#worth noting: i have dolls who i would consider more frightening looking and have never had the same kinds of experiences with them

[infinitefinalsweek]

The haunted doll in question..... has a wind up key in his back which will play send in the clowns. Gave me an intense sense of dread and nausea when I first saw him. Ever since I got him I have been having a reoccurring nightmare of him being in a house on fire and going "the burning....the melting...." over and over. Also started experiencing FUCKING VERTIGO shortly after getting him. I will never get rid of him next question

[mistressemmedi]

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

Greetings from Miley Cyrus - phenomenal numbers.

The streams of Zitti e Buoni are growing by the second, and ahead of Muse, on the top of the English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. We almost tripled followers after Rotterdam (from 1.4 to 3.3 million, ed). Contagious and universal madness: T-shirts and merchandise sold out in 10 minutes. Like records, tickets for a tour that adds dates and expands on maps. They are even looking for us in festivals where the Rolling Stones have played. - Thomas

After the whole cocaine scandal that was started against us from France, which was later denied by my drug test, in Spain there people have been making murals with my face saying "No drugs". Some tweets made us laugh: «Congratulations, Italy! I have never been so sure that four people have fucked each other ". Miley Cyrus started following us. "You are great". “You are more” . - Damiano

From rags to riches - what a story

It was only 2016, and we were playing in restaurants, on the streets, in via del Corso (famous street in Rome). Damiano without a microphone, Thomas's guitar with broken strings, Ethan drummed on a cajón. At the occupations of the high schools in Rome (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first gigs and half an hour of fame, between those who criticized us and those who said "these guys are so cool". One of the rare times in which they offered to pay us to play - 50 euros each - we offered that money to those after us, in exchange for the chance to play during their time slow, as we knew there would have been a bigger crowd. We already understood then how it worked. That visibility was worth more than the money. We still think so ». - Victoria

The intimacy of rock - Choice of a genre

Music allows is this miracle which allows one to talk about very personal and private topics, even difficult and delicate ones. They are and remain deeply yours, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage which is like a delivery, they also find their place in you, their elaboration. They are overcome, they are accepted. One moment it feels aggressive, one moment later a (soft) ballad. It's very cathartic. - Damiano

Against panic - The stage as therapy

I have suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it is a problem that I have worked on thanks to a course of psychotherapy, to my friends and family. Playing has helped me not to let myself be paralyzed by my fears, not to be limited in my private and professional life. I have learned to accept, to live with this side of me. I don't hide it. I no longer feel ashamed. - Victoria

This belief that only crazy people go to the psychologist is widespread ignorance. Nobody is born learned. And it is often difficult to understand why we are here, let alone the derivation and direction of our desires. It is a long and legitimate journey towards one's clarity. - Damiano

Essere fuori di testa – Ma diversi da loro (Be out of your mind - But different from them)

Already feeling a strong passion for something that is not a 'regular' profession but an artistic language, it puts you on a level where you're an anomaly, and while you're neither superior nor inferior to others, it places you in the condition of what breaks the mold but you're also being at a loss, leaving it to you to be bold and to take risks, hoping that they will pay off and land you somewhere. "What good is it if you don't stand out on your own?". You want to give it an aesthetic to your artistic dream, but to others it boils down to " You dress differently! You must be gay! ”, I'm 22 now and it makes me laugh, but at 17 it had an effect on me too. - Damiano

The beauty of being unique - Of believing in that and defending it

After all, we are all different not because we want to be alternative but because really no one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty. - Ethan

Fluid sexuality - Pride is freedom

We appreciate heels on men, we kiss each other, we have an open, extended mind, and we are proud of it. The horizons become vast, beyond the oppression of conservative families. With information on the web, knowledge is enriched and with it the possibility that minorities will be fewer and fewer, because majorities will be fewer and fewer. This will lower the volume to insults and bullying. If social networks can reach a village of 50 souls to reveal to someone, who is afraid of the darkness, that someone has felt that same fear.. There is no longer the need to give it a name, to define that "something" to fear, to brand it with labels that only limit you. Definitions have always had this effect on me. Gender should not even be considered in a person's judgment. Let alone orientation ". - Victoria

Sexism - A culture to be dismantled

Emma (Italian singer) dropped the bomb:" When I went to Eurovision, they insulted me over a pair of shorts. Damiano - half naked and in heels - was never criticized ". The judgment against women is constant, ferocious, and demeaning (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool but Vic a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader she is domineering and pain in the ass, who is successful because only because of her looks [and not the hard work she puts in]). As a male I am privileged, the harassment I suffer is not comparable to that experienced by a woman, the comments on my aesthetics are focused only on my aesthetics and do not insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thinking in a systemic way. But I did find myself in a situation, out of nowhere, with someone who, pulling close to her for a selfie, started licking my face ... "What do you want, did you ask me?" Consent exists, and it is a must ». - Damiano

To grow as a person - The only rule to follow

For me, to conform is the total opposite of educating oneself, and the asphyxiation of one's expression (of freedom). Fortunately, I did not suffer heavy bullying, to the point where I felt I needed to change to adapt to how others saw me. But the matrix of who I am and the aggression that marks me is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and loves dolls, then allow me the freedom to do so. I used to be a kid who wanted long hair and played with Barbies. My friends, as a teenager, looked my long hair and teased me: "You have to find yourself a girl with a short hair to make up for it". My grandparents took the dolls away from me and said: “Stop it, they're not for you” ». - Ethan

“I was six and I already could not tolerate the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things typically defined as feminine as a child, and they made fun of me for skating, for playing soccer, for not wearing skirts, for giving myself the chance to be as I wanted to be. I suffered a little, as I was bullied, but I had courage to stay true to myself, and today thanks to that courage I know that I could have been much more hurt, or I would have risked leaving the most important decision to others: the one about being just me". - Victoria

Love - music and girlfriends

I've been married to music for the past 20 years. I cannot wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. - Ethan

Everyone goes through their own experiences, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's never other people's business." - Thomas

When, for the first time, I developed feelings and attraction for a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage to go beyond the limitations I had imposed on myself. For society, being heterosexual is the norm and therefore often one automatically pegs himself in that way, giving up the freedom to experience many different shades and facets of love. Once I got over the initial insecurity of having to question one's own certainties, I lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone. - Victoria

I had paparazzi under my house morning and night. So, after four years of relationship, I finally revealed her name. I still have the paparazzi under my house morning and night, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore. - Damiano

The value of the group - Protecting each other

But the real relationship, the real family, is between us. Our band. We believed in it from the first day, even before calling ourselves Måneskin (moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon, on the poster for our first concert. We share everything, even the pain of the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because he was a victim of racism. Being a group is what we should all do together: stay united and not retreat in the slightest in the face of abuses generated by a distorted vision of someone "being different|. - Thomas

Non ho l’età – like Gigliola (It references Gigliola Cinquetti who won both Sanremo and Eurovision with her song "Non ho l’età" which translates to Not old enough)

Before us, the only one to win Sanremo and Eurovision together was Gigliola Cinquetti (in 1964). Is there is something for which I feel I am not yet old enough for? No, honestly no. Maybe for kids. I'll be honest, I'm not enough to be a dad. - Damiano

Reached the sky - What fears still remain

We are more than in the dream, we have conquered the dream. To fly high this high, there is the risk is to fall and get hurt, but we will try not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - somewhat presumptuously - reassures us rather than frighten us ". - Damiano

(ORIGINAL INTERVIEW IN ITALIAN)

[Please note that I have changed some words or structure sentence, trying to make it so that the interview made more sense lol - I skipped the first two paragraphs, which was basically the interviewer gushing over how pretty the band is lmao (relatable).

Any mistakes in the translation are sorely mine, nothing was proofread, so apologies in advance]

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Any way we could get like a master list of like Tobias + Rachel moments like “first time they talk about their feelings” and “first kiss” etc? And what book it’s in? If that’s not too much. I love you!!

All right, this is going to be less a master list, more a “things I can think of off the top of my head,” but here it is.

The Non-Definitive List of Rachel/Tobias Milestones:

First crush: #1.  It’s hard to say how much is going on in the background of their first mission, because Jake is a clueless duffer who needs Cassie to explain romance to him and because Jake takes forever to wrap his head around the fact that Rachel is capable of having crushes on boys.  But we know that Rachel is looking at Tobias when she agrees to let the boys walk her and Cassie home, and we know that Rachel immediately jumps to Tobias’s defense when he and Marco start arguing.  Rachel is the most worried about Tobias when the others lose sight of him during that first battle, and the fastest to consider Tobias a part of the group.

Unresolved romantic tension: #3.  Tobias knows he has a thing for Rachel as of this book.  He knows, and he’s not ever planning on doing a dang thing about it, because he’s a bird and she’s a human.  They smash up car commercials together, they hunt for yeerk ships together, and they fly all over town together, but he’s pretty sure they’re going nowhere relationship-wise.  And then Rachel, in the middle of half-drowning in the truck ship’s water tank, starts to say what she needs to say before she dies.  She stays in morph longer than any of the others specifically so that she and Tobias can have this last moment alone.  And Tobias’s response to her near-confession is to grab a dracon beam and go take on an entire yeerk fleet alone.

Acknowledging their feelings: #7.  When the Ellimist comes with his offer, Jake and Marco focus on saving their families, Ax and Cassie go full environmentalist... and Rachel and Tobias are pissed.  Tobias figures out instantly that he’s only there as a human because the Ellimist wants to manipulate Rachel’s emotions through dangling the possibility of de-nothliting her honey-pie in front of her face.  Rachel’s pissed on Tobias’s behalf, Tobias on Rachel’s behalf, and the Ellimist is just deeply amused.

Resolving romantic tension: #12.  When Rachel doesn’t know what to do about the crocodile thing, she goes to Tobias.  When Tobias sees Rachel and Jake headed for another fight, he undercuts it so that Rachel wins.  They banter about Superman and Xena having kids together.  They jerk Marco around together.  They’re a couple already, even if they’ve never even held hands.

First couples’ fight: MM2.  They’re both tired and hungry and injured, to give credit where it’s due, and they’re entitled to get snippy with each other.  It’s also worth noting that they resolve their spat in a pretty healthy way — Tobias acknowledges that he underestimated how hard it would be to control the deinonychus morph, Rachel acknowledges that she underestimated how dangerous the deinonychuses would be, they both acknowledge that they’re not at their best and need to drop the subject until they’re in a better mood.  It’s also when Rachel recognizes that Tobias isn’t, fundamentally, a mere human: she doesn’t reach him through the dino instincts until she pivots from descriptions of fingers and toes and instead reminds him of flying.

Healthiest moment: #23.  Yes, a matter of opinion, but I love how supportive Rachel is toward Tobias throughout this whole book.  She’s quick to reassure him that she doesn’t think it’s weird to eat roadkill, and equally quick to drop the subject when he wants to.  Whatever Tobias needs, from a sympathetic ear to a killer grizzly, she’s happy to help him through this difficult time.

Labeling the relationship: #27.  Bless T.T. and his stupid little 1990s So Cal name.  It takes T.T.’s dimples and his smooth-talking and his sheer ordinariness for Rachel to realize that she doesn’t want dimples or smooth-talking or ordinariness.  She wants the kind of guy who is terrified of water but will become a sperm whale to keep her safe.  She wants a “mouse-eating freak,” because she’s a squid-eating freak herself.  She wants someone around whom she can be ugly, can be vulnerable, can be scared, can be herself.  Also, I love that moment with Tobias commenting that T.T. is “pretty cute, and perceptive too” after T.T. says something unrepeatable about Rachel’s violent tendencies and sense of propriety.

First kiss: MM3.  It’s the moment just after Rachel was “killed” by a cannonball aboard the Trafalager and then pops back up in the middle of Princeton University’s campus.  Tobias runs and grabs her, she smooches him, Marco asks if he can have a kiss as well, the racist dude that Cassie was in the middle of intimidating cries on the floor.  It’s all very romantic.

