⫘⫘ ☠︎︎ ⫘⫘ he knows this isn't going to be a cake walk. even if she's not openly voiced it, serena's worries about nelrathe returning have been as loud as sirens, wailing in the back of his mind just behind the buzz that comes with the fact that his hand is wrapped around the much smaller one of his wife, safe and sound and free from vought, if only for now.

the front of the safehouse is so keen. prim, proper. cute. like a little yellow thing one'd find in a storybook about people that are far too much on the face and far too little in convictions. he's certain he hates it, but would this be something serena would want?

that is, if she still wants anything to do with him after this.

nelrathe's hand is squeezed, and those dark eyes flit down to meet her mismatched tiffanys, a slow nod given when she squeezes his hand back, tighter and graceful in the way it offers encouragement.

he releases her, and up those concrete steps he goes, opening the storm door and hesitating with his mitt around the knob, only to turn after a drawn out moment's contemplation and push, opening the door to step inside.

he's the only one that would be coming, unless mallory was there to be the bearer of bad news.

despite everything; the torment, the time, the months that have passed by wherein they've been staying with august where he has proven to them that they still deserve to be alive, they still deserve to be loved, nelrathe has maintained a couple of the habits that persisted before even william butcher got a hold of them. cigarettes in the early forties were so much better. they killed you faster, not that they could ever kill the drake.

new york isn't where they want to be, but august has work here in the fight against vought. the fight that they're a key hitter in, with testimony and physical evidence carved into their body regardless of which one they occupy. they know the two are here somewhere, with william finally free of the allegations against him and able to walk the streets again, just like they are so long as they're in this body.

very few bat an eye at the horns anymore, regardless of how high above their head they tower on top of such a large form. people would rather not see supes at all, let alone walking beside them on city streets with a cigarette they've just had lit up by a stranger also toking away. everyone else has moved onto vapes, but not the stranger, and not the drake.

they thank the man, rising from the crouch beside him on the curb, and they're starting through the crowd, only to miss what's going on right in front of them. a weight collides with their front in a bit of a rush, and as she bounces off their middle, nelrathe looks down, the chains and jewels on their horns jangling as they move. "sorry, y' alri--"

pause.

"s--... serena?"

If she were Hikaru, despite trusting him with his very life, he would still hesitate at such a question, present him with a smirk and a remark that would have him rolling his eyes fondly before insisting that it would be nothing bad, he promises, and Pavel would give in as he always does, awaiting whatever surprise was in store for him.

Here, now, Pavel's expression is one of clear curiosity, complete with a slight tilt of the head, as if he had not heard the request correctly. Several possibilities come to mind, each as plausible as the last, and rather than let himself spiral into the mental possibilities trying to guess what it could be to see if he would be right, Pavel nods, closing his eyes and dipping his chin towards the floor.

@wihlted gets loverboy stuff but with a twist.

as they lay in the bed that's far larger than either of them need for the simple fact that they are never more than a few inches apart when they sleep, richie toys with the very edge of serena's nightgown, pulled up and away from her thigh to act more like a safety blanket for him than a covering for her.

❛    𝒄𝒂𝒏  𝒚𝒐𝒖  𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓  𝒎𝒆 ?   ❜        concern  is  clear  in  the  captain's  voice  as  he  holds  the  girls  face  in  one  hand  ,  baby  blues  flickering  over  her  face  with  expert  quick  assessment.       blood  at  the  temple  from  a  scratch  at  her  hairline  ;  bruise  on  the  back  edge  of  her  jaw  ;  cut  to  the  lip  ;  disorientation  from  possible  concussion.         nothing  fatal  that  he  can  see.        he's  crouched  there  beside  @wihlted  in  the  mess  of  a  diner  –  the  aftermath  of  an  attack  on  the  street.          with  the  threat  handled  ,  steve  has  made  himself  useful  once  more.        he's  no  medic  ,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  just  walk  off  without  helping.

 ❛    your  ears  are  probably  ringing.      completely  normal.      can  you  tell  me  your  name  ?      i'm  steve.   ❜       does  he  need  an  introduction  ?       he's  still  in  his  uniform  –  sans  shield  &*  helmet  ,  anyway.      he  takes  the  lid  off  a  water  bottle  &*  uses  the  water  to  wet  a  cloth  so  he  can  gently  start  wiping  blood  &*  dust  &*  dirt  from  her  face.       

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── " you heard that, huh? " legendary hands. there's a reddened guilt racing across his features. why had he said it? at all, not just in a place where others ── [ the whole goddamn bridge ] ── could hear, but at all.

he and the sore that is carol marcus have just returned to the enterprise after what he is already dubbing in his mind as the torpedo incident, and yet though he's just almost been blown to bits, it had been the return that worried him more.

because he had. he'd flirted with the doctor, and oh how fucking stupid that had been.

" serena, i'm sorry. " he doesn't skirt it any. there is no excuse, no reason, no valid thing that can be said to try to weasel out of the moment. not that he would want to. no.

leonard mccoy lowers his head, not out of shame entirely, but to be on her level more so that she can see in the way he looks at her, there is regret, and promise.

" that was wrong. i'm sorry. it will not happen again, and if there's anything i can do to prove that i'm sorry, i will do it. "

@wihlted sent : “ you were flirting with them her. ” / said in the most pouty lipped way

         he won’t admit it to her, yet, but césar’s eager to set that pretty little face when he walks into the door. more than any of the others, he wants to see her. his desire has always been too violent for serena, too wolfish for a lamb of a girl cradled in the delicacy of silken ribbons and glass cages. he knows she’s got some teeth in her, buried under the soft petals of her lips. hidden, maybe. still, they’ll never be as big as césar’s, and that renders her fragile. maybe that’s part of the reason he keeps running away, keeping her out. or maybe he’s just not meant to be loved in a way that holds him

         he wonders if she’s missed him since he’s been gone, what kinds of stories she’s come up with to fall asleep to at night, without césar there to tell them to her. or perhaps she’s still playing pollo, that hard-to-get act of hers where she acts like anyone else could know her better than césar does. either way, it’ll be funny. maybe, she thinks, this time, he’s gone for good. finally taken himself all the way over the edge, thrown into a rushing, angry sea with a bit more than liquor flushed through his veins, fueling his chaos. fast forward to tonight, when césar walks into dinner, a ghost of a man. it’s a funny thought, but he doesn’t have a better excuse to give serena when it comes to him being gone for three months. so, he’ll leave her to her imagination.