic to sim training to blood gulch. he was gonna do a program where the UNSC provides a hefty scholarship for completion of an engineering degree with a few years of service upon graduation, but got enlisted instead through a combination of paperwork being confusing for bureaucratic nonsense reasons, paperwork being confusing for deliberate predatory we-need-as-many-people-for-cannon-fodder-as-possible reasons, and him being confused by any paperwork. 6'7”, ~250 lb, very muscular and not thin but not quite chubby either, very mixed but mostly latino and arabic ethnicities, thick fluffy 3A chin-length dark brown hair that's always in his eyes, round face with cute fuzzy eyebrows and aquiline nose. him and tucker (and kinda donut and perhaps sarge) are the only motherfuckers here with a stable happy childhood. uses-no-specific-label queer cis dude.

church - we know church is 5 in blood gulch lol but it think he thought he was like 23-ish/jimmy was around that age. in jimmy's body, 5'10, ~230 lb, chubby and "normal" level of muscularity for someone who has a somewhat active job but doesn't work out much, untidy thick straight black hair that's like 2" grown-out from a buzz, face passably similar to the director if you squint but not really (e.g. shorter/squarer face, eyes hazel instead of stupidly light green). epsilon projects a similar bodytype but would probably default to a young-director-ish face if he had to make one. i think he would at some point consciously change it around if he were doing a face with any regularity. bisexual and nonbinary and will probably never fully acknowledge it but she can have some pronouns as a treat (from tex or in her own internal monologue) sometimes.

tucker - 18-19 in 2552. went straight from hs graduation to basic to sim training to blood gulch. enlisted because he was a “fuck around without any motivation or particular goals in life” kind of teenage dirtbag who was like “oh hey predatory recruiters absolutely dominating every career fair in Covenant-war-era earth. i’ve heard being in the military is very sexy and exciting and makes you a chick magnet so sure sign me up”. 5’4”, ~110 lb scrawny guy in blood gulch -> ~135 still pretty skinny but more muscular later. 4C hair with a grown-out buzz from basic in blood gulch becoming locs when it's long enough. *takes you by the shoulders very seriously* repeat after me, his eyes are BROWN. and the only acceptable other option is when they’re turning gray as in a body horror way, gray as in your body becoming something uncanny to you, gray as in the horribly blinding cold light of unfathomably vast stars lightyears away from anything you’ve ever known (read lazarus left the tomb btw. treat yourself). very handsome face in a boy-next-door-looks-very-sweet-until-he-opens-his-mouth kinda way. an only child or had like one older sibling he wasn’t very close to by the time he enlisted. i think of him as a bi cis guy but i enjoy trans hcs.

kai - 20 in 2552. 5’2”, ~200 lb, fat and top-heavy hourglass and broadset. a little muscular (it’s not immediately obvious) as she was always athletic and basic training helped, but she’s made more for endurance (body by “dancing 7 hours and walking home across town drunk and sleep-deprived”) than strength. thick upper-back-length black 2C hair that she sometimes dyes streaks in or ombre (usually brown highlights but she mixes it up). broad face and nose, big adorable eyebrows, life-endingly cute eyes and smile. alternates between no-makeup all-leg-hair realness, and full femme glam for funsies with 5 sets of fake eyelashes trying to take flight (at least three of them are inevitably going to be Just Fucking Gone by some point in the party). pansexual ipsogender intersex gal (tbh the original reason i headcanoned her having mosaic turner’s is the colorblindess [x-linked recessive traits are rarely gonna show up if you have 2 X chromsomes vs having one, so i was like, “hey her retinas could be some of her XO tissues, and with mosaicism, fertility isn’t uncommon, so it doesn’t contradict her having had abortions”] and then years later i thought about it harder and was like wait she has achromatopsia and that’s autosomal. biology nerd fail moment. but anyways she’s intersex.)

tex - her body is modelled after allison aged 33 (when she died), but bigger stronger faster idealized-by-memory-and-wanting-her-to-be-invincible-to-the-point-of-looking-more-like-she’s-on-gear-and-photoshop-than-a-natural-body. 6’2”, body looks like ~220 lb of muscle and low-body-fat (but not like, cut for bodybuilding competition level of low-body-fat), but being made largely metal, she is heavier. whereas allison was like 5’9”, 170 lb, serious-crossfit-competitor kind of build but nowhere near as built as tex. face looks very similar to allison but just… weirdly airbrushed look and looks… sharper. harsher features. more intimidating. but she’s got this crooked smile that looks kinda like a smug smirk but also like she’s not laughing at you exactly, she’s just vibing with you and the inherent comedy of the absurdity of life. but when she’s Not Smiling it's the kind of expression you start backing away from expeditiously. i think of her having shoulder-length hair she wears in a ponytail but i do love short-hair tex dearly. gnc butch gay/bi (mostly attracted to women, uses both labels) cis woman who uses any pronouns.

wash - around 31? in 2552 (would put him being recruited to pfl at about 26 which feels right for being able to slide into the Goofy Innocent Rookie role but also plausibly have achieved a pretty high non-commissioned officer rank). 5’6” -155 lb, functional muscle with a build in-between lean and stocky (“otter” as a label keeps coming to mind). i don’t have a super settled facecanon but picture him as either white or mixed white and east asian. he has not changed his bleach-blonde crewcut since he was 17 and the shock of allowing himself to change it now might kill him. gay ace trans man.

carolina - 29 in 2552 (actually the youngest among the high-ranking freelancers. she would kill (jk) to protect this secret). she did the whole 4 year military academy to commissioned officer training thing and had a couple years of normal UNSC service before unfortunately getting wrapped up in her dad’s mad science pet project. 5’8”, ~150 lb, leanly muscular. i think of her having natural red hair she dyes bright red but i love a black-haired carolina too. we’ve seen her face. straight trans woman (transitioned as a preteen). i know, i wanted her to be in the wlw club, too. unfortunately every time i try shipping her with a woman she’s like “meh. thinking about my weird khaki man.” and i’m like oh. sorry about that affliction.

sarge - 62 (?) in 2552. 5’6”, ~200 lb, stocky and solidly muscular barrel-chested slight-beer-gut old dude. chinese-american. if you somehow catch him without his helmet he’s got wraparound reflective shades so good luck ever seeing his face (he’ll tell you it’s classified). another eternal crewcut guy but his is shorter than wash’s. bi and definitely a robofucker tbh. he is cis or trans depending on what’s funnier in any given circumstance.

grif - 24 in 2552. worked in honolulu a couple years after hs graduation until kai was old enough (17) he felt he could leave. did a year at university before realizing he’s smart enough to be admitted to cornell but not to get the scholarship he realistically needs to not be in crushing debt on graduation and also there’s not nearly enough regimentation to college life to prevent him from rotting in bed paralyzed by Problems. went through basic and stationed on the doomed outpost. that Whole Thing happened and he was reassigned to sim troopers. 5’8”, ~300 lb, fat and a little bit strong against his will from an involuntarily active job (he has valiantly resisted picking up cardiovascular conditioning. he works very hard on unfitness). he’s kinda cute in a “hasn’t washed his face in 5 days and his peachfuzz/stubble patches combo is very uneven but you caught him smiling for 2 seconds and oh no it was VERY charming” way. thick 2C dark-brown hair that’s a few inches long, wears it longer later. gay trans guy (because his little sister is named “younger sibling of the same gender” so like… also lmfao how unfortunate for kai that her name, which she did not choose, misgenders her big brother. like 😭 god it is very on the grif siblings brand of “hello so the circumstances we have been put in mean that my existence [kai]/how i have to leave you here to protect my own sanity [grif] is actively making your life much harder. i am ashamed of this, let us never communicate about it ever. i love you so much.”)

simmons - 23 in 2552. tried to do university several times and had to drop out for mental health reasons (a very polite way of putting “rapid spiral into absolute disaster every time”. it leaves room for giving him the benefit of the doubt that this was a proactive “ah i should take care of myself and this is not working for me :) #selfcare #therapy” decision. this is not benefit of the doubt that anyone who knows him would extend.). I go back and forth on whether to roll with the “suspiciously specific denial of being in a unit that was stranded and had to eat their dog to survive” thing or just say he was assigned straight to sim troopers. 5’11”, ~160 lb, wirey build and has to be standing at attention or else he holds himself so awkwardly. i pretty much go with the Standard Ginger Simmons Fanon Face but light brown hair also feels right and i think his hair should be very short. i really like when people draw his prosthetics very industrial/bare mechanical frame not trying to imitate biological form, just whatever’s functional. Red circle eye, hell yeah. bi and i used to firmly believe “this guy has to be cis because there is NO WAY he would have the hutzpah and willingness to put self-authenticity over doing what he’s Supposed To Do. we’ve seen how he deals with anxiety. he would just be white-knuckling his way through dysphoria to this day” HOWEVER i have really come around to trans simmons

donut - 19-20 in 2552. i see him taking a gap year or two to work on the farm and think about what he wants to do with his life (not productively introspecting on his deeper desires in life and what would allow him to fulfill them, god no, of course not. daydreaming unrealistically. obviously.) before enlisting. i think his upbringing was fairly happy but kinda weird and a bit insular within a small community of some Beliefs and possibly homeschooled. not like exactly Fundie Christian America as you might assume with that background; american subcultures have changed enough over 500 years that this is one of many totally unrecognizable to us. like it has some roots in Fundie Christianity and homesteading-from-a-weird-reactionary-tradfamily-can’t-trust-the-gubernment-place and some in Hippie-dippiness Spirituality, not-actually-a-cult-but-sometimes-you’ll-hear-him-say-things-he-thinks-are-normal-and-you’re-like-ummmmmmmm. (Idek how that headcanon started. i think i was just like so how DO you build a guy like donut). he’s 5’10”, ~185 lb, sturdy build, i don’t think people would consider him chubby but definitely not thin. his face and hair looks like he should be on a 1960s white america boyscouts poster but like, goofy about it. i think of him being mostly white but some latino heritage he’s curious about but was not raised connected to (hence wanting to learn spanish). acearospec and gay (he’s like…. mostly asexual and aromantic but it’s complicated. he is barely aware of being gay let alone ace or aro. he just fully makes up what he thinks sexual attraction and romance are and assigns it to random feelings/experiences). cis dude or nonbinary.

[marble-hand]

[ manny jacinto, cis-man, he/him ] Look who just landed! VALERIO “VAL” DIZON, I sure hope you packed all you need. Perhaps you’re not worried as FORCE LEADER of THE OVERSEERS. The city has plenty of spots for a 34 year old HEXTECH USER like you. You’ll be known in the city soon enough as THE MARBLE HAND, being RIGHTEOUS and CREDULOUS.

OOC INFO

OOC: Jun, PT, any pronouns/siya

Muse’s Name(s): Valerio “Val” Dizon

Tagging System: Below

Interview: Here

STATISTICS

Full Name: Valerio Dizon

Nickname: Val

Date of Birth: October 4, 2371

Gender: Cis-man

Pronouns: He/him

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Romantic Orientation: Panromantic

Current Age: 34

Modification: Hextech User – White Titanium Gauntlets AKA The Marble Hands

Affiliation: The Overseers

Birthplace: Marwar District, New Jakarta

Current Neighbourhood: Sora, New Jakarta

Occupation: Force Leader of The Overseers

Known Languages: Tagalog (native), English (native), Mandarin (conversational), Bahasa Indonesian (conversational), Japanese (conversational)

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Manny Jacinto

Height: 5'11"

Eye Colour: Dark brown

Hair Colour: Black

Clothing Style: Usually in uniform, otherwise minimal, clean, and comfy a la Scandinavian Minimalist core 

Jewellery: Multiple rings to fidget with if he’s not wearing his gauntlets, but very deliberately keeps his ring finger free

Tattoos: N/A

Marks/Scars: A few burn scars from his time in the bakery, numerous scars from front-line duty, and a larger scar on this back that he got during “training” when he first got recruited into the Overseers

Modifications: Hextech user

Scent/Fragrance: Like freshly baked bread

FAVOURITES

Likes: Any sort of freshly baked bread or pastry, Filipino drink desserts, a good time in karaoke

Dislikes: Criminals with no remorse, disorderly conduct, people who leave less than 5 star reviews about his mom’s bakery 

Hobbies: Basketball, baking, recipe development

Habits: Fidgeting with rings or the crystals on his gauntlets, code-switching between more casual and formal talk off/on duty

One Cherished Item: A personalized apron and oven mitt set from Santi for their six month anniversary

BIOGRAPHY

Always "Val," and never "Valerio Dizon"—unless it was his mother scolding him for staying out too late. Val was the kind of guy who made people feel at ease. Popular, good-natured, the one who’d help walk an old lady across the street without a second thought or share his lunch with a classmate who’d forgotten theirs. Up until high school, he never aspired to be anything more than what he was, a regular kid with a decent life in New Jakarta’s Marwar District.

Born to a single mother who ran the family bakery, Valerio’s Bake Shop, Val’s life followed a comfortable, if predictable, routine. The bakery was a local favorite, known for its warm, flaky pastries and the kind smile his mother greeted everyone with. For Val, the future seemed simple: he’d take over the bakery, maybe work part-time during college, and continue the family tradition. Ambition wasn’t something that had crossed his mind. Why would it? Life was normal. It was fine.

But even in his laid-back existence, he held an unwavering belief in justice. Though he was one of the popular kids, Val always made sure everyone was included, that no one felt left out. He’d step in when the neighborhood kids got too rough, making them apologize if they bumped into someone. Laws and order kept life safe, and that’s how Val liked it. Stable. Secure.

Until it wasn’t.

The robbery was a shock. A bakery of all places. The desperation in New Jakarta was growing, people were hungry—not just for food, but for survival. Val remembers running home, heart pounding, fearing the worst. The storefront window was shattered, glass littering the sidewalk, but his mother, though shaken, was unharmed. Relief washed over him, but reality punched him straight in the face—their safety had been an illusion, a fragile thing easily broken as the bakery’s window.

At the scene, Val’s eyes were drawn to an Overseer, an imposing figure clad in sleek armor, weapons glowing with the eerie light of Hextech crystals. The Overseer moved with authority, surveying the damage with a calm, focused demeanor. Val had never seen anything like it. The man approached him, asked if he was the owner’s son. When Val nodded, the Overseer placed a heavy, gloved hand on his shoulder. “Be strong,” he said, his voice steady. “Protect your mother. We won’t always be here.”

Those words struck something deep within Val. The Overseer’s presence, the power he wielded, and the responsibility he bore—it all crystallized in Val’s mind. He wanted to be strong enough to protect those he loved, to uphold the laws that kept people safe. For the first time, Val felt a drive, a purpose that went beyond the bakery and the simple life he’d always imagined.

From that day on, Val’s path shifted. With less than a year before his high school graduation, he poured himself into his studies, especially anything that would help him understand the law, justice, and the workings of the city. He trained his body, pushing himself to physical limits he’d never considered before. His mother supported him, proud of his newfound determination, even if it meant a different, bigger, future than she’d envisioned.

Val joined the Overseers as soon as he was able, climbing the ranks with a mix of hard work, innate talent, and that fierce belief in justice that had always been a part of him. He specialized in Hextech weaponry, just like the man he admired all those years ago. His titanium white gauntlets becoming his signature, earning him the nickname “The Marble Hand.”

Despite his rise, Val never lost that good-natured, approachable side. He was known for his fairness, his refusal to bend the rules, but also for his empathy. He argued for mercy when he believed people were victims of circumstance, remembering his own past and the desperation he had seen in the eyes of those who had turned to crime.

Now, as the Force Leader of the Overseers, Val is in a position of power he never sought but fully embraced. He sees himself in the new recruits, those young, eager faces that remind him of the boy he once was—the one who had no real ambition until the day his world was shaken. Val takes it upon himself to mentor them, to instill in them the same belief in justice that drives him. He’s seen the darkness in the city, but he’s also seen the light, and he’s determined to guide the next generation of law enforcers, and anyone else he can bring along, towards that light.

RELATIONSHIPS AND CONNECTIONS (More TBA)

Mother - Marigold Santos Dizon

Val had always admired his mom. Growing up, he was a bit of a brat—he can admit that now—but looking back, he feels a little sorry for the way he acted. It wasn’t until he got older that he realized the situation they were in: a single mom running a bakery by herself, keeping everything together with sheer willpower and ungodly early mornings. Val remembers how she would wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning to get the day’s stock of baked goods going, a routine that seemed as natural to her as breathing.

By the time Val was in high school, he couldn’t just watch her do it all alone. He started getting up early too, helping her out before heading off to practice. It wasn’t much, but he wanted to do his part. Those early mornings taught him perseverance, a trait he knows he inherited from her.

Now, as he climbs the ranks in the Overseers and dreams of a better future for both himself and the city, he wishes he could do more for her. Val hopes to see her retire soon, but he wonders if she could really let go of the bakery. It’s been her life’s work, her pride. Would she find fulfillment in retirement, or would she miss the routine, the sense of purpose it gave her?

One thing Val does know, however, is that she keeps asking when he’s going to get married. She says it doesn’t matter who, as long as he’s happy. Val finds her persistence amusing and endearing, a reminder that no matter how much his life changes, some things—like his mom’s unconditional love and prized pandesal recipe—will always stay the same.

Boyfriend - Santi Amarin-Zhao

The words were already spilling out of his mouth before he could think. He had just finished a routine line of questioning, and before Val knew it, his next question had him asking out New Jakarta’s most eligible bachelor and X Academy’s CEO on a date. Val’s heart nearly stopped as he realized what he’d done—he’d never fumbled like that before when asking someone out. He was about to apologize, to take it back, but then Santi said, “Sure.” Just like that. 

They’ve gone on quite a few dates since then, and Val likes to think they’re going steady, exclusive even. But he can’t help noticing the walls Santi has put up. Their relationship isn’t public, Santi avoids any kind of PDA, and sometimes he feels just out of reach, even during late nights when it’s just the two of them in bed. It’s like Santi’s there, but not fully there.

Still, it doesn’t shake Val’s faith in him. He trusts Santi. They both want the same thing, right? For this city to be better, safer. Val tells himself that’s enough, even if getting closer to Santi feels like trying to touch something through glass.

[jamneuromain]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Steve Rogers x Reader (You)

Life Lesson:  There's always going to be a coworker that you don't like.

Warning: Cursing? A lot of cursing (?

A/N: This is my entry to @ronearoundblindly's Ro's 1-1-1 Challenge <3 Based on the inspiration from Eclipness. I mostly do the editing work :3 Basically some short snippets of your life being a task force leader in the Avengers.

*

Past

You heard of the funny business, that Rhodey commenting on Peter Quill, the legendary Star Lord, “So he’s an idiot?” To be honest, even if you are barely the type to joke around and have fun at the workplace – mind you, you work for the Avengers, the place that a single mistake could cost the lives of millions if not billions - you could barely keep the amusement off your face for three full days after you heard the anecdote.

“You’re laughing now, but I’m telling ya’,” Rhodey sipped his coffee, his words were more of a warning and a piece of advice to you, when you both and seven new recruits happened to be in the coffee room during the break and Rhodey shared his experiences in past missions, “sooner or later you’d figure there’s someone dumb as hell and you’ll feel the exact same way.”

The new recruits burst out a new round of laughter, but you shook your head with a small smile. The warmth of your coffee mug prickled your fingers slightly as you picked it up, “I’m sure it is not as bad as it sounds. We have the best agents here in the compound. They are the best of the best of the best.”

You knew Rhodey for a long while now. In fact, he was one of the instructors in your early years of army life. However, it wasn’t until later that the Avengers Initiative became more stable that he introduced you to this line of work, when all the other Avengers are either too busy or too incompetent (and yes, Rhodey was referring to Tony when he used this word) to lead a special task force that dealt with missions that were not quite Avenger’s level, but tricky if put in the hands of normal agents and squads.

And for the record, Rhodey wasn’t talking about anyone specific this time when he said “someone”.

While you thought otherwise. Sure, there will always be an annoying coworker or colleague at work, but you were certain that you could keep it professional.

Oh boy Oh. How wrong you were.

**

Now

“Cap has been on this mission for six months, and now he needs your help on this lead.” Sam, who has been like a big brother since your arrival, and even more brother-like when he knew about your army life, opens the conference room door for you. He flashes his pearl white teeth, “Debriefing starts in two minutes. I know this is your first time working with him. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

The glass door opens, and there stands Maria, mission dispatch officer of the Avengers Initiative, who simply nods and gestures you to sit down, checking her tablet and probably taking notes on her brief later. Your task force teammates sit on either side of the table, talking or minding their own business.

“Good luck!” Sam waves and disappears down in the corridor.

A few seconds and Maria still hasn’t started debriefing.

“Maria, do you need a couple of minutes?” You ask in confusion, seeing that Maria has no intention of introducing your next mission.

Maria raises her head from the tablet, blinks in confusion, before realization hits her, “we’re still waiting for one more.”

Debriefing was supposed to start three minutes ago.

No matter who comes through that door next, you’re going to show him, or her …

“Sorry everyone. There’s been a little incident downtown.” Steve Rogers, the blonde bulky super soldier rushes through the door, crashing himself down the chair beside you, “hello, you must be the leader of the task force. I’m Steve. Nice working with ya.” As he extends his hand.

You shake his hand out of politeness, while Maria starts pulling out the map of hostile locations where the lead points to.

It’s hardly likely for you to show him … some moves or anything.

But Captain Rogers is one of the greatest soldiers ever walk the Earth.

It’s going to be pleasant working with him, right?

… right?

***

The first mission that your task force is on this lead, you hand Steve full authority of commanding you and your unit.

Literally every recon mission you have been on, whether leading the task force or when you were in the military, was orchestrated perfectly. You get in, gather the info, and get out. Easy peasy.

But no.

You heard of the saying that goes around in the compound. “Every recon will turn into a full-on engagement.”

Whoever says that remains anonymous, but it’s no secret that these missions refer to Captain Steve Rogers.

It was an urban myth, you thought. How can someone as experienced as Steve Rogers, a man who has been through actual World War II, could make mistakes and blow up a simple recon?

You were proven wrong.

“Coming in hot, four o’clock!” Steve shouts as he blocks an RPG with his vibranium shield, explosion and dust wrap around him and engulf him in flames.

You curse under your breath, hands steady on your sniper rifle and take out another guard on the gate.

It wasn’t his fault, nor your teammates’. When the recon became an engagement with hostile members of this organization. It was … purely bad luck?

When some guard hit the panic button, setting the entire place in lockdown, and yelling in the comms that he couldn’t see his pal heading to the bathroom on the security cams.

But still, this NEVER happened before.

You join the messed up battle field as Captain Rogers plans for extraction, which includes getting in the RV (seriously, RV? These bad guys sure know how to have fun) and blasting the concrete walls using the new plasma cannon that you snatched from the bad guys’ weaponry room.

“Do we know how far is the blast radius of this thing?” You are in favor of getting out, but you aren’t in favor of killing yourself when getting out.

