#musingmemories

[ TXT to 📲 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏-𝑵𝒐𝒕-𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 ] : Guess who found your number???👹

Now he had to wait. How exciting was this!? Jinu had never owned a piece of technology like it. The device was actually sort of fascinating. It even talked— Siri, was it? But that wasn’t the best of it. No, the best was that he didn’t even need to be in the same room as Rumi to grate on her last nerve. That could easily be done over a text message. And speaking of.. ping! Not even five minutes had gone by and he already had a reply. A reply that Jinu was embarrassed to admit he’d opened a little too eagerly.

[ TXT from📱 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏-𝑵𝒐𝒕-𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 ] : stop texting me.

Wow. Rude much? Not nearly enough to wipe the devious smirk off Jinu’s face though, as nimble fingers began to work overtime by tapping at the screen with an almost immediate response of his own.

[ TXT to 📲 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏-𝑵𝒐𝒕-𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 ] : One of these days you’re really going to hurt my feelings.

A pause, followed by another text.

[ TXT to 📲 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏-𝑵𝒐𝒕-𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 ] : Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious how I got your number?

"Send me "&" for my muses reaction to yours tracing one of their scars." from Yelena to Kate // accepting. @musingmemories

"That's an old one. The barbed arrow incident. Not entirely Clint's fault that I went digging around the trunk of his car without asking, but..."

Kate smiles, blue eyes following Yelena's fingers across a pretty gnarly looking scar, still pink and glistening. It's a testament of the past couple of months of jumping over rooftops, getting into brawls with men twice her size, and occasionally last minute decisions that ended up being stupid messy. The bandaids are peppering half of her fingers even now; though everyone knows those are kind of a permanent accessory to a Hawkeye, anyway. "Actually looks way worse than it feels."

In reality, she almost bled out and had to be kept in the ER overnight, but Yelena doesn't need to know that. In fact, Kate is proud of it being fascinating enough for a Black Widow assassin to trace with her fingers– and if Kate pretends hard enough, she can stubbornly say that's all there is to it.

It's definitely not about the fact that she hasn't felt someone's gentle touch in forever, nor about the warmth of Yelena's calloused fingers examining it with that little furrow of her brows Kate has grown fond of. The look on her face is one of many that Kate Bishop hasn't learned how to read (yet), and is equally frustrating and charming at the same time. Instead of trying to guess what the blonde is thinking, her attention falls on the hands that hold her forearm.

She, too, can see the remnants of a recent injury on the back of Yelena's hand despite the dimmed lightning of her apartment; and the already existing physical contact makes the archer brave enough to brush her bandaged thumb over the fading bruise surrounding the knuckles.

Annoyance bubbling up by the second, Mira picks up a small pillow by her head and throws it over at Zoey. She aims it well enough that it doesn't hit her pen and paper, not wanting to actually disrupt her writing, and targets her arm instead. It has just enough force to evoke a sharp smacking sound when it connects; hopefully she didn't actually hurt her.

"It's been like half an hour already, you're leaving me hanging. Couch time isn't the same without you."

@musingmemories played: i propose that we go and have a drink. (Kuina for Ann, they deserve it, Ann!)

𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: RELENTLESS MELT

KUINA'S DELIGHT IS INFECTIOUS. It bubbles up and lights up the room - or maybe that's just Kuina herself. That seems more accurate to Ann. Even in the Borderlands, things had seemed more hopeful when the other woman was at her side. And now they're not dying, be it from bullets or summer heat, but Kuina's light still fills the space. With her the light feels a bit brighter in the room, the warmth a bit more cozy. Kuina's eyes are so bright and her lips are curved up into such a big smile that it makes Ann's chest ache to think how she must have worn despair. ( Ann has not, and does not ever plan to, to tell Kuina near the end that she hadn't been able to properly see her. Ann doesn't want to see Kuina in the depths of sorrow. SHE WANTS THIS, THE HAPPINESS, THE LIGHT IN HER EYES. )

Come to think of it, Ann's not sure when the last time she drank was. Probably after a long night in the lab, but several days before the meteor. Then all the hospitalization and surgery recover times, and then the medicines. She's RATHER GLAD to be done with all of those - a tidbit she'd offhandedly mentioned and been rewarded with Kuina lighting up like it was Christmas morning and clinging onto her arm like a flood might tear her aware or that Ann might disappear.

That seems to be a fear they both have.

Ann quirks her brow and offers a teasing smile. " Propose, or DEMAND? " Said only in jest of course. She knows Kuina wouldn't push or force her to go for a drink if she really didn't want to. Ann is quick to make her answer clear when she places her hand over Kuina's and gives a gentle squeeze. " There is no one more I'd rather get a drink with than you. " Honesty that comes easily from her lips. It sounds fun - it sounds like something they deserve. A slice of normalcy that Ann had forgotten long before everything due to her workaholic nature.

HE’S USED TO THIS, PUTTIN’ PEOPLE DOWN after they get bit. Twenty-plus years since the outbreak an’ he’d gotten pretty damn good at it. That was life these days ──── some poor soul got grabbed by one of them things, got its teeth sunken into their flesh, an’ the rest was history. FEDRA put ‘em down quickly in the QZ if their fancy equipment sniffed out the infection on someone. Joel, on the other hand, would put down dumbasses he’d worked with, idiots who thought they could beat the damn infection, that they were different. A bullet to the brain, quick and painless. He’d killed enough people tryin’ to kill him . . . what difference did it make if the person at the end of the barrel wasn’t dangerous for another few hours?

It tore him up inside to know he’d have to do the same to Eugene. A good man, a former Firefly, with a wife waitin’ back in Jackson. Old man loved his weed an’ kept the town supplied. A decent shot, given his past. An’ yet, he couldn’t outrun an infected, couldn’t outrun death.

Bring him to the gates. Let him say goodbye to Gail. That was his dyin’ wish. Shit, he wasn’t even close to turnin’, Ellie’d made sure to point that out to him. An’ ──── God dammit ──── Lucy’d agreed with the whole bring-Eugene-to-the-gate plan, not that Joel expected any different. She had a heart o’ gold, that one.

Only his own was encased in ice.

“ he still has time! ” ~Lucy for Joel | @musingmemories

“ Jackson has its rules for a reason, Luce, ” he hisses through clenched teeth. Ellie an’ her hadn’t taken kindly to his plan ──── a bullet between the eyes for Eugene, passin’ on any words he might have for Gail, himself. It was easier that way. Safer. “ We don’t know for sure how much time he has. What if we put him in front o’ Gail an’ he starts turnin’? Then what? ” There is an anger bubbling beneath the surface, turning his upper lip into a snarl. “ Then we gotta put her down, too, to keep Jackson safe. I ain’t puttin’ her or anyone else in danger, ‘specially not you an’ Ellie! ”

Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours - Accepting ☾

●●●●● | ATTRACTION ●●●●● | AFFECTION ●●●●● | INTEREST ●●●●● | LOYALTY ●●●●● | TRUST

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH