Fav If You Save

Will this girl ever have peace? Not that she is at peace, trapped in captivity and invalid, but it is impressive how things can get worse for her. I don't know if it's Bucky or Brock, but the Captain has to come back in time to cause a bloody tragedy with this guy, don't mess with his doll, the doll that is injured.

Mission Control 18

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, blood, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You pant as your body shakes uncontrollably. The pain is unbearable. The monster keeps your foot raised as he wraps a new bandage around it. The throbbing eases slightly though the sting remains. Your screams still echo in your skull. You passed out at least once as he cleaned the wound. 

He pins the dressing and lowers your leg tenderly onto the pillow. He stands and pulls the blanket up to your waist. You catch your breath as you wipe the beads of sweat from your forehead. 

The last day has been torture. You don’t know how much more you can handle. He stares down at you with chagrin woven into his expression. He bows his head and turns sharply. You can do nothing but languish as he stomps around. 

He opens the armoire. You shudder. He takes out black boots and a jacket. He closes it without retrieving the shield or his body armour. 

He comes back to the bed and sits to tie his boots. You push yourself up on your elbows. 

“You’re going somewhere?” You ask. 

He glances at you, then the night stand. He leans over and swipes up the pill bottle. He rattles it. 

“You’re getting more?” You guess. 

He frowns then shakes his head. He looks at the label then once more at you. He points to the bruise around his eye. The one he inflicted himself. 

“Pain killers?” You can’t help the eagerness in your voice. He nods. “Oh, but...” you glance around. He extends two fingers and moves them back and forth quickly. You have to guess again, “you’ll be fast?” 

He confirms again with a tilt of his chin. You lower yourself back to the pillow. He focuses on tying the laces, the leather straining as he does, then rises again. 

He pulls on the coat and leaves the room. You listen for the front door but instead, his footfalls approach once more. He brings in a glass of water and bag of trail mix. He puts them beside the bed and steps back. 

“Thank you,” you utter. 

He twists on his heel and marches out. Despite not wanting to grow used to his place, his staunch lack of response is more and more familiar. At least when he is placid, he is manageable. You only worry about that other side of him. The one even he seems afraid of. 

The front door opens and closes. The wintry air flows through and you slip further beneath the blankets. You shift onto your side and settle in. You can’t sleep any more but you find yourself drifting into a state somewhere between waking and not. A sort of trance that has you etching each knot in the wood walls with your eyes, trying to memorise them all, trying to see faces or fantastical scenes in the dark markings. 

The winds bellow without, beating the walls, whistling and wailing. You fold an arm over your head as the constant nose starts to itch in your ears. You turn onto your back and sit up to have some water. The antibiotics make your stomach heavy. You make yourself eat a handful of nuts. 

The edges of the covered windows soften with the rising darkness. You while away the time by counting the stitches in the trim of the patchy quilt. Fatigue slowly creeps into your eyes. 

Your head begins to droop as you lean back against the bed frame. You’re too lazy to slide down, instead slumping uncomfortably. Your mind sinks into itself as the billowy undertone fades. 

Click. The subtle but decisive noise of the front door rouses you. You blink and rub the sleep from your eyes. You look at the bedroom door expectantly, waiting. 

You can hear footsteps but they don’t come to you. What is he doing? You listen as they pace around; through the front room, slow, measured. Something is different about them. 

You sit up as much as you can and stare at the door. You see the shadow before the stranger. You know by the silhouette it isn’t him. Your eyes flick up to meet the dark pair that come to peer into the bedroom. 

The man’s lips slant as he looks you over. He scoffs as he steps into the room. He nonchalantly walks the parameter as you sit in silent horror. You can tell by his demeanour that he isn’t a friend. Yet how did he find this place? How did he get inside? With all those traps, he wouldn’t just stumble upon you. 

His dark hair is pushed back from his face, a shadowy stubble around his jaw, and his shoulders are broad and set straight. His boots scrape the floor as he goes to the corner and looks down at the shelf. He touches one of the pictures and laughs. 

“Hello?” You croak at last, “who are you?” 

The man turns and chuckles again. He crosses his arms and approaches the bed. You don’t know if you should hope he can save you. The void depths of his eyes is terrifying. There’s no light in them. 

“I should ask you the same,” he sneers. “But I can guess what you are.” He teethes his lip and angles his head arrogantly. “So the automaton found himself a pet. How precious.” 

“Please, I’m not—he took me--” 

You choke on your words as he grabs the blankets and rips them off of you. You squeal and instinctively bend your legs. You press your heels into the bed and roar at the agony it lights in your calf. He tosses the blankets away as he gives another sinister laugh. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” he snarls and reaches for your bandages foot. He latches on and you shriek as he drags you down the mattress. “That... thing doesn’t get toys. So, I’ll just have to break you so he can’t play no longer.” 

You cry out and thrash as the man crawls onto the bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Ayo Edebiri as Sydney Adamu The Bear (2022-present) costume design by Courtney Wheeler

SAM REID as  Father Ignatius in Lambs of God (2019)

for @aemondtargeryen

Zazie Beetz as Alicia in Wounds (2019)

NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story 1.01

he's so tall and handsome as hell 🙄

The Big Guy for The Times UK ✨

I feel really awake. I don’t recall ever feeling this awake. You know? Everything looks different now. You feel like that? You feel like you got something to live for now?

GEENA DAVIS as Thelma Thelma & Louise (1991) | Dir. Ridley Scott

Stand for ALL black women

- College Educated black women

- Street Educated black women

- Poor black women

- rich black women

- Gay black women

- Trans black women

- Queer black women

- Imprisoned black women

- criminal-past black women

- mentally ill black women

- sex working black women

- disabled black women

- old black women

-young black women

- loud black women

- quiet black women

- dark-skinned black women

- Light-skinned black women

- fat, skinny, curvy, muscular, athletic black women

- agnostic, Muslim, Buddhist, Christian, Wiccan, Pagan, Bruja black women

- black women that are artists

- black women that cosplay

- black women that feel out of place

- black women out of work

- black women on welfare

- black women working two jobs

- black mothers

- black sisters

- black women choosing to exist in a world that doesn’t care if they exist.

All black women.

I'M SO HAPPY THAT THERE'S A NEW CHAPTER! I woke up and was going to go back to sleep, but when i saw the notification i decided to stay awake to read it.

I'm so happy that Thor finally showed up, even more in love with the gentle giant and his restless little pet. Like we have a history lover meeting an archaeologist in the middle of an excavation, how could we have anything wrong? I can't wait to have him introduce her to places she never even thought of exploring 🤭 As I said before, only Thor would know how to value a woman willing to get dirty at work, he loves his Valkyries

I also like that she is willing to make new colleagues and create a routine, even if she is not completely happy with her current situation, but i think a blondie will change that.

Someone New 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Thanks as usual for reading.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Things don’t become comfortable, but familiar. You get into a routine, one which smears the days and nights into the other. The landscape helps with that. The sun is fleeting, even in July. The days are longer but it’s not anywhere as stifling or humid as New York. Like everything else, it’s different. 

The man at the fish place, Frederik, knows your name. His wife, Inga too. When you walk in the door, they put your order to fry before you even get to the counter. They’re friendly and warm. It’s nice to have some smiling faces when you can hardly muster the same.  

They like to ask you about New York; they’re finally planning a big trip to America after twenty-five years together. They remind you of Marigold and her bakery. You long for one of her eclairs and her chatty demeanour. Just another thing to miss. 

As you sit down at a table near the window to eat in, your phone goes off. You answer as you read Sam’s name across the screen. He’s the only one you’ve talked to in the last month. Nearly two now. August is close. 

“Yo, yo, girly pop,” he sings from the other end. 

“Girly pop? Sam,” you chide as you hover a thick cut fry before your mouth. 

“Chicky poo, nope. Girly pop, nope. I’ll get there,” he teases, “finally got a hold of you.” 

“Uh, yeah, the site is far. No signal,” you shrug and take a bite. 

“I know, I'm just needy,” he kids. “So, you hitting the spa? Summer’s going fast.” 

“Not yet,” you swallow. “Sam, there’s a lot of work here and it’s just me. The only help I get is from a local student volunteer and they do three hours a week.” 

“Oof, why does your work sound so boring?” He groans 

“Hey!” 

“Well, I mean, digging up dirt all day, tell me you’re not going mad. You making friends? No one to cool, I hope. I’m still your number one guy.” 

“Not really. It’s tough. Long hours. I don’t know,” you stare out the window as you toy with the bamboo fork.  

“If you were going to hide all day in a hovel, you could’ve stayed in New York,” he sighs. 

“Sam, I’m trying. Really. It’s... It’s going to take some time.” 

“Right,” he agrees grimly. “Time. A year is not that long.”  

You hum and lean back in the chair. You’re not as hungry as you were. You close up the container and stand. 

“I know, alright?” You sniff as you tidy the table and grab your food, “but this isn’t a vacation.” 

“It’s also not a missionary trip,” he retorts. “I’m not tryna be a dick here, I’m helping. You need this.” 

You push out into the street and cluck. Silence. You don’t know what to say. He’s right and just like ever day, the conversation is the same. Over and over. It’s going to drive you crazy. 

“More sunlight this time of year, good for work--” 

“No more work talk,” he interjects, “if you don’t got anything fun going on, I'll just have to make you jealous. Some good old fashioned FOMO. Hm, me and Bucky went to Jersey.” 

“Jersey? Why?” You take the bait, happy for the distraction. 

“Oh, yeah, I told him there was a vintage bike for sale there.” 

“You told him that but...” 

“There wasn’t. I just wanted to see him interact with the locals. The old ladies love him but the men... well, I think he might have a warrant out now.” 

“No, Sam, what the hell?” You exclaim as you stroll along. “Are you trying to get him killed?” 

“Hey, I got his back. Just like I got yours. It was just a prank.” 

“Wait, Sam, where exactly did you take him in Jersey?” 

“Some cribbage club, I don’t know. I saw a page for it online. Thought he’d fit in--” 

“They were old?” 

“They match his energy,” he snorts. 

You can’t help but laugh. It feels good. Just that little bit of home. Your amusement is dampened as your heart sinks. You really were so stupid. You didn’t see what you had all around you; Bucky, Sam, more than just Steve. Now it’s all behind you and going back won’t be the same as before. 

💟

There’s tension in the air. It’s going to rain. You suspect your day will be cut short by the gathering clouds but your persist. No use in running. Again. 

The last time you left in fear of a storm, it waited until the next day. So you sit, boots set in the dirty, hunched over as you carefully trace out the strange lump. It’s more than sediment. Bone but not a skeleton. Likely animal and bent into some tool. You have to be delicate. It’s not like the movies, you can’t just dig your hand in and rip it out. 

Your earbud drones as a retro R&B playlist keeps your mind at focus. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove, feeling the flecks of dirt cling to your skin. You ignore it and press on. Just a little more, a little more. 

It’s bigger than you expect. Just as you think it might come free, you find it goes further down. You can make out the jagged break and the hide wrapping at it’s base. A spear of some sort.  

You roll your shoulders out and put your tools down on the open role. You peel of the gloves and reach for the tall insulated bottle of water. You gulp, your throat cooling nicely at the flow. You cap the bottle and clear your throat, listening to the silence of the mountain. 

Yet it isn’t quiet. You glance around at the subtle scratching, a strange tapping across the ground. It could be vermin. It’s not unusual to disturb a nest of one thing or another on a dig but they usually leave early on. 

You put the bottle down and shove your hand back into a glove. A puffy breath comes over the scratching. Several breaths in quick succession, as if there’s something sniff. You keep your other glove in your grip and stand. Your legs are so cramped that your steps are stiff and stunted. 

As you search for the source, there’s a yipe and a fuzzy shape catches your eye. You tilt your head, thoroughly confused at the barking beast. You’re not certain that chihuahuas are native to Norway. At least, you wouldn’t assume so. 

The ashy blond dog has longer fur along its ears and chest and a white bolt down its chest. You can tell it isn’t wild despite its behaviour as it is finely groomed and wears a bright red collar. You approach the fence as it hops, stopping only to try to dig beneath with its dirtied paws. 

“Hi, buddy,” you near the eager dog, “how’d you get up here?” 

You stop just across from the dog and poke your fingers through the fence. It stops, you think a ‘he’, and sniffs your fingers. His cold nose tickles you and you wiggle until you can pet his head. The little thunderbolt emblem on hiss collar peeks through his mane. There might be some information there. 

“Thunder!” The booming voice sounds like the very thing it decries, “Thunder, you pest, where’re you off too?” 

There’s a crunching of soil and rock along the mountain pass as the dog growls and barks again, turning to face the skewing of a towering shadow. You watch in shock at the approach. You didn’t think there was life so far up. That or someone has chosen a rather treacherous hiking trail. 

The dog, you assume ‘Thunder’, bounces back and forth in anticipation of his own, calling to him with his pitchy yaps. The man appears around the jagged rock and you feel the air knocked from your chest. You slowly reach to take out your earbud and tuck it in a pocket.

Wow. You blink to make sure it’s real. To be certain this isn’t some trick of the mind or this ancient land. Maybe the gods are real here. 

He’s tall and broad and handsome. His canvas jacket does little to conceal his muscular build as his jeans are snug to his thick thighs. You think he’s even bigger than Steve. You wince at the reminder of the man but it quickly flits away. You can’t ignore the man before you with his golden tresses twisted back into a low bun, stray strands wisping forward to frame his stony jaw and stormy blue eyes. 

You stand gaping through the fence as the man flinches in fright. His gaze meet yours and his cheeks tinge pink as he gives a crooked grin, “ah, Thunder, my darling, you’ve found a friend.” 

He whistles and the dog lunges forward. He picks up the chihuahua, their size difference almost comical as he cradles him in one arm. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can barely think.  

You snap your mouth shut and clear your throat. Work. That’s what you should be doing. 

“Hello,” the man nears the other side of the fence before you can move away, “I’ve been wondering what this is all about. The signs...” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh,” you peer around as if lost. You sort of are. “A dig. Er. Grant,” you stammer out. You take a breath and still your mind, “I work with an archeological society in New York. We’ve been sponsored by your national board to exhume this site.” 

“Ah, yes, makes sense,” he lowers his brows thoughtfully as the dog squirms in his hold, yiping and biting at his sleeve. “Forgive me, she is rather uncouth.” He raises the dog higher and she wiggles in his arm. You see it now, definitely a pampered girl. “This is Thunder. She lives up to her namesake, eh?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you give a brittle smile, unsure. 

“Thor,” he dips his chin down, “I live just up the pass.” 

“You do?” You wonder curiously. “All the way up here?” 

“Oh yes, if you saw the old haunt, you might just want to dig that up too,” he jokes. “We usually go up the pass, towards the river.” 

“The river?” 

“Yes, you mustn’t stray far from here,” he remarks as he raises a hand to lean on the fence, only to nearly tip the unanchored grating. “Oooh, apologies,” he rights himself with a laugh, “anyhow, it is nice to see a new face around here. Better to have a name for it.” 

“Right, uh,” you offer your name and giggle nervously, “it’s just me on-site, guess I forget my manners.” 

“Not to worry. As the resident mountain man, my etiquette does lack,” he winces as Thunder chomps on his thumb knuckle, “eh, you monster, alright.” He holds her up and she pokes her nose through the fence, “she loves new people. Not so keen on the old.” 

“She's cute,” you scratch her nose and she licks your fingers. “Not exactly a native species.” 

“Who knows where she came from? Found the little dragon in the woods. Suppose someone left her there. She was covered in mud, so small I though she was a bloody toad,” he muses as he brings her back against his chest and rocks her, “it was only her thunderous barks which told me otherwise, isn’t that right, darling?” 

He makes a kissy noise at her and her fluffy tail wags wildly against him. You smile more genuinely. It is nice to have another living thing around after digging up the broken and dead for so long. 

“So you’re from New York?” He asks abruptly, his blue eyes rolling over you like a tide. 

“Yeah,” you utter breathily, “yes, New York.” 

“You’ve been here a while?” 

“Couple months,” you shift and twist your glove. 

“Wonderful, and you’ve done much exploring? You must live in town.” 

“About three hours,” you point towards the gravelly road, “haven’t had much time for sightseeing but I found a good fish shop.” 

“A shop? That’s no good. We catch our own fish, fry ‘em up over the pit,” he says, “that’s the way we do it up here.” 

You nod, “sounds fun. Well, er,” you turn halfway and look around, your eyes skimming up to the cloudy sky, “I should probably hustle. Looks like rain.” 

“That it does but it won’t be ‘til midnight,” he assures. 

“You think it’ll hold out?” 

“I know so,” he affirms and lingers by the fence, trying to see past you, “what exactly are you uncovering over there?” 

“Not much so far,” you pull on your loose glove. 

“You must know what this place was. A raider’s camp.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes, the raiders would camp upon the pass away from those who might come ashore, then go off themselves to find a coast to reap,” he explains. 

“And how do you know all that?” You ask as you tramp back to your place in the dirt. 

“Suppose some of my ancestors camped here with them,” he offers casually, “for so long as we’ve been up here. Once the viking scamps settled, they had to find a home somewhere. Some fellow named Agmundr or another built a stone house further up.” 

“Admundr? Family?” You prompt. 

“Distant,” he assures, “been some time and that stone house is now a foundation.” 

You get down to your knees as you grab your brush and peek over at him, “thanks for the information. I’ll have to add it to the land report. Have them crosscheck in the archives.” 

“Not at all. You won’t find it all on your paper, you know? We carry or history on our tongues here.” 

“Sure,” you say as you bend over the spearhead and start again. 

“You don’t mind if I watch? I always did love history and I’ve never seen a proper dig before.” 

“Not much going on, I’m afraid,” you shrug, “but if you want.” 

“Thunder will have a tantrum if I go,” he chuckles, “she likes you.” 

“Hm,” you scoff, “she is very outspoken.” 

You set your eyes on your task but can’t shake the awareness of your audience. It’s not too unusual. There were a few digs you did early on in the heart of the city and people loved to ogle you. This is different. Just the two of you. A stranger even. Friendly as he is, you’re happy for the fence, even if it is rather flimsy. 

“Those bones aren’t for you,” he says to the dog as she wriggles in his grasp. “Let’s find a stick then, you little pest.”