#doesnt storm of the century start with mind blast?

[brennacedria]

HOWEVER, it just occurred to me that in spite of meaning to do so for yeeeeeeaaaaaars, I've never played vrania through awakening. This is important, because my plan for that has always been to attempt a Commander Solo playthrough. But still, if I swapped PlayStations, I'd have to finish my Elissa save, at minimum, first....

I wanna play dragon age again already (go figure, start it back up once and it starts to become my personality again), but I don't wanna play it on gamepass :( but I also don't want to go to the hassle of switching the ps4 for the ps3. But if I do, then I can re-finish Elissa on playstation, including all dlc which I don't have on game pass. then I can play da2 with Ria with THAT dlc. THEN THEN I can go back to origins and play the mage save that I actually want to play today. Playing the others will give me time to decide which mage to play, Vrania or Neria. but first I have to clean up the other saves, ofc.

[voidselfshipp]

Meetings of a distant past

Cw: none that I can think of.

Summary: Gerard Keay is sent to retrieve a book from the Institutes consultant,he soon learns to not judge a book by its cover.

->Only mutuals allowed to reblog

Gerard sighed,leaning his head Back on his chair a little bored as Gertrude skimmed through a few statements.

--instead of moping,why dont you get me a book from Ms.Raconteur's library?--The old woman with him asked,voice monotone,desinterested but laced with dry witt.

He snorted a chuckle--'m not mopin'

--Uh-huh-- she answered-- then go get me a book

Nodding he answers-- Okay,what book?

--the oldest edition of "forgotten myths of creation" ,any author as long as its the oldest

Gerard stands up,grabbing his jacket and turning to her boss--Very well, need me to get anything on the way back?

The archivist looks at the clock hung up on the wall,breathing out that mildly stale air of the archives,thick with the smell of paper and underground.

--Tea,its almost five anyway-- she answered, and heard him make his way to the door. Before he crosses the threshold of the entrance,a smirk appears on her face-- ah and by the way,Ms.Racounteur is a great conversationalist,so I wont blame you if you take a little longer than usual

Her assistant chuckles-- cmon,why would I?

--Well, She can be pretty charming, thats all

She can hear the skepticisim in his scoff-- eh,we'll see

As he leaves,she adds-- guess we'll see indeed

Outside of the archives, the weather is cold and cloudy,nothing out of the ordinary given that it was fall. Theres a few rain puddles from the storm the night before, and a few decaying leaves sit there floating in the shallow Water.

Gerars slips on his jacket and headphones, ready to blissfully ignore the world around him and walk. He knew the adress from previous times Gertrude had gone to the bookshop herself, it was pretty close to the Institute. And thank god for that.

This was the first time he ever went himself or even met this consultant though,so he felt a little curious and excited to see what Exactly this bookshop and its owner were like.

He choses as song and he starts walking,leaves crunching underneath his heavy leather and chained boots.

《Words like violence

Break the silence

Come crashing in

Into my little world

Painful to me

Pierce right through me

Can't you understand?

Oh, my little girl》

The music blasts in his ears and he happily walks along the streets,gaining a few odd looks given his deeply gothic appereance. His long,lucious black hair bounces a little with each step and the breeze that blows past him.

He smiles a little at these reactions hes getting,feeling the cold metal of his Ashely piercing press up against his upper lip.

It was the 21st century and people were still looking at people like him weird?

《All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here in my arms

Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm》

The fifteen blocks or so down to the shop are a Straight shot from the Institute,which makes this easier. And it lets him zone out a little, as long as he stops and looks before crossing the road then hes fine.

He does wonder what kind of consultant this "Ms.Raconteur" is, why hire a paranormal consultant? Or any other kind, there were not Many scholars in the subject,and certainly not Many that could rival the archives knowledge of phenomena.

From his mom or gertrude,he shouldve heard of this consultant by now.

It doesnt settle right with him,somethings off or Hes missing something... or both.

《Vows are spoken

To be broken

Feelings are intense

Words are trivial

Pleasures remain

So does the pain

Words are meaningless

And forgettable 》

Finally he makes it to the shop, pretty inconspicuous and any sort of interest he might feel for it kind of gleans off of his mind. He doesnt pay it much attention up until he reaches for the door handle to enter.

Somethings off

He pulls away and walks back a few steps to look at it, at the sign above the entrance somewhat weathered by the elements with the name of the shop, at the blue and white striped overhang that covers the main display Window.

Its too inconspicuous,too quaint.

Theres normal people inside,few costumers just looking at books to their hearts contempt. He notices theyre all guarded by cats of all shapes and sizes.

Cats,theyre known for their connections to the supernatural,the Unseen world, they were seen as protectors,why are there so Many?

He knew paranormal like the back of his hand, he grew up around it, lived and breathed it.

Taking off one of his headphones, he sighs and quietly damns Gertrude for send him to this weird place. With one deep breath he walks to the entrance and pushes the door.

Above him a bell rings but nobody pays him any mind, he looks around to the main desk to see nobody there. Maybe the staff is on break or something

But just as hes about to enter the main corridor with all the bookshelves, he feels something brush against his leg.

He looks down and sees a cat,almost black except for the ends of his paws and the small heart shaped sploch on his forehead,those are white.

The feline meows at him as if reprimanding Him for being so careless. He chuckles and kneels to eye level with the pet, he reads the name on the tag "Marrow"

--Marrow Like Bone marrow?--He asked the cat,and he seemed to nodd. It catches him off guard and solidifies that something is off in this place-- odd name for a cat, sounds like my kind of name though

His feline companion purrs and he goes to scratch behind his ear. Marrow Leans into his touch and nuzzles his palm before sitting there expectantly.

--What? -- of course the cat doesnt reply,but he isnt sure if it Is because it cant or doesnt want to.

Gerard feels a little stupid talking to a literall cat but he relents-- Looking for books on myths of creation

Marrow stretches a little before walking down the corridor, he guessed he ought to follow so he does.

He knew cats could be trained but this was a little too much, there were too Many to be trained, and they were too Smart.

If he was a skeptic,Like that one pompous ass of a guy in research,something Simms, he would go for "the cats are trained". But he knew better.

Another thing that obviously told him that this place was off,was because it was too big to be a "hole in the wall" type store. The corridor was far too large and the sections this shop divided in were too much. Unless they were underground there was no way this could fit.

Doesnt surprise him much when he gets to the mythology section. He follows the feline to one of the bookshelves and finds the book he was looking for.

Gerard tries to strand on his tip toes to reach it,but he cant.

--Goddamnit--He jumps and fails again, and hes none the wiser to marrow scaling from one of the ladders up each row of overhang books to the one he wants-- what the-

The cat simply pushes the book down as if batting away a fly, and he catches it. Its heavy and dust covered, so aside from his forearms hurting from the impact,he starts to sneeze uncontrollably.

Marrow climbs back down,not caring for the sneezing fit his charge was in. He simply sits down and patiently waits.

He scratches his nose, sniffing-- bloody hell,nobody botheres to clean these?

The cat looked at him and he swears he hears it say something like "with how big this place is, do you really think she can clean all the books?"

The archival assistant looks around,startled and confused-- who said that?!

But he only sees marrow walk out of the section,and he did not want to be left alone in that place so he follows after it.

When he ends up back at the main desk, he sees the few costumers that were around have left. And at the main desk is a woman,quietly scrolling on her phone.

--Excuse me-- he says,setting down the heavy tome--im an assistant of gertrude Robinsons,a friend of your boss

The woman looks up, his eyes meet her bright green ones and as she sits up properly he can feel that whatever its off with this place,it comes from her.

--Ah,yes im good Friends with gertrude. I Belive youre Mr.Keay? She told me you were coming over to pick up a book

He freezes, looking at her,taking her in. Brown and gold hair and tied up in a bun with a few pearl decorated braids, bright green eyes that look back at him with Curiosity and amusement.

