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captainsimagines · 4 years ago

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To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago.

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning.

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never.

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak.

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love.

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky.

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action.

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around.

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier.

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief.

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now.

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well.

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly.

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking.

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now.

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation.

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles.

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night.

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck.

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected.

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah.

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack.

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender.

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing.

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries.

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing.

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back.

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary.

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room.

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand.

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night.

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented.

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve.

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin.

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.”

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack.

Ridiculous.

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself.

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies.

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

“He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath.

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious.

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video.

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands.

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together.

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck.

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating.

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours.

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise.

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order.

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp.

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back.

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection.

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded.

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms.

You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit.

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected.

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit.

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send.

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months. “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so.

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned.

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense.

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.”

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back.

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don’t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible.

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information.

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man.

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side.

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand.

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed.

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug.

“You better. Catch me up, please?”

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium.

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match.

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip.

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap.

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god.

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling.

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically.

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered.

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.”

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound.

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane.

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality.

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion.

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe.

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain.

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

“You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car.

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway.

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance.

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors.

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose.

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this.

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years.

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you.

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere.

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band.

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth.

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins.

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink.

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-”

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant.

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap. “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.”

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu.

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow.

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world.

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes.

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified.

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing.

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers.

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while.

“...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times.

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway.

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years.

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor.

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had.

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right. “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.”

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging.

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours.

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another.

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage.

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward.

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!”

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then.

Scott ordered so much dessert.

So much.

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe.

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends.

You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high.

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher.

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip.

You would indulge in this childishness once.

Once.

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher.

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks.

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen.

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you.

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you.

Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in.

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with.

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance.

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him.

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away.

No, Steve Rogers never ran.

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter.

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did.

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation.

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face.

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling.

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well.

A gesture of approval.

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips.

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers.

Your Captain.

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip.

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead.

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created.

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze.

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order.

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes.

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold.

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy.

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart.

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this.

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card.

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion.

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass.

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors.

“Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here.

And he had to do this for Sam.

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment.

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore.

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider.

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened.

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart.

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward.

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people.

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling.

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently.

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group.

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving.

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief.

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant.

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment.

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real.

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it.

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle.

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt.

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends?

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back.

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.”

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all.

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips.

“Steve?”

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking.

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself.

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room.

It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had.

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more.

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope.

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed.

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom.

As simple as that.

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in.

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford.

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing.

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock.

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small.

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous.

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp.

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken.

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic.

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name.

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock.

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper.

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self.

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony.

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check.

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip?

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder.

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers.

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts.

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth.

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine.

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing.

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead.

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds.

“I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers.

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them.

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary.

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up.

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you.

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours.

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man.

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

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thebigoblin · 4 years ago

Note

For some reason i was listening to this is home - cavetown and came to the crushing realization that if fits sterek kinda well???? Its always been my song for comfort but the other day i was listening to it and got slapped in the face by sterek feels-

I just listened to it right now (x) and I have soooo maaaanyyy feeels. Goddammit, Sterek. Let me have one hour in peace.

Anyways. So.

Often I am upset that I cannot fall in love but I guess

This avoids the stress of falling out of it

Are you tired of me yet?

This is soo Derek. He has been burned by love (both literally and figuratively), first with the death of his first love (which he had to do, even if it was a mercy killing he did kill her) and then he thought this woman loved him enough to want him as he was: broken, young, inexperienced. Grieving.

And then Kate showed him exactly what it means to love someone like him.

It always ends in death.

So now Derek doesn't fall in love. He doesn't even make friends, doesn't socialize. He doesn't let anyone enter the fortress of his solitude, not even Laura, knowing he is the reason they've lost their pack. He doesn't deserve that kind of love.

He waits for Laura to tire of him. To be frustrated and angry at him, to tell him he means nothing to her anymore, because even though he hasn't told her he knows why the fire happened—knows who did it—he is been nothing but a thorn in her side, anything but helpful in her endeavor to help rebuild their lives.

He waits and waits for Laura to tire of him, to kick him out of the two person pack—and she does. But not the way he wanted.

She dies and leaves him alone and there is no one to nag at him to get his shit together, to make him see that he can be loved, should be; but it's not at all what he wanted.

I'll hide my chest

And I'll figure out a way to get us out of here

This can be both Derek and Stiles... but I see it more for Stiles. Idk why.

Derek plays his cards close to his chest, but he does all he can to try and protect the others. We don't really see him be anything but angry in the earlier parts of the show, and you can't make me believe that the person who gave up his Alpha powers for his sister, who trusted Peter (when he was the Alpha) despite the things he'd done simply because he's family, won't be grieving for the only family he thought he had.

And then there's Stiles. Stiles '147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. Sarcasm is my only defense' Stilinski who is human and logically the weakest person in a show of mythical creatures. And he is. He is weak. Physically, he knows he can't take on Peter or the Kanima or the Alpha Pack. And he is terrified of that. But you know what he does? He fights in spite of that. He talks, he plans, he misguides, and he fights. He fights because he won't let anyone hurt him or the ones he wants to keep safe.

Stiles, too, 'hides' his true feelings and figures out a way to get them out of their problems. (Does that make sense??)

Are you dead? Sometimes I think I'm dead

'Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head

But I don't wanna fall asleep just yet

This one is kinda self-explanatory isn't it... Derek is haunted by his past and it's made him into a person who can and is willing to sacrifice his own life without a second thought.

'I know what I'm risking. My life for theirs.'

He doesn't exactly have anything to live for. But he's brave. He's going through hell and he keeps going.

He doesn't want to sleep. Not yet.

Get a load of this monster

He doesn't know how to communicate

His mind is in a different place

Will everybody please give him a little bit of space

Get a load of this train-wreck

His hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet

The first two lines... these are also self-explanatory. I see this as things Stiles thinks (not the monster part, not once he's rationalized that mythical creatures exist in the world) about Derek. (Honesty, I think we all think that lol).

Derek is not good at communication. He wants something but he does something else. He wanted Isaac to leave him so that The Alpha Pack can't leverage his third beta against him, hurt him/kill him like Erica (and Boyd, but I don't remember if he was alive during this time or not), but the way he made Isaac leave was to bank on Isaac's trauma—if I am remembering correctly, this is when he throws the glass at Isaac.

Derek is so not good at communication. And he is definitely a train-wreck; he never wanted to be the Alpha and he still becomes one. He never wanted for Laura to come back to BH (probably why he himself didn't come back here while she did) but she did anyways and he lost her. He didn't want to kill Peter, but he had to anyway.

He lost who he was in the chaos of his life. And he doesn't know who he is anymore—he isn't even the Alpha anymore, he's lost that, and he's been human too.

He keeps losing who he is. He keeps losing his identity.

Derek Hale doesn't know who he is supposed to be.

But maybe...

But little do we know, the stars

Welcome him with open arms

...This is how it was supposed to be.

Maybe this was all fate. All of it, from the loss of Paige to his evolution, maybe it was all mapped out in the stars. Maybe it was supposed to happen.

Just so he could find who he is.

And who he is? He's the best legacy his family could have asked for. He's a predator, and he's a killer, but he's not a cold-blooded killer. He's strong, he's brave, and he is good. He's someone who has had the worst life but come out of it a brighter person, a burning sun; a moon that shines brighter the more that it wanes, because Derek? He's learned to hide his craters, and he's learned to live with them.

Alternatively, though, 'the stars' could also mean Stiles (his moles, scattered along his skin like constellations), the only one who opened his arms for Derek even when he didn't have to. Like saving his life even when they weren't anything to each other.

Time is slowly

Tracing his face

But strangely he feels at home in this place

Time heals wounds, doesn't it?

Derek gets better with time. He doesn't just live, but he's alive. He is living.

Since I've gone full canon up until now, I'll continue post-canon here: Stiles and Derek, we know how their story goes up till S6B. We know how much Stiles means to Derek and Derek to Stiles, even if it wasn't strictly said aloud in canon.

We know.

And I... well. I think that Stiles and Derek say it aloud. To each other. How much they matter to each other.

It might be during one of those high-tension missions, the pack preparing to fight against Monroe, making plans and doing everything they can. Stiles is planning, laying out rules and objectives and making sure to drill into one of them how important this is, and Derek watches him and he watches Lydia, the girl who has Stiles' heart. (Only she doesn't, and she knows it).

And then Stiles says he will come, too. But it's too dangerous.

Derek immediately objects.

Everyone goes deathly silent. Because Stiles is the one who is 100% capable of them all, who is the best on their side (being FBI does that, as does being part of ops like this since he was 16, even if Stiles wasn't as badass as he is now).

Stiles is angry.

"So, what, you wanna be the martyr, then? Is that what you want?"

Derek is angrier. (He is terrified).

"You'll get hurt!"

"I will not! Even if I do, it's my fucking job—I'll get hurt if it means keeping you all safe!"

"You can die!"

"So I will die!"

"No, Stiles, you will not. I—"

"What do you mean I will not—"

"—can't lose you too!"

Yes, this is total cliché, but I am a total simp for cliché so :D

And yeah, after? When they've defeated Monroe and are back to 'normal,' Derek and Stiles fill the parts of each other that they've lost over the years. They make a home for themselves. In each other, with each other.

(And okayyyyy, wow. I did not mean to get so into this but... here we are. I totally obsessed over this lol).

(Also this is a beautiful song, if a bit sad? Anyways, now I have a new song to listen to so thanks <3)

#answered ask #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #teen wolf #wowzee this is a looooong post #♥️♥️♥️#dirtbag-inc

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yaboylevi · 4 years ago

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Hi! I love ur blog, especially ur Snk Metas and Ereri metas. What are your thoughts on the whole “Eren has always been like this” (always been evil or capable of great evils like genocide) that a lot of people seem to agree on? I’ve always had a hard time believing in that idea because we’ve been shown multiple times that Eren is capable of sympathy and empathy, so to say he’s ALWAYS been like this is wrong.

Hi! Thank you!!

Looking through my snk 121 tag I found that I have already received similar questions, so I’m gonna link one here if you want the short version of it. Even if it was something I wrote up right after the chapter was out, it’s not like my opinion has changed much... more like, my faith in Isayama writing a decent conclusion and explanation in regards to Eren has plummeted in the past year and a half.

But anyway, now we have some new information pertaining Eren, so I feel like I can add more on this moment and my take on it in light of such new perspective.

Let me preface this with: Eren hates what he’s doing, is despising every second, was scared of his future visions, often paralyzed, desperate to find a better solution than this, because he knows - let me repeat it - HE KNOWS this is horrifying. We had hints throughtout the story, but many have ignored them. For me, Eren going through grief and apologizing for something he hadn’t even done yet in chapters 131 was no shocker at all, but I guess some people may have actually been surprised, I don’t know. It was right there since the Marley arc and his breakdown over Sasha, but many have completely misinterpreted that scene, denying it was desperation that he was feeling, so it was nice to finally have confirmation. Kinda.

However, you know, Isayama doesn’t seem to have picked a side on his characterization of Eren. Or maybe there is still something that’s concealed, because everything we have seen, isn’t evething that has happened, and it doesn’t explain yet some things about Eren and, relevant to this post, why Eren has decided to give up and give in to his future self’s memories of destruction. I’m sorry, but Eren believing “there is no other way, other than killing the whole world’s population, because the future cannot be changed” due to some memories is not gonna cut it, especially because we haven’t seen him fight too hard against it. In my opinion, at least. Or maybe he did, but we haven’t been shown.

The most hopeful part of my heart wishes he is already trying to change things, in a very roundabout and secret way, but the tired and logical part is done hoping. After all, Eren is alternating between being hellbent on going through with rumbling the world, and being absolutely horrified by it. I’ve been getting whiplash every month for a couple of years now.

As for your actual question, and that line during the Paths Time Travel...

Let’s start from here, shall we? That whole conversation with Zeke in Paths was to Zeke what chapter 112 was to Mikasa and Armin, imo. Chapter 121, huh, same numbers...but anyways. I think I have already wrote it somewhere, but I believe Eren lied, and purposely hurt Zeke. To make him, and Mikasa and Armin, realize something and act accordingly, maybe against Eren himself.

In Mikasa’s case, the realization was gradual since then, because Eren’s lies kickstarted it immediately. In Armin’s case, I think we still haven’t seen the full potential of it, though it may come next chapter - and I mean the “You were influenced by Bertolt, an enemy” angle. I am surprised Armin hasn’t followed this reasoning in regards to Eren, who has three titans within him, none of them particularly allied with Paradis. We left Armin seeing Bertolt, who is, in turn, watching him. I wonder if a conversation won’t happen right off the bat in chapter 136.

Anyhow, Eren, in chapter 112, also very much hit Armin and Mikasa where it hurt them the most - which is the same thing he did to Zeke here, bringing up his hate for Grisha and how it was the only think really fuelling him, and went through all the effort of making him reconcile with Grisha. Mmm, sus. Am I the only one feeling it’s sus??? I really have to wonder if he doesn’t kind of want/need Zeke to stop him, just like I believe he did with Armin and Mikasa. After all, there was no need to antagonize them and make them have reasons to stop caring for him, if he didn’t want to be stopped.

So, if it wasn’t already clear, Eren is a big liar, and he’s good at it if you don’t know him (and Zeke, Armin, and Mikasa have proven they don’t know or understand him very well at times). His acting skills have been shown all the way back in the cabin scene when he was 8 years old and tricked those traffickers.

There is another layer to these lies that I’d like to touch upon, though.

The line you were inquiring about feels exactly like his “I am free” in chapter 112. He sounds so sure, but it is a freaking lie.

See how both Armin and Mikasa are confused by such a bold, out-of-the-blue statement, the same way Zeke asks Eren “Since birth?” because, like, what is that all even about?

Eren has been feeling trapped in his own future memories to the point that his freedom of choice even existing anymore has become a big question mark. There is no freedom in following the path you were shown.

Eren’s urge to save someone from “having their freedom solen” by “physically assaulting the perpetrators first” has never, ever meant that he was willing to or okay with sacrificing innocents. Quite the opposite, in fact. There have been whole arcs about that. About Eren freaking out over people dying for him, refusing to sacrifice friends for the bigger picture, grieving for or sympathizing with innocents losing their lives or having them destroyed by some bigger threat. That has not changed.

So the big question remains: Why?

With these outrageous and confident statements about himself, I don’t think Eren is merely lying to his interlocutor to change their perception of him. I think he is lying to himself as well in the meantime. It looks like it did the trick, or not - based on how you want to interpret it. He really has been dissociating hard during his rampage.