“We’d have to wait and see then.” Captain Rogers says in extreme optimism, covering your six when you and your teammates cram in the bus-like RV.

David, the mechanic expert in your team, plops up the skylight with the help of his teammates, holding the dangerous cannon and nodding to you, “we’re ready.”

“On my mark, go!” Captain Rogers hops on the RV as well, and tells you to drive.

The firing gradually ceased, as the enemy agents sure are baffled as well why you are driving towards a wall.

“NOW!” He shouts to David, who steadies himself and fires the cannon with a spectacular aim.

Oh, the plasma bomb-thing hits the wall alright. It blasts a hole with a radius of ten miles, taking down the whole wall with it, and burning a few yards of trees near the castle as well.

You hit the gas pedal and go through the hole – technically there isn’t a hole. There used to be a wall. You take the RV through the empty space which used to be a wall, and get out of sight of the enemy agents.

While your teammates lie down and rest, some taking care of their wounds with a first aid kit they found somewhere, you spare a glance at Captain Rogers. Ash and dust smear his pretty face, hair all tousled and his helmet lost – again, you heard that the equipment room produces ten helmets per month for him, just because he’d lost one somewhere almost on a daily basis during the mission.

And you know. You just know.

He’s reckless as hell and you won’t enjoy working with him.

Not one bit.

****

He hurries on the Quinjet before you and your task force take off.

“What’s this mission?” He speaks to you in a low voice, placing his shield near his feet, taking a seat right next to you.

“Caribbeans. For the felon codename ‘Tower Gate’.” You fasten your seatbelt, instructing the pilot to take off, “I thought you were on another mission?”

“Tower Gate? I thought he was in Spain?” He furrows his brow in confusion.

You clench your jaw, trying to make your voice sound calm, “the last mission when we,” you point at you and him separately, “were pursuing Tower Gate in Spain, and he got away, was six months ago.”

“Oh, right.” He pauses for a moment, clearly taking in you and your teammates suit up as divers, “what’s with the suit?”

Inner peace. You tell yourself. Inner peace. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You didn’t get briefed?” You eye him, almost speechless, trying not to sound mad, “we are going to dive into the ocean to approach the island. Does your heavy armor…” work in the ocean? Won’t it drown him???

That would be tons of reports to write.

“I’ll figure something out.” He smiles, leaning back against the cockpit when the plane hits a small turbulence and he sucks in air and rubs the back of his head with a painful expression.

You kind of know where he gets his crazy ideas from.

He probably banged his head a lot during missions without his helmet.

Speaking of, “where on Earth is your helmet?” You can’t help but ask.

An embarrassed smile lingers on his lips, “kind of … lost it. During the last mission, and equipment room hasn’t produced the new batch yet.”

“Lost it???” You raise your voice by an octave, “and you’re going on missions like this?? Without your helmet?”

He definitely banged his head a lot.

……

“I’m telling you, Maria. He has the worst intel, rushes in front of the whole team without even a proper plan in mind, and he keeps putting himself in danger, which I will not tolerate when I’m running missions.” You complain to Maria Hill, who looks thoughtfully on hearing your reasons to kick Steve out of your team, or stop running missions with you at least.

“I’m sorry, but Steve can pick his own missions.” Maria shrugs, “however, I can forward your opinion to him, if it helps.”

If it helps?

You huff and leave the room.

*****

“Hey, I think we’re supposed to go over the briefing for the mission tomorrow.” You are stopped by Steve Rogers on your way to mission dispatch center. He taps your shoulder and asks if you could join him in the conference room.

“But there’s no mission tomorrow?” You shake your head for clarity, “what’s the codename for this mission?”

“Code name Streetlamp.”

“That’s … Agent O’ Hare. O’ Hare is working on ‘Streetlamp’.”

“Uh… where can I find Agent O’ Hare?”

You know O’ Hare. Not so well, but you know him. He’s one of the new recruits at the time you were brought in. His office is right next to yours and you occasionally bump into each other in the coffee room.

“He’s … on leave.” You choose your words carefully.

“When will he be back?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“He’s got a mission tomorrow. Who authorized this?” Steve furrows his brows. Even though he’s extremely handsome, you still want to punch him in the face.

And you are extremely sorry for O’ Hare too.

You bet Steve is going to wake up in the middle of tonight and think about how he should have NOT asked you this.

“His father passed away and he headed back to his home to arrange the funeral.” You sigh, feeling the blood pumping in your head, “and you authorized his leave. You are the only person who can authorize senior agents’ leave.”

“Wait I do?”

“GO ASK THE HR NOT ME!” You exclaim in frustration, “I’m not your secretary!”

“Oh. Umm… okay. Have a nice day.” Steve looks apologetic. And it seems he is heading towards the HR department.

Jesus Christ. He needs a secretary or an assistant or something.

Why doesn’t he have one?

Why doesn’t anyone see that?

Is Avengers Initiative that broke?

******

Steve was wounded in action during a mission together.

Apparently, he still has the power to choose which mission he participates in.

Sure, he was wounded when he was crazy enough to draw fire from half of your opponents.

Two ribs, a cracked skull – see, you knew he’d get hurt when you realized his helmet has gone missing again – and a broken arm.

Touching. Truly. But you prefer it if no one gets hurt.

You went to the medic bay and sent flowers and shit, leaving shortly because you have leave for the mission briefing.

Out of curiosity.

Just out of curiosity.

That Steve decides to poke around the phone.

It should take two days to heal and he can’t really paint or read, with his headaches and the cast on his arm.

The small and handy phone seems like a way to kill time.

See, no one, and you mean no normal person, would check other people’s Whatsapp signature.

But Steve, being completely ignorant to modern day social rules, accidentally clicks in your profile and reads your signature: SGR is a big dumbass.

And your twitter, which he almost magically found, your twitter that was unattached to the rest of your social media, but he stumbled upon.

“Jesus F Christ pay ATTENTION this is YOUR mission brief???!!!”

“You are the team leader??? Could you TRY NOT to get us killed????”

The dates of the post miraculously click with the missions you went on together.

“Parachute. The fucking dude jumps off without a parachute. From the plane. WITHOUT A FUCKING PARACHUTE!!!”

“THAT FUCKING SHIELD ALMOST KILLED ME YOU CAN JUST TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO SPEAK AT MY FUNERAL”

“I should resign JFC I might get an aneurism for working with this dumbass”

“The helmet the helmet the helmet how many times do I have to say put the FUCKING HELMET ON”

And the one from the very start: “Maria asked me why the enemy fortress seems different on satellite image. What can I say? Because we BLEW THE FUCKING WALL and BURNT the ENTIRE FOREST DOWN???”

Steve would argue that he’s not a dumbass before he read all the posts on your twitter.

But now he doesn’t have any evidence to back him up.

He does sound like a dumbass when you repeat his actions in your tweets.

*******

You were hauled up in the middle of a night in your bed for new updates on your last mission. Afterall, villains work 24/7 and don’t care what time zone you are in.

You yawn behind your coffee mug, but the rest of the participants seem energetic when they are in Russia, adjusted to the local time zone already.

Steve, not surprising, was also in the meeting. The background of this online conference looks like his office in the Avengers compound. Clearly, he too is a bit disturbed by the conference at 2 am, as he tries to focus but you can still see the tiredness on his face.

Your phone pings with one new message as you yawn again, failing to cover your tiredness with your mug this time.

Steve Rogers: I heard that the Avengers Compound is haunted in the middle of the night ;)

You double check your surroundings.

You are at home, only that your online meeting background was set with a virtual office background, looking like as if you are in your office right now.

Focus on “AS IF”.

You chew on your lower lip not to reveal the smugness as you type back.

You: I’m at my house. But is there something just floated behind your back just now?

The next second, you see Steve panics and looking over his shoulders frequently, having Maria and Tony stop and ask him if everything is alright.

Nope. Everything is not alright.

You are completely wide awake at this point, as Steve blushes and tells them to continue.

You did not miss that he adds a jacket to his thin T-shirt as soon as the briefing continues. The super soldier serum does nothing to compete with the chillness coming from the bottom of his heart for fear of ghosts.

You hide your smug smile behind your coffee mug.

Steve Rogers. Fear of ghosts. HA!

Is Steve cute? Do you like him when you are not on missions? Sure.

Do you still think he’s dumb as hell and want to punch him in the face whenever you are on missions together? Hell yeah.

A work I hold dear: Attached

This, absolute this. This is the fic that started my madness of (writing for) Steve Rogers and dragged me down to hell of sinfully hot Professor Rogers :3 This is an absolute masterpiece that I'll forever hold dear (and definitely rush back to if I ever get an email saying that another chapter has been updated)

My work that I hope gets more attention: Wishful Thinking

I know it's yet to finish and dark and everything but def I hoped for more responses to a fic with a few chapters that I haven't managed to work out ;_;

[mantleoflight]

//frustrated vent under the cut. feel free to ignore

//Y'know what would be great? If Bungie actually made a novelization of Destiny so we knew how the Last City actually worked.

//Bc lemme tell you, there is nothing more frustrating than wanting to build a crossover and having the equivalent of scattered sticky notes compared to a multi-volume encyclopedia. Trying to balance and scale power to make au's fair and fun for everyone is not easy when you don't have good enough source material to go on.

//bc lemme tell you, it feels really scummy of me watching Bad Batch tonight and having to be like "yeah, Crosshair would take out entire fireteams before they knew what was happening." because we really just don't have any idea how the Vanguard or Hidden are structured. And we have no idea what kind of training Guardians get because in game you don't get training. You learn as you go and get lucky if you find people who know what they're doing better than you. There is no training, only encouragement.

//I know we have loretabs about Shaxx training guardians for his Crucible, specifically 1 lore tab about how to take care of your gear, and 1 of Shaw with a class/crowd of newlights during the Lucent attack. But that's all I can find.

//We really don't know their command structure beyond gun-crazed raccoons answering to the main Vanguard directors (Ikora/Zavala). But that's not stable and it's definitely not sustainable. Nor is the Vanguard running everything else in an attempt to keep everything together in the Last City.

//Even Ikora says the Vanguard was never meant to be a political or ruling organization. It was strictly for protecting the Last City, for recruiting and training Lightbearers to prevent Dark Age Warlords from springing up again.

//If the Republic (old or new) came to town, they'd find a sick, barely inhabitable world with a single safe city and a weird inversion of the death star sitting right above it. Sol wouldn't even be worth being noticed by the Empire, and if it was noticed, it wouldn't take much to slag this sparsely populated system - Uluran, Eliksni, Hive, Vex, or not.

//Idk guys, I'm trying to build something worth being proud of but like, it definitely sucks when you can't balance out skill, power, and advancement stats. it really feels like a no-win scenario

[uwabbittuwabbit]

Ummmm mediaeval au??????? A little hint maybe.... ( If you're ok with it ofc!)