The L Word: #32.  The whole book is about Rachel learning to reconcile the different sides of herself, but a big part of it is her realizing that Tobias has gone through many of the same struggles.  Tobias knows she’s a killer, and he’s a killer too.  Tobias knows she’s a frightened softie at heart, and he is one too.  Tobias’s entire life has been about him trying to stick together disparate pieces of himself, which is why Tobias is the only thing Mean Rachel and Nice Rachel can agree upon, and it’s why Tobias is the only one whom Rachel wants to see after it’s all over.

Best “battle couple” moment: #36.  A matter of opinion, of course, but I love the moment that the yeerk submarine starts to come apart and Rachel bodily wraps herself around Tobias to protect him.  Honestly the whole motif of them pairing up their battle morphs — hawk-Tobias compensating for bear-Rachel’s major weakness through acting as her eyes and ears, bear-Rachel compensating for hawk-Tobias’s relative delicacy through being the tank of the team — does my heart good.  But I have an extra-large soft spot for this moment because when the shit hits the fan, Rachel’s immediate reaction is to throw her entire body between Tobias and danger.

Picking out furniture: #49.  Yes, Rachel is joking when she tells Tobias that they need to get patio furniture for his meadow, but it’s also an affirmation that they both view this as a long-term thing they’ve got going.  She wants them to have a place together, even if it is a random clearing in the woods with a deeply suspicious number of lounge chairs.

First date: ???  Arguably, Rachel and Tobias never go on a single actual date-date, and I think that’s a lot of the beauty of their utterly unique relationship.  Ones that could count:

Destroying a car commercial in #3.  Although there are hints in #2 that Rachel goes flying alone with Tobias sometimes, this is the first time we actually see them doing something for fun together.

Running around as hork-bajir in #13.  It’s the first time they go on a mission as a couple, the first time they really consider the possibility that they could have a relationship now that Tobias can morph, and the first instance of them using “paired” morphs together.

Tobias’s birthday in #23.  If “date” means sharing a meal together, then by gum Rachel baking an entire cake for Tobias and then having the world’s strangest conversation about his family history while they sit on the floor of her room and eat with their hands has got to count.

The school dance in #29.  This is the first time (that we know of) where they go to a public human gathering as a formal couple.

The opening sequence of #33.  This moment canonically makes “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls their song, and it involves the first real conversation about their future as a couple.

The ending sequence of #33.  EVERYTHING HURTS AND NOTHING IS OKAY at the end of this book, but it also involves them doing human-stuff like hugging and hanging out on the beach followed by them doing raptor-stuff like flying around together, because everyone but especially Rachel is trying to do whatever Tobias needs right then.  It’s also the most emotionally raw moment between them, but one they get through together.

Watching Felicity together in #35.  I love this moment, not in the least because Rachel and Tobias are both like “how dare you interrupt our soap opera with yeerks, Marco?” and it hints at what they’ve been up to in the background of the books they don’t narrate.  It’s also canon that Rachel doesn’t have a TV in her room, so that suggests that human-Tobias and human-Rachel were sacked out on her couch together, possibly while Naomi glared disapprovingly from the door to the kitchen.

Having burgers in #49.  Rachel bringing Tobias McDonald’s is actually the first time they label one of their own meetups as being a date, for what it’s worth.

Most painful moment: #54, duh.  For me it’s a three-way tie between Tobias guiding Rachel through her last battle after she’s blinded by snake venom, Rachel and Tobias both taking on human morph so that they can say goodbye to each other THROUGH A VIEWSCREEN, and Tobias stealing the urn with Rachel’s ashes because he wants her to have a memorial her way.  Ugggghh why do these children wound me so.

[covrtofnightmares]

✵ Alexander and Aurora

( 1 ) who spends hours putting up lights only to get tangled in them and storm off?

Alexander wants to get invested in this activity, particularly because it reminds him of the small and quaint Christmases he shared with his mother when he was a child. After telling Aurora (and so confidently, at that) that he had everything under control, Alex would first get stuck in the large, live tree they’d procured from Cloverwood Forest. After getting his foot caught in a tangle of wires and sputtering out a slew of curses, he spots a live squirrel that had been nesting inside of the tree. The squirrel, angry and frightened by the sight of an angry human man, flings itself at Alexander’s face. Alex fumbles about the living room as an adult, proceeding to get more ensnared in the lights with each step and swat of his hand against the screaming squirrel stuck on his face. By the time he finally manages to toss the rodent outside and yanks the Christmas lights off of him, Aurora is hiding a visible laugh behind her mouth.

When Alex comes out of his room after sulking an hour later, the entire tree is finished with a pristine, ethereal twinkle, as Aurora calmly sits on the nearby couch and leisurely flips through a magazine, as she gazes up at him and asks: “What, like it’s hard?”

( 2 ) who accidentally eats a whole box of christmas chocolates in one sitting?

Alexander devours the entire tin of chocolate chip cookies one of the Resistance members made for him. As he attempts to tell Aurora between mouthfuls of food, he’s just grateful someone other than Raymond took the reins of the holiday cooking this year. Aurora chooses to stick to her smoothie and tells Alex that she believes him. 

( 3 ) who insists on watching the cheesey hallmark christmas movies?

Aurora absolutely gets invested in having them watch these romantic movies together, all snuggled up on the couch, and every time a cheating boyfriend or leading male who fucks up crosses the screen, she simply turns and glares at him. By the third night of these movies, Alexander realizes she’s teaching him a lesson.

( 4 ) who insists on playing nothing but michael buble in the few days running up to christmas?

I get the feeling both of them listen to whatever comes on through the Spotify Christmas station radio or whatever music they’re listening to at the moment. Alex gets a bit excited whenever a Michael Buble song comes on, while simultaneously explaining to Aurora that he’s a pretentious-sounding little prick. This usually causes an ensuing argument, where Aurora explains that if Alex really felt that way, why didn’t he just change the channel? The argument, as per usual, is usually resolved by Alex bending Aurora over the counter and having his wicked way with her.

( 5 ) who gets their presents wrapped at the mall so the other cant go snooping

Alexander absolutely prefers to do things himself, and that involves Christmas shopping. But he has a feeling that Aurora is nosy and enjoys snooping, primarily because she simply can’t stand not knowing something, and takes to staying up late at night to wrap her presents once she’s fast asleep. He hides them throughout the house, in special hiding places she’ll never find, because he knows how much she likes to explore.

( 6 ) who insists on making snow angels?

Aurora is the first one to suggest such an activity, but the act of making snow angels soon turns into a snowball fight, one that Alex wins before pinning Aurora against the ground, glittering snowflakes woven through her golden hair, before kissing her. The temperature might be below freezing, and he’s bound in layers of clothes to protect himself from the chill, so why does he suddenly feel so very warm?

( 7 ) who put christmas outfits on all the pets?

Aurora wins this one without any hesitation whatsoever. Alexander would be absolutely horrified if he came home from hunting or working one day and found Brutus and Maximus, his two prized dogs, all dolled up to look like the Grinch and a Christmas tree. In fact, he very well might faint.

( 8 ) do they go to family’s or have a quiet day in? 

Both Alexander and Aurora have complicated feelings regarding families. After Alexander lost his mother as a young child, Lilianna and her parents became the closest thing to a family Alexander has ever known. Given the turbulent relationship he currently shares with the Shu Lei heiress, Alexander is concerned that he would be unwelcome at any holiday table prepared by Lilianna or her father, Jiang.

Aurora, similarly, knows a family within the Garden, but not much else. She has become so enmeshed with the very fabric of Alexander’s life at this moment that the thought of them spending the holiday season without each other seems...painful.

( 9 ) who insists on wearing matching ugly christmas jumpers?

Alexander would be able to see the humor in wearing ugly holiday sweaters, though Aurora would argue that she would never wear something with built-in lights and a twinkling reindeer nose stitched across a scratchy knitted sweater. Instead, she dons a piece of Christmas-inspired lingerie, decked in red and silver like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

( 10 ) who waits up until midnight to give the other their present?

Alexander rolls over in his bed, grumbling to himself in his sleep, only to feel a sudden pressure on his chest. He opens his eyes and finds Aurora sitting on his chest, a smile widening across her face as she holds a small, artfully-wrapped present in her hands. She spent all evening too anxious and nervous about his reaction to even consider sleep, so the moment the clock struck midnight and Christmas descended upon Astralis, she chose to take the chance to start their festivities a bit early.

( 11 ) who insists on hand-made presents only one year?

Alexander thinks it would be nice to do something simple for each other for the duration of the holiday season. Aurora (politely? Not so politely?) disagrees, as she’s seen Alexander’s skillset and would rather not wake up to some anonymous faerie’s wings wrapped in a box for her to open.

( 12 ) who puts mistletoe on every door frame?

Aurora absolutely does this and then pretends to get mad every time they both pass under the doorframe. “Ugh, I guess we have to kiss again.”

( 13 ) who gets too drunk at the work christmas party and has to be picked up at 9:15pm? who gets angry and almost tells kids that santa isnt real?

Aurora is somehow the answer to both of these, though it’s worth noting that Alexander would absolutely get irritated enough with a group of children whom he presumed to be little more than arrogant brats and tell them the mystical man in the sky was nothing more than a figment of their imaginations. Aurora would do it after a PTA mom scolded her for grinding on Alex in a Santa costume at a work party, angrily telling the woman “First of all, it’s none of your business. Second of all, it’s not like he’s fucking real.”

( @nymphcts )

[spiltscribbles]

Stay For A While

Notes: I had a really really awful day and this was in my drafts, so here we go.

.-

Ronan’s never really noticed how pungent the scent  of hospitals are, the eerily clean surfaces that are masked with the smell of the  residue of the alcohol remover Blue uses to clean off her nails once she inevitably gets bored of which ever eccentric color she’d chosen for that week. (Ronan remembers a particularly amusing night at Monmouth when Henry had dared Ronan to drink the bottle whole, to which Blue— pixie sized and never putting up with any amount of shit— cuffed them both on the back of the heads scoldingly,  “You can’t drink it asshole, it’s like poisonous.”) 

Idly, Ronan thinks that he’d rather chug down ten complete bottles of that shit instead of sitting here in this utter hell hole of a waiting room, the smell of antiseptics clogging his nostrils and  glaringly florescent lights pounding down on him and a swarm of strangers trying to catch his eye for polite, if not a bit flirtatious, small talk. All just to wait for some fucking quack to tell him what half a dozen others said before. That Opal’s condition is to severe, to intensive, too unstructured. For this prick to tell Ronan that the technology just isn’t here yet and that they should just give it a rest already. 

God fucking damn it, Ronan hates this place, hates all the memories it evokes and the literal hopelessness that’s woven into it. He hates it even more that he fucking let Gansey talk him into meeting with this fucking prick of a doctor, getting his hopes up and making Ronan actually believe this Parrish douche is worth meeting with. 

“He’s a class act Ronan, truly,” Gansey had crowed in that uniquely Gansey way of his— all American charm and boyishly enthused smile. “Carruthers had sung his praises to us for so long that I simply insisted he came to Lucy’s christening a bit ago.”

That’s when Ronan had cocked a brow at his oldest friend, unconvinced that Helen of all people would allow any riffraff to puncture her picture perfect soiree for her picture perfect daughter to show off her picture perfect life.

“I bet princess wasn’t to happy with that impromptu invitation?”

“That was until she met the boy,” Gansey had corrected a bit too cheekily for Ronan’s liking, finger waggling in the space between them and it took all Ronan had not to bite it right off. “Carruthers was right on! Parrish is a magnificent specimen, and smart as a whip too!”

“What a dreamboat,” said Ronan, deadpanned and wondering if he’ll ever be over Gansey’s theatrics. (Most likely not on account of his loving the dip-shit like a fourth brother.) 

“You know he got his medical degree from Harvard? And his undergraduate at Princeton?”

“Gee Gansey, I’m swooning.”

“Well don’t fall in love with him quite yet,” Gansey had chuckled good naturedly with a patting to Ronan’s shoulder. “I reckon you’ll need him for another, much more important reason.” Ronan just furrowed his brows, not bothering to show any actual interest, and Gansey just flashed him a row of pearly whites in turn. “You’ll never believe his senior year thesis was about? Fibula Hemimelia.”

Ronan’s heart had lodged in his throat and he suddenly, foolishly, felt a surge of pure hope. So Gansey had set up everything. He had scheduled  the meeting for a day he knew Opal didn’t have school and Ronan didn’t have work,  he had called to send over Opal’s medical history, and on top of it all Gansey had convinced Ronan that continuing to try was better than to give up, and Ronan had agreed. That’s why he’s sitting in this hell hole now, glower securely set on his face and simultaneously watching Opal as she built and destroyed her lego towers, while staving off any too curious onlookers. 

Finally— mercifully— A kind faced nurse had called out, “Opal L,” and they were being dashed off behind the doors to get all the preliminary numbers before being lead into the quacks office. 

“Don’t break any of his shit,” Ronan tells  Opal as she made her way to the corner where some blocks and puzzles were set out, crushes and all. 

It’s another ten minutes of waiting until the door swings open and a low, molasses smooth voice greets them good morning while taking a seat in his desk. And well…. He’s all cutting cheekbones and piercing eyes and his hair’s the same color as the caramel cubes that Arora use to set out for guests back in the barns when Ronan was a kid. Ronan feels a instant pulsing of white hot hatred towards Gansey at this exact moment for not giving him the heads up that this Parrish fuck is only moonlighting as a doctor while actually having a career in modeling or some shit. 

“G’morning,” he holds out his all too attractive hand, and Ronan pretends his insides aren’t imploding while he gives it one quick, savage shake. “I’m Dr Parrish, and you must be Ronan Lynch?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful,” if Parrish was put off by Ronan’s standoffish demeanor, he doesn’t show it, just continues on speaking in that crisp cadence that Ronan thinks all doctors have mastered in one way or the other, and goes back to flipping through the blindingly yellow binder in his grasp. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, or puts on a facade with some overly cheerful smile and Ronan appreciates him for it, he’s gone through too many stilted conversations of a blank eyed doctor telling him that there’s no hope with an uncomfortably large smile threatening to split their faces in half. 

Ronan much prefers the touch of realism that Parrish is offering up.

“So is it just you for today or are we waiting for Mom?”

“Mom doesn’t exist,” Ronan says, words clipped— He reckons he’ll never not be irritated by that automatic assumption, even when it’s ridiculously pretty doctors making them. 

Parrish quirks a brow at him and Ronan relents, just slightly. 

“She was an orphan till I adopted her a few years ago, so it’s just me.”

“Oh, I see,” Ronan pretends his chest doesn’t totally contract at the sight of the other man’s small, thin lipped smile that makes his eyes shimmer a thousand splendid shades of blue and green and violet. “My apologies.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m turning seven in three weeks.” Opal, excited for a new audience, announces with a manic grin, her ash blonde hair tugged out it’s ponytail and her big brown eyes gazing at the doctor like he’s one of her dolls. 

“No way, really?” Parrish says, and if Ronan thought his small, privately impressed smile was charming, it’s nothing on the one he’s beaming at Opal with right now. It’s beautiful in its unadulterated sincerity, in the way it crinkles the corners of his wide eyes and brightens his countenance ten fold. Ronan inwardly thinks that the grin is one he doesn’t dole out that often, which is a real shame because Dr Parrish’s dimples should probably be declared an eighth wonder of the world by who ever the fuck decides on that sort of shit. 

“You must be Opal.”

“Are you my new doctor?” She asks, abrasive if it weren’t coupled with her toothy smile.

“Yes, I think I am, if you’ll have me?”

“Cool,” Opal marvels. “Will you actually help me?”

There’s an instant tautness to the air that Opal, in all her childhood obliviousness, doesn’t notice, but Parrish doesn’t let it linger. 

“I certainly hope so.”

Adequately convinced, Opal pivots around and returns to her puzzle. 

The next hour is composed of Ronan answering questions he’s been asked a million other times, (“Yes, it’s the left leg. Yes, the bone is completely missing and her foot’s heel is ruptured as well. Yes I know that some doctors have suggested removing the leg completely and replacing it with a  prosthetic, but i already told you that they’re all fucking stupid and lazy, and I already said I want to exhaust all options until I consider it.”)

“I hope we don’t have to get to that point,” Parrish says like an oath and Ronan knows it in his bones that Parrish— Adam according to the admittedly impressive array of degrees adorned on his wall, can’t promise anything to him or Opal in so many words, but it doesn’t stop him from believing that Adam could actually do what the others couldn’t. 

For the  next quarter of an hour Adam examines Opal’s leg and takes notes in a scrawl Ronan doubts anyone could ever actually transcribe, until he’s seemingly satisfied.

They make an appointment for next Tuesday, giving Parrish enough time to examine all the information he’s gathered, and can talk to Ronan about the options on the table for Opal. 

“Alright, see you then doc.”

“Adam. You can just call me Adam.”

Ronan just snorts, derisive, before carting Opal out of the room. 

“You think he’s cute,” she preens.

“Shut your trap,” Ronan hisses. THat doesn’t stop Opal singing some ridiculous nursery rhymes about trees and kissing and babies all the way home.

.

-

Next time they meet is right after Ronan drops Opal off to school, and Adam looks just as competent and put together as the last time. He explains each possibility with no inflection, just straight facts for Ronan to take in and comprehend however he’d like.

“So either way it’s surgery,” Ronan bristles. 

“If you want to avoid the prosthetic, yes. You can either continue with the latter which would slow down the growth of her right leg so that the left could catch up, or we can conduct several procedures in the next few years adding to the length of the left to match that of the right.”

“That sounds like mumbo jumbo shit to me,” Ronan bites out, trying his best not to sound as frustrated and frightened as he feels. Though the way Adam’s ordinarily stoic looking expression softens ever so slightly, tells Ronan that he’s doing a pretty shit job at it.

“I know it’s a difficult decision, especially when it’s for your kid,” Adam’s voice ripples right then but it immediately goes back to it’s typical, low timbre. Ronan doesn’t probe. “But I assure you that which ever decision you make it’ll be the right one.”

“How? How do you know that?” Ronan asks, challenging.

“Opal’s young, and healthy. She’s still growing, both procedures are optimal when that’s still a major factor. And besides, it’s clear that you love her. You know what’s best for her because you’ll do your research.”

There’s a different stillness to the air than there was last week, but Ronan doesn’t think it’s any less charged. 

“When do you need an answer?”

“As soon as possible. We want to make sure we can get the best feasible results.”

“Fine.” Ronan gets up to leave but is stopped by Adam calling after him.

“I’m always a resource if you need it.”

Ronan doesn’t reply, just purses his lips before snatching the card Adam holds out for him and swaggers out with a thousand different thoughts swarming in his head, ones about Opal. About her leg. About the healing process, the tole  it’d have on her. How she’s so small and delicate already, About Dr Adam Parrish and his pretty eyes.

Ronan realizes about half way to work that Adam had written his personal cell number on the back, and pretends that his cheeks aren’t blazing red, chides at himself that he’s only Opal’s doctor. That’s all.

It’s for Opal, that’s it.

.- 

“I like Dr Parrish.”

Ronan starts at the non sequitur, eyeing Opal like she’s grown a second head right here in the middle of Nino’s while they wait for their pizzas to take to Gansey’s place. After weeks of paper work and consultations and check ups, Opal’s first official surgery would be taking place tomorrow afternoon and they all agreed it calls for celebration. 

“Okay… That was random.” 

“Nah-uh,” she peevishly sniffs, lips twisted in irritation— Ronan doesn’t give a fuck about DNA because that’s straight out of his playbook. “Look!” 

He follows her insistent finger pointing onto the distance through the window, just making out the sight of none other than Adam fucking Parrish strolling down the street, dying afternoon light dancing golden in his hair and touching the tops of his cheekbones… It’s all very cinematic if Ronan’s being at all honest.

“Imma say hi,” Opal announces, and before Ronan can tell her to sit her ass down she’s dashing off through the doors and stopping him in his tracks. 

“Damn it,” Ronan curses under his breath before saddling up behind her. 

“Dr Parrish!”

Jolting back, Adam scans his surroundings before finally casting his gaze down to find pipe sized Opal smiling up at him, and by rote, he returns the expression.

“Opal!”

“Daddy didn’t believe me but I saw you all the way from inside,” she tells him pridefully,  and Ronan only roles his eyes heavenwards. 

“Good eye,” Adam says, crouching down so that they’re level. 

“What are you doing at Nino’s?” 

“I reckon I’m doing the same thing as you and your pops here.”

“Getting dinner and teasing Aunty Blue for working here when she was little?”

Adam cuts a glance at Ronan, silent question of “What the fuck,” painted all over his features. 

“It’s done lovingly.” He says in a monotone and no. Ronan absolutely does not feel the flutterings of butterflies swarming down deep at Adam’s bemused laughter.

“You should come to Uncle Gansey’s house!” Opal crows. “He’s throwing a party for me cuz of my op-op-peratoin tomorrow!”

“Operation,” Ronan softly corrects.

“Oh yeah that!” Opal squawks.

“That’s really cool Opal, I’m glad that they’re doing that for ya.” Adam says, utterly sincere.

“So you’ll come!”

“Yeah doc, come and get boozed up before the surgery,” Ronan says, only partially teasing. 

“Sorry Opal darling,” Adam says, lips pouting. “I promised an old friend that I’d actually eat out with them, and I seriously doubt that your Dad or Uncle or whom ever would appreciate me crashing in on your family time.”

Opal looks grief-stricken and Ronan privately thinks he feels the same.

“My birthday then!” Opal proclaims.

“It’s after the surgery and it’s not until next week and could you come please!”

“Ah,” Adam’s eyes surreptitiously flutter over to Ronan, seeking permission.

“There could never be enough guests,” he says, totally flat.

“Alrighty then, I’d be honored to come Opal.”

“Yay!” She tackles into Adam for a quick embrace and then leaps into Ronan’s arms over the excitement.

“Oh Parrish, just heads up, the themes Disney Princesses, and the invitations explicitly dictate that everyone dresses up.”

Adam glares nastily at Ronan but then just tosses Opal a thumbs up, Ronan translates it for the bird he’d rather be tossing him.

.-

Ronan admits that he regrets everything the moment Adam fucking Parrish strolls into his house wearing a shit eating grin, and a full on Prince Philip costume— tights and all.

Everything in the procedure went as wonderfully as anyone could’ve hoped, so Opal— dawning a sparkling pink princess dress— promenaded through the party in the Barns with a huge smile on her face and a sharpie pen so that all her guests would sign her cast, a beaming Blue pushing her along in the tiny wheelchair the hospital provided. But even with how precious she looks, and the excited thrumming in the air, all Ronan could focus on is fucking god damn Adam Parrish. 

“Lynch,” he says in greeting, swinging around a large, wrapped box. Ronan jutted his chin to the table carrying the rest of the gifts and Adam dropped it off before returning to his side.

“Lovely place you got here.”

“If that was your attempt at small talk, you’re shit at it.” Is how Ronan chooses to reply. 

Something warm and splendid coils somewhere deep in  Ronan’s gut at the sound of Adam’s miraculous peals of laughter.

“You’re such a shit.”

Ronan feels charged by that one comment.

“Oh, so Doc’s got a little bite all of a sudden?”