But it all depends on what Isayama's angle is with Eren. In 112 Eren seemed to believe his “I am free” statement because he had an instant reaction to Armin challenging it. At the same time, now that we also have chapter 130-131 to enrich our reading, there is no way Eren felt free into the choices he made after hearing Willy’s declaration of war. He saw a terrifying future, he hoped against hope that it would change, but felt powerless and gutted and desperate that all pointed to such a future being unchangeable. So I do wonder if maybe he didn’t end up lying to himself - subconsciously or not - that he is free... and that he is always been this way - a cold-blooded murderer who did it all for justice.

Zoom in on Eren forlornly watching himself as a kid show pure kindess to a girl who just went through the most traumatizing experience in her life.

For the matter, I don’t believe Eren “has always been this way”. I actually don’t believe he’s ever been that way. I don’t know why many(?) people just accept whatever Eren says at face value, ignoring all context surronding it.

As I posted very recently, it doesn’t make sense for Eren to go from one extreme to the other without a better excuse, or explanation, or a more believable writing of it...or a plot twist that I guess I will wait for for another 4 months:

Eren came to realize that outside the walls people are just...well, people. There are good ones everywhere, people who suffered just like him, people who deserve better, certainly don’t deserve to be caught up in the Rumbling, people who have lives, children, moms, loved ones. This is highlighted again in chapter 131, because maybe, when Eren brought it up in the basement with Falco and Reiner, people didn’t think he was being genuine. So Isayama shows us again that Eren truly believed that.

And yet, the chapter before, Eren put those very same people on the same level of Titans when he used to think Titans were scum, a nightmare sent to eat them alive, because he addressed them with “匹”, a derogatory counter when applied to people, because it is usually used for small animals.

The parallel to how he used to feel towards Titans is smacked in our faces, because in Japanese, it’s the same exact line. He now feels that way about people.

...What?

It doesn’t make sense, right?

Because really, the same way Eren’s first impulse in Marley was to save Ramzi when he was being beaten up (and threatened with a worse fate than some bruises), the same way Eren helped him regardless and again went against 3 full-grown men, it’s the same way Eren rushed to Mikasa’s rescue when he didn’t even know her... or the same way he pushed himself into a Titan’s mouth just to save Armin. it doesn’t come from a sentiment of “I need to punish these monsters because they are threatening me”. It comes from a natural, intrinsic need to help and save others. It is deeply saddening that at the end of this journey, with Ramzi, he just feels like this natural predisposition of his is just a fake and turns him into a hypocrite.

So for Eren to say he has always been that way while looking at his 8 years old self stabbing a human trafficker in the chest to save a little girl to try and explain why he’s killing innocent people who happens to be living alongside “the bad guys” is a false equivalence. Either it’s a lie Eren tells himself and to Zeke to make both of them believe this is what Eren is, and has always been, and there is nothing they could do to prevent it - in a sort of twisted liberation from guilt because “if I was always like this, then you and I both shouldn’t have expected anything different”...

...or it’s Isayama’s failed attempt at presenting a theoretical concept he liked and talked about in interviews, suddenly turning Eren into a poster boy for it and canceling previous sides of Eren’s complexity as a character. I would like to believe Isayama hasn’t lost his magic touch this badly, but every day I’m less sure of it.

My opinion, for what is worth, is that that line you quoted is something he said to trick Zeke into detaching himself from Eren and going against him - breaking the bonds of love all around him has been a very deliberate choice Eren has made post time-skip - and at the same time it’s something Eren is trying to believe himself, in a desperate attempt at explaining to his own conscience that he was destined to bring such destruction, that he was always capable of it, and that there is a sort of justice in it where there isn’t. And he knows, deep down. That’s why he dissociates in the end.

In a very twisted, self-deprecating way, Eren is a liar to everyone, himself included. He has become an unreliable narrator about himself. Eren has completely shut down because he cannot stand what he is doing.

And I would very much like to know why he gave up on trying to find a different solution, if that’s what it is that happened, and why he sounds like a different person every other scene he appears in, in the next 4 months.

#eren yeager #snk spoilers #snk meta #shingeki asks

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fiore-rosewood9 · 4 years ago

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👄, 🌸, 🔥 for the hetalia asks!

Okay. All of this is personal opinion and is not meant to offend anyone. Please do not get upset, these are just my opinions. With that out of the way - here are my personal thoughts and what I think.

First emoji - Which nation do you think has the most fitting voice actor? Whose voice do you think doesn’t work? - So I don't like dubbed anime, most english translated animes tend to sound awkward to me, some do a good job, but in hetalia's case it sounds a bit off sometimes, so I will speak for the subbed/japanese version - I think Francis's seiyuu is really calming. I used to listen to the CD's when I had a panic attack, about the - Count sheeps one, where he brings you lavender and lures you to sleep. I kinda like England's seiyuu but wish his voice was more rough and he uses words like mate, wanker, similar to America's seiyuu who says the word - hero. I love prussia's raspy voice. I get that Canada is a shy soft boy, but I don't like his voice actor. I kinda think Hungary's voice actor does not fit her. I think the guy who voices prussia should not voice greece and estonia too, it kinda sounds like he is using a soft hushed whispery voice for prussia with them to me. I think Switzerland's voice actor should be a guy, if I remember correctly it was a woman. I don't mind women voicing men and vice versa, but I think it is more suitable for characters like Chibitalia, which is voiced by a woman.

Second emoji - top 3 favourite characters - Bulgaria, Seychelles, Prussia. I used to have Prussia's song Mein gott as a ringtone.

Third emoji - Are there any popular/widely accepted headcanons you don’t like? - Yes. Heavy nsfw under the cut. If this disturbs you, the reader, please refrain from reading. Historical/sexual mentions in this post will be used, as well as mentions of the mbti/psychology stuff. This is also a long post since it is a rant, feel free to skip in case you are lazy.

Yes. People assuming that England is a uke. Just give me one solid reason that he is? Neither psychologically, mbti wise, historically or manga wise is he an uke. He is a tsundere. That means rough on the outside, soft on the inside with the right people. I hate how for many reasons, in fan art and even in p*rn if you check it out....he has these weird...anorexic tween girl proportions. On a thin person's body you can see some ribs and England is sometimes drawn as such, but on many fan art he has chibi like, weird almost anorexic body, which confuses me, because it is not possible for 23 year old man to have such body, unless he has some genetical defects + an eating disorder, how tall is he again 175 cm (5' 9") if I remember correctly, so BMI and height are connected, for this height, it is not possible to has the body he has in doujinshis and some fan arts.

APH england is a thin man, he is no longer an empire with power, but he is neither anorexic, nor a tween and doesn't have female hips. Arthur is stubborn bitter alcoholic sarcastic old man who can't cook and is rough but tries his best to be a ''gentleman''. He grieves over his past glory days, when he used to actually hold any power over the world, but even though he is weaker now, he is still strong and tough and has influence. I mean, almost the whole world is speaking english, if that ain't an achievement, I don't know what is. England was never a uke/bottom, and when I ask for people's POV on why they think he is a bottom, I always receive insults and threats and am told to go away. I would wish for people to stop fetishizing/degrading him, when he is clearly proud, stubborn, a bit mean old bitter man who just wants someone to talk to him, love him and appreciate him, because his collegues clearly do not respect him or care much and harshly tease him a lot. I am quite aware of the position he is in, because I know what it is like to have people disrespect you, talk over you or make fun of you. He misses his colonies and still thinks like an empire, actually every ex empire thinks like one, they don't like politics, they like war and destruction and conquering.

America isn't a top. He is a proud bottom, and he feels damn sexy when someone rides him and compliments on how good he is doing. He can be described as a switch, but to me, I see him leaning more towards bottom. America is a really confident and enthusiastic man, he is strong and prideful as well as greedy, but it gets tiring to have all the control and power all the time, have no responsiblities can be relaxing from time to time.

France doesn't hate England for killing Jeanne d'arc as much as people assume. She was his first, innocent type of love and while it is a tragedy he managed to get over it. He took revenge by taking America from him and helping him rebel against England, who is neglectful. People manage to through war, trauma and many horrible things and still survive, despite the pain, it isn't logical for a soft gentle person like france to hold a grudge all of his life, even now.

Also around 2011-2013 some people made memes and joked about francis being a r*pist. I think some people don't understand that some people just have high libido and can't do anything about it. It doesn't make them a bad person. I miss on social cues and rules and the only jokes I understand are the sexual ones, it is literally the only humour I laugh at. So in this way, he is relateable, despite being inappropriate and vulgar, I just love the shock factor the jokes have. R*pe is not a joke, and he isn't a r*pist. He deserves love, like every hetalia character and like each one of you people. We all just want love at the end of the day, someone to listen to us, and hug us.

Prussia isn't dying. He just represents east germany. He isn't a human.

I really hate how south korea is portrayed as someone who gropes people's butts. It is just as weird as Belarus's wish to marry her brother. This is not much of a headcanon, I just find it disturbing.

North Italy/Canada/England aren't innocent uwu boys who have never cursed or don't know what sex is and refuse to watch porn.

There is nothing cute or cool about the nazi uniforms or parts of prussia and germany. They regret everything they did. But from what I see, a big part of the fandom made it out to be ''sexy'' in the past. There is some fan of it too.

The revolutionary war broke england but it isn't that big of a deal as fans make it out to be. Same with Jeanne d'arc. England was really disliked, almost hated and attacked by his fellow nations. The child he found, America, was the first person to not openly hate him in ages. England took care of him, but england is pretty neglectful him self, he leaves america alone a lot, yet exploitates him. So it is only logical for America to ask France and Prussia to the resque. Even though France becomes broke. But the same can be said about france. France is neglectful towards canada, who nurses back to health England, who is pretty deep into his depression after America leaves. All England could say is - America, America, America, because he can't handle the loss of his favourite colony. Of course this would hurt canada, who was abandoned in favour of his brother and his other father doesn't care about him either. To this day England sometimes still mistakes Canada for America, the only people who never do that seem to be France, Seychelles and America. Probably Japan, Netherlands, Austria and Prussia too. But england is pretty much over it, it is not his whole life and it is not the end of the world. This is why Sealand is taken care of by Finland and Sweden, England makes a lot of basic mistakes as a father.

Russia isn't an emotionless monster. I think due to his life and history, he is what you may call - Emotionally immature. He has childish cruelty and is a bit forceful as well as childish, which is not completely normal for someone his age. However, abuse stuns growth, so it is quite explainable why some nations are more mature and some are more childish. Abuse can also have the other effect, make someone extremely mature for their age, I think this is Latvia's case. He is trying to make friends but his approach is just simply bad. He has a weird energy/vibe and it shows. He goes into people's personal space and wants them to become one with mother russia. This would creep anyone. I think France and China aren't afraid of him, simply because they're too used to his gimmics and he can't surprise them. Russia's tactics become predicatable after a while.

#thank you for the ask #hetalia #hetalia2021 #hetalia2020 #answered #asks #hetalia ask #ask me stuff #hetalia thoughts #opinions #rant #hetalia world series #axispowershetalia #ask me anything hetalia

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persona-enjoyer · 3 years ago

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P3(The Answer)

Today kiddos, we learn about grief!

When I first saw Metis I was very what the fuck, but upon finishing the game her design makes it very obvious that she is a part of Aigis.

Being the same type of anti shadow weapon despite Aigis being “the last of her series”? check. Having the opposite color scheme? check. The fucking obvious butterfly motif? check.

Still it wasn’t until they explained that Metis was the embodiment of what Aigis wished away when she wished to be a machine again that I put these things together.

Like I saw how she was a foil to Aigis especially design wise but I had no clue what that meant. They were convinced at first that Metis was going to betray them so I was half expecting that to be the case, that she’d be like “dark Aigis” or something. I have to admit that what they actually went with is much better.

On the other hand when Metis said that the time skip had something to do with SEES I was immediately like oh because like they are stuck in grief, right?

Also the fact that the memories they saw related to their awakenings was pretty clear way before they stated it. Ken’s was first, we knew his awakening was due to his mother’s death (and more specifically the cover-up of the truth) and literally at the end of his he says that he can never trust an adult again.

That and Mitsuru’s was literally her awakening in battle to save her father like she described in The Journey but that was much later on.

It’s kind of funny, my favorite part about the flashbacks was seeing younger Mitsuru and Akihiko.

The main story already told us what happened and this was just seeing it. I guess there were more details but it just felt like there was no new information.

JK I lied I don’t feel like the main game was as clear about Junpei’s issues with his Dad. I know when he first joined that Akihiko found him freaking out and I don’t remember if they explained later why he was out late at night by himself.

So I guess Junpei’s was good.

Mitsuru’s was my second favorite because babie Mitsuru is adorable, it was cool to see that Ikutksi was unhinged so early, and I feel bad that Mitsuru awakened so young.

I thought the fact that this game is mostly battle would make me not like it because I was starting to get really tired of grinding in Tartarus but I really ended up liking it. Probably because The Desert of Doors was separated into P4-like smaller chunks of floors.

You can really see how concepts from The Answer went into later games. Like I said, The Desert of Doors is very P4-like and though I know nothing about the arena games besides the fact that they exist, the battles for the keys seem like the groundwork for that.

I was team Junpei and Koromaru by the way. I wanted to continue, not necessarily just to honor Minato’s sacrifice but mostly because if there was a way to save the world without dying than he wouldn’t have died? Also other games have had themes of accepting grim reality so I was guys, we are NOT going to the past.

However the final door cutscene made a lot of things click. Mostly why the fandom calls Minato door-kun. Also the complication that Nyx (and be extension death) is not bad or malevolent but just is. The problem is that those with this gift of life still wish for death (embodied by Erberus).

The conclusion of the game that your bonds with others are what makes life worth living as well as a way to deal with life’s hardships is very on brand for this series and very good.

I also appreciated Yukari’s arc. She grieved for Minato the hardest it seems. I was happy when she admitted she was being a bitch but it was just because she had not accepted Minato’s death and was jealous that Aigis inherited his power. While it was good writing and made sense as someone struggling with grief there were several times in the story that I was like “Yukari, can you fucking chill?” so it was very fulfilling to see her come to the conclusion that her behavior was a product of her grief and to end on friendly terms with Aigis. It was kind of like Junpei’s arc in the main game where I started being like “I logically understand why you are like this but you’re still annoying” to “aww baby, baby with character development!”

Also can we talk about Mitsuru’s speech to Yukari at the end. You were there at my darkest moment so I swore that I would stand by your side??? *trying to make it less gay* isn’t what that what your bonds with all your friends here are for, to help you through life’s hardships?

Like Yukimitsu shippers get your breakfast, lunch, and dinner!

Also good message but I am shipping trash at my core.

The only thing I was not a fan of at the end was Aigis’ fake out death.

I was like, they are not going to play the “protag dies” card twice in the same game, you can quit playing now.

The idea of Aigis literally coming to life was very cool though.

Also congrats game on very nearly making me cry. Like Minato protecting them forever??? chokes me up just thinking about it.

#p3 #p3fes #p3 playthrough #the answer #the answer spoilers #long post #like loooong post

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 5 years ago

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help me gather mine

Restless and worried in the wee hours of the morning, Tony leaves home to clear his head and finds himself in a synagogue for the second time this week. {missing scene from 10x12 "Shiva" shortly after the death of Ziva's father}

Friend drabble project, this one for my babe @benditlikepress, who is a fantastic supporter and a wonderful friend. <3

Can also be read on ff or AO3

____________________

“A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.”

— Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

____________________

Tony closes the bedroom door behind him and returns to his makeshift bed on the floor outside the kitchen, tired and feeling heavy with borrowed grief. It comes as no surprise that Ziva dismissed him rather than choosing to talk about her feelings, but something about the way she looked before that, right when she woke up…

Well, it has Tony feeling unsettled.

He doesn’t go to sleep once he settles back onto the loaned inflatable mattress; his mind is too busy to relax, instead repeatedly mulling over possibilities and worries, stressing over solutions to problems that haven’t yet been made entirely clear.

He needs to empty his head, get some clarity.

He texts Abby after another fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, and despite the late hour, he gets a quick reply… clearly, Tony is not the only team member still awake and worrying, and Abby agrees to his request without question.

He rises from the blow-up mattress and pulls on a coat over the sweats he wore to bed, then tugs on his running shoes. By the time Abby arrives, Tony is sitting on the stoop outside his apartment waiting for her.

“Thanks for this,” he tells his friend, standing and clapping Abby’s shoulder fondly.

“Of course. Has she…?”

“She woke up with a nightmare, but as far as I know, she went back to sleep. Didn’t tell her I was leaving.”

“Hm. I’m guessing you didn’t tell her you called a babysitter, either, did you?”

“Nope, and I’m hoping she won’t wake up again to find out.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks, Abbs. I’m sure Ziva would be fine alone—I mean, she’s not even actually alone, Shmeil’s asleep on the couch—but Gibbs would have my head if I just abandoned my post.”

“You didn’t call me ‘cause Gibbs was worried, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t dignify that with a response. “I’ll be back in an hour, two tops,” he says instead.

“Be careful.”

“You, too.” Tony pauses, and then adds: “If anything happens, if anyone shows up, Ziva can obviously hold her own, but… just in case you need it, there’s a gun taped to the back of the toilet.”

They nod at each other—the heaviness of the week’s events keeps even smartass Tony from making any jokes—and Abby slips into the apartment while Tony heads out of the building.

His feet tread a familiar path as he automatically settles into following his jogging route; it’s a good thing, too, because he’s not very focused on where he’s going. Instead, he lets his chaotic thoughts start to whir again, nudged toward organization by the mild distraction of exercise.

The urgency of the team’s quiet investigation into Eli’s death has kept Tony from thinking too deeply about what’s really concerning him here: Ziva, and everything that she must be feeling. Oh, he knows they’ll get to the bottom of the shooting at the Vance house—they always do, in the end. And he’s certain that they’ll get whoever is responsible for it. But for Ziva… None of this will ever be neatly tied up and boxed away for her, no matter how the investigation ends.

Tony has known for a long time that his partner’s relationship with Eli is—was—complicated at best. Until tonight, however, he had been focusing on what she told him when he found her after pinging her phone: she wants revenge. Of course, Ziva hadn’t been lying then, and her words are undoubtedly still true—but her nightmare tells Tony that she’s also just grieving. She’s hurting deeply, even if she won’t admit it to anyone other than herself. Maybe she’s not admitting it to herself, either, though, and maybe that’s part of the problem.

Tony can feel her slipping away. Rage and mourning are slowly eating away at her rationality, leaving behind someone whose behavior he can’t predict. He’s afraid of what she’ll do next.

That concerning thought is interrupted when something unexpectedly catches Tony’s eye, drawing him back to where he is.

A few meters back from the sidewalk, tucked away in a large, darkened building, there’s a single brightened window. Light passes through thick, translucent panes to spill onto the ground below, leaving on the grass a thin column of luminescence broken by only one thing: the shadow of an unlit menorah resting just on the other side of the glass.

The familiar shape makes something clear: whether by fate, coincidence, or simple subconscious choice, Tony’s restless wandering has led him to a synagogue.

He’s not sure why, but something about the place draws him in—maybe it’s just a stronger-than-ever desire to understand Ziva. Whatever it is, though, it makes Tony leave the sidewalk, his feet passing noiselessly over a manicured lawn as he drifts closer to the window.

Inside, past the menorah, someone is visible. A man sits in profile, staring studiously down at an open book as he turns a page. Though it’s going on four in the morning and the rest of this particular sleepy neighborhood has been at rest for hours, something about this man seems… unhurried. Relaxed. Peaceful, even.

I could really use some peace right about now, Tony thinks.

Without letting himself consider all the reasons that he shouldn’t, Tony turns to his left and bounds up the steps leading to the synagogue’s entrance. Then he knocks on one of its large doors.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a face appears in the lit window that Tony can still partially see from where he’s standing—it’s the man who had been reading, and he looks at Tony in confusion.

Tony waves awkwardly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, and after a pause of clear deliberation, the man in the window gestures something along the lines of ‘hold on a second.’ He disappears from view, and shortly after, Tony can hear footsteps behind the door directly in front of him. Then there’s the sound of a lock sliding free.

The door opens just a little. “Good evening. Can I help you?”

Tony isn’t sure what to say without sounding insane, but he tries. “I, um, I was out walking, and…” He sighs. “Are you a rabbi?”

“I am, yes.”

“Any chance we could talk? Like, now?”

Tony can dimly see the other man evaluating him and considering, and he finds himself really second guessing his impulsive decision to knock. To his surprise, though, the rabbi only pauses temporarily before opening the door further to admit him.

Tony sticks his hands awkwardly into his pockets and walks in, glancing around. This is not the same synagogue he found Ziva at recently, but even in the low lighting, he can tell that this one has a similar setup.

The rabbi interrupts Tony’s musings by brushing past him after re-locking the thick door. “This way,” the man requests softly. Then he leads Tony down a hall and into a large, almost cavernous room where Tony thinks services must take place. After motioning Tony into a pew, the rabbi sits down himself and looks at the restless agent expectantly. “Okay, we can talk here. I’m Rabbi Aviyah Silverman—you can just call me Rabbi Avi. And you are?”

“Tony DiNozzo.”

The rabbi nods. “Alright, Tony… what’s on your mind?”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t even know,” he says, feeling displaced and wrong-footed. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not even Jewish.”

“I could tell that the moment I saw you.”

“How?”

Rabbi Avi smiles with a touch of humor at Tony’s expense. “For starters, you’re not wearing a kippah, but maybe more to the point, you look… very uncertain about being here.”

Tony laughs ruefully—he really can’t argue with that astute observation—and he finds that the other man’s straightforwardness relaxes him a little. “You’re not entirely off-base, I guess,” he admits. “Before this, I’ve set foot in a synagogue maybe a handful of times in total.”

The rabbi dips his head again, looking thoughtful. “Well, something led you here. What were you thinking about when you decided to knock?”

“A friend.”

“What about them?”

“She, ah…” Tony hesitates and then sighs. “She’s just going through something difficult. I’m worried about her, and I don’t know how to help.”

“Has she asked for your help?”

Tony snorts, trying to imagine that impossibility. “No. That’s not really in her nature.”

Rabbi Avi lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Without knowing exactly what’s going on, there’s a limit to how much advice I can give, but… let me say something general that I think you may need to hear.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“There are things in this life that a person must face for themselves—and by themselves. That isn’t to say you should abandon your friends, but some demons live inside the mind, and sometimes, they’re too personal to fight while someone else is watching.”

“So you think I should just... leave her to it?” Tony asks, trying to work out the implications of the metaphor. “Let her deal with it alone?”

“Not at all. What I’m suggesting is quite the opposite, actually.”

Tony frowns. “Then what—”

“Remind her that you’re there for her! Even the battles we fight by ourselves leave us drained, right? If you’re up pacing the streets of Washington in the middle of the night because you’re so concerned, you must care about your friend. Feeling supported might give her the strength she needs to do what she has to do without you… so, tell her that when she finishes with whatever that is, she has you to fall back on.”

“She knows.”

“Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t, but a reminder couldn’t hurt.”

Tony finds all of this to be surprisingly logical, and he nods in agreement, staring up at a large Magen David hanging in a place of honor on the far wall and thinking of the one Ziva wears around her neck. “Surprised you’re not telling me to pray about it or something,” he jokes softly, his gaze and his thoughts still far away.

Rabbi Avi chuckles. “Proselytizing isn’t a very Jewish thing to do. Besides, no one ever walks in here looking to be told to pray.”

Tony smiles a little. “I wouldn’t know how to, anyway. Ziva—my friend—would probably be able to teach me… She is Jewish.”

“I see why you ended up here, then.” Rabbi Avi reaches under his seat and pulls out a siddur, offering it to Tony. “If you decide you want to try your hand at praying, this is full of prayers and blessings to choose from. What I think you really need, though, is some time alone in a quiet place to think.” He rises from his seat, and Tony pulls his eyes away from the unfamiliar text in his hands to look up at the other man. “My office is down the hall on the right,” the rabbi continues. “I’ll be in there if you need me, but if you don’t, stay as long as you’d like.”

“Thanks, Rabbi.” Tony offers a hand to shake, and Rabbi Avi accepts it.

“Any time. You’re a good friend, Tony. Don’t let yourself worry so much that you forget that.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say to that, so he offers a small smile of appreciation. As the rabbi walks away and Tony glances back at the thick book in his hands, though, the sight of English text and Hebrew text lined up together offers sudden inspiration. “Hey, Rabbi Avi?”

“Yes?” The rabbi pauses just shy of the door they walked in through.

“How do you say ‘you are not alone’ in Hebrew?”

____________________

The sound of airplane engines fills Tony’s ears as he walks slowly toward the tarmac; somewhere under those bright fluorescent lights, one of those planes is waiting to carry Ziva away.

Ziva herself stands back toward the gate, something making her linger even as she sends Shmeil on, and Tony, catching the tail end of the conversation, wonders what it is. Maybe it’s just dread for the tasks ahead of her, something Tony can understand.

“Go with him, Shmeil,” Ziva is saying as Tony walks up behind her. “I will be there in a moment.”

Shmeil, kind and good-natured as ever, brushes that off. “Take your time. It’s a long flight. Besides,” he adds, making eye contact with a half-smiling Tony over Ziva’s shoulder, “I think someone’s come to see you off.”

As Ziva turns, following her elderly friend’s gaze, Shmeil departs. Tony only has eyes for Ziva, though, noticing that she’s entirely unsurprised to see that it’s him. “You did not have to come,” she tells him quietly.

“Well, you always forget your gum and magazines when you fly, so…” Tony’s weak joke gets no more than the distant hint of a smile in return, so he stops trying for levity. “They’ll find Bodnar, Ziva. Mossad’s looking, CIA, Navy Intel, Interpol... us.” He hopes that Ziva understands just how much support and care and promise is hidden in that last word.

Us.

Whether his intent is clear to her or not, though, Ziva doesn’t say anything back.

“Shmeil’s got your back,” Tony tries again—anything to engage her. He gives her a smile. “Shmeil, the man of steel.”

Still, Ziva doesn’t speak. Her expression, carefully neutral, doesn’t shift, either. That more than anything else worries Tony... Ziva hasn’t always been overly impressed by his often childish sense of humor over the years, but rarely has she failed to react at all. This time, she doesn’t laugh; she doesn’t huff; she doesn’t even roll her eyes. It’s almost like something is weighing on her so heavily now that the effort of rising to his bait is beyond her capabilities.

It’s like something inside her has broken under the heaviness of grief and of expectation.

Swallowing back a deep, bone-aching worry for his friend, Tony sighs, unable to stop himself. “Don’t do this,” he begs, his voice dropping to a whisper, and he finally gets a response out of Ziva.

“I am going to a funeral, Tony,” she informs him with a slight nod, as if he doesn’t already know. “I am delivering my father’s eulogy.”

That’s as clear an answer as any, and it’s probably all that Tony is going to get—she’s shutting him out again, and no matter how she felt about her father while he was alive, she will do what she must. It’s time to give it up, to stop fighting her or trying to help her.

It’s time to follow Rabbi Avi’s advice and just… be whatever Ziva needs him to be.

He can do that. “How’s this for a… an opening line: ‘He did it his way,’” he suggests wryly.

Ziva studies Tony’s face, and a small amount of the tension in her body seems to release. That’s enough to tell Tony that he’s doing the right thing. “My father was, um… not an easy man to understand, and yet…” Finally, she smiles a little.

“Complicated runs in the family,” Tony concludes.

Ziva hesitates, looking away for a few beats. “Tony, I…” She trails off rather than finishing, but she meets his eye again.

“What?”

He has rarely seen Ziva as vulnerable as she is then… Her lips twitch briefly, forming words that remain unspoken, and her eyes are a little too bright to be empty of tears; a smile emerges and then fades above her trembling chin as she fights for something intangible. In the end, though, her obvious struggle draws to a close when she reaches up to hug her partner tightly.

Tony’s arms raise automatically to hold her back; her face presses so securely against his neck that he can feel it in her cheek when she smiles. This embrace alone, secure and trusting and intimate, might be nearly enough to knock his breath out, but then an unanticipated thought pops into his head and threatens to steal his breath entirely…

He loves her.

The realization, though unexpected, doesn’t come as a shock. Of course he loves Ziva, even if he has never stopped to think about it. She’s his best friend and has been for a very long time.

Tony won’t do her the disservice of telling her now, though. She has enough on her plate without having to field any heartfelt confessions tonight.

Instead, Tony tells her something that means the same thing.

“At lo levad.”

You are not alone.

Ziva tightens her embrace for a fleeting moment before releasing Tony and stepping back. There’s a smile on her face and tears in her eyes, and when she answers in a whisper, Tony thinks she might understand what he meant by it.

“I know.”

Not waiting for Tony to say anything else, Ziva turns away, heading purposefully toward the plane carrying her father’s body; then she’s gone.

Still and quiet, Tony stares after her, worrying about her and missing her already.

He doesn’t turn back until her plane has disappeared into the dark sky, long out of sight.

#ncis fanfiction #ncis #tiva #tony dinozzo #ziva david #cynthia writes stuff too #it's not as long or as beautiful as what you've written for me jess #but soft and bittersweet tiva feels always make me think of you!#also i originally thought this was gonna be under 1k words #what a clown i am lmao #friend drabble project #love u jess <3

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tracybirds · 5 years ago

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The idea of John sending “care packages” as described in @gumnut-logic ‘s Thunderbird X fic (STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THAT BTW) has just CAPTURED ME so yeah :D Thanks for letting me play with the idea!!!

Fic covers time from just after the original explosion right through to 3x24, but obviously the events of 3x25 have influenced my choices so ya know... potential spoilers under the cut.

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“He’s gone,” yells Gordon and John flinches back, his words striking a blow across twenty-two and a half thousand miles of space.

Gordon’s words aren’t meant for him, he’s screaming at Scott and John’s meant to be mediating, meant to help stand up for one and protect the other, but he’s struggling to hold onto reality in the wake of his father’s disappearance.

Death, he reminds himself.

He mutes the feed, unable to listen to his brothers fighting anymore, and pushes back from the holoprojector so that neither can see the way the tears are falling from his face as he watches his family break apart.

A quiet beep catches his attention and he pulls up the call.

“Are you okay?”

It’s Virgil. John wonders how he could possibly know, but then Virgil always seemed able to read John’s emotions better than he himself could.

He speaks quietly, sitting in the dim light of Alan’s bedroom and clasping their baby brother’s hand in his as he sleeps.

When John was Alan’s age, he had both his parents.

Virgil looks older, haggard and grave in a way that doesn’t suit the face of a young adult. It makes John feel impossibly young beside him.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he whispers. “He can’t be alive and he also can’t be gone.”

There’s a loud crash and Virgil winces at the sound.

“I should be saying something to them.”

“No, I’ll go,” says Virgil. “Stay on the line in case Alan wakes.”

He stays, watching the rise and fall of his brother’s chest. He doesn’t know what Virgil says to his brothers but he returns later, his normally calm face stormy.

He doesn’t ask.

The next morning John receives a call from Scott.

“Am I deluding myself? Is Gordon right?”

He hates himself for refusing to squash the desperate hope that is glinting madly in Scott’s eyes. He hates himself more for not wanting to face the cold, objective truth that his Dad was gone. He’s always prided himself on his ability to calmly accept the facts that were and not the ones he wished could be. Now though, John has run out of faith in science, his foolish insistence that the universe could be catalogued into a semblance of order has been overturned by the chaos of an explosion over the Pacific Ocean. His head and heart can no longer agree on reality and John is disorientated by the endless questions that pierce him from the planet below.

“Do you think there’s any hope?”

John doesn’t know what he believes anymore, is tongue-tied in the realm of uncertainty.

“There’s always hope.”

And he finds deep down he believes in his own words. He reaches out to record a message, one to throw away, hoping that this awful, indefinite desperation might be flung out into space along with it if he lets it go far enough.

A high band frequency, a carefully chosen timeslot when he’s certain his message won’t interfere with – or be intercepted by – the radio telescopes on the Earth below, and his own trembling voice on loop.

“Calling Zero-X from Thunderbird Five, Colonel Jeff Tracy, do you copy?”

He stifles a sob in his throat.

“Please respond.”

Alone in space, his final message, his final hope, left Thunderbird Five with as powerful a signal as John could configure. He makes a programme to send his message out to the stars, embeds it into Five’s core so it can repeat whenever the conditions are right, a lonely cry for his father to come home.

Ten months later, Scott calls him down from Thunderbird Five and for the first time they discuss the future and not the past. The subroutine is lost, buried deep within Five and John chooses to forget the constant radio fluctuations that propagate into deep space from his home.

***

EOS stretches out and explores her new home often. John is yet to get tired of her insistent questions and he loves that she prefers to ask him instead of searching for the information on her own. The quirk is a lack of efficiency that tells John how much she trusts him.

He can’t deny the way his heart leaps whenever he’s given the opportunity to teach her about something new, even if he sometimes struggles to put the abstract concepts of emotion into terms she can understand.

“John, why do you continue to transmit to your father after he is gone?”

John frowns. He speaks often to his mother and father as he stares out into the stars and he’s already discussed this with EOS, pushing through the exhaustion and the tears as he explained what it meant to miss someone, what it meant to grieve.

He’s too tired to explain all over again.

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No,” she insists. Before he can reply, his own voice fills the station, wet and rubbed raw in a way that shoots straight into his heart.

John freezes. Sometimes EOS doesn’t realise what her innocent questions do, the way they can send a spike of adrenaline shooting through his body and engage the section of his brain which wants to run and hide from a reality he’s given up on. He’s back in that moment of desperation five years ago, the recording made in a haze of grief and endless hope that he’d never really relinquished.

He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he sobs, synchronised with the artificial sound of his own voice.

He sounds young.

The recording dies away as EOS observes him and that only makes him cry harder, to see her small developments in emotional sensitivity. He taught her that, the same way his Mom and Dad taught him and he can see the aspects of his life that his Dad doesn’t know, will never know stretching out in front of him.

“I’m sorry, John,” says EOS. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“You didn’t know,” he gasps. “I had forgotten about it.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes.”

And he does. She already knows the facts, less than half a second has returned more results than any of them could wish for about his death, but he can give her something more.

She’s silent and turns the new data over as she examines it’s effect.

“I do not understand. Your father is dead. You knew this when you made the recording. You know this now. Your actions are illogical.”

There’s an ache in his chest but it has kindled something greater in his heart.

“Sometimes EOS, things happen that we don’t understand, that we can’t understand. We can accept the reality given or we can search for an alternative.”

“You delude yourselves to make your feelings less significant and have less impact on your life.”

“No, EOS,” said John with a tired smile. “We hope.”

She doesn’t understand yet, he can see that. He doesn’t fully understand it either.

Later that night, he lies in bed and allows his fingers to pull apart the code embedded in Thunderbird Five. He stares at the small subroutine, still running perfectly after all these years.

He has a choice to make, he knows that. It’s a choice they’ve all faced at one point or another – whether or not to keep searching. He glances over at the digital frame, cycling through the familiar sight of his family. His breath catches as he sees the photos he’d added to the collection only a few short weeks ago, of Gordon pushing both Scott and Virgil into the pool only to be shoved in turn by Kayo on the next image. He wishes his Dad could see where they all were now, wishes there was someway to let him know they were okay. He searches for the star that he’d chosen as a representative of his father, but the seasons are wrong and it is lost behind the glare of the Sun.

His hand hovers over the programme he’d built to outlast his grief, hesitating as he considers shutting it down. He doesn’t know why it is so hard, to sever the last remaining link of a delusion. But he needs to talk to his father, wants it so badly he might be sick. He’s not ready to let go and so instead, he encrypts a single photo and adds it to the message.

***

He updates and replace the addition to his message regularly. It’s become a habit, an addiction to the idea that even if his Dad is gone that there might still be a way to communicate with him. It’s illogical, but EOS says nothing when he sits down every month or so to share the events of his life with his dead father.

He doesn’t add much to the message, conscious of the need for privacy in case his cries are ever intercepted, acutely aware of the fact that not once has he mentioned to his family what he is broadcasting into space.

He just can’t seem to stop.

He sends a copy of Gordon’s speech at his graduation the previous year from the boarding school he’d attended.

Virgil’s landscape series of paintings.

A photo of Scott scowling as Gordon crashed in on him getting ready for a date.

“Alan can drive now,” he tells him with a shocked laugh. “I trust him in a plane, but the thought of Alan in a car is terrifying, he has no concept of speed limits.”

If his Dad has to remain absent for the rest of their lives, John can’t imagine a place he’d rather find him than amongst the stars. It had been his Dad who had taught him the constellations, how to navigate, how to survive in the emptiness. He’d loved his universe too deeply for the inky black to scare him. He never liked to be alone out there though, the solitude grating in a way it wasn’t for John, and so the updates continue. He doesn’t want his father to feel alone.

A scientific paper, with Gordon’s name written on it, describing the new taxonomy of Europanian life.

Shyly, he adds a photo of himself and Ridley to the message a few months later. Even if he doesn’t want to talk about it with the rest of his family, not yet, he can tell someone about how nervous he feels about letting someone new into his life. His Dad had always understood that about him.

It’s on his enforced downtime when the music begins to float as gently through the space station as John did. He smiles, recognising the melody of one of Virgil’s favourite pieces.

It had been one of the first modifications he’d made to Thunderbird Five, one of many of which his brothers were unaware. An automatic audio uplink, a connection between Five and their mother’s piano, that relayed the music his brother chose to perform for himself. It provided a tangible link, not just to Tracy Island, but to Virgil himself. He knew from the music whether or not his brother needed a listening ear.

Right now, the music is soft and at peace and John is glad to hear it. With the recent introduction of the Chaos Crew in their lives, his brother deserves whatever peace he can find.

“EOS, make a recording,” he calls softly. He floats serenely above his beloved Earth, the feeling of contentment spreading warm from his chest.

“Wish you could hear this Dad,” he whispers as he updates his message that he’s sent to the stars.

He can see the binary system of Spica in the distance, the star his father had pointed to all those years ago and gently told him that his mother was watching over him from there. He hadn’t known at the time that the one star was really two, and he can’t think of a place his Dad would rather be than with his Mom.

It’s the last time he updates his father for a long while, the work of International Rescue taking over their lives as they struggle to adapt to the disregard for human life the Chaos Crew presents. It’s as discouraging to see as it is exhausting, and John doesn’t have the time or the energy to entertain a fantasy that’s now old enough to be in elementary school.

“Cranial contusion, concussion, vertebral compression fractures, compound radial fracture, spiral femoral fracture, and a shattered patella.”

John reads the list aloud as clinically as he can manage given the image of his younger brother is floating in front of his vision as he speaks. He takes a deep, shuddering breath trying desperately to compose himself for the next words he will speak.

“Dad, we know you’re out there somewhere. We miss you. Please know we won’t stop looking and we will find you.”

He updates the looped message for one final time. In three weeks, Scott will have had enough time to realise his brother’s home doubles as the most powerful communication satellite in the Solar System, and now they have a target to aim for.

He shuts down the programme.

***

He doesn’t stop speaking to his father. He is no longer is speaking to a dead man to update him on the lives of his children once a month, but instead trying to co-ordinate the relentless demands of a family, desperate to reach out to a living father, son, friend, loved one.

It’s changed every facet of their lives.

“Hey, are you transmitting right now John? Hey Dad! We’re all out here saving the world! Except Johnny of course. He’s busy bossing us around. Imagine if he’d been born first instead of Scott, he’d be insufferable.”

“I’m not sending him that,” scowls John. He can see the way Gordon pouts on the holoscreen, can read the disappointment behind the levity. He sends the file.

Alan doesn’t want to make a recording, wants to speak to his father himself, but he settles for ‘leaving a voicemail’ from Thunderbird Five. He insists on flying up to John, collapsing in his brother’s arms and confiding his anxieties before making his call.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” he whispers, and John’s heart breaks.

“He loved you then, he loves you now, and he will love you again,” John murmured into his baby brother’s hair. “Go on sprout, tell him what’s been happening.”

Alan sends him his latest report card, a photo of him and Bran, and the leaderboards for his favourite video games. He tells his father about how they work and why he likes them and how much he loves working for International Rescue. His father won’t see the way Alan’s eyes light up when he speaks of his legacy but John does and he has to hold back tears as he watches his brother, so kind and enthusiastic and growing up fast. He has to hold back his tears a lot these days.

Gordon’s been smiling ever since they found out for sure, his face threatening to crack under the strain. He sends an updated list of dad jokes to “make sure you’re prepared for when you next see us” and also a photo of him standing on the Olympic podium. There’s a scan of a notebook that John’s never seen before, containing signatures of every kid Gordon’s ever rescued.

He only sends one audio file, a whispered apology for giving up that John knows his father has already forgiven.

Virgil sends music. He records every one of his Dad’s old favourites and tells John to blast them into space. He also sends hours of one sided conversations, not trusting his written words to reach across the billions of miles. John doesn’t listen to them, knowing how Virgil has needed this release, full of pent up emotions and years of biting his tongue and chasing after Scott.

Scott has made it his life mission to bring their father home and as soon as he understands the implications of being able to send a message back, he changes. He doesn’t want the responsibility of his siblings bearing down on him now that it doesn’t have to be that way forever and he makes the shift from commander to number one before they even have a viable way to get to him. It doesn’t matter. Scott won’t trust himself to emotion, not after eight long years of weary pain, and he sends only mission reports and status updates. John’s not sure if Scott’s struggling to keep his hope alive after all these years, or if his life has really become so consumed by his work without any of them noticing.

He sends his own apology to his father after that.

And then one day, Brains makes the call.

A matter of days, John repeats to himself again and again, as he struggles to keep his mind on the rescue at hand. His brothers are scrambling into their gear and he knows he only has a few precious minutes. “EOS, take over for a sec,” he said. “Call me as soon as they’re in the air.” “FAB John.” He hit the ground running as the gravity ring began to spin. “Dad,” he said, his voice breathless as he began the final recording that he would send into the far reaches of the solar system. “Dad, I don’t know if you can hear us. But if you get this, you need to know. We’re coming. We’re on our way to you right now. When you listen to this message, we’ll be there. We’ll be there. This is Thunderbird Five, signing off.”

#john tracy #alan tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #BYE I'M GONNA BE LATE #SO EXCUSE ANY GLARING ERRORS (or let me know lol)#sometimes i fic

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percywinchester27 · 4 years ago

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@caughtaghostsomehow I’m just going to put it all underneath the keep reading, picking things from all of those reblogs cause why not!

Part 27:

I understand why Max trusts Sam so much... Even after he initially failed him, he still kept his promise later on and he's been keeping it since.

The scene when Sam finds Max in the cell... Oh man.. I was angry at first, just like Sam but then my heart broke for this little boy. Sam and him needed each other. I think they may be soulmates.. The universe destined them to help each other out.

Yep. The reason why Sam is just so insanely careful about Max is because he how what it feels like to almost lose him. And the prison scene changed a lot since it was conceived. But I knew I wanted Max to start out as a physical kid and then grow out of it. He and Sam really were destined.

I'm so glad we got to see how Jody found out about the whole situation and I just love her more after finding out that she helped with the adoption (by the way, I love how thorough your research is 🧡).

I knew Dean would never give up on his brother but it just made me really emotional when he kept calling and Sam finally picked up and the first words out of Dean's mouth were "are you alright?". It got to me for some reason...

I thought it was logical to go to her for a lot of reasons- cause she is a legal writings professor, a close friend AND has experience with adoption as a single parent in the very same state.

Awww... all the Dean parts get me. ALL of them. Especially here because they are so far and in-between in this story.

But Sam wanted his wife to trust him the same way. Unconditionally. He wanted her to trust him with fixing their life, dealing with their loss and grief and wanted her to trust him with rebuilding their life from before the accident.

This is you using my braincells by the way. Cause later on, someone points this EXACT same thing to the reader

I know I've said this before but it just keeps coming back to this in my head, she knew things couldn't be fixed because as much as she probably trusted Sam with her life, she understands that some things just aren't in anyone's control... And Sam wanted her to believe he could mend the wounds all by himself... It's sad and frustrating but I can't wait for them to have this conversation

I know you’ve read part 30 already and you know they touch on this very very briefly but they don’t really resolve this. It gets addressed specifically eventually. His ‘i could fix us’ vs. her ‘I knew you couldn’t.’ Does such for them though.

Chapter 28

Why do I have a bad feeling about that party?

Because. Same. Braincells. Lol.

I really wanted for someone to say that and Sam certainly needed to hear it and I'm so glad it was Chase who opened his eyes about this. He's absolutely right too, let the woman speak for her damn self instead of assuming how she feels.

Chase was me! Yelling at all these characters for not fucking listening to me haha... remember how I told you that people were suspicious of Chase? Yeah, after this chapter, everyone’s kinda adopted him.

My emotions have been all over the place lately anyway but reading how Sam needed to compose himself before speaking about his son's death... I swear I don't have tears in my eyes while typing this- that was hard to read.

I'm glad Max knows... I don't know how much of it he understands but he's a clever boy, I'm sure he has at least a little bit better of an idea why this situation is so delicate.

Awww I’m so sorry I made you cry :/ But, well... Sam doesn’t grieve his son’s death the way the reader does. He’s always been more stoic. Besides, he had to deal with two griefs back then not just one... but I am sure it still hurts too much.

I’ve left it to everyone’s imagination how much Max understands. He knows the concept of death for sure.... but his birth father had orgies at his house. We can all only hope that Max is completely shielded from that since he was using to hiding in closets when there were strangers in the house.

I was surprised by his question too but Sam's response was so... Loving. My heart can't take this.. He's such a great father...

Yep. I mean how else could he have reassured Max? His no lying policy is a great way to raise a child tbh. My sister does that with my nephew. That’s how I know.

Chapter 29

I really like Maddie, she's a genuinely sweet person, I love how helpful she tries to be and that she honestly wants her friend to be happy. I wonder what exactly went wrong during that party for her to look so dejected...

Maddie is nice. I was hellbent on making all of Sam’s canon Exes nice in this series. Cause I’ve had enough of reading the evil ex and current gf pitted against each other trope (Though I’ve never written it myself. Maybe I should and see for myself why it is so alluring lol.) I don’t know, maybe it was little a double prank thingy? Throw the reader in the water and be as mean to Madison as you can?

I really fucking hope that Brad gets what he deserves and that is to be kicked in the balls. Ever fucking heard the word boundary? Consent? I hate people like him with a burning passion and that whole situation infuriated and scared me in equal measure.

Yeah. That asshole needs to go down! His endgame has changed more than anyone elses in the story lol.

The fact that all of it came back to her the instant she hit the water made me sob. She wanted to protect her baby but there was no one there... I just- oh fuck.

Kay that part was HARD to write. All of it. Poor reader!

Was Sam the one to pull her out? If so then I don't even want to think about what would happen if he wasn't there, if they haven't made plans...

The way she started crying for their baby when she found her breath again made me cry even more... I don't know why I feel such a strong connection to this story and characters but I don't want them to ever feel pain like that again. It's heartbreaking 💔

Yeah that was Sam... I mean the pool was visible and all that. I mean of course you know. You read the next chapter. Why am I being a dumbass :/

Something had to trigger her trauma. It wasn’t going to come out on its own and And Sam loves her too much to force her to grieve. He barely held it together when she did grieve so well...

PS.: I'm really sorry you experienced drowning, it's a horrible thing to go through. I don't do pools- or really, any body of water, either. There's just something about the idea of drowning that unsettles me more than I can express.

Yeahh... God bless that lifeguard. Seriously. He’s the only one who noticed that I wasn’t coming up. It was night time and the pool was pretty dark so. I am so sorry that you don’t like pools, either. It’s terrifying.

Chapter 30

Firstly, Ria, you’re TOO GOOD to me, seriously! The fact that I could have you speechless is about the biggest complement you could’ve given me.

If you can call it that and at first when she asked him about the ring, I was surprised but my heart just sunk. I don't think either of them were in the right, I don't think they were both wrong either... I don't believe I'm good enough with problem solving to know what advice I'd give them but I do know that I have never experienced a feeling more cathartic than this one when reading. Twenty nine chapters leading to this moment... All the questions and pining and heartbreak. .. And sure, there's so much more they could say and there's so much more you talk about and figure out but as of right now... This is the beginning of the rest of their lives.

So, I think what she meant to ask was why did he just not give up on her, but she was tired and spontaneous and the ring question just tumbled out instead. I tried so hard for all their conversations to sound spontaneous and not rehearsed you know? Where they ended up touching on every aspect of the past? Cause that wouldn’t happen. It just wouldn’t.

And THANK YOU for saying that. I swear to God, this chapter wouldn’t have made that impact if it hadn’t had a backing of 29 chapters. It would have royally fallen flat. Everyone was invested in the story by now and I was counting on it.

I didn't like how Sam got angry at first because I put myself in her shoes but the truth is, someone needed to get angry about something. One of them had to feel some type of overwhelming emotion to get here and it just so happened that it started with pain and landed on anger.

This is and SPN finale type of dilemma though. Like for the writers, they had to Kill of Dean first cause only Sam had the slight ability to move on. Sam way, I didn’t think the reader would have ever gotten angry first. She is so burdened by her own guilt (undeserved tbh) but she wouldn’t just lash out first. Sam had been angry at the start of the series and absolutely livid in their time apart. I just thought it would be easier for him to get mad first. Not defending his choices or whatever, just why I chose to make that decision as a writer. I would have been plenty mad a reader, too.

But the way they got angry wasn't a bad thing, their anger was based in how much they care about each other. Like the anger I would feel when one of my dogs ran just a little too far from me and a car was coming - took like fifteen fucking years off my ife istg. But I wasn't angry and screaming at them to make them feel bad, I was angry because I was so fucking scared that they would get hurt. The anger wasn't based in resentment, it was based in love. It's the same here and you can see it.

Jesus, I’m so sorry that happened with one of your dogs. Seriously. That sounds scary AF. I’m glad your dogs are okay.

Their anger isn’t destructive. It just isn’t. That much I’m pretty sure of. They’ve dealt with so much shit, and truly love each too much to actually hurt one another with words at this point. And it’s a good 10 chapters of journey where they deal with one issue after another to effing solve it like adults and not teenagers in throes of passion. I was like, nope! Not doing the passionate way. These two don’t get to be smart enough to get into Stanford and then be dumb like that and scream and yell and be jealous or irrational. It added a few chapters, but if I can be patient, so can be everyone else :P

The story she told about the cactus was not only a brilliant way to show her mindset and how people saw her over the years but also so fucking heartbreaking. On one hand you have this coworker who saw her and thought, "that person needs something low maintenance if they can care for something at all" and on the other - you've got this woman who tries her best to nurture this plant and help it grow and it ends up dying anyway.

That cactus one is inspired by real life event. And it seriously broke my heart to go through. Hoping each day that the last pod might live through :/ Like you said her co-worker wasn’t being mean, but it sucks that the cactus died anyway :(

Girl, you made my morning today. I woke up to your love and I just... you had me speechless. That chapter took a lot out of our branicells and I rewrote it so many times just to get it right for it to be respectful, vulnerable and cathartic at the same time.

But may I ask you, WHY YOU WERE UP TILL 5:30 in the morning to read it? I have a timestamp thingy going for me, okay? I knew what time it was over there! And you gave yourself a migraine crying? OMG! I am so so sorry :/ Gosh. If I knew, you were going to binge it straight, I’d have warned you!

Seriously, Ria! Thank you seems like a small phrase. I will tell you this, I love you! So much!

#Ana replies #Ana loves Ria #seriously you make my work look nicer and more deep than it is #sincerely humbled by this #can't word the gratitude right #q

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figuringouthowtobehere · 4 years ago

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please dont reblog this

i dont have many ppl to talk to. so here i am, screaming into the void that is my tumblr again.

im mostly posting this because im alone. im really really fucking alone. and im hoping i might, idfk, make a solid, trustable connection from tumblr??? idfk. im alone in the world.

please dont reblog this

cw family issues, su*cidality, abandonment, abuse, childhood abuse, trauma, being alone in the world

i have no one to go to. my entire life since i was a baby all ive ever been able to do is survive at the skin of my teeth. and here i am, 20, breathing, trying so fucking hard to live and, idk if im succeeding. im doing my film shit which is cool but. im alone. im on my own. im alone in the world. i never had parents. like, obviously i had parents, but they were never parents, dyou know what i mean? like the people who genetically made me were around but they were abusing me or just being awful or refusing to listen to me about what i needed from them, from their parenthood.

i had a conversation with my mom yesterday (after two days of not being able to get a hold of her and really really needing to) and i was basically just like ‘why cant you be my mom’ and she was like ‘i am your mom’ and i was like ‘well, yeah, but youre not--you cant--you dont mother me. and you dont mother me in the ways i need you to.’ and she was like ‘what does that look like to you?’ and i said ‘someone who i can turn to, always, someone who has my back no matter what, someone who respects me and what i need and who listens to me and trusts my experience and, yeah, someone who i can turn to always’ and she said ‘i mean i can talk with you on the phone, i can tell you what i think you should do, i can try to give you advice from my experience, but as far as someone having your back 24/7 always, i cant do that’ and we ended up talking about how im an adult now - and she was talking about it in the sense of ‘youre a grown man now, you dont need your mom like that anymore’ - and im like ‘ya, i am basically a grown man but i still need my mom. i still need parents.’ and i think im gonna end up cutting contact with her again because its too hard to simultaneously grieve her not being the mom i need and also talk to her. if im not talking to her then i can deal with the idea that i dont have a mother, that i dont have parents and i probably never will.

ive never really had people. i never really had friends when i was a child and i dont really have friends now. maybe its cause im trans, maybe its cause im autistic, maybe its cause im mixed, i dont know, but generally people in the world dont like me or it takes them a long time to not hate me. it doesnt matter why right now the point is i never had people (like, a support system) and i dont now.

so yeah im pretty seriously thinking about killing myself (or, trying to anyway). i dont wanna die but ive spent my whole life trying to just. be a person. and find contentment. and everything in my life ends up going awful or causing me a lot of trouble at some point or another. ive come to expect it. whenever anything happens in my life im just like ‘when will this go wrong. how long will it take this time.’ and im alone. im just fucking on my own. and i know theres lots of people who are and have been more alone than i am/have been and i admire these people so fucking much like GO YOU!! YOUFUCKING DID IT!!! HELL YEAH! im so proud of u. for real, i have so much respect for all yall reading this who have made it through shit and made it through being alone in the world. you fucking got this. youre doing it. good fucking job!!!!! ✨ but then. idk ig it doesnt take away from this being incredibly fucking difficult for me. pretty much everything in my life was fucked from birth to age 18 and now over half of everything in my life is fucked. which is better, for sure, but its still. ive never had a chance. idk it just seems to me like it doesnt matter. i can try and try and do all the therapies and take all the psych meds a psychiatrist might give me and i can meditate all the time. it just seems like im Doomed. (WOW i sound dumb and childish) like ik logically this is probably incorrect, that im not actually just.. doomed but thats how it feels. whenever a good thing happens im just waiting for it to collapse on me. and usually it does in way or another. generally not because of anything ive done or havent done, it just ends up being shit.

and then. ive never had anyone. i dont have anyone. im alone in the world. like its not that im ignoring people i do have or choosing to omit them from my mind right now. i have a singular friend in the place where i live; my other two friends both live in the states. i live with someone who was a support for me until like last ... july or so, i think, who now makes me feel like shit (they arent being malicious its just a bunch of issues in our relationship. theres more on that in stuff ive posted before, if you feel like digging through my posts for a while go ahead and youll find more on that) and i have like 5% (out of 100%) trust for them. i have a therapist who i see once a week and ik shes invested in me, but thats her job. and i cant just call her whenever i want. i have several people for film stuff but theyre either just casual pals and then colleagues or just colleagues. i know a lot of people, who dont really show any investment in me as a person or their relationship with me and who i dont really click well with. and thats it.

and im so. im so in love with Film. all of it. (not The Film Industry obviously.) im so fucking in love with it. the only real concrete reason that i wont end up killing myself in the next like month or two is because Film. and i just. need. people. i need parents. or something. fuck.

i think part of this is probably the long-term ramifications of ongoing childhood sexual, physical, and psychological abuse and never really having good, consistent support cause id be surprised if that didnt fuck with my brain (and, yk, untreated severe childhood brain damage from tbis beginning at less than a year old). but it doesnt really matter does it. ive been through the shit time and again and its not like anyone has appeared and been like ‘hello, i see you never had parents, this is who i am, would you like to get to know each other for a while and maybe i could be your mom?’ cause thats literally what i need. i need parents. like i know theres a thing of ‘if you didnt have parents then you cant undo that damage’ but like idk. if someone has a bunch of unhealed broken bones that got broken years ago that are now causing them a lot of pain you wouldnt just be like ‘sorry, i see youre in trouble from this shit, but because it happened years ago theres nothing we can do’ cause there is??? i forget how i was gonna say this before but like. i didnt have parents. with the ‘parents’ i had its a scientific anomaly i lived past age three. i refuse to believe that having Good Parents and a Good Support System now would do nothing for me. cause it would.

im also facing impending homelessness due to a) welfare/disability programs not giving you enough to live off and b) not having a roommate/not having support systems/not having people. so that doesnt help.

i dont know how to do this. im on my own. im doing all i can. ive reached out to everyone i feel like i could reach out to and. im on my own.

help. i guess. idk what that means but im, once again, at an incredibly fucking AWFUL point in my life and i need help. i doubt anyone will be able to but. if youre able to then. idk. do something. ik that i sound desperate and pitiful and i literally dont care at all because i literally am desperate for support and i literally am at - ANOTHER - extremely low point in my life and its pitiful. im cringing at myself actually posting this because its like ‘you think youre actually find what you need via a tumblr post? where are you? cause thats not real life dude’ but i dont fucking have people to talk to (as you have already understood 🙃) and im tired and tired and tired and tired.

if you took the time to read this i thank you and i hope ur day is going vvv well

please dont reblog this!!