The fabric of her dark teal oversized shirt shifts as she moves from sitting to standing. And he notices the logo of the plastered on it,Depeche Mode.

It makes him smile a little-- ah,nice shirt- I like that band

She smiles too,bright and radiant-- yeah its pretty good. Anyway,this books for gertrude, right?

--Yes-- he nodded, taken aback by how pretty she looks smiling. His pale cheeks turn Pink with blush-- sorry I dont Belive I catched your name,only your last name

--Jerico-- she answers,scribbling down on some sort of book record-- Jerico Raconteur. you are Gerard,yes?

--Jerry,please-- he replied, fixing his hair a little.

--Alright,Jerry-- jer said,dusting off some of the dirt on the tome-- its all yours

--I actually need to get something else first,a quick errand. Mind if I leave it here and pick it up once im back or is there some sort of fee I gotta pay?

She laughs,soft In tone but loud in volume like crashing waves on the beach-- for pretty goths like you?,none

--"Pretty goths" Like me?-- he asked with a smirk leaning on the desk-- is that a pick up line,miss Raconteur?

Jerico shrugged with that same sly expression-- perhaps. A blatant one if so

--Whose to say im not into it?

--Glad you are

--Why?-- He asked,leaning further

She rolls her eyes and pushes a strand of black hair out of his face--Run along now, Mr.Keay, you have stuff to do,yes?

He pulls away,a little flustered-- seems so, whats your usual?

--You dont have to-

--I insist

Jerico sighs in defeat with a coy smile-- Hot chocolate or chai tea if they ran out of the other one, two croissants,normal ones.

He nodds--Very Well,be right back miss-- he bows a little and makes a little hand gesture, making her face tint Pink.-- Keep that book safe -- he throws a wink her way and leaving for the café nearby.

She sits back down,all afluster-- Jesús Cristo-- she whispers,passing her hands across her face-- goddamnit,Gertrude

Gerard doesnt go to the café right away, he has to lean on a wall out of sight to calm his beating heart. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and the blushing, and he cant wipe off that smile.

GODDAMN,she was pretty.

When he does return with the food, he enters and finds Jerico still there,playing with Marrow.

--Ahem-- he says softly, setting down on the desk the things he got.

--Youre back-- she answered, marrow gets up on the desk and nuzzles his hand-- he likes you,a lot actually

--Seens so-- he agrees,petting the feline-- why the cats,If I May ask

Jer shrugs as If trying to hide something-- place is pretty big,I dont want anyone Losing themselves in here and cats are pretty good...guides shall we say.

--Easy to train-- he agrees again,tone pushing for another answer-- this place seems a lot smaller from the outside

--Yeah, looks decieve I guess-- she answers,grabbing her cardboard Cup and taking a sip from her hot chocolate.

--Shouldnt judge a book by its cover?--He sits on the desk a little and she groans with annoyance.

--Horrible-- she half jokes,pushing Him playfully. -- why did gertrude send you

--she saw me "moping about" and told me to book it to the library,pun intended -- he said dismissively

She laughs again, looking at him with that mild pain that comes from awful puns-- moping about?

--I wasnt, just waiting for her to be done looking up a statement. I swear I wish that woman was a little more organized...

--Thats Gertrude for ya. Cant blame her though, the Institute is not very...reliable

--You can say that again-- he agreed,taking a sip from his coffee. She looks at him and Curiosity gets the better of her

--Let me guess,black coffee?

His cheeks go pink--No actually,cant stand it.  Its a...latte

She smiled-- dont worry,your secrets safe with me

Gerard laughs a little-- better be,I know where you work

And she joins him in laughter too,changing the subject to something else. Any excuse to Keep talking to him.

Eventually the hours pass,and by nightfall theyre still talking. Gertrudes coffee long since gone cold, and marrow calmly curled up on the Mans lap.

--Oh god,look at the time-- he mutters-- sorry I gotta go

--Nono youre good,sorry to Keep you

He shakes his head dismissively and Gently sets down the cat as much as it pains him. Then he takes one of the pens on her desk and her little record keeping Journal,writing a few numbers.

--Here, call me

She looks up at him with surprise but nodds with a flustered smile,clearly talen aback-- alright Will do -- then she makes a pause to think and then teasingly add-- I imagine in case gertrude needs anything?

Gerard snorts,taking the book and the cold coffee that he doesnt notice has lost its warmth-- nah-- he doesnt even try to hide it anymore-- i just want to ask you for a date later, id set it now but gotta see my schedule,and yours of course

Jeri chuckles at his forwardness-- well,as of right now theres a time in my schedule for you,Mr.Keay, tell me whenever youre free

He smiles,soft and genuienly moved at the interest they both have in eachother-- very well then, good night,Jerico

--Night,Jerry

Watching him leave,she feels marrow curl up against her.-- I think we'll see him around more,Marrow

Back at the Institute,Gerard scrambles into the archives to the yell of-- ive got book! And coffee!

Gertrude,who has been fixing up her desk while drinking from her own Cup of steaming hot coffee-- I dont fancy my coffee iced,thank you

--I didnt take that Long-- he sets down the book and the cardboard Cup.

--You left at five o clock, returned at seven pm. What kept you?--She asked with a knowing,teasing smirk.

--Nothing just...

--Jerico?

--Yes- no! Maybe...-- Gerard replied, looking away with his face Pink.

--Told you she was a charmer-- his boss replied with audible joy,flipping through the books pages.-- figured you wouldnt stay long given you said you wouldnt have to talk to her...

--Agh okay you made your Point,old cunt-- he answered with annoyance but fondness for her-- what is this statement about?

--One of the crew members from The Tundra, Captain Lukas' ship

--the captain Lukas?

--Yes-- she replied,stopping at the page that has the title "The Antiquarian,Queen of the sea and keeper of stories". -- one of the crew members reported seeing Lukas on the deck of the ship,talking all night to a mysterious figure in the water with a female voice, then when they were leaving for london once more,there was a gift left from that figure on the anchor,a necklace

--How do you know its not some set up or something?

Gertrude shrugged it off-- nobody can Keep swimming across the sea without dying,especially not at night. -- she takes a sip from her coffee-- say,do you know anything about the Antiquarian?

--Queen of the sea,Lady of stories,keeper of arcane knowledge. Just a myth-- he replied,reciting that information he knows by heart, not sure on what his boss was on about?.

--Just a myth? You just spent two hours with her,bought her coffee and plan on asking her out,boy. I think you should know more than that

--what- wait no- jerico is not The Anti-- he stops at gertrudes "are you kidding me?" Glare-- I noticed the place and her were...off but I didnt think-

--Beauty like hers fools the mind-- she answered-- I thought you out of everyone knew to not judge a book by its cover

He groans at the pun-- God awful

She smirks-- well then, sit down and let me tell you about the entity youre trying to woo. Might learn a thing or two

Gerard sighs-- well,im all ears....

[turtle-steverogers]

Team Bonding

fr when was the last time i posted like,,, a fic on here. like a tumblr fic. damn. anyway. ummmmmmmm this is just your.... typical steve freaks out and the avengers are awesome um yah ok ok 

warnings: panic attack, vomiting (basically steve watches the titanic and doesnt have a very fun time)

word count: 2575

-

If Steve was being brutally honest with himself, he was fucking tired of hearing about “the classics”. Irrelevant people butting their noses into his business, tipping him off to what movies were, “the best of the best!” and “absolute must sees!” He appreciated what they were trying to do, but after a while, it felt like people were more or less just trying to garner a slice of his 21st century experience, and quite frankly, he liked doing things better by himself. It was much more appealing to park himself in front of his laptop, nothing but his own quietude to keep him company as he combed through different wikipedia rabbit holes and caught up on movies and TV shows that were apparently crucial to his very existence.

Most were subpar and honestly, he preferred the copious amounts of popcorn he treated himself to on these solo date nights, but some things surprised him. Like Indiana Jones. He liked Indiana Jones. He was neat, and Marion reminded him vaguely of Peggy. 

Still, he supposed he should have seen it coming when Clint came to collect him from his floor one evening, that sort of eager-puppy energy he carried around with him vaguely prickling the back of Steve’s neck.

“C’mon, man,” he was saying. Steve leaned against the door jamb, tired. He was going to concede, but Clint was rambling and Steve knew better than to interrupt him. “It’s, like, certifiably the best love story ever. You need to watch it--”

And there it was again. That fucking claim. You need to watch this! You haven’t seen that? 

No. He hadn’t. He’d been a little busy, you know, being dead.

“--And the acting is all so raw and it’s just-- Leo DiCaprio-- you know who that--”

“--Yes. I saw Blood Diamond--”

“--Oh, you did? Well, anyway, he rocks in this and--”

“Clint,” Steve cut him off smoothly. “I’ll come, don’t sweat it too hard.”

Clint looked positively elated. “You will?” he exclaimed. “Awesome, yeah, it’s gonna be the whole team. I mean, that’s good right? You’re cool with that? You gotta be, you’re the one who mentioned team bonding that one time--”

“Yes,” Steve cut in again. “I’m alright with that. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be right down?” He was still in his gym clothes from two hours ago. He meant to take a shower, but he’d sort of… ran out of energy. The sweat had cooled by now anyway. He smelled fine.

“Oh! Yeah, no problem.”

Which was how Steve found himself in a pair of sweatpants and an old SHIELD t-shirt, squashed in between Natasha and Bruce on the communal couch. Someone had handed him a huge bowl of popcorn and Steve was pleasantly surprised to find that it was flavored with some sort of cheese powder.

“White cheddar,” Bruce said, holding up a little blue shaker bottle when he heard Steve’s appreciative hum. “They’re, uh, sort of like seasoning, but for popcorn specifically. They come in all different kinds of flavors.”

“Oh, neat,” Steve said, around another handful of popcorn. He liked Bruce. He seemed to get Steve in that quiet, brutally raw sort of way. A quiet kinship. They didn’t talk about it, but he never made him feel condescended, so Steve decided that was okay.

“I think I fixed it!” Tony said, stepping out from behind the ginormous movie screen where, presumably, he’d been fixing a volume problem. The screen had been frozen on the first frame of the movie for nearly ten minutes. “Okay, okay, let’s see…” he pressed play. Music poured through the speakers on either side of the TV, loud enough so that everyone cringed and Steve nearly dropped the popcorn bowl in his haste to cover his ears. He always managed to forget how damn loud the world could be when he let himself get comfortable.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tony hissed, turning the volume down to a much more tolerable level. “Okay, there. Okay, shh everyone. Gotta let Capsicle--”

“--Just Steve, Tony--”

“--Gotta let Just Steve get the full experience.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but settled in to watch.

The film was honestly better than Steve had been expecting, if not a little… itchy in that way period films tended to be for him. The themes of poverty and love were pretty well-rounded, but they hit just close enough that he almost cringed at the far-fetch’d beauty of it. 

Still, his fingers itched for a pencil as Jack guided a pencil over the worn sheaf of paper. The dim light, the faint scratch of the pencil, the forbidden love. It was familiar. Steve could almost smell the salty City air, afternoons spent under the dim lights of candles so they could see even with the curtains drawn-- a semblance of privacy amongst the compact vulnerability of his and Bucky’s shitty little tenement. 

Draw me like one of your french girls, Rose had said, and Steve’s eyes drifted towards the wall, Bucky’s voice echoing through his head.

“‘Course I want you to draw me. I ain’t denying my vanity, Stevie,” he teased, but his eyes were soft. “Pal, you could draw a stick of butter and I’d still wanna watch. It ain’t about me here.”

There was a soft touch to his arm and Steve blinked out of his reverie. Natasha was watching him, a neutral look on her face that Steve had finally learned to recognize as concern. He shook his head minutely, offering her a smile. She nodded and looked back at the TV.

The rest of the movie passed without much excitement. The acting was pretty good and Steve had even gotten to a point where he could recognize the filmmaking as something like revolutionary for the time it came out. He was quicker on the cultural uptake than people gave him credit for, but that was neither here nor there. He laughed with everyone else, let himself grow somber when the atmosphere lent that mood, and generally, it was a nice time. He hadn’t gone to any movie nights before this, but he thought maybe he’d start going to more.

And then the ship hit the iceberg.

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Obviously, he knew of the Titanic-- he knew, historically, what happened to it. But for some reason, it hadn’t quite hit him while watching the movie that he was going to have to see the catastrophe go down.

There was a loud creaking of ice on metal as the collision occurred on screen and Steve felt himself go still-- body rigid and tense as the deafening noise played through the speakers. His heart slammed in his chest and he felt his palms start to sweat. He knew that sound-- he knew that--

--He blinked, shaking his head. Movie. Watch the movie. There was a panicked scramble on screen. Characters rushing to amend the situation, more metal creaking and groaning and breaking as dark, foamy water broke through the sides of the ship and Steve could taste it, he could taste the water flooding into the cabin, hitting him from the left as it took the plane down in a harsh--

--He twitched, shaking his head. He was being silly. There were moments of reconciliation as the scenes rapidly flashed between water flooding the ships cabins and peaceful moments of civility. A calm before the storm. A final dance before death.

I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance…

There was a sudden crash as water blasted through into the work quarters and Steve jumped, watching transfixed as unforgiving torrents pushed workers over, flooding them, drowning them, and they were falling, slipping, sliding, panicking as certain death met them at the halfway point, and Steve knew it must be cold. So cold. Suffocating and unforgiving as it flooded their lungs, saltier than they probably imagined, heavy and awful and--

“Stark, turn the movie off.”

The room went abruptly silent. Steve realized his eyes were closed, chest heaving as he sat, hunched over his lap, hands fisted in his hair.

The popcorn wasn’t on his lap anymore. When had he moved? He couldn’t breathe and he was so cold and someone needed to save those guys, someone needed to--

“Steve,” a gentle voice cut into the roaring waves crashing in his head. Bruce. That was Bruce speaking. “Can you hear me, Steve?” 

Steve nodded, pulling his hair harder. He couldn’t breathe. Was he drowning again? Surely that was impossible. If Bruce was talking to him, he couldn’t be drowning again, but-- but the water-- and-- and the cold--

“Good, that’s good, Steve,” Bruce. Bruce again. It was Bruce. “Can I touch you?”

Touch. Touch. No touch. He was so cold. He wanted to stop being cold, but he was certain if someone touched him right now, he would lose his goddamn mind. More so than he already had.

“That’s alright,” Bruce sounded steady. Calm. So calm. Why couldn’t Steve calm down? “That’s okay. You think you can do something for me?”

Something… for Bruce? Could he? Could he do anything right then? If he couldn’t breathe, how could he do anything-- and he-- he felt sick--

He opened his mouth to answer and vomited between his feet, straight onto the carpet. Someone in the room hissed sympathetically. Steve wanted to crawl somewhere and die.

“Oh, Steve,” Bruce seemed to be talking mostly to himself, but Steve felt his shoulders climb higher towards his ears. “Okay, Steve, I need you to listen to my voice. Just listen. I’m going to count and you’re going to breathe in time with my instruction, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve shook his head, choking on a sob. His chest hurt. Like someone had taken all of his ribs and replaced them with weights, flooding his lungs with-- with water-- and fuck, now he was thinking about the plane again. He felt his breathing tick up higher.

“I want you to try,” Bruce said. “With me. In,” he sucked in a breath. “One… two… three… four…”

Steve tried to suck in a breath, but all he managed to do was send himself into a coughing fit. Bruce kept counting. Steve wanted to tell him to wait-- slow down-- shut up--

He braced a hand over his chest. 

Bruce was still counting.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he found himself matching Bruce’s counts, eyes closed and the heels of his palms braced on his temples as he sucked in greedy, measured breaths. His heart was still slamming hard enough to make him tremble and he could smell his own sick wafting up from the ground, but at least he was breathing on his own.

