#𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.

[abysscs]

OPEN TO: M / F / NB - preferably someone a little softer / less confrontational than him! premise: approx. 4 years into the apocalypse and reuven has just raided a home he believed to be empty, used the shower (how the hell was there hot water? hes not questioning it too hard) and has now just helped himself to the food in the cupboards. he also used your muse's soap and some cologne he found in the bedroom (could be your muse's or someone that lived with them ) if you'd like to start out with a fight, i'm totally down! i just ask that you don't godmod :)

There was the chirping of the morning dove, and the groaning floorboards against wind too eager, and man, disheveled, feral, standing beneath the warm cascade of shower for the first time in four years. To Reuven, this felt like some sort of spiritual experience. A rapture. He did not believe in a god anymore, but he believed in this. In the water, and how it washed his body clean, of roaming undead and guttural screams and violence so wretched it rung against eardrums hours after the fact.

This could have been the first time he'd ever felt the steam lift from his worn and tired muscles in his life, if he hadn't had memory of it. His groan was that of pure relief; of some euphoria that had been lost to him so long ago, one that could only be summoned by creature comforts. And his nails scratched at his filthy skin, embedding the soap into his pores, until the water ran brown, then red, then pink, and then clear. His bloodied and dirty clothes lay in some stinking heap on the floor beside the tub, and when the shower halted with a squeak, Reuven took a long and purposeful step over them, wrapping towel around his torso to go exploring the home. He found photos and bed sheets and, in the far closet of the master bedroom, a clean shirt and shorts. As though it were all untouched by the hands of time. And if he were any less starved, he might have stopped to think—think why? Why did this place appear to be so untouched? Had it truly not seen the horrors that awaited outside its walls, or had there been someone inside of it? Tending to its scars? But he was not any less starved. He was dazed and out-of-body, and carried his black, bloodied carbine with him as he spritzed some half-filled cologne into his neckline. Creature comforts.

And then heavy footsteps fell upon each stair, slow, taking his time, in the pursuit of kitchen. Where was it? Such a strange home, to be built upon the face of a hill, where entrance opened to the second level and the kitchen, apparently, was where he expected a basement to be. His forefinger dragged along the drywall as he went, slowly, not because he didn't care to get there any faster, but because he was so damned tired. He ached from the inside out, and when he finally reached that kitchen chair, his form fell into it with another groan, a thud, a creak. This was the first time he'd sat on anything comfortable in a long time. Dinner first, then he'd take advantage of that mattress upstairs. It had looked so inviting, for a moment Reuven wasn't sure which starvation mattered more to him: sleep or hunger? But he knew he'd sleep better with a full stomach, and to his slight surprise and whole relief, there was food. Cupboards of food. Full cupboards. He stared at the shelves, eyes glossed over with his starvation, almost unable to believe his sight. And then he began eating, right there, over the sink. He began shoveling anything chewable into his mouth and ate like ravenous dog, hardly chewing, shaking. Rapture.

His body knew before his mind did. The goosebumps ripped up his shoulders into his neck, where hairs raised, and he spun around, dark eyes wild and vicious, ready to kill. How long had they been watching him? How long had he been vulnerable?

"You got a death wish?" he called, as if it were the most natural question to ask the owner of the home he was intruding in.

[tonyfms]

@cybulletin​​   ♡

ANOTHER  DAY,  ANOTHER  PROBLEM.  he’s  out  of  breath  by  the  time  he  rounds  the  corner  of  the  narrow  hallway,  running  into  the  nearest  empty  classroom.    or  so  he  thought,  anyways.  it’s  only  when  he  slams  the  door  shut  with  a  thump  that  he  notices  the  other  presence  in  the  room.    ❝    oh,  hey.    ❞    he  says,  swallowing  lightly  as  he  tries  to  play  it  cool  —  despite  how  unhinged  the  whole  situation  must  look.    ❝    please  don’t  call  campus  security  on  me.    ❞

[startold]

the ship lands roughly, throwing the doctor away from the console. ❝ what was that for ? ❞ he asks the machine, pushing himself up off the ground & heading towards the doors. wherever the ship has taken him, something is seriously wrong. the TARDIS had changed course mid-flight, with no indication of where they were going. the doctor opens the door, head peaking out & peering around.

❝ oh, you've got to be kidding. cardiff ?! ❞

@agentharkness / sc.

[wndrstruck]

closed starter — hunt and danika ( @mcrcki )

crowded evenings aren't hunt's favorite, but the tips are too good to pass up. he intervenes before before someone can bump the stranger out of line. "hey, i gotcha." he waves them up. "it'll die down in a little. just that first drink rush. you new around here?" he asks kindly instead of stating he could tell someone isn't used to the area. "pick your poison."

[doctorvenko-bye]

ellen ripley / @lastsurvivor : you've got to be kidding me.

‘ for someone so highly regarded as yourself, you're quite the negative nancy ain't-cha? ’

peter takes a moment to digest the situation & to calculate his next move. to be one of the world's greatest bullshitters, you must always be two steps ahead of everyone else.

‘ look, curly sue. i may not have seen this big... worm thing with teeth that you're all so riled up about, but i've seen some shit in my time. how many of you can say you fought a god, huh? didn't think so. ’

‘ now, where do i sign to kill it? ’

[tigreesse]

lOOK AT HER PUPPY FACE ! ! ! :SOBBING:

anyways

TAG DUMP !

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙸 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝚈 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻 𝚂𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚂𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁 - musing.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝙽 𝙳𝚄𝚂𝚃 & 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙺𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝙸𝚁 - self.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺 𝚄𝙿 𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚂 & 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝚃 - verse / main.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙳𝚈 - hc.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂 - ic.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂 - ooc.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 - ic.

⊰ ･ﾟ ☆ ━━ ❝ 𝙼𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙴𝚂 - playlist.

[weapontongue]

tag dump.

[kirazsoral]

𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 !

[al-archives]

for  @buzzkilleds​​ ♡ 

NARROWLY  DODGES  A  BOOK  THROWN  AT  HIS  HEAD,  a  projectile  which  they’re  pretty  sure  could  be  classified  as  a  lethal  weapon  given  that  it’s  being  thrown  from  the  window  of  a  third-floor  apartment.     ❝     come  the  fuck  on,  sierra  !!  i  didn’t  even  fucking  do  anything  this  time.    ❞    he  pleads,  tilting  his  head  in  disbelief  as  he  looks  up  at  the  head  poking  out  the  window  —  only  to  get  a  middle  finger  in  return  as  she  slams  the  window  shut.  a  heavy  sigh  escapes  their  lips  as  he  shakes  his  head,  turning  towards  the  stranger  that  had  apparently  been  here  for  the  whole  ordeal.     ❝     did  you  enjoy  the  show  ?  we’ll  do  a  repeat  next  week.    ❞    he  quips,  patting  his  jacket  pocket  in  search  of  his  cigarettes.  ah,  fuck.     ❝     can  i  bum  a  smoke  off  you,  by  any  chance  ?     ❞      

[abysscs]

CLOSED TO: H. GRACE. ( @shctsfired ) 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄.    9 years into the apocalypse and reuven has been trailing a stranger for the entire past day after she unknowingly entered his "territory". he is looking to catch her when she's off-guard and loot what she has.

     𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄, high, amongst the trees. It is melody of crow and sparrow, and they both call out into the evening for sustenance. Reuven's call is much quieter. Silent. And it is of boots crunching ever so slightly upon fallen leaves and rustled foliage where he pressed through, following, at a distance, after the stranger.

     It did not seem to him that she'd realized she'd crossed into his self-proclaimed territory. After all, his warning signal of strung up bodies on tree branches, shredded flesh dangling, well... that wasn't always as much of a get out sign as he might have liked it to be. Yet, still, Reuven was not a forgiving man. Not anymore. And crossing over into his space had held with it the sentence of which he should have applied some years ago, when he still had his children alongside him: death. Get too close, and he would not hesitate. Others' lives, to him, had dwindled in their worth. Down to nothing. Down to peace of mind, even. Yes, he would and had killed people, just to have the peace of mind that they would not attack him in the night.

     So far he had strayed from the man he once was. Where was that kind and patient father? Emotionally sound and firm yet loving? Whoever that was, Reuven today was just an echo of him. Some snuffed out and blurred version of him. Reuven had lost himself to the dead, and he wasn't sure there was a coming back, after the things he'd seen. The things he'd done.

     So there she was—this other survivor, and unlucky for her, she'd crossed over his invisible line, and earned herself a tail. He'd been following her for the better part of the afternoon—just far off enough that he could hide quickly when she glanced behind her shoulder. For the first few miles, she hadn't noticed him, and then he could see it, in her stature: she knew she was being followed. That didn't stop him. He would take any opportunity to amass more supplies for himself. Wherever she was headed, he was going too.

     In his arms, he cradled a black, military-grade carbine. Didn't have many bullets left, but all he really needed was one. It was as the dead came upon her that he stopped, to observe how she fought, and find some weakness he could use later. Did she stumble over her steps? Did she have an injured limb? Anything. He stared, from behind the rifle's raised barrel, deadpan, ready to shoot should the dead notice him amongst the brush. Or should she.