WOAUGH ok let me be brief (1/100000)... The gist is Marc is a saint blessed by god with a healing factor far exceeding that of a regular man (sidenote: he does have stigmata and occasionally premonitions). So he's sent away to an Italian monastery for his own good, to prevent his sainthood being exploited by people who do not have his best interests at heart and to become properly god fearing. Well Marc is properly MISERABLE because he's in a foreign country away from his family and UCCIO is the abbot (guess who the main proprietor is. Actually you don't need to) and as is canonical in every conceivable universe, Uccio hates Marc's guts and hates him even more for acting out, which he does often; his favorite activity is sneaking out to the stables and taking horses out for rides. Consequentially Marc is sentenced to the ILLUMINATED MANUSCRIPT MINES where he has to do the worst possible thing for Marc Marquez: transcribe holy texts hunched over for hours while trying not to die from the boredom. Marc KNOWS that the monastery life is not for him and will not help him fulfill the mysterious purposes that God bestowed upon him, this is not the suffering he anticipated for but he stays because he desperately wants to be good so much even as its tearing him away from his intended path. The monastery is actually like, the lord of the land Valentino Rossi's little training camp where the monks are supposed to be instilled with loyalty towards him and are trained in arts such as riding and swordplay. It's also where he keeps a majority of his wealth to keep a low profile through bestowing donations to the monastery that is then put into land purchases and the like (so, money laundering) and a majority of his intelligence (confessional is a very valuable resource for information) comes through the illuminated manuscripts. Marc isn't allowed to work on those particular ones unless it's to make maps which Uccio reluctantly allows because he is very good at it. Marc falls immediately in love with Vale when he visits to consult with Uccio or whatever and since he's in a good mood he wants to go racing with the boys :) Everyone immediately runs to the stables to prepare because it's been so long since Vale has had time for them, he's been so busy what with Luca in Rome and all. Marc typically isn't allowed to ride with the boys though, he's so inundated with transcription work and he doesn't even have his own horse-- so he's about to go back to finishing his manuscript in despair when Vale catches him. He asks why Marc isn't going out with the rest of them; this is a contest for all of the boys and offers Marc his OWN horse to ride. Imagine, if you will, Vale handing Marc the reins to his majestic steed, winking at him roguishly to say that he knows that Marc will take good care of her. Marc is absolutely gone. Everyone else is disappointed of course that Vale isn't racing but they're intrigued as to what the relatively anonymous new recruit, who hasn't really been seen outside of the cloisters, will do with Valentino's horse. Vale has allowed the other boys to sit astride upon her of course, but they had never managed to eke out what Valentino managed, the sharp turns and the sheer speed. She is an excellent horse but Valentino is an even better horseman, this is known. Well, Marc completely destroys the competition. He rides like a star shot down from heaven, Vale's face breaking out into this enigmatic smile during the course of the entire event. Afterwards Marc thinks that Valentino congratulating him will be the last he sees of him and he's SICK he has to go back to manuscripts after having a taste of the life he has always wanted. He starts (crazily) to write love letters to Vale in the margins of his manuscripts, letters he knows Valentino will never read. But a couple of months later Uccio tells Marc that he has his own horse now, and a few days after that Valentino comes round inquiring about the best horseman and navigator at the monastery and whether or not he is up to joining him on pilgrimage to Rome...

[bisquicklite]

~ The Pinned Post Full of Things ~

Things We do Here:

Post about my catgirl (FFXIV OC, Osha Qhantari)

Reblog FFXIV Content

Reblog anything that tickles my fancy

~ Asks are Always Open! ~

This is Osha Qhantari.

The Hero. Champion of Eorzea. Savior of the Star. Member of the Ul'dah Mining Guild. Enjoyer of finger puppets. Bismark-trained pastry chef.

25 Years Old at the start of our story.

Originally from Gridania. Transplanted to Ul'Dah at 14 after [REDACTED]

Currently estranged from her family, aside from a grandfather who was last seen shortly before joining the Ala'Migan Resistance effort.

Work Experience (Not an exhaustive list):

Occasional Street Performer, accumulative 10 years experience.

Bar maid, 3 months experience.

Street Food Vendor, on and off 3 years.

Seasonal Farm hand, 4 harvest seasons.

Bunny Attendant at the Gold Saucer, 1 year.

Interim Manager of Care for the racing chocobos stabled at the Gold Saucer, 7 months experience.

Chocobo Jockey, 3 days.

Current miner for the Ul'Dah Mining Guild, 4 years experience.

Recent recruit of the Pugilist Guild, 2 days experience.

Coworkers describe her as 'A sweet girl who, bless her heart, just isn't the sharpest tool in the shed.' and 'Too restless for her own good'.

Osha Compliant Lore and Fanfiction:

The Moon Came Down : As a child, Osha had a religious experience that goes less than great.

[anika-ann]

Love on the Brain - part 5

Ch5: Harmony

Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 8500

Summary: You cannot sleep, your past haunting you as well as the horror-like scenarios of what this case could turn into. You figure you might as well do something useful; little do you know you’re not the only one still awake.

Series masterlist

Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing. I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics​; This one is pretty LONG, but it has plenty of fluff before we dive back into the investigation, so… yay? If you want to split it, the best moment to do that is after Jones leaves the conference room.

“Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful.” ― Milan Kundera

Your huff of exasperation was quiet, but in the silence of the night, it bounced off of the walls and sounded like a scream for help.

Which was exactly what you felt like doing.

For the hundredth time, you rolled over to your other side, fluffed your pillow and tried to get comfortable in the bed. Vain and slow effort. Every movement felt heavy, your limbs as if having to work through thick layer of honey instead of air; you were exhausted. Physically and mentally drained.

But the sleep still wasn’t coming.

You tried meditating. You tried breathing into every inch of your body, forcing yourself to relax, but there were particular muscles that just wouldn’t give in: your brain and your heart.

They were racing each other, trying to best the other at the speed they were working with; your heart was thundering against your ribcage, shaking it with each beat, rushing at least 100 per minute. And that was when you tried to slow your breathing.

Your mind was a whole different competitor; it offered you a mess of thoughts, cutting through your brain sharp and quick, a perfectly precise sensory hell where reality was hardly distinguishable from a nightmare. And in between all your field experience, all your failures, all horror stories your mind could possibly come up with, starring Steve’s or Meyers’ dead eyes, were the words of your teammates, presenting you with a profile just ten minutes before you retreated to bed.

Like the worst bedtime story ever.

“Alright. Based on what we already know, it seems reasonable to build a profile we can later add to,” Hotch sighed as he eyed the digital clock informing you it was almost eleven.

Both teams were scattered around the room in various state of doziness some still sharp, some nearly sleeping as they stood.

“Agreed. We can narrow the search further later, but I feel that what we’ve got is already pretty solid,” Emily said, exchanging a wordless nod with Spencer and Hotch.

“Good. The unsub is likely a white female in her late twenties or thirties. We do have an approximate height and body type due to Stark’s findings as well. Her experience with staying hidden tell us that it is highly probably she is working for the Avengers Initiative or she was until very recently. She’s is intelligent, highly organized and extremely capable. Her results in the field will speak for themselves, but she is usually not praised for her excellent performance and might feel underappreciated at the workplace. She is of average looks, likely attractive, but only to a second glance.”

“She may appear mentally stable,” Spencer added when Hotch paused, taking over, “but we are likely to find a sealed juvie record or a minor offence from the past you have overlooked when recruiting her, because she was without incident for certain period of time when no major stressor occurred. In the past months, she would have received news that shook her world and made her fixate on Captain Rogers as her saviour, her idol. She would have plenty of time on her hands to be able to stalk him, which should help us eliminate a significant number of suspects.”

Peripherally, you saw Clint and Natasha nod to themselves, knowing it was something they would pay special attention to.

You shuddered when you realized how many women Reid was still talking about.

Emily continued.

“The fixation is of narcistic nature. She finds the women Steve deals with not adequate and there is a strong possibility that the crucial factor to that is that there are not of law enforcement. Recently, a secondary trigger made her reach out for the first time – or at least reach out successfully for the first time. Assumption would be that she is not to be a threat to Captain Rogers as of now, however we do need to bear in mind that she has stolen bullets specifically meant to incapacitate him, even kill him. When this kind of a stalker snaps and kills the object of their affection, it is when they feel betrayed by them. So far, she seems to be blaming the women he meets. Unfortunately, there is no telling when she turns against him; which is why we advise for Steve not to leave the premises and to always be accompanied by an Avenger or another highly trustworthy agent.”

Her eyes flickered to you, the briefest of smiles on her lips. You felt Spencer’s and Steve’s eyes on you as well, as if telling you the circle of those agents was very small if not consisting of you only.

“We’re going to regroup in the morning. Now, I suggest we all sleep on this and come back tomorrow with clear eyes,” Hotch suggested, earning several hums of agreement. “Goodnight, everyone.”

You had lingered in the room, bidding the BAU team goodnight longer than you should have as you made sure they had been shown their bedrooms before. It lead to Natasha being the one to walk Steve back to his quarters with only a whispered goodnight as they left the room.

Now, you regretted not checking personally that he was still unharmed; a ridiculous notion given the fact the Black Widow herself had been with him, yet a very real nag on your thoughts as you laid in one of the guest rooms, staring blankly ahead.

The memory of the profile presented haunted you, having sent your mind into overdrive as you tried to figure out whether you had encountered a person who’d fit the description at the A.I. The faces of recruits and agents seemed hazy, one image melting into another before you could grasp it, let alone remember a name.

You should have checked on Steve; like you should have checked on Kyle Meyers.

You had failed to keep your stupid promise over two years ago; now, you had made a promise to yourself and no one else. Only you were already breaking it. You needed to truly give everything to this case and you weren’t doing that. You should be looking at the photos from the stalker, millimetre by millimetre again, looking for the smallest detail that would have clued you about the unsub.

The unsub… what if the statistics were wrong and you were actually dealing with a male offender with a female pawn? What if the patience of the unsub had to do with a technician rather than an agent? Or a laboratory worker? Hell, Nazi doctors were said to nothing but meticulous-- and wasn’t it ironic you thought of the second world war in relation to its best-known hero.

A hero who needed saving and whom you were no help if you tossed and turned all night, feeling hot and cold at once, doing nothing.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you whined as you threw away the covers, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed so fast your head spun for a moment.

Once your eyes focused again, you flicked the nightstand lamp on, your gaze finding the outlines of the universal kit of clothes Tony always had in stock in the Tower guestrooms; including the pyjama set you were wearing now, consisting of shorts and a t-shirt.

Every piece of clothing – minus underwear – had the Avengers Initiative logo on it. And yet, for some reason, your t-shirt had a huge image of Captain America’s shield on it, the pyjama shorts peppered with tiny copies of it.

You didn’t have to guess whose doing that was; but you didn’t want to waste time examining Tony’s sense of humour.  

You grabbed after the hoodie on top, slipping it on. It was a little big for you, but you didn’t mind. When you happened to borrow Steve’s hoodie – steal, Sparkles, it’s called stealing if you conveniently keep forgetting to give it back, he’d say – it tended to serve almost as a dress. Compared to that, this thing was almost form-fitting.

You went to get a cup of coffee – more for your heavy limbs than your already frantic brain – and headed to the conference room, only to hesitate by the doorway.

Of course he was still there; and somehow, the heavy feeling in your stomached eased with the revelation.

Hunched over the paper files – because paper was so much better than all this electronics stuff and several researches showed that people are more likely to learn better from printed or written text – finger sliding down each page as not to miss a line with how quickly he was reading, Spencer was going through the stacks of paper piled up so high it almost hid him from view.

Now he was giving everything to this case; like he always did.

Smiling fondly, you walked through the automatic door, having him look up with a startle. You weren’t sure if it was the soft sound or the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that got his attention: Spencer was like a bloodhound when it came to caffeine.

“Hey,” he blurted out, straightening in his chair as he eased the cross-legged position.

“Hey Spence. You onto something?”

He only shook his head when you beckoned to the pile of files he had clearly already went through.

You felt a pang of a disappointment, but then again, that was Spencer; the fact that he hadn’t found anything was exactly what was bugging him, fuelling his determination to crack the mystery of it.

“Not really. I just want to go through it again, try different angles just to make sure. Want to check we didn’t miss anything so far.”

You nodded to yourself, planting the cup on the table as you sat down two seats from him.

“Okay. Then let me help,” you offered, raising one corner of your lips in a self-deprecating smile when he frowned at you. “I know I’m not as fast of a reader and that I don’t have an eidetic memory, but…”

“It’s not that,” he muttered in protest, eyes flickering between your tired face and your cup of a killer coffee. “You should be asleep.”

You slowly arched your left eyebrow, a wordless callout to the hypocrite he was being when saying that. Lips pressed together, he smiled, guilty.

“So should you.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m not the one under higher emotional distress,” he pointed out.

Despite his kind tone, the remark only pissed you off. You crossed your arms crossing on your chest defensively, chin lifting.

Yeah, you noticed you were under emotional distress; you were irritable, restless and the past mistakes you’d hate to repeat were screaming in your face. There was no need to remind you of that.

Your emotional distress was the sole reason you were here in the first place. Not that you would admit that out loud; not that you had to, because Spencer had probably read you the second you had entered. But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him you knew that either.

“Whatever. Not like I can sleep.”

“So… you thought another cup of coffee would help your insomnia. Obviously,” he stated matter-of-factly, lips twitching in good-natured humour.

Bastard.

It was hard to be brisk with him when he was like this – or ever. You uncrossed your arms, relaxing into your seat.

“You wanna say that again, Spence? Call me out on the amount of caffeine I consume?” you challenged him back, eyeing the three empty cups of humanity’s most common drug he had no doubt downed earlier.

“Coffee helps me think faster,” he explained with a shrug.

A snort escaped you, making him frown in offence. “Yeah, that’s the point, genius.”

“I know! Did you know that caffeine blocks adenosine receptors in human brain?” he blurted out, eyes lighting up with excitement – the unmistakable signature excitement that appeared when he was about to- “Adenosine and caffeine have very similar chemical structure, so caffeine binds to the adenosine receptor. That prevents the normal effect of adenosine, which is to supress psychological activity, to occur. As a result, caffeine has a stimulating effect on the nerve cells activity.”

-babble. Spencer’s expression clearly hadn’t changed, still the same whenever he was about to go on about fascinating, yet not necessarily momentarily useful facts.

You bit your cheek, hiding the fond smile at his endearing habit – and sometimes a little annoying one, like now when you came here to get some work done –, his hands vaguely demonstrating his point.

“Of course, the brain is not the only organ affected, adenosine receptors are also present in-“

“Spencer! Spence-“ you interrupted him with a chuckle, causing him to stop mid-sentence and grimace as he realized his mind wandered off, “tell me what I can do to help.”

“…sorry.”

“It’s fine. Incidentally, I did know that. I remember you told me before,” you explained gently, bringing a pleased smile that warmed your heart on his face.

“Well, it’s nice to see someone is paying attention…” he hummed.

Your lips parted, heart fluttering in compassion; the whole team, including you, took Spencer’s amazing brain and his help for granted, not showing appreciation for his vast knowledge – and him –frequently enough. You had made it your mission before to tell him more often that he was well-loved and important, but you all forgot sometimes when you caught up in the web of your own problems.

He reminded you of Steve in that aspect; someone who carried the weight of the world, not asking much in return, wonderful in so many ways… but had only few of their personal or professional qualities recognized and openly appreciated.

And yet, each team would fight tooth and nail to protect the man in question; because just because one didn’t say so on daily basis, he could still love someone. You knew that both Spencer and Steve were very much loved – no one just told them as often as they should.

You willed your lips to curl up as you reached out and ruffled Spencer’s already messy hair, having him push your hand away half-heartedly.

“We’re always listening, Spence,” you assured him, your smile widening for a second before your gaze turned back to the files. “Now tell me what I can do.”

Instead of looking at the files, his eyes lingered on you, carefully examining your face. He tilted his head to side, brows furrowing; a sign of the wheels of his brain turning like mad.

“You’re not the not the only one who pays attention,” he said lowly. “I’m not saying this to anger you, but speaking strictly protocol, you are a person of interest with an undeniable bias, considerable one at that. You shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be involved in the investigation.”

All traces of good humour left you at once, blood running cold. Your gut on the other hand, started to heat up dangerously.

He couldn’t be serious.

He couldn’t mean that bullshit.

Whenever anyone of the team was involved in a shitstorm, all of you were there, bias or no bias, working twice as hard.

No, Reid was just pulling your leg inappropriately; he didn’t mean that. Especially not when it came to you. Of all people in the bureau, he was the one closest to you and vice versa. Yes, you had left, but you would never think that changed things so much.

But somehow, Spencer’s face showed no hint of teasing; his features remained soft and worried.

“If you’re trying not to piss me off, Spence, you’re failing spectacularly. Just FYI,” you informed him, voice emotionless.

“I know. Sorry. I just… I know this isn’t the place where you want or need to be right now.”

The way your eyebrows jump nearly to your hairline was only outdone by how much your blood pressure skyrocketed.

What the fuck?

Oh no, this was--- this was not an elaborate joke. This was an attack. A baseless damn attack on your person and you did not expect it from Reid of all people.

It stung.

The arms crossing on your chest might as well be more effective than Steve’s vibranium shield with how impenetrable your offences grew.  

Who the hell did Reid thought he was?

He knew, huh?

“Oh? Please, Doctor Reid, tell me about what I want or need,” you snarked, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. “You’re the genius, you clearly know it better than myself.”

Until today, you had thought no one could outdo Tony’s ignorance of other people’s feelings unless they were a psychopathic unsub. But here was Spencer, having the audacity to ignore your biting tone, responding to your ‘request’ in kind, perfectly relaxed.

“I’m confident that I do, actually-“

You scoffed, looking away.

Your blood was nearly reaching the boiling point. Okay, maybe if this was how Reid handled building the timeline with Steve earlier, there was no wonder Steve had needed to work off some steam.

Seemingly unbothered by your obvious ire, Reid’s voice firm and so annoyingly condescending and smart-ass.

“Right now, the most probable cause of your inability to sleep are the symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder, an unfortunate result of our line of work. Insomnia. Unreasonably elevated heartbeat, inability to hold onto one thought. Irritability, both mental and physical, a sensory overload even. Recurrent nagging memories concerning the case which ended badly and which you feel a misplaced yet overwhelming guilt about. Negative thoughts about self that are once again, not based on any actual faults, or at least blown to proportion. Haunting images, flashbacks, from both reality and worst dreams looking the same, creating new realities. Feel free to stop me whenever I get something wrong.”

You just kept staring to the side in silence, ignoring how fucking on point he was.

God-damn him!

And of course, he wasn’t done yet.

“What you need right now, is evidence that Steve is still okay, which I assume you lack because you decided to sleep separately. And it is not enough for you to ask the artificial intelligence, because the same security system that runs this Tower has been breached before, when the bullets were stolen. So yes…” Reid said softly, pausing as if to ask you to look him in the eye for his next words so he could get his point across.

Unwillingly, vision a little blurry with welled-up tears – because damnit it was scary to be so seen so thoroughly, to be cut open just so the wound could heal – you glanced at him.

All you found was an annoyingly kind and compassionate expression on his face. There was no hint of him being condescending – never had been and deep down, you knew that the moment he opened his mouth.

“…I do think I know better and I think that what you want and need is to go and be with him, Bean.”

You sniffled, pouting despite the minute tremble to your lips.

This was one of the downsides of working at the behavioural analysis unit; any of your friends could analyse your behaviour. It sucked.

All things Spencer said were true – and the itch to go see Steve could only be scratched if you actually went. Which wouldn’t help the case, but it sure as hell would help you to sleep better.

“God, I hate profilers,” you spitted out, glaring murderously at the box of tissues Spencer moved your direction – because you didn’t have the heart to glare at him.

“No, you don’t.”

“I guess. Whatever,” you mumbled, blowing your nose and blinking rapidly to get rid of the traitorous tears.

Taking a deep breath, you peered at your companion who was patiently waiting for you to get your shit together; sweet summer child had no idea it would take you much more than one outburst which he witnessed and was the victim of to do so.

“I’m sorry I sassed you.”

Reid chuckled, one eyebrow raised. “No, you aren’t. We both know sass is your life sustenance.”

“Oh, like you’re the one to talk right now, Dr. Sassbag,” you shot back, only making him grin.

God, why did he still have to be such loveable dork?

“I hear it takes one to know one,” he hummed with shrug.

And it did.

And perhaps you didn’t know each other as well as you used to, but you still knew enough. Bonds like this didn’t tear completely just because you tested their strength over two years of barely any contact. Memories made in the stressful situations you had faces everyday didn’t disappear overnight.

People who were on the same boat didn’t forget their comrades easily. And being among the youngest at the BAU, you, Reid and JJ had been exactly that, finding yourself in a similar position; even if not entirely.

JJ was the communication liaison and for a good reason; while young, she radiated confidence and could fool almost anyone with the naïve pretty blond act, only to reveal her expertise when it counted. Being the most gorgeous face around was the perfect touch to her skillset.

Reid was the rightful prodigy; brilliant beyond belief, always curious, making up for his lack of field experience by knowing just about everything that had ever happened in our universe, his eidetic memory retaining just about every fact known to man. With the aura of a nerd, he too could take many by surprise with how he could get stuff done under intense terror.

And then there was you. Where JJ used her confidence and motherly nature and Reid relied on his intelligence to make up for their age, you had compassion, empathy, determination and sass. It was less than your fellow your teammates, but it seemed to work well enough.

You had admired both Reid and JJ, but Reid’s initial awkwardness and the looks of a lost puppy at times had made it easier for you to befriend him – to have a crush on him even. He was cute, tall – your weakness –, highly intelligent and despite his awkwardness, he was incredibly compassionate and kind. Who wouldn’t dream of being by his side, right?

That wasn’t a rhetorical question. There was an answer to it: JJ.

JJ wouldn’t, despite Reid being so painfully and obviously into her.

There had been times when you had been jealous of her for it, foolishly pining after the certified genius. But as soon as you accepted that it simply wouldn’t happen and got over your ridiculous crush on him, things got simpler. Your bonds gained strength with every case and when Reid got drugged and kidnapped by an unsub, your priorities significantly changed. Helping him recover and stay clean of addiction to Dilaudid later on had brought you and JJ together, grudges forgotten – even if you never grew as close with her as with Spence.

But JJ wasn’t here now; Reid was. And you were eternally grateful to have your one of your best friends for support.

Yet, the irony of your former crush sending you to see a man you were crushing on these days, was not lost on you. The only difference was that you were well-aware of the fact that Steve was much more than an ordinary crush – because the feelings you had for Steve were not going anywhere and they apparently wouldn’t, not any time soon. If ever.

“You’re miles away, Bean,” Reid noted gently, lips still curled up teasingly. “I missed you, really. And I know you could help. But you should go.”

There was no malice in his words; he truly wasn’t trying to get rid of you. He simply knew you a little too well.

With a sigh, you eyed the untouched coffee.

“You can--- leave that here,” he added, scratching his throat awkwardly, face all innocent.

“Spence, that coffee is darker than my soul and more bitter than a gold-digger who got nothing from a divorce. Trust me, you don’t want to drink that.”

Ha grimaced, motioning for you to pour that abomination of a coffee down the drain. Usually, both of you liked your coffee with more sugar than caffeine; even if you had nothing on his diabetes-inducing preferences.

Reaching for the cup, you smiled at him once more.

“I missed you too, Spence. Thank you...  and please, don’t stay too late. Goodnight.”

“Night, Bean,” he whispered back.