#childhood abuse tw #tw #tw alone in the world #suicide tw #please dont reblog this #no rb #homelessness tw

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pepperidgefarmremembers · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4, enjoy!

Joy

Save for his pale blue tattoo running across his shaved head, Aang was completely covered by his emerald green blanket. He was alone and preferred it that way. Every time he tried to expel the air from his lungs, a forceful sob escaped out of his control. His cheeks and the covers were wet from his tears. He felt like he never was going to breathe again. He became aware of the loud, throbbing in his chest. His cries became hoarse, a marked improvement from the huge, silent cries that permeated the room some time before. He didn't know how long he had been in the bed crying uncontrollably. It felt like hours to him and he wanted to be closed off for as long as possible. He was not in his bed and this was not his room. The unnecessarily big room at the Earth King's palace in Ba Sing Sei did nothing to make him feel better. He had lost his last human friend from his time before the War.

Aang knew somewhere deep in the logical part of his brain that Bumi would die sooner rather than later. He died in his sleep at the age of 123, not in a war or a battle or even in a natural disaster. This was supposed to be the most expected way to die. But another part of his brain, the irrational part, wanted Bumi to live forever. He sensed his guilt and selfishness. He loves Katara and her family and everyone he has met in this lifetime, but a big part of him believed that he deserved to have someone who knew him before he was the Avatar. He thought that for being something he never wanted to be, and facing all of the trauma he had faced, that he deserved one friend to remain. He felt even more terrible when his mind flashed to seeing Bumi's casket. For all of the people who have died, this felt like the worst. He didn't actually have to see any of the monks or his other friends from the past die. Going to his funeral, this made it real. He groaned as the door slowly creaked open.

A very pregnant Katara walked in and closed the door. "Aang," she whispered as she sat on their bed. "Katara, please, I don't want to talk about it," he said hoarsely. "I'm not trying to make you talk about it, you'll talk about it when you're ready. I didn't talk to anyone about my mom for a month after she died. No, I came in so you could feel the baby. The baby started kicking," Katara whispered. His breathing sped up as he felt his heart flutter wildly. He pulled the cover away from his face, looking at Katara with red, stingy eyes. "Really, the baby is kicking? Seriously?" a smile crept across his lips but faltered quickly. Noticing this change in expression, Katara hesitantly asked, "Does this not make you happy?" "No! No, of course not. Katara, I-I felt guilty for feeling happy right then. I'm excited that the baby is kicking, but is it wrong to feel happy and someone you love just died?" Aang asked. His wife placed her hands on top of his, resting them warmly. "There's nothing wrong with that. I remember a young monk once telling me to let my anger out, and then let it go. I think the same could be said for grieving. I see that you are in pain and I know that you are angry that he's gone, but only feeling angry and sad won't make you feel better. Find your balance and focus on the now. Take the time to let it out, and then let it go. I truly believe Bumi would agree with that. I don't think he would want you to feel like you can't be happy again," she spoke softly. For the first time since she came in, Aang met his wife's eyes.

"Katara… you're right. I was, am, angry. I felt like I deserved to have my friend stay with me forever. That's not fair to him and that's not right," Aang stated quietly. After a few moments of silence, he kissed his wife on the lips gently. Breaking away from the kiss, he asked calmly, "Can I feel our baby?" Beaming a big smile, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He gasped loudly. She noticed color and a smile returning to his face for what seemed like the first time in days. "That was the most amazing thing I have ever felt. I'm so happy to have you...and the baby. Katara, have you thought about any names?" Aang asked. She felt the light return to her and her husband, enveloping them in happiness. "Ummmm, I have had a few but none that I love. How about you?" she asked. He made a crooked smile and asked, "What do you think about Bumi?" "Aang…I think that's a great idea," she said with tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

*1 month later*

Katara cradled Bumi's head and passed him carefully to Aang, making sure his blanket remained snug. He had been waiting to hold his son for so long, but wanted her to spend all of the time she needed with him. Looking into Bumi's eyes, he detected a pull that he had only felt one other time in his life. This emotion appears to be similar to how he feels about Katara, but it was more protective. He knew he never wanted to let him go. He was in love with everything about his son, from his pale blue eyes to his unruly brown hair. He looked from Bumi to his beautiful, exhausted wife. He didn't know how he could ever thank her. "Katara, remember when I held the baby after Serpent's Pass when Appa was missing?" Aang asked. His weary wife looked at her husband, smiling with the memory dancing through her head. "Of course I do! Is this bringing back memories?" she asked. "Yeah, I remember you telling me to not stop caring. For a time about a month ago, I almost did. But I see love and the love of everyone I care about when I look at Bumi. You reminded me of what's important, Katara. What matters is now," he whispered glancing back to his son.

Aang walked over to his wife and kissed her lips, "I love you so much, Katara." She returned his kiss before breaking away, "I love you, too. I'm happy and so tired, I could fall asleep right now. Can you bring Bumi out to everyone? I know they're excited to see him." Giving a smile to his wife, he walked outside the tent into the chilly, autumn air. Hakoda, Sokka, and Suki ran over to Aang. The gust of wind, smiles, and excited murmurs almost knocked him over. "Now, THAT, is a Water Tribe baby. Gonna be a warrior someday like me, I can tell," Sokka said, filled with excitement. Sokka, Aang, and Hakoda laughed, surrounded by the feeling of hope which they had experienced only sparsely in their lives.

Aang gave a crooked smile and warning, "Sokka, I'm happy with that, just no meat please." Pouting with his arms folded across his chest, "Aww Aang, come on, that's not fair! Water Tribe babies need meat!" Suki elbowed Sokka in the ribs, quickly ending his rant to the delight of Aang and Hakoda. "Alright, alright. Can I at least show him how to use a boomerang?" Sokka pleaded with his brother-in-law. Aang sighed, his smile not falling for a minute, "Sure, Sokka. Just a wait a few years, okay?" Sokka jumped in exburenance, hugging his father and his wife in tandem. Aang felt the joy he had thought he lost a month ago. He reminded himself that love never goes away because of its energy, which is then reborn into new love. He was so grateful for the family he has now. He felt weightless.

#katara #aang #kataang #katara x aang #atla #atla fanfic #avatar the last airbender

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fragmentedink-archived · 5 years ago

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Hell to Pay: Part Thirty

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: Trigger warning for excess grieve, alcoholism, allusions to self harm and eating disorders, mentions of past suicide

It was closing in on midnight when Cameron decided to burn down his club. The burning blue and white flames reached the night sky and warmed his skin. Zareth was standing next to him with his arms folded over his chest, watching the destruction of his current occupation.

Cameron could tell that Zareth was fighting the urge to say something about this, but Cameron didn’t really care, but despite this, he found himself saying, “Will you just spit it out. I don’t have all night to watch you bite your tongue.”

Zareth somehow relaxed and stiffened up at the same time. “I… I understand why this needs to happen,” he finally said, “But… am I still… employed? Should I be looking for another job, because if so it’s going to be interesting finding someone that is as, uh, well paying.”

“That would be difficult,” Cameron said, drly. “Lucky for you, I have no intention of firing you. Finding competent bartenders who can keep Nik in line when I can’t babysit him is hard to do.”

Zareth finally relaxed all the way. “Thank gods,” he muttered under his breath.

Cameron rolled his eyes. “As long as you don’t abuse my generosity, you’ll keep being employed.” And alive.

Zareth side-eyed him. “You still got that guard locked up in that dungeon of yours?”

“Yep,” Cameron said. “Not done yet.”

“Will you ever be?”

“Doubtful, but we’ll see.”

Zareth snorted softly. “Good.” Zareth’s eyes lingered on Cameron’s frame long enough, Cameron cut him a cold look. “Have you lost a few pounds?”

“And if I have?” Cameron asked, mildly.

Zareth wisely closed his mouth and turned back to the club. The fire was burning so brightly, so wildly, most likely because of the alcohol Cameron hadn’t cared to remove before lighting the place on fire. Despite so much heat coming off the fire, Cameron still felt cold creep over his skin.

They stayed there for hours, watching the club burn to nothing but ash and fading memories before Cameron decided to go home and make sure Nik had made it into bed. He still couldn’t shake the chill from his fingers when he found Nik passed out on the couch, several bottles of alcohol on his glass coffee table and wings spread out around him. It was the first time Cameron had seen those dark red wings in months. The feathers were almost in a disarray from being hidden for so long.

Cameron went to haul Nik up and carry him to bed, silently thankful for angel bones being hollow. He once again peeled the blood and booze drenched clothing off the omega and threw them away before wrapping the idiot up in a blanket so he didn’t catch his death. He seemed to still be cold.

Nik made a small mrhp sound before opening his eyes just enough to look at Cameron before rolling over and promptly passing out again. After a few minutes, Cameron had heard Nik mumble Lev’s name and he tried to not sigh.

Too much of this felt so bone deep familiar and Cameron was trying to ignore the toll it was taking on both his brain and his body. He debated on getting in bed with Nik, but decided to back out of the room and go to the nearest room, but first stopping the nearest sentry and saying, “If Nik wakes up, or if he gets too restless, knock on my door and I will deal with it.”

The sentry nodded, and Cameron moved into Lev’s room, shut the door and began peeling out of his clothes. He stared at the large bed, perfectly made before shifting and climbing up on the mattress and moving to the top of the bed to the pillows. He kneaded the pillows, trying to not shred them and buried himself deep, wrapping his tail around him and closing his eyes.

A shiver jolting down his spine was the last thing Cameron felt before letting sleep pull him under.

----

Silas closed his eyes. Nope, nope, he did not want to be awake. Not that he had much of a choice. He could only sleep through so much of the day before he lost the ability to sleep at all. Which was bullshit, but his option was to accept this, or take the route of getting very very drunk, and he’d never been one to turn to alcohol to solve his problems before, so why start now?

He damn near fell off the bed when someone knocked on the door. Loudly. Two options. Bay, or Ash.

Silas groaned under his breath and rolled to his feet. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants just to be decent before he opened the door. Not Ash, because he had to look down to see Bay standing there.

“Yeah?” he asked. Bay looked utterly done, and the ridiculousness of the whole thing was only magnified by the fact that he was holding Lucas in his arms. “Shouldn’t you be in bed or something? Didn’t they cut you open?”

“You would know this how? You've been in your room for over a week.”

Silas blinked slowly. “I’m not in the mood to get chewed out, Bay. Bad enough I see Dad judging me in the mirror. Don’t need it in front of me too.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Bay’s face closed off, going stony and cold in a heartbeat. “You are not the only person who has lost and grieved family and you are a damned adult who does not have the luxury of burying your head in the sand. You have responsibilities, even if you lost someone. I gave you a week. time to get your shit together.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ve ever grieved before,” Silas said without thinking. He grimaced. “Listen. I- I don’t know- I need more time. I just- I need more time, Bay.”

Guilt pricked at him. Bay looked so damn tired. Lucas seemed unbothered though, giving a little yawn. “You. Have. Responsibilities,” Bay enunciated. “You can multitask like the rest of us.”

Silas didn’t know what to say. Eventually he just sighed. “Yeah, okay,” he finally said, if only because he knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. Bay leveled him a look, one Silas chose not to interpret, and then turned around.

Silas followed him into the kitchen, swallowing his bitter grumbling like the good little soldier he was.

He slumped into a chair, rubbing his face. He grunted at Nate’s greeting, even if he felt bad about it. Nate wasn’t doing anything wrong. He had his hands full, cooking breakfast. The little demon baby they were currently...what, fostering? Whatever. She was happy enough, meat spread across her face and tray as she wiggled away.

After dropping a kiss on Eden’s head, Nate set a plate down in front of Silas. “Food helps.”

Silas had to admit it looked a lot more appealing than the snacks he’d been munching at midnight when no one was up. He scooped up a fork, mumbling a thank you. He shot Eden a look as she started babbling around her fist, a never ending mantra of “Dadadadadadadada,” that was hard to ignore.

“She been doing that all morning?” Silas asked, trying not to be annoyed. She was just a baby, demon or not.

Bay shot him a dry look. “She’s a baby. That’s what they do.”

“Don’t see why anyone would want one.” Silas flushed, glancing at Bay, who was feeding Lucas. “No offense.”

Nate hummed. Bay said, “Do you ever think before you open your mouth, or is it just automatic for you?”

Silas shrugged. “Dad always said I had more mouth than sense. I don’t mean to say shit without thinking. Just pops out.” He drummed his fingers on the table before taking another bite before he said anything else stupid.

“I don’t know how you managed to stay in your room this whole time when you can’t stop moving,” Bay said, looking pointedly at Silas’ fingers.

Silas stilled, looking down. “Sorry,” he said automatically, before adding, “I slept.”

Bay returned his attention to Lucas. Silas took that chance to go back to eating. He had a few minutes of peace to eat his fill (apparently going a week eating nothing but snack foods and whatever leftovers he could scrounge up at midnight wasn’t particularly filling) before Bay’s phone rang. The only reason Silas knew it was Bay’s and not Nates, despite the fact that Nate was the one that pulled it out of his pocket, was the fact that the cover was a distinct green color.

Nate still waited until the fourth ring to bother answering. “Yes?” Nate asked pleasantly as he tricked Eden into taking another bite.In the next moment his face flattened. “What do you want?”

Silas perked up curiously, setting his fork down. It took a special person to make Nate lose his smile. “Who is it?” Silas asked curiously.

Nate’s expression became resigned, and looked to his mate. Bay didn’t even look up, just held his hand out for the phone. Nate passed it over wordlessly, leaving Silas to put together who it was.

Silas sighed, and poked at his plate, rather than ask again.

“What the hell do you want, Cameron? I'm in the middle of feeding your kid.”

Oh. Silas made a face. Eden, for her part, gave an excited shriek, slamming her little hands on the tray like she knew exactly was on the phone, before starting up her little mantra, yelling “Dadadadada,” at the top of her lungs.

Bay listened silently to Cameron, before exchanging a look with Nate. “He’s busy. Helping me.”

What in the world could Cameron need help from Nate for? Silas flicked a look between them, before getting up to put away the dishes.

“I... could go...?” Nate offered.

“Why should you help that bastard?” Silas asked, with more sharpness to his tone than he intended.

Bay’s annoyed expression confirmed Silas had been too hasty to snark. “Silas will be on his way shortly,” Bay said, before hanging up.

“Excuse me?” Silas said flatly. “What makes you think that is a good idea?”

Bay smiled a bit and said, “It is because I said so. Now go get ready. I'm sure you're accustomed to babysitting.”

“Your logic is flawed,” Silas muttered, heading for his bedroom. “And I don’t think Cameron needs babysitting.”

He pretended to not hear how Bay and Nate both snorted at his retreating back. He had to go searching for a clean pair of jeans, but he had far too many t-shirts laying around. He snagged a jacket, deciding to put on his shoes as he went down the hall. By the time he made it to the kitchen, his mood hadn’t improved, but he highly doubted that would change Bay’s mind at all.

“Why exactly am I going over there again?” he grumbled.

“I thought you already knew. You seem to think you know everything since my logic is apparently flawed.”

Silas shot him a look. “You don’t have to be a dick.”

“Pot meet kettle. You're keeping an eye on NIk since Cameron has things to do and Nate is helping me.”

“They’re more of a dick than you are,” Silas complained, even as he grabbed his car keys off the counter.

Bay ignored him, taking care of the fussy baby in his arms. “Thank you,” Nate said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Silas said, and walked out the door.

---

Nik hummed pleasantly while stumbling through the house towards the knocking on the door. He almost fell through it when he opened it, trying to lean against the doorframe. “Well, well,” He said, “Another one of Lev’s ex’s as I live and breathe. Are you wanting the next best thing?”

“Ew.”

“What? Not submissive enough for you?” Nik asked. “Whatever, your loss. I’m sure Cameron is around here somewhere.” Nik turned around and almost walked straight into a wall before making his way to the kitchen. He went for a bottle of tequila, well aware of Silas trailing after him. “So what brings you to my neck of the woods,” he said, working the lid off the bottle. He pressed his back against the counter, mouth quirked to the side as he looked Silas over. “New tats?”

“Babysitting you.” Silas siad, before holding out an arm, showing off the display of new ink. “Almost every day.”

“Babysitting me?” Nik downed a steady drink of the booze, letting it burn on the way down. If he tried hard enough, he could make out two of Silas. Really was unfair how gorgeous SIlas was. Apparently Lev had a type. “I guess Nate’s too busy to come see his lonesome baby brother.” He nearly tripped over the words, but still barely managed to get them into a coherent sentence.

Silas looked uncomfortable. “Maybe you should slow down?” he suggested, trying to steady Nik.

Nik shoved his hand away. “Maybe you should take that edge off,” he countered. “Aren’t you still pining after your murdered ex boyfriend? Stars knows I am. There’s plenty to choose from. I suggest getting something strong and something Cam won’t notice missing.”

“I don’t drink when I feel like shit.”

Nik gave him a mock salute before downing another swig. “And thus you are the better man than I.”

Silas grunted. “You’re as bad as Amara.”

Nik’s brows flicked up and he eyed Silas from head to toe. “Did she peg you, too? She does love putting that strap in men’s asses. And as I understand it, you let Lev put his cock in yours, too.”

Silas snorted. “We haven’t fucked in years, and no, she didn’t peg me.”

Nik smirked. “I guess that does make me the better man then.”

Silas just shook his head, apparently not agreeing with Nik’s assessment. “We were better drinking buddies than fuck buddies.”

“Well,” Nik said. “We were both.” He took another long drink from the bottle before sliding down onto the floor.

“Congratulations,” Silas said, dryly.

Nik dropped his head back against the cupboard doors, blinking tears from his eyes. “And now she hates me. Which, fine. It’s fine. Whatever. It was going to end badly anyway. It always does.”

He could have sworn Silas gave him an odd look. “I doubt she hates you.”

Nik tossed the half empty bottle to the side, letting it roll across the floor, getting tequila everywhere while he pulled his knees up to his chest to drop his head on his arms. He ignored Silas’ sigh and movement to pick up the bottle.

“Wow, they really meant babysitting.”

Nik’s head snapped up so sharply his vision blurred. “Fuck you. I am a damned adult. I don’t need your pity or anyone else's. Just because they all can’t handle me drinking a little doesn’t mean I need my hand held. Apparently I’m the only one that can’t seem to actually hide the fact I have feelings.”

Nik stumbled to his feet after a few tries, nearly smacking his head against the counter. He pushed his way past Silas down to find Cameron. The sentries’ eyes followed after him and Nik smacked a palm against Cam’s office door. “Hey, bastard. You want to tell me why you sent Lev’s ex boyfriend to come babysit me.”

He didn’t give a single damn that Silas followed after him.

The door opened and Cameron stood on the other end, looking unimpressed, but somehow gaunt too. Though, that was probably because Nik was shit faced. “I have things to do,” Cameron said, mildly, “And I don’t have the time to hold your hand.” He flicked a look at Silas over Nik’s head. “I trust you can be competent with my omega.”

Silas made a face. “Not the first drunk I’ve wrangled. Won’t be the last.”

“Hm. For the sake of your kneecaps I do hope that is the truth.”

Nik could almost imagine the way Silas rolled his eyes. “I’ve spent enough time with Amara, and she’s yet to marry the ground despite her apparent love story with it.”

“Difference is,” Cameron said,’ “You break my omega and you can sit next to Sage down in my basement.” Cameron looked to Nik. “Go get in bed,” he ordered. “Sleep your idiocy off.” When Nik didn’t move fast enough for Cameron, Cam said, “Take him to bed.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

---

Just because Silas could take care of drunks didn’t mean he liked it. He somehow got Nik to what he assumed was the right bedroom, though he kept his hands off Nik the whole time, unless Nik was close to face planting. Something told him Nik wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You gonna actually sleep it off?” he asked Nik, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Nik shuddered into the bedding, curled up on the edge of the bed. Silas didn’t ask, just shuffled into the bedroom and picked the chair at the desk.

Just in time to see Nik start crying.

Oh for fucks sake, Silas thought tiredly. He didn’t have the emotional intelligence to deal with this. This wasn’t his omega, and he didn’t know the right way to deal with this situation. If it’d been Lev, he could have pulled him into his lap, but this wasn’t Lev. Because Lev was fucking dead.

Silas bit back a sigh, and scooted the chair over to the side of the bed. He cleared his throat, and then admitted, “I don’t know how to help.”

It was the voice of a broken man that came from Nik. “I don’t want your help, I want my fucking boyfriend.”

“Don’t we all,” Silas muttered, rubbing his face.

He didn’t expect the alarm clock chucked at his face, and only Nik’s drunken aim and sheer reflex let him catch it.

“No one asked you,” Nik said.

“You’re not the only one that lost him, you know,” Silas shot back. “I’m not gonna pretend to understand Cameron one bit but he did too. And his goddamn family. You don’t have to take it out on everyone around you. It’s no one’s fault but the man who killed him.”

“Are you saying you’re his family? You, who let Remiel have him?”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Silas snapped. “I meant his grandmother. His cousins. I wasn’t once talking about me.”

Nik turned to look at him, the gold of his bloodshot eyes contrasting sharply with the dark brown of his pupils. His expression was eerily blank. “Sure you’re not.”

Silas leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to lay out my own grief for you? I’m a little out of practice, but this isn’t the first former lover I’ve lost. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Nik rolled onto his back, laughing ruefully. “Did your former lover kill herself? Because mine sure did.”

So apparently they were exchanging traumas now. Lovely. “No. My dad sent two into the front lines, declared a third a traitor so he could cast them out, and straight up executed the fouth. Those are the ones that died, at least. The rest got out alive. At least from dear old dad.” No, Lev’s death wasn’t on Silas’ hands. It was someone else’s family that had gotten him killed.

Maybe that was too far. Nik was quiet for a bit, before rubbing his eyes. Silas’ gaze was drawn to his wrists, and a frown twisted on his face, but he didn’t say a damn word. Wasn’t his place. Hell, wasn’t his place to tell Nik off, and he’d already flubbed that.

“I told him I was sorry,” Nik said without warning.

Silas blinked. “What?” He blinked again. “What for?”

Nik rolled to face the opposite wall. “Doesn’t matter. He didn’t believe me, and he left.”

“That doesn’t sound like Lev,” Silas said, mostly to himself, before adding, louder, “Why’d he leave? Last I talked to him he was head over heels. With both of you, and that baby of yours.”

“I made him mad.”

Silas snorted. “Lev doesn’t get mad.” He paused, and then corrected himself. “Didn’t. Didn’t get mad.”

“Yes he does. I made him mad, and he left me.”

“What did you do?” Silas asked, genuinely curious now. “Must have been something big, because I’ve never seen Lev angry before.”

Nik’s “I don’t know,” was a pathetic, broken sound, and then he started to shake with sobs.

This time Silas couldn’t stop his sigh. He leaned over, hesitantly brushing his hand through Nik’s hair. “I don’t think he was mad at you. Knowing Lev, he was scared of something.”

That didn’t stop Nik from crying, though he did seem to ease up a bit, curling in on himself as Silas awkwardly pet his hair. Silas swallowed around the lump in his throat, and tried for a light tone.

“It wasn’t your fault. And it’s not likely Lev was angry with you. I know- knew him well. He doesn’t get mad. He gets scared, and he goes to find somewhere he can curl up and feel safe for a little while.”

Nik mumbled, “I didn’t make him feel safe.”

Silas gave an unsteady laugh. “No one could, sometimes. Not me, not Amara, not his grandmother. He had issues, and I don’t care how well he was doing with you both, they were bound to come back around eventually.”

Nik didn’t even respond. After several minutes, Silas realized he’d cried himself to sleep. Only then did he pull back, slumping in the chair, and wiping his eyes. The fuck did he do to deserve this?

---

Cameron had stuck around just long enough to make sure that Nik had fallen asleep before starting for Bay’s house. He folded Nik and Silas’ exchange and put it in the corner of his mind while he went to knock on Bay’s door. Eventually Nate answered it, face resigned. “Your baby is in the kitchen.”

Cameron didn’t bother responding and shouldered his way past and went for the kitchen. Eden perked up, hands smacking the highchair tray as she gave him a sharp squeal. The little terror started bouncing in her seat, her “dadadadadadada” grating on Cameron’s nerves. But he still went to pick her up despite her incessant wiggling in his arms.

“See, she’s not dead,” Bay said, dryly. “Even followed your schedule so you wouldn’t bitch at us about it.”

Cameron ignored him and pressed his lips to the top of Eden’s head, inhaling her scent. It was mixed with the faint smell of lavender shampoo. “You need out of these gaudy clothes,” Cameron said, completely ignoring his idiot brother’s remark.

“Those are the clothes you gave us,” Nate said, from the doorway.

Cameron shouldered his way past the angel and down the hallway to the nursery where he made quick work of changing the wiggling baby demon out of the pastel outfit and into something far more palatable. Eden squealed loudly when Cameron picked her up again, her incessant ‘dadadadada’ annoying him to the point he lodged a pacifier in her mouth. “Shush,” he hissed against her ear.

Eden giggled at him around it. But when Cameron had gone to settle into the rocking chair, Eden was already suckling at it and was melted against his chest. He ran his fingers down her back absently, feeling her ribs, her skin, her breathing. He stayed in the nursery, relishing the quiet until she was deep asleep. Cameron was jerked back into focus so he could put her back in her crib. Not a second later, Nate appeared in the doorway. Face drawn, Nate said, “Everything okay?”

“It is now that she’s in decent clothes,” Cameron said, walking around him. “Does no one in this house have decent taste.”

“You gave us those clothes,” Nate said, flatly. “They’re from your house. Maybe get a snack and you’ll calm down.”

Cameron halted to a stop and looked over his shoulder at him. “I am being perfectly calm,” he said, coolly.

Nate leveled him a long, far too knowing look, but elected to drop it and just followed Cameron back to the kitchen where Nate sat a plate of food right in front of him. Cameron looked at it and then pushed it to the side before looking to his brother. Bay was already looking at him, with a far too old look. “How long are we keeping her?” he asked. “I assume until the threat is resolved?”

Cameron drummed his fingers against the counter and thought about it. “Until I decide to bring her back,” he finally said. “I don’t want her anywhere near Nik right now.”

Both Bay and Nate were gauging him with long looks before wisely dropping this current line of conversation. Bay looked at Cameron’s untouched plate before pulling it over to himself. “If you’re going to waste food, then I’ll eat it since Ash cannot be found.”

Nate nipped at Bay’s shoulder, only to get a gentle face-push to back away. Nate sulked, but not before placing a kiss to Lucas’ head and a quick kiss to Bay’s cheek and scurrying to the opposite side of the counter. Cameron felt vaguely disgusted. “I’m going to leave, I think.”

Nate hummed. “You know where the door is.”

Cameron ignored his quip and found his way to the car before going to meet with contractors about wiping clean the slate and rebuilding his club from the ground up, wiping traces of blood and ruin and beginning anew.

tagging: @idreamonpaper @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @halstudies @alittleyellowdinosaur @mis-lil-red

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #hell to pay #cameron and nik and lev #ch: cameron #ch: nik #lev

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human-trash-fire · 5 years ago

Text

Beautiful Disaster: Ch. 4 (Pynch Soulmate-AU)

I realized I never posted Ch 4 for my Pynch AU! So here it is, for anyone interested, HERE is a link to my masterlist where you can find the first 3 chapters. (THIS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT READING THE OTHERS) I’m also on Ao3 as glam_reaper2 <3

Anyways, this fic is the writing I’m most proud of, and I can’t wait to drop Ch 5 this week!

TW: Adam’s Dad/ mentioning abuse, graphic depiction of violence, mention of suicide attempt.

Adam Parrish woke in the early hours on the third day after the alley. The pre-dawn glow streaming through the crack in his curtains cast shadows on the plants and books covering his shelves. Eyes heavy and throat raw, Adam took a deep breath. In through his nose, oxygen flooding his lungs, battling to release the weight that had long since laid claim on the space behind his ribs. He held it until he thought he might choke. Vision blurring, heartbeat hammering in his ears, a pulsing reminder that he was still here; then in a rush, he released. The momentary weightlessness was a small reprieve.

The tiny arm slung across his abdomen a reminder that, at least for now, he wasn’t alone. Blue had crawled into his bed the afternoon before and stayed with him through the long night. Adam moved her arm off and slid as carefully and quietly as he could from the bed, he didn’t wish to wake her. She needed sleep, the exhaustion evident on her face even now.

He moved toward the window, reaching out to open his curtains, allowing the morning light to flood in. And there he stood, hand still holding the curtain, eyes trained on the horizon. He remained unmoved, watching the sun crawl from the earth bathing everything in its path in colors Adam had never seen. They were fresh, warm, soft. They stole his breath and for a moment, a lifetime, he stood frozen and allowed that hopeful warmth to settle in his bones. In awe of the majesty of nature, swallowed whole by the gift of color, broken by it.

His breath stuttered.

The man in the alley would never see a sunrise, or a sunset. He had given Adam this gift and left mere hours before Adam could have reciprocated. His thoughts spiraled, fingers tightening on the curtain, eyes burning. The sunrise moved from photographic clarity to an impressionist painting, and salt kissed his lips.