[tonyfms]

for  @sundazcd​​  ♡

❝      you  ready ?      ❞     he  says  quietly,  tone  conspiratorial  as  he  pulls  out  the  box  tucked  into  his  jacket  pocket  for  occasions  just  like  this  one.  he  pushes  the  chair  back  with  an  audible  screech  just  to  get  everyone’s  attention,  stepping  to  the  side  before  getting  on  one  knee.     ❝      sunday  rose  wexler  —  will  you  make  me  the  happiest  man  on  earth  and  marry  me  ?      ❞    

[startold]

a starter for @soulshares !

there's a small crowd watching her sing, but the sun has disappeared along with it's warmth so it's time to start packing up. lucy gray thanks her audience profusely, fluttering her eyelashes & blushing at the right times to earn herself a few extra tips before she puts her guitar back in it's case. she hears someone approach just as she hauls her guitar & other cases onto her back. ❝ sorry, show's over. ❞ when she turns around, she immediately recognises the face, his name coming to mind & her eyes widen for only a moment before she settles her features into a smile. ❝ enjoy it ? ❞

[wndrstruck]

closed starter — hunt and bryce ( @tragcdysewn )

hunt swipes the towel on the bar, tidying up. a flash of copper catches his attention. on better look their hair is more akin to fire. the customer sits down with an air of confidence that makes his lips twitch in a smile. this isn't a regular. surely, he would remember someone so beautiful. he spots the star-tattoo, the ink almost glowing. something tells him there's a story behind it. "cool tattoo. what can i get for you?"

[doctorvenko-bye]

lee / @aercnaut liked for a starter.

‘ hi, dr peter venkman. ’ okay so peter wasn't a practicing doctor of psychology and parapsychology anymore. but he had earned the title. sort of.

he strides up to the other man and offers his hand for a firm shake, ‘ you're also here to see the principal, huh? ’

a little bit disappointed by the timidity of his own child, peter had still (obviously) come to the aid of oscar -- who had apparently been beaten up. by a girl.

[symbolstill]

      𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃  𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴  𝚁𝙾𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂  /  𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽  𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙰  𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙴𝙳  𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚅𝙴𝙻  𝙲𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙲  𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴  𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷  𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚅𝚈  𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙲  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽  𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂.  𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂  𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈  (18+),  𝙻𝙾𝚆  𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙸𝚃𝚈 / 𝚂𝙻𝙾𝚆  𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙻𝚈!   --   𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙳  𝙱𝚈  𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙴:  𝚂𝙷𝙴/𝙷𝙴𝚁,  𝟸𝟻+,  𝙶𝙼𝚃.

    * 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓!  --  due  to  the  direction  that  the  marvel  cinematic  universe  has  taken  captain  america,  my  portrayal  is  canon  divergent  and  tweaked  in  a  lot  of  ways  to  include comic  influences  and  headcanons.  please  keep  this  in  mind  when  interacting. ​

    * 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶  𝚁𝚄𝙽𝚂  𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙻𝚈  𝙾𝙽  𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚄𝙴𝙳  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙿𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙳  𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.  𝙸𝙵  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙰𝚁𝙴  𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳  𝙸𝙽  𝙿𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙾𝙾𝙲,  𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴  𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳  𝙰  𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙴  𝚃𝙾  𝙼𝚈  𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇  𝙾𝚁  𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳  𝙼𝙴  𝙰𝙽  𝙸𝙼 !

                               heavily  affiliated  with  &  exclusive  to  @thunderbringer​

    * 𝐌𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐄 / 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊  𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒!  --  𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙳  *  𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚈  *  𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃

[abysscs]

CLOSED TO: V. KNIGHTLY ( @midxsommar ) 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄.    5 years into the apocalypse and reuven has just raided a vessel on the new york bay. he is holding the occupants hostage, demanding they tell him where they're keeping their supplies.

     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 waves reflects off both the vessel's steel and the droplets of water that leap faithfully from dark curls to forearms. There is a lineup of strangers, wrists strung together behind backs by plastic zip-tie. The man, shirt torn, bare-foot, has been gracious enough to let them sit on the plush couches rather than the hardwood deck, though he is tempted to relocate them one one just won't stop berating him. Her voice rings like metal on chalkboard to his dehydrated mind, and he is trying to ignore her, but be it the irritability from half-starvation or the total lack of socialization for the past two years, Reuven can't help but feel viscerally annoyed.

     He is trying to chug what little bit of water they had laying around. Trying to keep an eye on them while he does it, too, because even if he had successfully ambushed their small group, he didn't ever let ego get him killed. As such—he wasn't willing to properly tour the vessel and leave the congregation alone for even a second. That second could mean his throat. So he finally looked at the redhead, after what felt like an hour of rambling his way (it was more likely ten minutes), a lifted a brow. Very calmly, he lifted the last bit of water from the last filled water bottle to his lips, and then responded, "Do you ever shut up?" Then, he decided he had quenched his thirst enough. "Alright. Here's what's going to happen. You tell me where you keep all your supplies—and don't try to act like you don't have any, every last one of you looks like you haven't ever missed a goddamn meal in your lives. You give me what you got, and maybe I won't throw you all overboard." He gave a smile, as if he'd been delivering the friendliest of news. "So. Where is it?"