It did not escape your attention that he did not make any promises that he would do so; smart boy. And a workaholic. You had a type, apparently.

It was only when you reached the door when you remember something you wanted to tell him ever since he had arrived; besides the fact you missed him.

“Oh and Spence?” you called out lowly, causing him to look up from the file he was already on again.

“Yeah?”

“I really dig your new haircut.”

He ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously – resulting in his hair now being an utter and utterly adorable mess – a slight blush giving away his bashfulness.

“Thanks.”

You couldn’t but grin, heart much lighter than when you walked through the door only a few minutes ago.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Reaching Steve’s door, fist raised to knock, it only occurred to you that it was, in fact, past half past two in the morning.

Reid had made a valid point of you refusing to simply ask Jarvis whether Steve was okay – you did need to see it and preferably feel Steve was still in one piece. The problem was, it was past half past two in the morning.

Any normal person would be asleep. Just because your intrusive thoughts kept you awake and Reid was a chronic workaholic, it didn’t mean Steve hadn’t been taken into the blissful land of Zzzz the moment his head hit the pillow. And it definitely wasn’t your place to wake him just because your anxiety wouldn’t leave you alone.

You had a half-mind just to turn on your heel, but since you were already here… you guessed you might as well check.

“Jarvis?” you called out lowly, head tipped back to the ceiling. “Is Captain Rogers asleep?”

The artificial male voice responded in an instant.

“Captain Rogers’ biofeedback suggests that he is awake, Agent Jones.”

“Oh.”

Well, that was unexpected. It should be upsetting, making you worry; and perhaps somewhere in the back of your mind, it did. But your heart danced in your chest hopefully, fingers already twitching for a hug, for physical reassurance; and comfort.

“Uhm, J, and is he at his quar-“

The door swung open before your knuckles could as much as graze it, revealing a tall broad figure illuminated softly by a bedside lamp, giving it almost a celestial aura.

“-ters,” you finished quietly, smiling apologetically as you let your hand fall. “Hi.”

The corridor shed some light on his outfit, familiar and unfamiliar at once; a simple white t-shirt with the A.I. insignia which was a size too small for him and a pair of grey sweats, his feet bare. The most familiar thing about him was the gentle concerned expression on his face; and the way your heart sped up at the sight on him, even if hundred times calmer than before.

“Hey Sparkles. What’s wrong?”

Your lips parted, no sound coming out.

Nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.

As you saw him in the flesh, perfectly fine besides the fact he wasn’t sleeping at this hour, you felt like an idiot for disturbing his peace. You tended to spend a lot of time together, yes, but you imagined that after today, after you were so damn overbearing and emotionally on edge, he would welcome a refuge from you as well. From every reminder of the situation he was in.

But here you were, at almost three in the morning, knocking on his door, because you decided to make your fears his problem-

A warm hand enveloped yours, tugging lightly without a single word; your feet followed on autopilot as he took a few steps back and pulled you to his chest, kicking the door shut. Strong arms enveloped you as if it was the most natural thing in the world and in a blink of an eye, you got exactly what you came for.

The soothing thump-thump of his heart against your temple, tentative fingers caressing your back. You squeezed your eyes shut at the gentle caress, breathing in Steve’s natural scent mixed with the Tower’s detergent, selfishly letting it wash over you.

“GG, I’m sorry-“

“No.”

You swallowed against the lump of your throat, ignoring the flutter in your belly at the strangely kind authoritative tone in a single syllable.

Slightly pushing against him to have him release you – and you already missed his warmth, still feeling its echo since you stood barely a step from him – you looked up, noting one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile.

“Jarvis didn’t wake you when I arrived, or did he?”

Steve shook his head, nodding towards his nightstand where a copy of a thick book rested, open, pages down.

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought reading would help, but…” he licked his lips as he glanced above your head, shoulders rising and falling with his sigh. “My head is too loud tonight.”

You smiled faintly at his admission, even if your heart ached. You hadn’t been the first to tell Steve about anxiety or PTSD, but given that in his original century, it wasn’t exactly fashionable to talk about mental health, especially in men, and not many bothered to talk about it with him later on, you introduced him to so much more. You had made a deal with him, promising you’d be there for him if it hit him; and he had stolen your heart that day, already halfway his, when he vowed to do the same for you.

He invited you in despite – or maybe because of – the fact he was struggling too; it seemed both his and your head had the same problem.

“Must be going around,” you hummed empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “So am I…. the power of Pixar it is?”

A chuckle escaped you at his suggestion as you glanced around for the first time; you realized you had never been to ‘his’ room in the Tower.

It was bigger than your guest room, but not much more lived in, the fact he was wearing the A.I. clothes only proving it. A non-descript bed, a nightstand, a couch, a closet, a bookshelf with barely five books. A single framed photo from a movie night with the Avengers he had brought you to, all seven of you squeezed into the frame. A private bathroom, you guessed, a tiny kitchen area with a microwave, a kettle and a small pantry. And straight opposite to the bed, a TV on the wall.

The implication was that you’d have to settle on the bed, together, to watch the movie, but the space was large enough and it was just a small step forward from frequently sitting next to each other on the couch at his apartment.

Your heart raced minutely, but it wasn’t like you had a myriad of options.

“Pixar sounds great, actually. You just might be a genius, GG,” you said, meeting his gaze, something strange flashing in his irises.

“Good. You pick. Tea?”

“Please.”

You didn’t tell him you had just emptied your coffee down the drain; he didn’t need to know that your first thought was to get more awake for the sake of a case, for his sake, really. Or maybe it was just for yours and your conscience.

You watched him shuffle around as he pulled two cups, each with a different teabag and your heart soared when you spied the box with your favourite tea brand, its aroma now spreading through the room.

“Sit down and pick your movie, Sparkles. I’ve got this,” he threw over his shoulder, nodding towards the bed as if it wasn’t his bed you were about to climb at.

You didn’t argue and you tried not to show your hesitation either. There was no need to make the awkwardness more apparent; and really, there was nothing wrong with this.

Just two friends watching a movie.

On a bed of one of them whom the other was crushing on. Hopelessly in love with them more like. Nothing out of ordinary.

Except you could feel the sheets still warm where Steve had laid on them earlier as you settled against the headboard and your stomach made a small somersault.

Perfectly normal. Right.

You barely held back your snort as you reached for the remote, the system already offering you endless number of options. Absentmindedly, you browsed the animated films, hoping to find one that wouldn’t make you cry; or at least one that wouldn’t make you cry while triggering your issues further.

Two cups landed on the nightstand, earning Steve a barely audible thank you.

“Of course. What did you pick?”

You eyed the selection again, making a decision with a sigh.

“Well, it looks like tonight it’s gonna be… Ratatouille. Have you seen it yet?”

Steve frowned, adorably confused. “The food?”

“That too. It’s… about a rat. In Paris. He wants to be a chef.”

“…okay.”

You chuckled as he shook his head, diving into the pantry again.

“As absurd as it sounds, it’s about how no dream is too big if you believe in yourself and have friends who believe in you too. About how each of us has their own strengths and when we combine them and help each other, something amazing can come out.”

Steve smiled almost boyishly at that, seating himself at the edge of the bed and handing you a bowl.

“I can get behind that,” he hummed.

His words fell on deaf ears as you noticed the colourful contents of the bowl, lips parting with a breathless oh, mouth dry all of sudden.

Jelly beans.

Crap.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Steve stiffening – as if he did something wrong.

And he did.

You felt like crying.

Not only Steve had your favourite tea stocked, but he also made sure to have your favourite sweets. Whenever you’d decide to spend the night in the Tower for the first time, no matter the reason, he had both of these things in reach; in his room. And yes, he had a bit of a sweet tooth, but this was distinctively your comfort food and you were apparently very obvious in needing comfort now.

The lump in your throat made it difficult to swallow, brain stunned by the sheer kindness he was displaying after you knocked on his door at this hour. He appeared as if it was entirely natural to him to have his space accommodating to you as well as to him.

“Something wrong?” he questioned lowly, effectively making you want to burst into tears and bury your face in his chest.

Yes. There was something wrong.

You loved him so much it physically hurt you. The rush of affection towards your gentle giant was overwhelming and you were on the verge of spontaneous combustion, feeling so full of… everything.

It left you with two options of dealing with the assault of feelings: to snuggle him and kiss him senseless or to joke about it.

Like the grown-up you were, you decided to go with the latter.

“No, just… wow,” you feigned a scandalized expression. “My Captain is offering me sugar in the middle of a night. I must look really pathetic.”

For what felt at least like a minute, Steve stared, expression blank. You thought you might have broken him for whichever reason – and you already had an apology on the tip of your tongue when he finally unfroze, shaking his head at your antics.

“You do not look pathetic,” he said decisively, motioning for you to make space for him. You did, his arm brushing yours as you tried to get comfortable. “Keep sassing me, Sparkles, see what happens.”

A little tickle in your belly told you that you would very much like to see what would happen; but this was nor time nor the place.

“Just take your jelly beans and play the movie, you minx.”

“Why thank you...” you hummed, smirking minutely and earning a sigh as he observed you fondly despite your bratiness.

Despite your everything.

You grew serious as you laid your head on his bicep, sighing as well.

“Seriously, GG. Thank you,” you whispered, tentatively reaching out and squeezing his hand. “I—I feel stupid for bothering you, but I just… I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That we’re okay.”

He interlaced you fingers and when he spoke, his voice was gentle as ever, intimate.

“We’re okay, Sparkles. And you’re never bothering me.”

Right. Right, right, right. Cool. It was only about 50 seconds since you last wanted to profess your love to him.

He was making it really difficult tonight; and yet, snuggled to his side, hand in his, favourite snack in your free hand, being with him seemed as easy as breathing. Nothing but an autonomic function of your body. Essential for life. And yet, the I love you laid heavy on your chest, suffocating you and begging you to just let it out.

“Careful, GG… I might take it as a challenge.”

Your improvised pillow shook a little as he laughed and tickled your palm, making you retreat your hand swiftly.

“I don’t doubt it.”

You finally clicked play, but as the opening credits rolled on the screen, Steve playfully nudged you side.

“I forgot to tell you. I like your pyjama shorts,” he hummed, clearly highly amused.

Without a single thought, you threw a jelly bean on him, resulting in his overly offended expression and protest.

“Hey! No food fights in my bed!”

Oh there were things you’d love to do on his bed other than food fights.

Starting with the man currently grinning so wide it was impossible not want to taste that smile. And as far as Steve’s brands went, you had no qualms about where you’d wear it, especially if he’d give you a very personal one that would have nothing to do with his superhero persona.

You cleared your throat, quickly chasing away the thought of his lips sucking a mark to the column of your neck.

You had it bad tonight; you blamed the emotional and physical fatigue and Steve being even more golden than usual. While you were both in his bed.

“Tony’s doing, I assume,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “At least he picked a superhero I’m a fan of. With his sense of humour, I guess I should be glad I don’t have Ironman helmets all over my ass.”

Steve sputtered an incomprehensible noise by your side, sending you into a fit of giggles.

One would think he got used to your sometimes unfiltered mouth – especially at this hour – but apparently not. Steve had no qualms about cursing when the situation called for it; still, when a curse or a word like ‘ass’ left your lips unexpectedly, his reactions could be hilarious.

And endearing.

You knew this night would burn into your brain, adding to the stack of memories fuelling your love for him, but at the moment, you didn’t care how much you’d long for this to happen every night.

You turned to the screen, holding out your snacks to share, settling against your best friend, consequences be damned. After all, he was so warm, a perfect mix of hard and soft, the periodical rises and falls of his chest so soothing…

You drifted off by the time Remy the rat had a heart-to-heart with Linguini on the bank of the river Seine; fingers slipping from the bowl, a ghost of a tender touch on the crown of your head being the last thing you felt.

Waking up in a pleasant warmth, you took a deep breath and snuggled into the covers further as they carried a faint scent of something familiar and soothing. In the back of your mind, you knew exactly where you were; because this wasn’t the first time you’d wake up as rested as this.

Most of the time you woke up well-rested, comfortable and with a feeling of profound safety, was when you were laid in Steve’s bed.

And as per usual – and regretfully – the covers were the only thing hugging you.

With a sigh, you rolled over, squinting against the faint morning light coming through the curtains, gaze skimming over the room to find the culprit who once again gave up his bed in order not to overstep any boundaries he thought you had; boundaries there were unsafe to cross if you wanted to keep your heart at bay.

Even if it was probably too late for it.

He was curled up on the couch, a massive body of a supersoldier barely fitting there, a thin comforter and a fluffed-up pillow in the crook of his arm. The sunlight illuminated a few strands of his hair, drawing a hallo; the last touch to the work of art he was.

Seeing Steve sleeping was a strange and beautiful privilege, one that practically equalled seeing him laugh heartily, or more so, witnessing him being vulnerable.

Captain America, technically a centenarian, a veteran of the second World War. On surface, when on top of chain of command, always confident and trustworthy, not only because of his instincts, but also because of his experience.

These were all true; but many forgot that Steve Rogers was, in fact, barely 30 years old. When relaxed, welcomed into inviting arms of a peaceful slumber, he appeared young as he was. He carried himself a unique blend of a young and old soul, spirit-crushing experience no man should have, let alone in their twenties, as many soldiers had – and then some. Yet, despite a fatigue that could wear him down to a bone even on a day when he wouldn’t move a single muscle, he stuck to ideals and principles, his moral compass showing almost exclusively true north.

People would make fun of it, calling him naïve; but if they bothered to truly look – and if Steve let them – they would see that Steve held onto ideals of what the world could be, ideals of what he wished it to be and was willing to fight for. He was too aware of what the world truly was.

And most ironically, the same people who would call him naïve, would call him an old man in the next sentence because of some of his old-fashioned ways; Tony Stark taking the leading position in this crowd. For what it was worth, you liked to think Steve was incredibly well-adapted; and what remained was a swoon-worthy old-school charm very few people stood a chance against. You would know.

The bottom line was, Steve was both – an idealist and a realist, a young soul and an old one. When you could see him laugh, it was easy to forget he still found himself at war; because at once, he could appear at peace, much like he did now.

And seeing the human side of him, the beauty and the hurt behind the golden image presented, tugged at your heartstrings at any given time of the day.

In your reverie, you almost missed how his eyelashes started fluttering, having you swiftly close your eyes as not to be caught staring like a creep. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to relax, feigning sleep.

The weary chuckle told you Steve did not fall for your lame pretence for as much as a second.

“You’re a terrible actress, Sparkles. Good morning,” he wished you heartily, voice hoarse.

You were not inclined to agree – you were playing him just fine, pretending you weren’t in love with him and the cute freckles peppering his arm, conveniently having slipped from under the comforter earlier for you to admire.

You opened one eye and peeked at him, smiling when you found him watching you with amusement painting his sleepy face.

“Uh-huh. Morning, GG.”

His smile widened at the nickname. “You could have woken me up.”

With a sigh, you slowly sat up, rubbing sleep off your eyes.

“I just woke up myself…” you said simply, shrugging. “And I wanted to let you catch some more sleep. Especially since you were a gentleman and took the couch again. I didn’t mean to kick you out of your bed.”

A powerful yawn had him cover his mouth, instantly infecting you. You cracked your neck as he ran his hand through his hair and stretched his arms above his head, showing off the impressive muscles of his as if he knew you had just been thinking about how angels must have kissed him all over his biceps, leaving freckles in their wake. You did not blame them one bit for doing so.

“Well, you should know by now that if the chances are that it’s either you or me taking the bed, I’ll leave it to you,” he reminded you, as if you could ever forget the times he carried you to bed when you fell asleep on his couch watching movies.

As if.

“Could have just shared.”

The words were out before you could think twice, heat instantly rising to your face. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, way to go, Sparkles-

“Would you prefer that?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep still, the light of his eyes unfamiliarly dim as his gaze skimmed over you, head to toe, still partly wrapped in the covers.

The covers on his bed.

It seemed as if he was as acutely aware of it as you were. The way he looked at you; inquiring and yet, yet, almost as if he wanted to hear one particular answer… it had your heart race, pulse thundering in your ears, heat pooling in your stomach.

He looked at you as if he wanted you to say yes; but even if you had barely woken up and the suggestion of sharing a bed with him slipped out, you had enough control not to cross the fine line that had been so blurred at this point it was almost non-existent.

At least you thought so.

“Maybe.”

Steve nearly lost his mind when the word fell from your lips, tempting as ever; more than ever.

Maybe, you said.

It was not a no, but a teasing yes almost; no mockery, but perhaps a challenge.

Oh Steve did not need to be challenged in such way; yesterday night was harder than others. It wasn’t the first time you had fallen asleep on him while watching a movie and it hadn’t been the first time it was hard not to throw caution to the wind a let himself drift off too; but something about last night made it nearly impossible to leave your side.

Perhaps it was that you fell asleep on him in his bed, unlike at his apartment in the city; maybe it was that damn pyjama Steve was sure Tony was having a good laugh over; maybe it was the fiery determination with which you had jumped into protecting Steve; maybe it was seeing you all business-like in a different field; perhaps it was the presence of another man who could take you away from him; perhaps it was because you hadn’t called him a captain, but your captain, the two simple words tickling his lower abdomen with such intensity he was taken aback by it.

Perhaps it was all of the above; but whatever the reason, Steve had never felt the urge to hold you all night so acutely.

Yes, he acted as a gentleman, leaving you to sleep on the bed; but it cost him long long minutes of staring at you, tossing and turning and unable to get comfortable as he lied on the couch, the longing to climb back to your side and pull you into his embrace, nose buried in your hair, unbearable.

Eventually, he fell asleep facing you and watching your form on his bed – and damn, did you look like you belonged exactly there – dreaming about your soft sighs and how your breaths would lightly tickle his collarbone if he was there with you.

And now… you said maybe. But your eyes, the way you opened yourself to him, the smallest of smile in one corner of your lips, it all whispered yes to him.

Why wasn’t he there with you? When your gaze was boring into his? When it flickered to his mouth?

You couldn’t tear your gaze from him; not from the intense blue of his eyes, not from the tempting pink lips surrounded by the faintest stubble, not from the perfect case of bed hair you wanted to run your fingers through.

Your words betrayed you; a maybe, which might as well scream yes. You were skimming a dangerous territory again – and this time, it was almost intentional. What was wrong with you?

Steve.

Steve was wrong with you. He was lethal to your common sense if not to your sanity; and something about the way he watched you, warmth and heat, told you he’d pride himself in taking every single piece of your wits, every last remnant of coherent thought in exchange of giving you so much-

“Captain Rogers?”

You nearly jumped of out your skin at the mechanical voice from the ceiling, black spots minutely clouding your vision with the speed your heart was suddenly sprinted, inhaling rapidly. Eyes closed, hand gripping at your chest as if to hold your poor heart inside, you released the air from your lungs slowly, head still spinning with the fright.

Jesus Christ. You hated the fucking artificial intelligence.

“Yes, Jarvis?” Steve called out, voice somewhat choked – probably on an edge of a cardiac arrest himself since he was snapped from an intense starring contest that you were sure screamed unresolved sexual tension.

It certainly did on your part.

What would happen if Jarvis didn’t spoke up, breaking the spell?

“Apologies. Both your vitals indicated you were awake, and not occupied. I merely wanted to point out that everyone else on the stalker case is on their way to the conference room or already in.”

It was like the coldest shower, all heat instantly gone. You threw away the covers, switching back into investigative mode, the change so sudden it left you feeling empty. But it didn’t matter now.

No matter how you felt about Steve, no matter how it almost, almost looked he just might feel about you, this was no time nor the place.

The reason you were in Steve’s room was because you had a case. You had come here, because were scared for him – for his life, even. Right now, both your and his emotions were all over the place: he was vulnerable, you were vulnerable. It was the worst possible timing to test boundaries of your friendship.

And you could not afford to be distracted.

You had a job to do; and maybe, maybe¸ when it was done, you could try to gather enough courage to explore whatever it was in Steve’s eyes when he asked whether you’d prefer to sharing his bed.

Speaking of which: if Jarvis, the little busybody he was, told anyone that you had spent the night in Steve’s bed, you were going to beat every last byte out of him.

→ Next part

Series masterlist // Steve Rogers masterlist // Misc masterlist

These two idiots and their romance really are the definition of two steps forward, three steps back, huh? Feel free to yell at me🤭

Thank you for reading and feedback, it’s the best fuel💗

In other news, it’s my second week of school and I’m already DONE, so sorry the updates might get slower 🥺

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Concept for Loki S2 or a future season of the show:

Loki, Mobius, and Sylvie realize that they need to infiltrate the Council of Kangs to figure out how the new Multiversal War will start. Since this is going to be extremely dangerous, Loki suggests forming a team (he also makes a joke about how he’s basically making his own Avengers).

The team consists of variants of other Marvel characters. So characters who would likely never have appeared on the show will get their chance. The show could also play around with the variants and not make them carbon copies of their MCU counterparts. For example, Loki could recruit:

1) Billionaire playboy Hawkeye (timeline where the Bartons became rich and powerful / needed as a sniper to scope the Council)

2) OG Avenger Wenwu (timeline where instead of Thor, Nick Fury recruited Wenwu / needed as a tank to deal with the Kang army)

3) Pacifist/good guy Ultron (timeline where Tony and Bruce’s plans actually succeeded / needed as a hacker)

4) Party Wanda Maximoff (timeline where Wanda and Pietro grew up as spoiled rich kids in a stable version of Sokovia / needed as the grifter and to act as the distraction)

5) NASCAR driver Carol Danvers (timeline where Carol chooses to be a racer instead of a pilot / needed as the getaway driver)

6) Master thief Star-Lady Mantis (timeline where Mantis was raised by Yondu / needed to coordinate the heist)

So, it’s a bit like the Guardians of the Multiverse concept, but with Loki.

[wanderingmind867]

My take on Green Lantern III (Guy Gardner):

Guy Gardner was born to parents Roland and Peggy Gardner in Baltimore. His family moved around a lot (his father was a labourer constantly on the lookout for work), and so Guy Gardner never really had a stable home life. In his first 20 years of life, his family moved from Baltimore to Detroit to Toronto to Vancouver. All over the United States and Canada did his family journey for work. But finally, when guy was around 13, his family settled down in Vancouver. And it's in Vancouver that he would remain.

And besides this constant travelling, guy just never caught a break with his family dynamics. His father was a alcoholic who had a temper and could end up often beating him (either accidentally or intentionally), while his mother was a judgemental hypocrite who hated her husband and often seemed to encourage his worse tendencies. The only member of guy's family that was actually nice to him was his older brother Mace. Both of them pretty much relied upon each other for support in that chaotic household.

Because of this childhood, guy was a very troubled kid. He acted up at school, was opposed to authority figures and generally struggled with the academic parts of school. What kept him going? Well, partially it was his brother's support and encouragement. Part of it was probably a desire to prove himself and make something of himself. But in any case, guy eventually straightened his image and became a good student. (Well, he never did fully lose his hard-headedness and his anger issues. But he did straighten up his image, for the most part).