“Adam…” Blue breathed from his side, reaching out and pulling aside the second curtain to allow a full view.

“It’s-” Adam choked on a whisper, “It��s magnificent, and he’ll never see.”

Adam spent the rest of the week coping in the only way he knew how: throwing himself into his jobs and school work. Blue and Henry had closed ranks, showering him with their own personal versions of love.

For Henry, it was distraction, mindless conversation, a steady companionship during hours in the library. Henry Cheng, though initially someone Adam never saw friendship potential in, was more than most gave him credit for. On the outside, he was loud. From his clothes to hair, he was unabashedly himself: caring, vibrant, loyal. Adam appreciated the effort, never pressured to talk about what was clearly tearing him apart.

Blue was the opposite, in a very Blue way. She brought him coffees and hugs, asked him about his mood, and made highly unsubtle references to “healthy coping mechanisms.” She was kind but stern, pushing him towards what he knew logically was the next step. But this trauma was too big, too heady to file away in the closet in his mind marked “DANGER.”

It had been a little over a week since he watched his first true sunrise when Blue decided to take off the kid gloves.

“Look.” Her voice was as unwavering as her eye contact, sitting next to him on the chipped-white metal bench in the alley beside Nino’s Cafe where they took their break. Nino’s was his second job, and Blue’s “fun money/ free caffeine” job, covering the hours she wasn’t working on her photography portfolio.

Adam held her gaze, and his breath. Her tone brokered no room for argument, and he knew he had spent enough time avoiding answering anything truthfully… Her forcing a “talk” on him was inevitable. He nodded once to indicate he was listening, and waited for her to continue.

“I know you aren’t ready to talk, and that is completely fine. I won’t bullshit you and pretend I have any idea what kind of pain you’re in. No- no,” she held up a finger to cut off Adam’s rebuttal. “Don’t shake your head and feed me you’re ‘i’m fine’ because we both know you’re not. That being said you’re a grown ass man, who makes his own decisions and I respect that. But, Adam?”

He cocked his head to the side, and made a noncommittal grunt.

“You need to do something. You know I always advocate therapy, but -don’t scoff asshole- but, I’m also aware that it’s ‘not your thing’ so I had another idea. Here,” Blue thrust a bag towards Adam. It was a recycled paper shopping bag, rolled at the top and lighter than he expected.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Open it.”

He unrolled the bag skeptically and peered inside. His right eyebrow hitched as he looked away from the bag’s contents and towards Blue. “The fuck?”

“Letters. That’s my idea. Something I never told you but, when my dad left I had all this rage and I had no one to direct it towards. My mom got me a pack of envelopes and blank paper and told me to try writing a letter to him. She told me I didn’t ever have to send what I wrote to him if I didn’t want too, and I didn’t. The act of venting everything in a direct way really helped me, it was more than a diary, or whatever, because these were shots at an intended target. I could be mad and then seal it in an envelope and the weight in my chest lifted a little. I thought maybe…” She motioned towards the bag with a crooked smile and a shrug.

“Letters…” Adam repeated. “To a dead guy?”

“Yes.”

“Blue, I don’t know.”

“Look, just take the damn bag. Do it, or don’t. I can’t and wont force you. But at least consider it.” Then she rose to her full height, the most intimidating 5 feet he had ever seen, giving him what could only be called a “mom look” and sauntered back inside.

That night, weighted down by grief and half delirious with exhaustion, Adam opened the bag. He pulled out the box of white envelopes, cracked open the pack of college-rule paper, and grabbed a black pen from the cup at the right of his desk. This is so stupid, he thought as he put his pen to paper...

i. You, I never knew your name. You left before I ever had the chance to ask. I wish more than anything that I knew your name, at least then I’d be able to grieve a person instead of a stranger in an alley. You were… Exquisite. Even floating in a pool of your own life, you were beautiful. You were. Past tense. Gone. I dreamed of knowing you. The idea of you, in abstract my whole life. I didn’t know who you’d be, but, still I dreamed. It was my secret. The odds of finding your soulmate are so slim these days, and yet… In the quiet hours of the night, bone tired and barely standing at work, or when the hunger pains threatened to cripple me, I’d pull you out of the careful place in my mind, and dream. It’s dangerous to dream. I know better now. You fucking left me. How dare you? It’s probably a good thing you’ll never read these letters. Blue, my best friend, suggested I write them to help me “find closure.” That’s very Blue. She’s all about self-care and talking through feelings. Henry, my other friend, agrees with her. So here I am, attempting to vomit my heart on a page in hope of finding some semblance of peace. There is so much I wish I could have told you, and so much more that would have terrified me to admit. That’s one benefit to your never knowing me I suppose... Honestly, it was probably for the best that, in the end, you never had the chance to try knowing me. I’m a disaster. I’m unknowable. And that’s, fine. Ya know? I’m okay, I think. Holding onto that which sets me apart, and working my hardest to fix everything else that’s in my power. That’s how I got here, Georgetown. I did it myself. That’s something I would have told you, because it’s something I am proud of, though I’ll never say. I worked 3 jobs through highschool, made straight A’s, volunteered, and slaved away. I saved money in a shoebox under a loose vent in my trailer to buy books. My dad would have killed me, literally, if he’d ever found that. I was supposed to give them everything, but I hid that. I hid so much. I got really good at hiding in that place. Henrietta… What a fucking shit show. Anyways, I saved and pushed myself. I think I ate maybe once a day for those years, if I was lucky? I know I barely slept. But it was worth it the day the acceptance letter came in the mail. Georgetown. 3 hours away. A world away. A full ride. I was so fucking happy that day, I even allowed myself to dip into the shoebox to buy a coke fom the gas station by the autoshop I worked at. That was my life then, and still is now, to some extent. Small rewards, focus on the bigger picture. Work, work, work, and then one day have the power and money, the status, the ability to fight for people like me. I had barely put the box back when my dad, Robert, saw me holding my acceptance letter, and a $20. I wasn’t allowed to have money in my room, even if I made it myself. It was “for the family” he always said. “Do you want us to starve?” “you think you’re so fancy at your charter school don’t you?” always the same. Always cruel. So I’m standing there, money and letter in hand, smiling like an idiot when he comes in. I’ll never forget that day. I’d taken so many beatings from him by the time I was 17, it was second nature really. But this one? For some reason it surprised me. I thought for sure that he would be capable of some sense of joy. I got into college, for free. But Robert wasn’t like that. I could smell the beer on his breath. Keystone, always fucking Keystone. It smells like piss. It still makes me gag. “What the fuck is that?” he asked. And I didn’t know how to respond. I remember stuttering. I was always stuttering, mumbling, hiding, lying. Anything to avoid the inevitable. “I asked you a question, boy.” I panicked. “Its, uh, a letter, sir. An acceptance letter. From college. I-I got in.” Apparently it wasn’t the right response. I don’t remember much after that, I know he told me I had no right to hide money because I “owed him.” I always owed him. For breathing, for having the audacity to live. That night was the worst I can remember though. He wouldn’t stop. He was screaming about how I wasn’t allowed to just leave. I took more hits than usual, but I could have handled it. I’m no stranger to broken bones and bruises. But I was so scared this time. I knew, somehow I knew that this was it. If I didn’t get out he was going to kill me. Kill me because of a $20 and a full ride. I tried to run. I did. I never made it very far though. He caught me, and the last thing I remember was a screaming pain in the left side of my head. I don’t know why I’m even writing all this, maybe Blue and Henry were right? I’ve never even told them all of this. I really doubt I would have told you this had I been given the chance. I would have stuck to the barest details: Deaf in left ear. Accident. Long time ago. I don’t talk to my parents. Or maybe I wouldn’t have hid…Soulmates are a safe space right? Through whatever magic, or science, or God (if you believe in one of those, I don’t- hope you wouldn’t have cared) we are supposed to be able to share it all. A balance. A quiet place. A home. I wonder what you would have said if I told you? I hope it wouldn’t have been pitying. I don’t do pity. I’ll never know that though, which is maybe a relief? I don’t know. I hope you would have been proud though, that I did get out. Of what I’m doing with my life now. I haven’t even told “you” have I? I got a double Bachelors in Political Science and Conflict Resolution. I’m currently taking a Masters in Public Policy. I know, most people see “Georgetown” and “Politics” and think “Here’s another white guy with dreams of power.” But it’s not that. I’m going to change things, my thesis is on Domestic Violence: prevention and programs. I’m going to fight for the kids like me, in the homes like mine. I’m going to fight for every time I didn’t hit back. Every bruise and broken bone. I’m going to change the world for the Adam Parrish’s. I’m going to bring an end to the Roberts. That’s what I’m doing now. I guess I’ll be okay without you. I’ve always been better at work than relationships anyway. If we’re being honest you probably would have hated me. I’m terrible with making time for anyone. I have goals though, I don’t have the luxery to fuck around. I’m not conducive to a partnership, and I’m not even sure I’d be capable of love. I would have tried for you though. Maybe you needed that. Maybe if you’d had it, love, you wouldn’t have ended up in the alley. I don’t know. I wish I could ask you why. I just… fuck. This letter is getting severely out of hand. It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did. And that’s that I suppose. Forever a mystery, the man with the beautiful face and ice blue eyes. “I used to build dreams about you.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benediction That’s all you are now. A dream.

He folded the pages in thirds, slipping them in an envelope, and sealing them away. On the outside he wrote the number one, then slid the envelope into a crack between one of his potted plants and a row of books on his window sill. Then Adam crawled into bed and finally slept; for once it was a dreamless- restorative sleep.

Shattered heart hanging heavy in his chest, Adam looked up when the bell above the door to Nino’s chimed the arrival of a new patron. The young couple made their way towards the counter. The smaller man leaning lovingly into the side of his partner, while the taller man looked down lovingly, arm draped across the first’s shoulders. It was a quiet moment, something so personal and beautiful Adam looked down, he didn’t want to intrude. His hands were shaking, a bitter jealousy crashing like waves in a storm through his entire being. He took a steadying breath, trying to quell the rage, and uncapped the black marker, grabbing a cup to prepare to take their order.

“Hi,” he bit out through his customer service smile. He looked up from the cup in hand, allowing a little of his Henrietta lilt to color his words into something close to friendly. “Welcome to Nino’s, what can I get started for you today?”

“Hi! Can we please get a- Oh, wow!” The shorter man had stopped mid-sentence and leaned close to Adam across the counter. “Your eyes are so blue! Babe, have you ever seen eyes so beautiful?” Adam wanted to fucking snap. The larger man leaned in as well and hummed in approval.

“No I haven’t, sorry. I know this is probably so inappropriate,” he leaned back, tone placating. “We don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, this is just all new for us-”

Adam didn’t fucking care.

“-Anyways, can we please get two Americanos, and a a slice of apple pie with two forks?”

Of course, Adam nodded. He finished the order and made the drinks with shaking hands and a barely controlled rage burning him from within, blooming pink across his cheeks.

He couldn’t breathe.

When he returned home, he slammed his door and flew to his desk; practically tearing a lined sheet from the pile of supplies from Blue and began to write. Pen pressed so hard small tears formed in the paper as he purged…

ii.

You.

Fuck you for what you did. For what you did to yourself. What you did to that man in the alley. Screaming. Begging. Holding you together.

For what you did to me.

I hate you.

I hate that I love you. The idea of you. Because you couldn’t even wait for me. I never got the chance to love the real you, and I loathe you for it.

You fucking left me alone.

All this goddamn color, all these beautiful things, and I’m still living in black and white.

I’m drowning.

You were my hope.

You were my end game. Sometimes, I fear you’ll be my end.

I can’t get away from the idea of you.

I see your face every time I close my eyes.

You’re haunting me.

You’re ruining me.

Fuck you.

I hate you.

Fuck, You.

You…

Why did you leave me all alone?

When he finished his breath was ragged, chest rising and falling in heavy swells. Angry tears drying splotches across the page before him, turning certain words into a blurry but still legible watercolor. He threw his pen across the room, shoved the letter into the envelope marked 2, and placed it alongside the first.

Adam spent the remaining days of September numb. He had taken to carrying a few sheets of paper and envelopes in his messenger bag in case he ever needed them.

It was on one particular afternoon -two days before September ended- as he sat in Nino’s sipping coffee and staring blankly at the textbook in front of him, that he wrote his third letter. He felt untethered, unbalanced, the sky outside was such a pale blue that his mind began to wander. With a sigh, he pulled out a sheet of paper, and an envelope marking the outside with the number three.

iii.

You,

I’m so lost…

I can’t fall asleep without seeing your eyes.

Unfocused.

Unblinking.

Ice cold.

Fathomless.

Broken.

I wonder how they looked when you were happy… I hope you were happy, truly happy. At least once there before the end.

I bet they were beautiful.

Come back.

Please…

Adam stayed staring at that plea, that unanswered wish, until his coffee was cold. He wondered if this would ever end, he wasn’t unfamiliar with want. Adam had wanted more than anyone he had ever known. He was accustomed to the pain, the resentment that came with wanting that which you cannot have, but unlike all the other times this was wholly unattainable. No amount of extra shifts, A’s on homework, perfect test scores, hard-work would ever give him this particular want.

He packed his bag slowly, tossing his coffee in the trash by the door and waving half-heartedly at his coworker behind the counter. The bell chimed his departure and he made his way out into the chilly September afternoon. The walk from Nino’s to his apartment was blessedly short. As he rounded the corner at the end of the block he was assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke.

Adam looked up, chill already forgotten, for the source and his eyes landed on a peculiar sight: A handsome man, in a nice crisp peacoat and cashmere scarf. Standing, hands clasped behind his neck, staring into the open maw of a smoking, Candy-Orange, ‘73 Camero.

“Hey!” he half shouted, making his way towards the gentleman, his greeting had clearly disturbed an emotional crisis. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, did you maybe need some help?”

“Oh, hi. Yes, Hello. I’m, no thank you. I’m alright. I’ll give someone a call, The Pig is an auto-shop frequent flyer I’m afraid. Though, I’ve never seen it smoke quite so heavily.” The man half laughed, and shook his head.

“I don’t mind, I’m actually a mechanic down at Boyds. I can take a peak and see if I can do anything here if you’d like? Save you a trip.”

“Are you sure? I’d be more than happy to pay y-”

Adam shook his head fiercely, “No need. I’m Adam, by the way.”

He held out his hand towards the man, who grasped his in kind. A vibrant smile lit his face, “Lovely to meet you Adam, I’m Gansey.”

#pynch #pynch fic #Adam Parrish #ronan lynch #ronan x adam #blue sargent #gansey #gangsey #bd au

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