“Always have,” Adam corrects in that detached, ever amused way of his. “Only thing was that you were my client, but everything with Opal went better than expected, so now I can call you out for being a complete prick whenever I please.”

“So you still expect to see me outside of the allotted appointments for my daughter?” Ronan snarks, snide and excited.

Adam just gives him a one armed shrug before leaning close to Ronan’s ear— hot breath skirting against his skin. “You aren’t slick, but my ass appreciates your intense focus.”

At that, Adam swivels around on his heals to grab a drink and to say hello to Opal, and Ronan knows he’s fucked.

***

Five years later, when they’ve got matching bands of gold and Adam’s slumped on the sofa with Ronan’s head propped on his lap— the pair of them  watching over Opal tending to her new baby brother— Ronan thinks to when Gansey warned that he shouldn’t fall in love with Adam.

Ronan laughs and Adam flicks him on the temple for being such a freak.

[samcro-saint99]

Rescue Me

Hey, Dolls! I know it has been a very long time since I have posted, and I am so sorry about that. I just got so lost and confused and it became very difficult to do a lot of things, including writing. I felt that anything I wrote wasn’t good enough for you all. But I am back! I know this one is a little bit rough, but I hope you can still enjoy it! To everyone waiting on requests, I am sorry but they are coming! I love you all so much and thank you for the support! 

All my Love, 

Saint xxx

P.S - As always a massive thank you to the extraordinarily adorable @thirstygirlclub (Love ya boo x) for proofreading this, and motivating me to push through this slump! Go show her some love while shes drunk on this fine Tuesday night x 

Life was never boring when you were involved with SAMCRO. This morning you invited on a "charity run” with the Sons, normally not an event that would permit women, but the church decided that as Tig’s old lady you might help them avoid suspicion - after all, they’d never take you on something dangerous or illegal….unless you insisted. 

All had been going well until Bobbies Fatboy had an episode, crashing into Tig and sending you and him flying off the road. While you had been lucky enough just to take a tumble down the hill, Tig’s leg was cut open. Despite his injury, he was still more worried about you than himself, even after arriving at the hospital. 

But thanks to good old reliable American healthcare, Tig was being transferred to another hospital. 

“Wait, did someone get the insurance card?” Bobby asked as you all stood outside, awaiting transfer.

“I’ll go get it” you volunteered, dashing back inside. 

You walked back through the sliding doors of the hospital reception, Tig’s insurance card back in hand. When you saw Half-Sack and Bobby looking shell-shocked beside an empty wheelchair, fear shot through your entire body. 

“Bobby! What happened? Where is he?!” You asked failing to hide the panic in your voice as you rushed over to them. 

“Bounty Hunters grabbed him”

“Jesus FUCKING Christ! And you just let them take him?! What the fuck is wrong with you two fucking idiots?!” 

“No time to answer that let's go!” He stated leaving no room for argument, grabbing your arm and dragging you to his bike, half-sack following quickly behind. 

——————————————————————————————————

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration, while Clay and Jax were arguing, they were getting further and further away with Tig. As always, it looked like you would have to take this into your own hands. 

Jogging over to the truck, Piney looked at you and knew instantly what you were thinking. You climbed on the back, standing up to attract the others. 

“We could’ve got him by now! Come on, shit heads!” You called, excitement brimming as everyone but Clay and Ope jumped up with you. 

——————————————————————————————————

Piney stopped the truck on the side of the road, behind a couple of hedges that bordered the hotel half-sack had tracked them to. Rain poured from the sky but you were all to focused to even notice. 

“So what's the plan?” Jax asked, crouched down low, gun in hand. 

“Shit’ll get messy if you guys go storming in. Leave it to me.” You stated plainly. 

They all went to argue but the look on your face stopped them in your tracks. They knew how fiercely protective you were of all of them, particularly your old man. 

Climbing down from the truck you snuck down out of sight and hid behind a wall near the empty reception office, contemplating your next move. 

Peering around the corner, you checked to ensure there was no one hanging around outside the motel. Messing up your hair, you jogged to the door of room 3, frantically banging on the door. 

“Hello?! Please! I need help! Please! Open the door!” You called in feigned panic. 

A burly man, who you guessed might once have been a football player opened the door part of the way, his hand behind his back. 

“Please, you have to help me. These men are chasing me. I think I’ve lost them but I was wondering if I could use your phone or just wait here for a while?” You explained, panicked and out of breath. 

He must have taken note of your pitiful appearance, soaked to the bone, mascara running down your face, and obviously frightened because he opened the door and let you inside. 

“Come on in, Sweetheart,” he said with a sleazy smile. 

“Thank you. I’m s-sorry to be a b-bother” you shivered, adding just a bit extra to the performance, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Glancing around the room you observed the three large men, and the weapons laid around them, before your eyes settled on Tig, who was tied to a chair in the corner of the room, visibly confused and beaten, his face questioning your actions. 

You paused for a moment, catching the attention of all the men as you walked towards Tig. 

“Wait…I know you….” You muttered, staring at Tig, a look of concentration on your face as though you were actually considering it. You gasped faking surprise before reaching out and striking him hard across the face, which caught even him off guard. 

“You’re the freak that flashed me and my friends in Stockton last month!” You yelled as the men pulled you back. 

“Easy there, Sweetheart, he’s going to get what he deserves - the sick bastard.” One of them said, sneering towards Tig. 

Tig chuckled looking up at you. You knew that look, that mischievous look meant he was probably about to get his ass kicked. 

“Aww yeah, I remember you….you looked real pretty that night,” he said in the sleaziest voice he could muster. This earned him a backhand across the face from one of the hunters, but it didn’t take the cheeky look off his face. 

“Gag the bastard.” The football player instructed as he pulled you away from Tig when he noticed your tears. 

“Hey, you’re okay, he can’t hurt you. Come here” he whispered, pulling you into an embrace.

While the other two were distracted by Tig, and this one was distracted with his hand on your ass, you wrapped your arms around him, and before any of them had time to understand what was happening, you had the man on his knees, gun to his head. 

“Okay boys, listen very carefully and this’ll all be done. All weapons thrown into the back corner, one at a time very slowly.” You instructed sweetly, the picture of sweetness and innocence. 

They did as instructed begrudgingly, looking more than a little-pissed off that they had been overthrown by a girl. 

“Good lads, would one of you be so kind as to untie this prick,” you said, motioning towards Tig. Once was released, Tig hobbled over behind you

“Face down, on the floor. Hands behind your heads. Count to 100.” 

They looked to the man in front of you, before slowly lying getting down, looking at you with disgust. As soon as they were face down, Tig opened the door and you grabbed your hostage by his collar, dragging him out with you while he struggled. 

Dragging him up the driveway, Tig leaned against you for support until you stopped just before the hedges that bordered the property. You leaned down close to the ear of the bounty hunter to ensure you were carefully heard. 

“Sorry about all this buddy, but some people want this guy more than you. And trust me, he isn’t worth all this trouble.” You said with a kiss to his cheek. 

“You stupid bitch” he grunted. 

Tig’s eyes widened, knowing full well what was going to happen, nobody got to speak to you like that. You let out a small chuckle before cracking him in the back of the head with the butt of the gun. 

“I am so hard right now” Tig muttered in awe, staring lustfully at you. 

“Oh not now! Come on!” you scolded, slapping his shoulder before putting his arm around your neck, you helped him hobble around the hedges to the flatbed. 

“Took your time” Jax chided as pulled you up onto the truck, a big smile stretched across his face. 

“Oh shut and help me” you laughed. 

You helped support Tig to keep him from falling off the truck as Piney sped away from the motel. Noticing him staring up at you, you raised an eyebrow, looking for an explanation. 

“My hero!” He said, pulling your face down to kiss your cheek. 

[cuthian]

In Hell, We Stand by You Chapter Seven

Hi! *waves*

I'm sorry for the delay, but as I said, most of this chapter needed to be rewritten to fit the storyline properly. I hope you guys enjoy! I am going home from Vienna tomorrow, which is a fifteen-hour busride, so I hope I'll be able to do most of the work that still needs to be done on chapter eight then!

In the mean time, enjoy the extra long chapter, and thank you for sticking with me!

Love, Annaelle

PS Much, much love to @juuls for putting up with me and beta'ing this monster! I couldn't do it without you, doll <3

Chapter Seven

—————

Passes to the opening gala for Kunst Halle Planie’s new exhibition, ‘die Altes Kunst des Mesopotamie’, sold out like hotcakes three hours after they had been made available to the public. It was Stuttgart’s most anticipated event, both by art history enthusiasts and historians alike, with planned guest speakers such a Dr. Heinrich Schäfer, who was instrumental in restoring some of the Mesopotamian artwork displayed, and Dr. Richard S. Ellis, who wrote extensively on the subject of Mesopotamian art and its archaeological impact.

…Once inside, however, the main attraction did not turn out to be, as expected, the artwork and the carefully planned speeches, but rather an as of yet unknown man who attacked Dr. Schäfer in the middle of the man’s speech. In a rather gruesome turn, Dr. Schäfer’s eye was gauged out and the man, who clearly displayed some sort of superhuman ability, subdued the frightened crowd.

…Our reporters were not at the scene, but eyewitnesses speak of blinding lights and the same man appearing before them in an outfit which would not have been out of place at a Renaissance fair. All seemed quite hopeless until one man stepped in…

Captain America himself.

There has been no confirmation whether this man was sent by the U.S. government or if the mantle of Captain America has finally been taken up by someone else after seventy years, but whoever he was, he did not seem to be a match for the unknown man until none other than Tony Stark’s Iron Man stepped in and the unknown man was taken into custody.

…Many unanswered questions yet remain, but one thing is certain, Kunst Halle Planie’s gala will not soon be forgotten.

—S. Auerbach, Der Spiegel, ‘Artful chaos at museum gala’

—————

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, International Airspace Steve

Steve’s entire body was sore, and he felt like he could easily sleep an entire day away. He took great care to hide that exhaustion, eyeing the screen that showed Fury conversing with Loki.

The alien God’s smug disposition made Steve’s skin crawl and he had to actively fight the urge to yank at the tight uniform he’d been squeezed into, to rid himself of the proverbial box Loki had shoved him into with nothing more than a few careless words.

The soldier. A man out of time.

Steve hadn’t felt like he was a man out of time since the first few weeks after he’d been defrosted, before he’d moved in with Becca and before he’d started therapy.

He’d been doing good.

He hadn’t felt out of place in a long while, but Loki’s words had somehow shoved him right back in that destructive mindset, and he was struggling to pull himself out before he became compromised.

It was like Loki saw past all of the progress he’d made, past all of the carefully-erected barriers he had pulled up around the wounded remains of the man he used to be, the man he’d always wanted to be, and saw right into the core of who he actually was—who he had always been.

It was entirely unnerving.

He shifted his seat back a little and glanced towards Becca, who was chewing her lower lip and glaring at the tiny Loki on the screen as her hands curled into loose fists on the table. She was paler than she had been when they’d arrived and she looked about as exhausted as Steve felt. She had, thankfully, not been beaten up by a Norse God, so far, so Steve considered that a win.

He could tell she was still worried though, her concern for Clint outweighing her rational thinking.  Coulson and three other agents had been forced to hold her back when they escorted Loki to his cell.

Steve couldn’t blame her.

He’d probably try to beat answers out of Loki too, if he thought it would actually help save lives.

They’d only been on this mission for less than twelve hours, but Steve already felt like several weeks’ worth of events had taken place, shattering the little bubble of peace he had created for himself.

Lord, he was tired.

The monitor went black and it almost felt like some of the tension lodged between Steve’s shoulders dissipated along with the image of the dark-haired God, although the atmosphere at the table remained tense. They had all been taken aback by Loki’s easy surrender in Stuttgart and Thor’s sudden appearance midflight, and it showed on the faces around the table.