In a first for his family, guy gets a college/university degree (something his dad, mom and brother never got). He gets a degree in education and psychology from the university of British Columbia. He was also a sports star, playing for the UBC Thunderbirds Hockey team until an injury made him unable to keep playing. The injury really got to him and preyed on his natural insecurity of being unable to make it in this world.

After graduating, guy eventually gets a job as an educational assistant for students with special needs. He finds his work fulfilling, getting to help people and make the world a better place. It makes him feel really happy, for one of the first times in his life.

Guy Gardner is many things: stubborn, kind hearted, bold and strong willed. It's this last trait that made him an ideal green lantern. When Abin Sur falls to earth, his ring located two ideal candidates to replace him on the west coast of North America: Hal Jordan in Southern California, and Guy Gardner in Vancouver. Since Abin Sur was actually in California, Hal Jordan was the lucky one who gets the ring.

After this near brush with greatness, Guy Gardner's life proceeds much as normal. He continues his work as an educational assistant, finally feeling a great personal sense of fulfillment. The ring passes him over once more, making John Stewart a lantern before him. Guy Gardner was always capable of being a hero, but he was always passed over in favour of other candidates. This might be why he sometimes seems a little bitter toward the first two green lanterns.

But eventually, Guy Gardner does get his ring. When an alien spaceship being hunted by the Green Lanterns crash lands in Vancouver, Guy Gardner ends up being recruited to stop it when the Green Lantern on the case dies in combat. And with the help of the Justice League Canada, Guy Gardner manages to send the alien scout ship fleeing for their homeworld. (I'll probably do something with this story. Maybe 40 issues later, the aliens return for a big story arc)?

After this, Guy Gardner has to learn to balance being an educational assistant with also being a Green Lantern and a member of the Justice League Canada. He manages to make it work, but it puts a significant strain on him. No wonder he acts so abrasive when he's a hero, it's taking time away from one of the few things in his life he enjoyed doing (working with those kids). He often chafes under the authority of the lanterns and the league, but he's still one of the bravest men you'll ever know.

[atlasscrumpit]

For @crystalaris

Cereal

She was gone, you didn't really miss her, but...she was all you had.

"I'm sorry that I had to do that, Y/N. I know all of this must be quite scary. Your mother wasn't a good person, that's why the scales decided she wasn't worthy of life." Arthur said as you starred at your mother's lifeless body.

You didn't feel much, losing her didn't mean much to you.

You didn't really even feel much about finding out Arthur was your father.

"It's fine." You muttered looking back at him.

"But your scales are balanced, and I'm so proud of you." He said with his usual smile as you nodded.

"You'll be so much happier and safer here. You can have a room all to yourself." He said begining to walk away as you followed him.

"So, you're a cult leader." You muttered making him chuckle softly.

"No, not at all." He said as you looked at him.

"But, you follow one God, recruiting people using fear and murder. That's a cult." You said as his smile failed.

"I don't expect you to understand, you're very young and you didn't exactly have a good parental figure growing up." He said as you rolled your eyes.

"Stop turning the conversation around on me and my issues. When I got bored I would study psychology, you're trauma is making you delusional." You said as he stopped walking.

"And now you will react with bitterness and anger because you're defensive, but deep down you know it's true." You said staring at him as he chuckled.

"You could be very useful to us Y/N." He replied before walking again.

"I'm not the cult kind of person, sorry, Arthur." You grumbled, he sighed softly.

"You can call me Father or Dad, Y/N." He said as you rolled your eyes again.

"I met you today and you killed my mother, we're not there yet." You muttered following him into a big hall where people were conversing and eating.

"I think you have a lot of manners to learn, Y/N. You should learn to respect me and others around you." He said, you decided to just go silent and walk away from him to get food.

You could hear his distant disappointed sigh.

--

It had been a whole week of disapproving looks and sighs from Arthur. You were glad you didn't feel much because if you did you would hate it here.

But like usual you fell into a rhythm and routine.

You didn't want to acknowledge that Arthur was your father, you also didn't want to be apart of his stupid cult.

You sat awake in the middle of the night on the shitty mattress on the floor.

You heard your window open and looked up to see the infamous moon knight.

"Good tactic, kidnap the daughter." You muttered as his mask retracted and he looked at you in shock.

"Wherever you're taking me, is there a comfortable bed?" You asked standing up and stretching.

"Um, yeah? Why aren't you shocked?" He asked as you grabbed a jacket and put it on.

"I don't feel much, but I don't really like it here, and you're a hero so it can't be much worse than Harrow. Right?" You said tying your hair up, Marc was speechless.

"I suppose. Khonshu wanted me to kidnap you to have power over Harrow." He said as you nodded.

"Makes sense, do you have decent food at your place? I want some packaged food, not all this vegan organic shit." You said making him chuckle.

"We've got plenty."

--

After an awkward way back to Marc's apartment, you practically ran in and collapsed on his bed.

"Well, that's certainly not what I expected." Steven muttered in the reflection as Marc chuckled.

Jake decided to chip in.

"I know a traumatised child when I see one. She probably hasn't had anything stable in her life, like Khonshu said she only found out about Arthur last week when he murder her mother." He said as Marc sighed and looked at you.

"Is there anything you want to eat?" Marc asked as you sat up and looked at him.

"Do you have sugary cereal? No one ever let's me eat it." You replied making him chuckle.

"There's plenty in the cupboard, go nuts." He said before you jumped up and ran towards the kitchen.

You noticed that even though you were twenty, your mind was still a lot younger.

Which was understandable.

--

After eating you'd fallen asleep on Marc's bed, he decided he'd let you sleep comfortably.

He didn't mind taking the couch.

He woke up around 8am to see you still fast asleep.

He looked in a reflection to see Steven deep in thought.

"So, what is Khonshu planning? We send Harrow a letter saying we have your daughter?" Steven said making Marc laugh a little.

"Something like that. Whatever happens I'm not letting her go back." Marc said glancing over at your peaceful sleeping form.

"I can't imagine what she's gone through, all she wants is comfort and safety. We can give that to her." Marc said, he hadn't realised how much of an attachment he had formed for you already.

"She deserves that much." Steven replied making Marc smile softly.

"She does."

--

After you'd awoken Marc had told you they needed to go see your father and tell him that they had you.

You weren't sure what they were planning but you didn't really care.

You were looking forward to a day by yourself with all the cereal you could eat.

"Just don't leave, okay? I need you to stay here so I know your safe." Marc said as you nodded.

"Marc, there's a bed and good cereal here. Why would I leave?" You said making him laugh.

He made a mental note to get you some more cereal on his way back.

--

You spent the day watching TV and eating cereal, just like you had planned to.

When Marc returned he had two bags of groceries.

"What's that?" You asked making him chuckle.

"I've got four boxes of cereal for you to try." He said unpacking them onto the kitchen bench as you jumped up and ran over looking at them all.

"These are sure to rot my teeth and I love it." You said making him laugh. He loved to see your smile.

"So, what did Harrow say?" You asked grabbing a bowl to try all the cereals.

"It doesn't matter, but you won't ever have to go back to him." He said as you smiled.

"Thank you, Marc."

[shuttershocky]

Question regarding IS3 what's a good beginning squad to pass the very first floor? I've tried almost every formation thinkable since I've got a good roster of (almost) all operators and i would say I'm somewhat endgame(?) with E2 Lv40s-60s but that doesn't stop me from getting mowed down by groups of fish and fish with legs leaking. Do i just need to keep playing and unlock the skill tree things?

How much of IS2 have you played?

While very different from IS2, the same general strategies should carry you through your early runs of IS3, especially in the much lower difficulty settings. Recruit a versatile team able to take on all the challenges you've already experienced, don't cash in all your hope immediately into a 6 star that can't carry you through the early levels, etc. A lot of a roguelike is wandering into it blind and experiencing all the tricks it can throw at you, letting you understand what your needs are in a run (or what combos are OP) and learning how to fight against the RNG.

Don't worry if you happen to be failing a lot in your initial runs even with a strong roster of operators, it's a part of the roguelike experience since you're completely unable to predict what you will need in a run. Once you have more experience (and with the help of cool upgrades), your runs should get much easier and more stable even when RNG decides to throw its worst at you.

If you want a tip for the upgrade tree, upgrade the middle branch first, as that branch contains all the exp bonuses. Faster levelling up in a run means more hope, more hope means more operators, and more operators = longer runs which gets you rewards with much less runs.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I absolutely adored Out on a Limb! Once you’ve finished it, if you have any other oops baby/pregnancy recs, I’d love to hear them!

I hope you don't mind me publishing this as a rec post! I feel like oops baby books are so hard to get right, but when they're right... I love them.

And I reeeeeally enjoyed Out on a Limb, would totally recommend it to anyone looking for a character-driven romance that puts the emphasis on heart.

Heart. And face sitting.

So, as far as oops baby books (where I'd say the oops is like, the main push, versus a part of it) go, I'd recommend:

Contemporary

Deep by Kylie Scott. One of my favorite "the oops baby kicks off the plot" books. The hero is the bass player in a famous rock band, the heroine is the drummer's new sister in law, she's a good bit (nothing crazy, around 8 years) younger than him and kind of doggedly pursues him... and then they have a one night stand that ends in hurt feelings. Until! Six weeks later! BABY!

There's also one of my favorite things in these types of books, where the pregnancy makes her super horny and he's like I Must Take Care Of It

A Holly Jolly Ever After by Sierra Simone and Julie Murphy. The heroine is this good girl former child star who's doing a Christmas movie (but sexy) with a former boy bander who's famous for his recently viral sex tape. (In which he, a man who owns a pizza chain, flips the woman over to fuck her from behind, slaps her ass, and goes "And THAT'S how you toss the dough". I find this to be such a selling point of this hero.)

Anyway, she's been married but has like, never had an orgasm (at all, I think, not just with a partner) and he basically teaches her to loosen up and enjoy sex, but it's supposed to be casual/educational... until............. baby happens.

Jana Goes Wild by Farah Heron. This is kind of the fallout of the oops baby. The heroine and hero have this passionate fling and fall really hard really fast... and then she finds out he's married. And THEN she finds out she's pregnant. Fast-forward five years and they're equal co-parents who are both great with their kid but barely interact outside of her. Until they happen to be in the same destination wedding together. And obviously, it's all a bit more complicated than "he was a cheating bastard".

Historical

The Recruit by Monica McCarty. My favorite Highland Guard book! The heroine is a widowed mother, and Robert the Bruce wants to arrange a marriage between her and one of his Boys. She and that boy have a fling, but he doesn't know who she is (and there's a particularly hot moment wherein they first meet when she stumbles upon him fucking this random lady, and they make eye contact, and that's what gets him there). Anyway, because he doesn't know it's her, he casually mentions that they can continue their thing after he gets married... So she's like oh. He's a fucking cheater. And turns down his proposal.

Except.... Months later... They run into each other again... And he accidentally feels her belly and realizes that she's With Child... And no child of Kenneth's will be a bastard!!!!

(Even though she's like, comically resistant to marrying him lmao.)

The Music of Love by S.M. LaViolette. The heroine is the hero's music teacher (her husband was supposed to be it, but he died and she grabbed the job because she needs the cash) and there's this immediate spark between them. They give in to it and fuck at the stables (after watching some horses fuck, it's great) aaaaaand pretty quickly she realizes she's pregnant. Naturally, he insists on a marriage. But it's all very gothic and there are tons of secrets. And they're prone to bickering, but bickering makes them both HILARIOUSLY horny.