Bruce trailed off. Silence hung thick in the air, the only noise Steve’s slow, shaking breaths. Shame burned around his ears. He didn’t dare look up.

Tony, predictably, was the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he said, and Steve was surprised to hear honest regret in his voice. “I was the one who suggested we watch Titanic. I should have thought for more than two seconds about that…”

Steve shrugged. Embarrassment climbed from his stomach to his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Natasha spoke next. “Why don’t you go wash up?” It was an escape-- a way out-- and Steve took it graciously, keeping his head ducked down as he stood on shaking legs and rushed to the communal bathroom.

Inside, he locked the door and braced himself over the sink, splashing warm water on his face. He drank greedily from the tap. His reflection looked like shit-- he’d burst some blood vessels in his eyes, probably while vomiting, and his skin looked sallow and pale. He was trembling, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He looked how he looked after a nightmare. This, he supposed, had kind of been like a nightmare. Though, he hadn’t been asleep.

Nightmares, he was finding, weren’t strictly exclusive to the nighttime. 

He supposed he’d always known that, though. 

He closed his eyes, bowing his head again. 

His emotions had been fucked to high hell since waking up from the ice. This hadn’t been the first of those awful… fits, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last, but to have something like that happen in front of the team was a whole new level of mortifying. Fuck. He’d gotten sick. And he’d left it.

He felt the ceramic counter straining under his grip. Scowling, he let go.

He could slip off to his room, lock himself away until he could find some way to sneak out of the Tower and never talk to any of the others ever again. Even in this state, Steve knew that wasn’t viable in any sense. He sighed. Besides, he couldn’t just damn the others to clean up his mess. 

Stowing his pride, he dug some spare mouthwash out from behind the mirror and chugged some straight down, keeping a mouthful and swishing it around before spitting it in the sink. He still felt and looked like shit, but at least his breath would smell like wintergreen. 

The others were still gathered in the communal living room, watching what looked like a kid’s cartoon on TV. There was a distinct smell of cleaner in the air and Steve’s eyes landed on the ground where he’d gotten sick. It was clean. He let his eyes drop to the ground, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The cartoon paused. He didn’t look at any of them. “I was going to clean up.”

“Nah, man, the only thing worse than freaking out is having to clean up after yourself while you still feel shitty,” Clint said, and Steve looked up. There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding. 

“Yeah, we’ve all been there,” Tony said. “Sucks, but hey, least we know now that Titanic is a no-no for you.”

Steve flushed, swallowing a few times. “Um, I guess,” he looked at Bruce. “Thank you.”

Bruce smiled. “No problem,” he said gently. “We’re watching Phineas and Ferb if you’d like to join us, but we understand if you’d like to go rest.”

“Phineas and Ferb?” Steve asked, guilt replaced with genuine confusion.

“Yeah,” Clint said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “It’s my go-to when I have a bad day. Nothing like some good old platypus drama to cure life’s woes.”

Steve blinked. “I genuinely don’t know what to say to that.”

Clint barked out a laugh. “Join us, man! Don’t gotta talk if you’re not feeling it, but being alone after shit like that sucks.”

And Steve hadn’t had someone there for him after a breakdown-- not since the war. Not since Bucky. Every ounce of him wanted to run. Hide. Smooth out his face and slip on that mask of stoicism. But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe he could let himself have this, if only this once.

“Sure,” he said, voice a little hoarse. He awkwardly sat back in between Natasha and Bruce.

Tony pressed play again and Steve smoothed his hands over his thighs, feeling out of place and a little cramped and--

Natasha settled, casually letting her feet rest on his lap. On his other side, Bruce leaned into his shoulder, a subtle, grounding pressure. Clint caught his eye and offered him some more popcorn.

Steve relaxed.

Yeah. He could let himself have this.

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thanks for reading, chiefs

yeah this was chatted about in one of the awesome discord groups im in so thanks guyysss lol