Becca’s sharp focus on Loki notwithstanding, even Agent Hill, who Steve had actually met once on a run, unaware of who she was—he’d done an actual double-take when he’d been introduced to her on the bridge—looked like she was trying to solve an intricate, complicated riddle, tapping at the screen of her tablet impatiently.

Romanoff almost looked indifferent, but Steve spotted her fingers twitching against her upper arm a few times, almost like she wanted to reach out and punch Loki as much as the rest of them did.

Thor looked most disturbed by the conversation and was frowning something fierce, and Steve wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this other God. Coulson had sworn up and down that Thor was to be trusted, that he had already proven himself an ally to earth, but Steve was still doubtful.

There was something about the taller man that unnerved Steve entirely.

Something that had made his mouth go dry the moment he had actually gotten a chance to look at the new, possibly slightly less homicidal, Asgardian arrival. Something that made his heart pound in his chest so loudly he was almost sure Thor would have been able to hear it when he shook Steve’s hand. It was something Steve hadn’t felt since before he had been forced to watch the love of his life fall off a cliff when Steve failed to save him.

He’d found his eyes lingering on the other man’s—admittedly incredibly impressive—biceps for just a beat too long, and it made him feel nauseous. He didn’t want to feel attracted to anyone but Bucky.

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” Dr. Banner drawled sardonically, stalking away from the monitor with jerked, short movements, drawing Steve’s attention back to him. The doctor had been relatively quiet up to this point, and Steve had to admit the doctor’s levelheaded temperament surprised him greatly, after everything he had heard so far.

“Yeah,” Becca snorted beside him, kicking up her foot to rest against the back of Steve’s armrest. “Like a fucking fungus.”

Steve’s lips curled up into an involuntary smile before he forced himself to focus on the problem at hand. He sighed and looked up at Thor, who still stood at the head of the table, hands clenching into fists uselessly. “He’s gonna try to drag this out, isn’t he?” He waited until Thor’s eyes met his and shook his head a little. “What’s his play, Thor?”

Everyone collectively turned from the screen to look at the tall, exceptionally handsome—and Lord, he needed to get his head back in the game, because this was not the time—God of Thunder.

“It seems he has procured an army, called the Chitauri,” Thor finally spoke with a heavy sigh, his tone grave as he crossed his arms across his chest. “They’re not of Asgard or any world known. From what we understand, he means to lead them against your people.” There was a note of sorrow to his words, something deep and painful that made Steve feel a little queasy. “They are to win Earth for him,” Thor continued, shaking his head sadly. “In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.”

“An army…” Steve sighed and leaned back in his seat. “How do you know about this? You said, earlier… you said you thought he was dead for over a year.”

Everyone at the table froze, and Becca’s foot dropped back to the floor with an audible thump. Steve could tell everyone was surprised that he questioned the man further, but he’d learned a long time never to take information at face value.

Not checking someone’s motivation for volunteering information could get him and the others killed—it had gotten others killed in the past, during… before.

Thor, however, didn’t seem at all put out by Steve’s insistence on questioning him further—he seemed pretty damn delighted—and beamed a bright grin at Steve. “A most astute observation, Captain.” He sobered quickly, fingers twitching towards his neck in an aborted gesture Steve recognized all too well before he spoke again. “I believed my brother dead for… too long. My mother...”

He took a deep, shuddering breath and smiled weakly. “Our mother and Loki share a connection I cannot understand. She knew he was alive, and it was she who uncovered his plot. Father and Heimdall sent me here as soon as we realised he had already begun his assault on Earth.”

Thor kept his gaze on Steve as he spoke, his tone even other than the moments his breath hitched in clear emotional distress. Steve appreciated the God’s candor, and though he could tell the man was being truthful, there was something he wasn’t telling them too. The look in Thor’s eye was one Steve recognized, though, and he was loathe to push someone to open up about their grief.

He couldn’t imagine finding himself in Thor’s shoes.

Slowly, he leaned back in his seat and offered the other man a tight smile. “Okay. So, an army?”

“From outer space, no less,” Becca piped up beside him, and Steve could see her leaning forward eagerly from the corner of his eye. “How is he doing that?”

The discussion rapidly devolved into a series of back and forths with scientific terms that flew right over his head, but the implication sank in nonetheless. If Loki managed to get the things that he needed to open the portal, he would be able to bring an army of monsters to Earth to destroy and take over everything Steve had fought for—everything he was still learning and growing to love.

The nausea he’d felt earlier welled back up again at the thought of Becky’s cozy little home being torn apart by monsters, of his family—the little he had left—being taken from him…

Was he destined to lose everything he cared about twice?

Because of one man’s delusions of grandeur?

Eighty people were already dead, and Loki had only been on earth for two days.

Imagining the amount of havoc he could wreak with an entire army backing him up and unlimited time in their world was downright terrifying.

He was abruptly drawn from his thoughts when Tony Stark flounced inside, immediately engaging Dr. Banner before Becca dropped the thin veneer of professionalism and launched herself off her seat and into the dark-haired man’s arms with a sound that Steve could only describe as a squeal.

The sight of the genius stumbling back a step or two, arms sticking straight ahead for a few seconds before he folded them around Becca and patted her back lightly was nothing short of comical.

Steve had heard a few things about Tony from Becca over the weeks they’d lived together, and though they may not have gotten off to the best start in Stuttgart, it was easy to see the open affection on the billionaire’s face at Becca’s enthusiasm, even if the hug itself seemed to make him slightly uncomfortable. “Hey kiddo,” Stark said quietly—so quietly Steve doubted anyone but Becca and Steve himself had heard him—as he pushed her off gently.

“Is that your gear for the field—this… this isn’t even bulletproof,” he tugged on the strap of Becca’s vest with a sneer, shaking his head decisively. “Becs, that won’t do. I can do better. You need to come by the Tower, I’ll make you something better. You need new toys, and Aunt Peggy would kill me if I let something happen to her favorite godchild.”

Steve narrowly suppressed the urge to chuckle at the downright offended look on Agent Coulson’s face, but the casual mention of Peggy made his heart clench and drew his attention away again.

He knew she was alive.

It was one of the first things Becky had told him when he’d emerged from his self-imposed exile again.

He hadn’t seen her. She lived in England, and though he had heard Becca talk to her on the phone several times, he’d declined every time she offered to let him speak to her as well. He didn’t think… he didn’t think he could handle hearing Peggy’s voice, cracked with age, so unlike the vibrant young woman she still was in his mind.

He’d seen her only a few months ago—seen her as a beautiful twenty-four year-old woman. He didn’t think he could handle seeing her as a ninety-three year-old yet.

He watched, feeling slightly detached from the entire situation, as Stark patted Thor’s massive bicep with slightly widened eyes—and Steve felt an odd sense of vindication to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the god's… exceptional appearance—before moving on to tap at every screen he passed, blathering on about something or the other before calling out a S.H.I.E.L.D. tech for playing…

Steve honestly didn’t know what the young man was supposedly playing, and he didn’t really care.

He glanced down at his tablet and tried to make sense of the scientific notes Becca had sent to him, but they went way over his head, again. He’d tried not to feel out of his depth before, but after facing Loki and getting his ass handed to him, after nearly being electrocuted by Thor and after hearing the kind of science Dr. Banner and Stark talked about like they were simply discussing their favorite TV show…

He glanced around the table surreptitiously, eyeing the spies, the agents, the god, the geniuses, and he wondered where the hell he came in.

He looked down at his tablet again and sighed.

What the hell was he doing here?

—————

Steve

He’d sequestered himself in an abandoned little corner of the Helicarrier as soon as he could reasonably excuse himself, his hands trembling by the time he’d managed to find the privacy he’d been desperately craving.

Before he’d been able to escape the frenzied melee of the bridge, a bright-eyed, fresh-faced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had appeared before him, stuttering and blushing as they offered him a small moleskin notebook full of their favorite movies, books, TV shows and music.

“Suggestions,” they’d said with bright red cheeks. “For things to try in the 21st century.”

It had been a gesture of kindness, Steve was sure, but after Loki’s words, the little black book served only as a further reminder that he wasn’t home. He didn’t belong here, in this century, and he hadn’t felt that this keenly since the first day after he’d been… woken up.

He had smiled, though, and taken the notebook with forced cheer, words of thanks falling from his lips without much thought or sincerity behind them, before he’d been able to slip away.

The little nook he’d found was not too far from where the prisoner—Loki—was being held, so he’d be available right away if there was any kind of emergency, but isolated enough that he wouldn’t be disturbed until he was good and ready to face another person.

He’d initially planned to stick to his intended path, deeper into the bowels of the Helicarrier, but he’d been sidetracked by the raised voices by the door where Loki was being held. He’d intended to go inside, to see why someone was stupid enough to provoke the very dangerous, very volatile prisoner, but had backed off almost immediately when he recognized Thor’s voice and hid in his easily-overlooked alcove around the corner.

He may not have been privy to their family issues, but he understood enough to realise that if anyone would be able to get what they needed from the Trickster, it would be Thor.

“Please—be—think—Loki!”

Even with his enhanced hearing, Steve could barely make out Thor’s impassioned words, and with some difficulty, he managed to draw his attention back to himself, his breath punching out of his lungs in a quick, sharp exhale when he realized his trembling fingers had taken the pencil and paper in his hands as permission to begin sketching again.

Bucky’s eyes—a messy, slightly skewed rendition—stared up at him from the page of the little notebook, and Steve suddenly felt lightheaded, small and weak like he hadn’t felt in years.

“Was this what it was like?” he whispered to the doodle of Bucky’s eyes, helpless tears burning in his eyes. “Was this what you felt like when I got the serum?” He knew Bucky had struggled with reconciling the idea of his skinny little fella back in Brooklyn with the tall, muscled soldier that had pulled him out of the factory in Azzano at first; that the protective instinct Bucky had nursed for nearly a decade and a half had been difficult to shake—if not impossible.

He’d told Steve, once, that it was ridiculous, trying to wrap his head around Steve being stronger than him when he’d been able to pick Steve up with one arm for most of their life together.

Steve had never really understood the feeling.

Until now.

He’d always been the strongest in whatever fight he picked after he’d received the serum.

He hadn’t been outmatched by anyone since 1944, and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around being so entirely out of his league when it came to Loki—and Thor, by extension.

The god had tossed him around like a damn ragdoll.

He was so ridiculously out of his league it was almost laughable.

When he looked down at the little notebook again, he realized he had doodled a fairly accurate depiction of Bucky’s face, down to the slightest hint of the pout of his lower lip which Steve had always been powerless to resist. “Lord, I miss you,” Steve breathed, trailing his fingers across the sharp line of Bucky’s jaw. “I’m outta my league, Buck. I don’t know what to do.”

His drawing of Bucky, of course, didn’t reply, nor did it give him any sudden insights.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes slipping shut as he took a few deep breaths to steady himself, as Karen-the-therapist had taught him to do when he felt overwhelmed.

Before he could properly steady himself, though, the door to the room Loki was being held in slammed open, banging against the metal wall with such an almighty bang! it made Steve jump, hitting his head against the top of the little alcove hard.

“Damn it!” he cried out, dropping the notebook and pencil as he fell back, cradling his sore head in his hands with tears of shock burning in his eyes.

“Captain!”

Through blurred eyes he watched as a large, blond blob with Thor’s voice hurried towards him, settling on his knees before Steve. “I did not mean to startle you. I apologize. I hope you did not injure yourself severely?” The words were phrased as a question, but Steve could feel Thor’s fingers gently push his own aside to search for injuries along his scalp.

He diligently ignored how good it felt to be touched with tenderness by someone other than Becca or Becky—something Karen-the-therapist had pointed out he might benefit from.

“I’m fine,” he told Thor slightly sourly, closing his fingers around the god’s thick wrists and pulling them down. “It’ll barely leave a lump.”

Thor sat back and smiled brightly, nodding happily. “Excellent. I shall not detain you any longer, then.” The taller man made to get to his feet, likely to leave Steve to his solitude and his increasingly loud thoughts, and suddenly Steve couldn’t stand the idea of being alone anymore.

“Wait,” he blurted, hand shooting out to curl his fingers around Thor’s wrist again. “I heard you…” He nodded towards Loki’s cell sheepishly and smiled tightly when Thor looked at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “I ain’t no snitch,” he said quickly. “I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. has any business putting their noses in the mess between you and him, but…”

He bit his lip and shrugged. “I get what it’s like to be… the odd man out. If you needed someone to talk to, without judgement...” His cheeks burned and he was almost afraid to look up at Thor, but he did so anyway, because Sarah Rogers didn’t raise no coward. “I’m willing to listen.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d extended the invitation—he hardly felt like good company at the moment—but he was pretty sure Thor wouldn’t care all too much.

Something told him that the man would have very few preconceptions about Steve, and that if he did wish for Steve’s company, he’d want it because he liked Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

It was a refreshing change.

Even with the Barneses, there was a certain amount of expectation, a certain image he had to live up to, regardless of how many times they’d tried to tell him he didn’t—

He was so tired of trying to be several versions of himself.

Thor was silent for a few moments longer before he nodded, settling himself cross-legged on the floor before Steve. “Much appreciated, Captain.” He reached out and retrieved the notebook and pencil from where they’d landed when Steve had dropped them, eyes lingering on the sketch of Bucky before he handed it back to Steve with a sad smile.

“Your fallen mate, I take it?” Thor asked with a gentleness that belied the directness of the question.

Steve nodded jerkily, dragging his fingers across Bucky’s likeness one more time before he snapped the book shut and refocused his attention on Thor. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not, I think, for you.” Thor said softly, patting his hand on top of Steve’s, the sadness in his eye reflecting and mirroring Steve’s own. From what Steve had gathered, Thor’s own loss was felt as keenly as Steve’s, even if his brother was still alive and breathing on the other end of the door.

“No,” Steve admitted quietly. “Not for me.”

Thor nodded in understanding and sighed heavily. “It is, sadly, a feeling I know too well.” He glanced over his shoulder, in Loki’s general direction before he continued. “I mourned my brother for a year before I learned he lived, but now… You must understand.” He leaned forward and looked at Steve pleadingly. “I have spent over a thousand years with Loki by my side. I know him better than he knows himself—I knew of his jealousy, his hurt, his designs on the throne, and I failed to take them seriously… but I have never seen him like… like this.”

Thor waved one large hand in the Trickster’s general direction before dropping it again.

“Loki has always been many things,” Thor sighed, “but he has never been a cold-blooded killer.”

Steve opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but Thor interrupted him before he could speak, a look that was disturbingly human and relatable flashing across the god’s features before vanishing entirely. “I know, I’ve been told of his various misdeeds in the past two days, but he is not like himself. Something is odd about my brother, and I do not know what it is.”  

Steve fell silent, unsure of what to say to that.

He knew, intimately, what it felt like to have the most important person in the world to you ripped away, and it wasn’t a feeling he wished on anyone.

“Have you raised your concerns with Fury?” he asked, instead of questioning Thor’s judgement, because Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t listen to anyone if they tried to tell him Bucky was evil either. Thor had spent the better part of a millennium with Loki—who the hell was Steve, a stranger who hadn’t even lived three decades, to tell him he was wrong about the man?

Thor frowned impressively and nodded. “He insisted my judgement was awry, but I am not some young whelp. Despite my faults, I know him. I snuck in to speak to my brother myself, to convince him to undo this madness, but it is as though it has mingled with his blood and burned itself into his bones. I do not know what madness grasps my brother, but I know it is not his doing. Not entirely.”

Frustration towards Fury boiled to the surface of Steve’s mind again, and his hands curled into fists before he calmed himself. He didn’t need to trust Fury to help the rest of the team get the Tesseract back and ensure it fell into the right hands. He certainly didn’t need Fury’s opinion to listen to Thor and believe the other man.

He reached out and clasped Thor’s forearm, squeezing his fingers lightly. “You don’t need to convince me. It’s like you said: we don’t know Loki, you do, even when he is… whatever he is right now. What do you need me to do?”

Thor’s forehead creased into a frown and he shook his head dejectedly. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “I feel I am at a disadvantage in this world. I do not know enough of Midgardian customs to deduce my next move.” It was an unreal sight, the tall Asgardian, who was bigger than Steve, hunching in on himself as he tried to think of a way to end a war before it had well and truly begun.

Steve bit his lip and frowned when he remembered his earlier conversation with Dr. Banner and Stark.

“Well,” he drawled. “I might have an idea on where to begin.”

—————

Steve

He hadn’t been this angry, this fueled with unbridled rage since he had woken up, and he had almost forgotten how it made his skin crawl and his entire body itch for a fight.

Hydra weapons.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had been messing around with Hydra weapons and using the cube to make more.

The automatic rifle was heavy in his hand and his mind was spinning with the implications of what he had found, of what Tony Stark had implied, and he had no idea who to trust anymore. He tried not to think about whether Becca had known what S.H.I.E.L.D. had been doing, tried not to think about if she’d deliberately been keeping it from him, because he liked Becca, and he wanted to trust her more than anything—but he had only known her for a few weeks, hadn’t he?

For all he knew, everything she’d done for him, everything that had happened since she’d ‘taken’ him from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, could have been planned to make sure he’d trust her.

They could have used Becky to make him trust them.

He couldn’t—couldn’t—consider the possibility she was in on it, too. Becky had been his and Bucky’s favorite girl when they’d been kids. She was their little sister, and Steve can’t imagine that that sweet girl—woman—would agree to do something like this to him.

He just couldn’t.

He rounded the corner, hardly waiting to see if Thor was still following him, and stomped into the lab without slowing down, not even a little bit fazed at finding Fury arguing with Stark and Banner.

“What is Phase Two?” Stark asked, head tilted to the side as he looked at Fury.

Steve dropped the assault rifle on the table with a loud clang, making sure every eye in the room was on him as he seethed, “Phase Two is S.H.I.E.L.D. uses the cube to make weapons and ignores Thor when he says there’s more going on here.”

The god trailed up behind him, silent support, but Steve didn’t have to look to know he’d be frowning at Fury. Thor had been mostly silent after they’d uncovered the crate of weapons, but Steve had made sure he understood the implications of what they’d found.

He couldn’t fucking believe this.

Stark’s eyes were wide as he glanced between Steve and Thor intermittently, and Steve narrowly suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at him.

He’d never been that fond of Howard, regardless of the other man’s clear fondness of him—and Bucky, despite his sneering at their lack of higher education—and he wasn’t sure why he’d expected he’d feel so different about his son. Clearly the younger Stark hadn’t bothered to actually listen to Peggy and Howard when they spoke about him, rather than Captain America.

“Sorry,” he offered insincerely. “Computer was moving a little slow for me.”

He drew his eyes from Tony slowly and turned his attention to Fury, who was already moving towards him with placating words that did nothing to soothe the burning embers of Steve’s rage. “Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean we’re—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nick,” Stark interrupted with a raised eyebrow as he swung the large computer screen around so they could see the blueprints it showed. “What were you lying?”

Steve scoffed at Fury and hooked his thumbs in the stupid belt on his stupid fucking suit. “I was wrong, Director. The world hasn’t changed a bit.” Before any of them could say more, Becca strode in, followed closely by Agent Romanoff, and Steve’s entire focus narrowed onto his roommate.

“Did you know about this?” he demanded angrily as he stepped towards her, gesturing towards the computer screen. “Were you keeping this from me?”

He felt momentarily guilty when Becca stumbled back a little, obviously taken aback by his hostile attitude. Her eyes—so much like Bucky’s, damn it—widened and she stared at the screen in confusion, eyes darting over the details lightning-quick, before turning back towards him with a determined expression. “No, of course not. What is this?”

“Rogers, Agent Barnes didn’t have the clearance—” Fury started, but Steve didn’t want to hear it, because nothing he’d been told seemed to be the truth, so why the hell would this be?

“Steve,” Becca tried, stepping towards him with her hands raised in a placating gesture and damn if it didn’t piss him off more.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, yanking his arm from her reach as he glared at her, ignoring the way she almost flinched back from him, no matter how it made him burn with guilt. “Is anything you told me true?” His mind was filled with memories of their conversations over the past three weeks, of the way he had confided in her, and he was horrified by the idea that Becca might have been following Fury’s orders all along.

“Hey, come on, Capsicle,” Stark jumped in, resting a hand on Becca’s shoulder to pull her back a little, almost as though Steve was the dangerous one.

He stepped forward again, angry words on the tip of his tongue when Agent Romanoff cut in, eyes on Dr. Banner, who stood tense and angry at the far end of the lab. “You wanna think about removing yourself from his environment, doctor?”

“I was in Calcutta,” Dr. Banner replied scathingly. “I was pretty well removed.”

Steve lost interest in their end of the conversation pretty swiftly, eyes drawn to where Becca stood with Tony, the billionaire’s hand still on her shoulder as they both stared at Banner and Agent Romanoff.

Steve wasn’t an idiot, contrary to popular belief, and while he may not always have been the brains behind the operations with the Howlies, he was no slacker, and he had not been blind to the way Stark had glared at him when Steve had turned to Becca earlier, when he had put his hand on her arm to check on her. Though Steve was still mystified by their interaction, he gathered it meant the billionaire cared about Becca, at least.

He wasn’t sure why that idea bothered him so much, now.

“The world’s filling up with people who can’t be matched,” Fury exclaimed exasperatedly, as though that was supposed to make his experimenting alright. “People that can’t be controlled.”

“Like you controlled the cube?” Steve hissed scathingly, ignoring the way the anger burning through his veins felt off, because he was just so done with the way S.H.I.E.L.D. was handling this whole damned thing, and he just wanted to be back at Becca’s old little apartment with the sagging couch and the computer she’d hooked up to the television so Steve could google Youtube videos easily.

He just didn’t want to be here.

“Nuclear deterrent,” Tony deadpanned, and much as Steve was inclined to hate the man based simply on his wealth, he agreed with him there—even if he still wasn’t entirely clear on what nuclear weapons were. “Cause that always calms everything right down.”

“Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?” Fury sniped, raising a single eyebrow at Tony.

Steve couldn’t help but sneer, despite his unvoiced agreement with the man from the moment before, “I’m sure if he still made weapons, Stark would be neck deep—”

“Wait, wait, hold up,” the older man started forward, waving his hands in an approximation of confusion that pissed Steve off more than anything else Stark had done so far. “How is this now about me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve mocked, turning towards the dark-haired man again. “Isn’t everything?”

Something close to satisfaction warmed him when Stark reeled back as though Steve had slapped him, but his mind felt clouded and he couldn’t quite remember why he wanted to piss Stark off so badly. He was just so fucking frustrated.

“Steve!”

He snapped his head to the side when Becca slapped his arm, something ugly in the back of his mind sneering at her confused expression. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“Like you’ve been fair to me?” The words fell from his lips without his express permission and, in the back of his mind, he cringed at the hurt expression on her face—but he didn’t stop. “How do I know you’ve not been lying to me?”

Stark scoffed at him and wrapped his fingers around Becca’s wrist to pull her back towards him. “Ignore Golden Boy, Becca,” he sneered. “Clearly he needs to get laid more. Too uptight.”

“Tony!” Both Becca and Dr. Banner turned to glare at Stark, but Steve didn’t care, because that rich son-of-a-bitch just kept pushing every single button he had. “I swear to God, Stark,” he hissed, “one more stupid crack—”

“Threatening!” Stark shouted dramatically. “I feel threatened!”

The situation only devolved further, and Steve wasn’t even sure who he was arguing with anymore, only that every single person in the room was pissing him off so much that he had to restrain himself from punching all of them through the goddamned wall.

Agent Romanoff’s clear, seemingly unaffected voice pierced through the haze of anger that clouded his mind, and he turned towards her subconsciously, even as she addressed Dr. Banner.

“You need to step away,” she enunciated slowly, eyeing Dr. Banner meaningfully, and though he was still angry, he couldn’t disagree with her logic. The last thing they needed was the fucking Hulk tearing through the air… ship… whatever.

“Why shouldn’t the guy blow off a little steam?” Steve’s blood nearly boiled when Stark tossed an arm around him in a gesture that was too reminiscent of the way Bucky used to before he’d drag Steve in for a playful kiss, before—

“You know damn well why,” Steve snapped, shoving Stark back a little harder than he intended to, but damn it he didn’t want anyone else to fucking put their hands on him like that. “Back off!”

The rest of the room faded a little bit when Stark swaggered back towards him, stepping right up into Steve’s personal space—and Steve was completely taken aback to realise that Stark was not… unfortunate looking. “Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me,” Stark shot back challengingly.

Steve’s heart pounded, and he couldn’t suppress the thoughts of his fights with Bucky, of the way his best guy had been able to make him burn with anger as well as desire, and of the way this—this—felt frighteningly familiar.

It pissed him off beyond anything he could even comprehend.

“Big man in a suit of armor,” he hissed, frightened by how much Stark was able to rile him up. “What are you when you take that off?”

Stark scoffed, but his reply came so swiftly Steve almost believed him capable of reading Steve’s mind and fucking preparing for his question before he’d even spoken it aloud. “Genius, philanthropist, reformed playboy, billionaire,” the other man finished smugly, and it pissed him off.

What—did Stark honestly believe that having money made him better than everyone else?

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you,” he spit, the faces of the Howlies stuck in the forefront of his mind, the way they’d all had a little too much experience with being barely able to scrape up enough money to get by, to feed themselves and their families.

Howard had been just like this.

More money than God and tossing it around like it meant nothing.

Like the five dollars Bucky had worked himself to the bone for, to pay for Steve’s medicine, were worthless. Like it meant nothing, when it meant everything.

Of course his kid would end up the same.

“Steve, come on, that’s not fair,” Becca piped up, pushing past Stark and pressing her hand against his chest almost like she was trying to hold him back from—from what? Telling Stark the fucking truth for once in his stupid, spoiled existence? “You don’t know Tony, he’s—”

“Please.” He shoved her aside—slightly more gently than he would with anyone else, he wasn’t that much of an asshole—and glared at Stark. “I’ve seen the footage, I read the file. The only thing you fight for is yourself. You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play—to lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

He’d seen situations like that all too often in the war, had seen friends shove others out of the way and save their lives at the cost of their own—he’d lost Bucky because the other man had taken up the shield to defend Steve when he was down…

Every single one of those men and women, who risked their lives, who gave their lives to save others…

They were the heroes to Steve.

Not the fucking billionaire in an iron suit.

Stark, however, didn’t seem too             perturbed and shrugged. “I think I’d just cut the wire.”

He had, as Steve expected, entirely missed Steve’s point. “Always a way out, isn’t there?” Steve smiled wryly, shaking his head. He didn’t really know why he’d hoped Tony would prove to be smarter than his father had been in that department. “You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

He almost expected Becca to butt in again, but when he looked to the side, she’d been caught up in a fierce argument with Agent Romanoff, and before he could determine what they were talking about, Tony pushed forward into his space and poked at his chest angrily.

“A hero? Like you?” Stark scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came from a bottle.”

Steve reeled back, struck by Stark’s words more than he wanted to admit—it hit right on the old insecurities he’d been wrestling with his entire life that doubled after the serum and, somehow, people liked him; Steve never stopped wondering how many of the people he met, how many of the friends he’d made would’ve been his friends if they’d met him when he was still scrawny and sickly—but Stark just pushed on, a glint in his eye telling Steve the other man knew exactly how much those words hit home for Steve.

“Too bad the bottle came from a Stark, too, isn’t it?” Steve’s mouth opened, but no words fell from his lips, and Stark just smirked at him. “Can’t even pick your own girl.” Steve’s eyes went wide as Tony gestured towards Becca with a careless gesture. “Had to run with my sloppy seconds there, too.”

Steve wasn’t sure if it was the implication that he was sleeping with Becca—something the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed to have convinced themselves of—or the callous way Stark spoke of her, but his hands had curled into fists and he’d taken a step towards the shorter man before he could stop himself, halted only when Thor reached out and curled his hand around Steve’s bicep.

Too late, Steve realized the others had fallen silent, too, and he turned to find Becca staring at Tony with wide, horrified eyes. “Tony,” she breathed, hurt and anger both evident in her tone, and Steve was baffled to see Stark look as though he, too, had been surprised and a little appalled by his own words—but he didn’t move to take them back.

“Put on the suit,” Steve hissed, the look of utter hurt and betrayal on Becca’s face making him ache somewhere deep inside his chest as the argument around them slowly resumed, the fiery anger he’d been feeling since he’d found the weapons rearing back up. “Let’s go a few rounds.”

He glared at Stark, puffing up his chest a little, because he would not fucking let this jumped up asshole win, damn it. He didn’t take his eyes off of Tony’s—and a distant part of his mind noted that he’d never seen that shade of brown before, with just that hint of orange shining through—until Thor piped up behind them again and Stark looked away, rubbing at his eyes blearily.

Steve lost the thread of the conversation again when Becca tried to push past him, towards Tony. Before he could stop himself, he curled his fingers around her wrist to hold her back, because he’d seen, he’d seen how much Tony’s words had hurt her and, even though he was still pissed off to high fucking hell, he was reluctant to let her near the other man again.

“You can’t, I tried!”

The words pierced through their argumentative haze, and Steve’s head swiveled around to Banner, who stood by the scepter, sheepishness and anger warring for dominance in his expression. “I got low,” he continued when everyone stopped to stare at him. “I didn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out!”

Steve winced and tightened his grip on Becca’s wrist, because his anger was rapidly ebbing away and he remembered enough of Becca’s vague tales of her first few months after she’d been discharged from the Army to know she’d been that low, too, and that she’d tried that once.

He very definitively did not think of how low he had found himself after Bucky had died.

He hadn’t been suicidal, per se, but when the opportunity had come, he hadn’t fought to get away from it—crashing the Valkyrie had been a way out, too.

He understood.

Dr. Banner swallowed thickly before he continued, and Steve tensed a little when the other man’s hand crept towards the scepter, almost like Banner himself didn’t even realise what he was doing. “So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk! You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?”

Before Banner could step forward and do something he’d likely regret, Steve stepped forward, well aware that every single agent in the room had their hands on their guns. “Dr. Banner,” he began gently, raising a hand in what he hoped would be perceived as a peaceful gesture. “Put down the scepter.”

Before Banner could say anything or anyone could move, the computer beeped loudly, and both Stark and Banner immediately swerved towards it, eyes wide and intrigued. “Sorry, kids,” Banner said gruffly, setting down the scepter. “Guess you don’t get to see my little party trick after all.”

“Have you located the Tesseract?”

Fury sounded both exasperated and eager, and Steve finally released his grip on Becca’s wrist so they could move closer to look at the map splayed out across the monitor.

“I can get there faster,” Stark exclaimed after spending all of four seconds looking at the screen, spinning on his heel towards the door before Becca caught his arm.

“Tony, that’s really not—”

“Look, Stark,” Fury cut in almost simultaneously. “All of us—”

Stark just disregarded all of them and flounced towards the door, and Steve had been right, damn it, Stark was not a team player and he was only doing this to get the credit in the end. He grabbed at Stark’s arm, dragging the shorter man back with ease. “You’re not going alone, Stark.”

“You gonna stop me, Capsicle?”

Steve sneered at the man and pushed forward into Stark’s personal space again. “Put on the suit. We’ll find out,” he taunted.

“I’m not afraid to hit an old man,” Stark answered derisively, poking against Steve’s chest aggressively.

“Put. On. The. Suit.”

Before anyone could do anything else, there was an enormous explosion, rocking the Helicarrier sideways violently. Steve felt the heat of the fire burn on his skin, and windows shattered as smoke and fire blew out through the openings. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel rained down on them and alarms—shrill and deafening to Steve’s sensitive ears—erupted into shrill squeals, as though they wouldn’t be able to tell something bad had happened by the way the Helicarrier tilted alarmingly to the right now.

Steve struggled to his feet, doing his best to ignore the blaring alarms, and helped Becca up, concern aching in his chest when she looked at him, expression dazed and bleeding from a cut on her head.

There was a gaping crater in the middle of the floor, and neither Agent Romanoff nor Dr. Banner were anywhere in sight, though Stark was already stumbling back to his feet next to Steve, reaching for Becca in concern, too, as soon as he got his feet under him.

The others remained on the floor for a heartbeat longer, curled in a fetal position to protect their ears and vital organs as they tried to regain their bearings.

“Becca,” Steve wheezed, returning his attention to his roommate, ignoring Tony’s shaking hands pushing her hair from her forehead to look at where she was bleeding, shaking her shoulder a little to get her to focus her misty gaze on him. “Becca, are you okay?”

“Dizzy,” she replied fuzzily, but before either Steve or Stark could say anything, Fury pushed between him and Stark and shoved them from Becca’s side.

“Go. I’ve got her, Captain. Go help the others.”

He blinked at Fury slowly for a long few moments before he nodded, clumsily patting at Tony’s shoulder until he could draw the other man towards the door. “Put on the suit,” he ordered blearily, stumbling into Stark a few times as they tried to leave the room without falling over.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

chance may crown me - a story for the 2017 reylo fanfiction anthology: celebrate the waking

chapter I (AO3/Tumblr) | chapter II | chapter III | chapter IV | chapter V | chapter VI | chapter VII | chapter VIII

“Got it!” Rey whispered with a note of triumph.

Finn grimaced as she spoke. “Quiet! If someone else hears us, they might claim the place for their own.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “You always worry too much, Finn. It’s the evening. No one comes near this spot. All the scavengers are lining up at Plutt’s, and anyone who’s got any credits is having supper.”

“Yep, and I don’t want to eat prison food for the next ten years. I heard it’s even worse than the portions. Let’s go.”

Rey snorted as she slipped the pearl necklace in her bag, grabbing her staff. “ Nothing is worse than portions, Finn. If what they serve in prisons is worse, then it’s got to be bantha poodoo.”

Finn wrinkled his nose. “Great way to cut my appetite, Rey.”

“Oh, come on,” chuckled Rey. “I’ve heard your stomach growl ever since we got here. I’m pretty sure it made more noise than I did.”

They headed out of the jewelry shop’s basement or, as they liked to call it, their “scavenging spot,” using the underground tunnel Rey had discovered a few weeks earlier. They travelled through a maze of sewers, where someone less experienced would have lost themselves, but not the two of them, and especially not when Finn was working on a map of the city’s underground as a useful pastime.

Rey blinked as her eyes saw the light again. It wasn’t too blinding, of course; it was twilight, and the upper atmosphere of Naboo displayed shades of pink and orange. It was her favorite time of the day, as the sky reminded her of the fine silks noble ladies would wear on special occasions, the fading clouds reminiscent of the soft texture.

Unlike other people living in the undercity, Rey and Finn could still see the sky from their home. It was one of the reasons why Rey found it hard to complain about the rusty AT-AT where they lived. As she slipped inside, right behind Finn, and they sat beside each other as they always did, she couldn’t help but pick up the pearl necklace from her bag and wave it around, marveling at the many colors the remaining rays of light coming through the AT-AT’s small window gave the pearls.

“Can we keep this one?” she asked.

“Why? What will we even do with it?” Finn chuckled. “If an officer catches you wearing that, you’re done. And anyway, we’re out of portions. We can’t afford keeping that, especially if you’re just going to use it to look at it all day.”

Rey frowned. “I wouldn’t! I’d use it to… to…” Finn tilted his head with a small smirk, while Rey scowled at him. “Fine,” she grumbled. “You take care of the exchange with Plutt. I don’t want to do it. It’s too pretty.”

“Deal,” replied Finn, shrugging. “Anyway, at this hour, the line at Plutt’s must be smaller. I think we can go. You think you can hold up until then? I may have leftovers from yesterday—”

“Finn, I’m fine. You’re the one who’s hungry.”

“Me? Nah. You, on the other hand—”

“Finn, just because I got sick last spring doesn’t mean you have to treat me like a little doll all the time. It’ll take us an hour at most to get to Plutt’s, do the trade, and come back. But you need to take care of yourself.”

Sighing deeply, Finn retrieved a chunk of hard bread from his bag, biting off a piece with some difficulty. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said, his mouth full. Rey’s only response was to hug him with a chuckle. Finn could only smile. It was hard to refuse Rey anything.

As soon as Finn was done eating, they headed out into the night. The undercity was barely lit, but Rey and Finn were used to it, having experienced it since childhood.

Finn still remembered the frightened ten-year-old little boy he’d been when he had run away from the orphanage. Rey had been in the street for a year already, still waiting for her parents, but a feisty little slip of a girl at the young age of six years old, earning her meager living by pickpocketing. They hadn’t left each other since.

Thirteen years later, as they made their way to one of Unkar Plutt’s warehouses, Rey still held his hand in the barely lit city, just like she did when they were children to make sure he wouldn’t be scared. Finn hadn’t been afraid of the dark for ages, but the habit had remained.

The undercity of Theed was as busy during the night as it was during the day. Rey and Finn were so used to the noise, however, that they barely noticed it.

On the other hand, any unusual noises or happenings rarely escaped their notice.

A droid beeping in distress caught Rey’s attention. Tugging at Finn’s sleeve, she then let go of his hand and ran straight towards the noise.

It was Teedo, another scavenger that had given them trouble more than once. He had caught a droid in his net, unlike any Rey had seen before. It was small, and probably belonged to some Naboo noble as a companion. Its round shape, however, was unfamiliar to her, and yet she couldn’t shake away the feeling she had seen it before.

In another time, she would have let Teedo with his prey so he could take it to Plutt and exchange it for portions, and perhaps even credits. It wasn’t the first time a droid, often malfunctioning, had wandered in the undercity and been caught by scavengers. But this time…

For some reason which Rey couldn’t quite put her finger on, she couldn’t let Teedo take this droid away.

“Let him go!” she yelled, ignoring Finn running after her and pulling her arm. Teedo cursed at her in his language, but Rey didn’t move an inch, standing straight, her hands clutching her staff in case she would have to defend herself. When Teedo shook his head, and got back to work, attempting to turn off the droid while it was still trying to free itself from the net, Rey took a few steps forward, brandishing her staff to intimidate him. Teedo mumbled less than flattering names to Rey before turning his back and running away. He was already familiar with Rey’s fighting, and wasn’t exactly eager to experience it again.

“Well, that was easy,” mumbled Finn. “What are we gonna do? He might come back with some of his buddies.”

“We’ll have to hurry, then,” shrugged Rey. “Help me with the net, please?”

The droid was thankfully unharmed, apart from a bent antenna. When Finn reached for it, attempting to set it straight again, the droid immediately pointed out a stun ray, zapping Finn.

“Ouch!” he yelled. “Great way of thanking me after I rescued you!”

“For your information, I rescued him,” replied Rey. “Let me try.”

To Finn’s great surprise, the droid became docile while Rey fixed his antenna, even beeping in happiness and purring like a kitten. “Your name is BB-8, right?” said Rey, translating for Finn what the droid was telling her. “Where do you come from?”

Rey frowned at BB-8’s reply. “What? What did he say?” asked Finn.

“He—he says he’s been programmed to accompany and obey me,” replied Rey. “There must be a mistake.”

BB-8 shook his head.

“BB-8, can you tell me who programmed you?” Rey asked. She was doing her best to hide her hands shaking.

Finn’s heart tugged a little. Even after all those years, Rey was still clinging to her parents promising her they would come back after abandoning her in the undercity. Finn knew all too well it was probably a lie to cover the fact she would never see them again. But he had never dared to tell Rey the truth. But even after all those years, wasn’t he her family? To him, Rey was his little sister by everything but blood, but there were some moments where he wondered if she also saw him as a brother.

Regardless, he would stay with her and protect her, no matter what. Even if she always claimed she didn’t need protecting.

Rey’s shoulders lowered in disappointment as BB-8 answered. “He says his programming doesn’t permit him to reveal who sent him. Finn, what are we going to do?”

Finn shrugged and tried to smile, but it was anything but convincing. “I’m pretty sure we’ll know soon enough, Rey. Droids are weird.”

An insulted BB-8 beeped in protest while Rey laughed. “That’s because you never bothered to understand them, silly,” she replied. “Let’s get going. Are you coming, BB-8?”

The droid immediately rolled to Rey’s side, purring happily. The trio started walking, but it didn’t take long for Rey to notice Finn was uneasy.

“Is there anything wrong?” she asked.

Finn tried to smile. “Nah. I just—”

Rey stopped, crossing her arms. “Don’t fool me. I know you well enough to know when you’re not okay.”

Finn swallowed, choosing his words carefully. “Rey… if you find your family—”

“What do you mean, if ?” Rey interrupted him. “I will find them!”

Finn winced. “All right, when you find your family… I mean, you won’t forget me, right?”

Rey’s eyes widened in understanding. She laughed. “I’m not going to leave you in the undercity, you idiot. You’ll come with me.”

“You think so?”

“Of course! I’ll just tell them that I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“Well, you never told me that, Miss-Know-It-All,” teased Finn.

“Just don’t get too much of a big head with that,” scowled Rey, muffling her laugh.

Unkar Plutt was one of those noblemen who had recently gained his social status by connections, craftiness and wealth. However, he still couldn’t keep up with the lavish lifestyle he was attempting to pursue, and, like many others, he relied on undercity thugs and pickpockets to give him a bit more resources.

In exchange for whatever “goods” the scavengers brought Plutt, they received credits and food portions. Most of the time, it wasn’t even worth a quarter of what they stole, but many scavengers such as Rey and Finn had no other choice but to rely on whatever Plutt was gracious enough to provide them with in exchange for their work.

For many of the nobles, the black market was too risky, considering the previous Queen of Naboo, Soruna, had done much to destroy the system, which gained a lot of power during the Empire’s time. It made living in the lower city and undercity much safer, considering bounty hunters and other criminals didn’t run rampant anymore.

The reconstruction efforts, however, had not extended to destroying the class system the Empire had put in place: Naboo’s restoration to how it had been in the Old Republic’s times would be a long process, and some even speculated it would only be attained a hundred years after the Empire’s fall. The new Queen, Kusumina, had just been elected, and all inhabitants of Naboo hoped the situation would only get better for all of them.

 Including Unkar Plutt.

The greed in Plutt’s gaze as he noticed BB-8 entering the warehouse with Rey and Finn was far too obvious to ignore. Regardless, Rey pretended she hadn’t noticed and pulled out the pearl necklace from her bag, handing it to Plutt. He picked it up and glanced at it, with a hint of disdain.

“Krayt dragon pearls,” he muttered. “That’s worth… three portions.”

“What?” interjected Rey. “You said last week krayt dragon pearls were priceless! They’re only found on Tatooine and it’s become more and more difficult to—”

Plutt dismissively waved his hand at Rey. “For the droid, though… I’d be willing to pay a lot more. How about… sixty portions? And there will be another part of my payment for it in credits.”

Both Rey and Finn froze, looking at each other. Plutt had never been so generous.

Rey looked down at BB-8. His head was turned upwards, as if he was begging. She took a deep breath, looking one last time at Finn, who seemed to almost immediately guessing what her reply to Plutt would be. He nodded in agreement.

“Actually… the droid is not for sale,” Rey replied. “Only the pearls. And they’re worth more than that.”

Plutt scowled in anger, throwing the pearl necklace in his pocket. “Then I don’t see the point of continuing business with you. As long as you’re not willing to sell the BB unit to me, you’re fired.”

“ What? ” shouted Rey. “This isn’t fair! You have no right—”

Unkar Plutt laughed. “Oh, but I do. I know you all rely on me. Starve for a few days, and think about it. I might not make you beg too much if you come back sooner.”

“Oh no, you don’t, you son of a—” Rey grabbed her staff, ready to jump on Plutt, ignoring his thuggish bodyguards coming closer to her to defend their boss, but Finn grabbed Rey from behind.

“Hey, we’re not trying to cause trouble here, okay?” said Finn. “We’ll just… go.”

“Good call,” chuckled Plutt. Rey was still struggling as Finn dragged her towards the exit, BB-8 in tow.

“You want us to try to catch the droid, boss?” asked one of the thugs.

“No use,” replied Plutt. “They’ll be back. The girl needs a lesson. I’m sick of her snotty attitude. You’d believe she’s some long lost princess at times.”

It took a moment after they had come out of the warehouse for Finn to calm Rey down. When she finally breathed deeply, as Finn encouraged her to do, she only snapped again after a few seconds. “The dragon krayt pearls! He still has them! That kriffing bastard is going to—”

“Hey, hey, you need to calm down, okay? I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, all right? Let’s go back home.”

“But Finn! We can’t let him get away with this!”

“I know. But we’ll find a way. I—I might have an idea. But we can’t talk about it here, right? So let’s go back home, okay?”

Rey nodded, a glimmer of hope finally managing to calm her down. If there was one person who could elaborate plans, it was Finn.

The walk back to the AT-AT was silent, and as soon as they arrived, Rey sat on her makeshift bed, BB-8 standing by her side, her feet swinging back and forth as she awaited Finn’s explanation.

“All right,” he started. “It might be risky. Well, actually, it really is. But it’s really a Force send that we found BB-8.” The droid beeped in agreement, making Rey laugh. Finn couldn’t help but chuckle. “So… I thought I could ask Maz Kanata for help. She—she could provide us with a dress and a fancy headpiece or something. We could… dress you up as a noble lady.”

Rey’s eyes widened. “Wait… what do you want to do with this? I know nothing about behaving like a noble lady! And do you really think Maz could help us?”

Finn shrugged. “I’m sure she could. I mean, do you ever wonder how she got her hands on all those weapons? And how she just happens to know lightsaber forms? She never tells us why, no matter how much we ask her.”

“I try not to ask too much,” replied Rey. “She told me once that if I kept on asking questions about it, she wouldn’t let me use the lightsaber for training anymore.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she’d let me use it, instead of that vibrosword,” grumbled Finn. Rey giggled, shaking her head. “Anyway, if we do manage to get Maz’s help, I’ll give you the basics of how to pass as a lady.”

“Oh, so you’re suddenly a ladies’ expert, now?” teased Rey. Finn felt his ears heat up.

“What I meant to say is that I’ve watched a lot of them,” he continued. “How they behave, how they talk. You have a nice crisp Coruscanti accent. That’s going to help a lot. You also stand straight. That’s good too. The rest is going to be a piece of cake.”

“So, I’m going to dress up… for what? I’m just going to sneak in the upper city?”

Finn’s eyes glittered in mischief. “Well, the Festival of Light and the Queen’s wedding are coming up this week, right? Plutt’s going to be at the palace, his room will barely have any security compared to his place, and he’s going to be busy for sure.”

Rey frowned in puzzlement. “Yeah? So?”

Finn smiled. “We’re gonna rob Plutt.”