#I cannot help but fucking grieve for the people in places like America
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had to spend $260 today for a consultation-slash-ecg-very quick echo to look at my heart. got told to do a stress test and also wear a monitor for a day. that is about $200 and the monitor is $450 or some shit like that. Medicare does pay most of this back for all of these (about $130+ for the payment today, and for my appointment like $1__+ smth back from the first number and $3__ smth back for the other) and that’s fine I guess. the actual out of pocket payments isn’t too much. except. this upcoming appointment in a fortnight. I need to pay the whole thing up front so they can refund me, instead of just paying the out of pocket cost. I guess for the paperwork to be official for Medicare. I need to get $650 together for it first. oh my fucking god. FOR A STRESS TEST AND A HEART MONITOR FOR 24 HOURS????? I KNOW I GET THE MONEY BACK BUT ARE YOU. KIDDING ME??? I STILL NEED TO FIND THE ACTUAL $650 IN PERSON FOR THE DAY REGARDLESS. WHAT THE FUCK LOL. I ONLY GET PAID $700 A FORTNIGHT??? I HAVE BILLS AND SHIT TO PAY OUT OF THAT??? I ONLY GET PAID ONCE BEFORE THE APPOINTMENT?????????
#head in hands.#family said they will help me cover the cost if I need help getting the full $650 for the appointment#which means I’ll likely be fine. but what the fuck lmfao??? huh????? Huh?????????#I had to ask for $30 bc I didn’t have $260 in my account in the fucking first place today lmfao????? bitch?????????#I’m only gonna get like. $130-smth back too……. I hate it here#but even despite all this. I know I’m still lucky it’s happening in Australia#and that people have it tougher than I do. and in these situations#I cannot help but fucking grieve for the people in places like America#who do not have the healthcare system that I do. I couldn’t imagine going through this in the us#ooc
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When I’m gone i want every future American child on earth who goes to school to know that this place was ran by shitty people. Shitty people who were literally nicknamed named “genocide Joe”, you don’t get a fucking nickname like that by doing your job correctly. I hope that America changes in the future. I hope that people remember what our government has done wrong and vows not to let their government simply let almost 30,000 innocent men, women, and children die off in the most horrendous ways imaginable. These are just statistics man. These are people who were painters, bakers, musicians and more. People who were excited to go to their siblings baby shower, who were anxious that their school crush was gonna reject them, people who were violently grieving before this genocide, and found happiness in the mundane. These people went to schools and made plans for the future, made dreams to help their families, and so much fucking more. You cannot allow this. You cannot condone this. You cannot believe that a newborn child who lived miles upon miles across the ocean away from you was gonna grow up to be some super villain and deserved it. You cannot believe that. You’d have to be the stupidest most willfully ignorant person on earth to believe a five year old deserved to die in an air strike.
***this is not a place to promote antisemitism. I have seen many people use this genocide as an excuse to be antisemitic.
#save palestine#palestine#palestine genocide#free gaza#gaza strip#gaza#gaza genocide#gazaunderattack#save gaza#fuck israel#Do not let the Star of David become a stolen symbol.#bolt barks#text#text post
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Fine Line: The Divorce Series - part two.
In case you missed part one you can find it here. Feedback always appreciated in any form. Feel free to message me if you have any questions!!
Trigger warnings for this include; mentions of death, drug and alcohol abuse.
It’s ten passed twelve when Eliza opens her eyes for the first time, she hadn’t slept a good nights sleep since Fallon’s diagnosis but last night she didn’t wake not once.They had her funeral yesterday, she doesn’t remember much, she thinks this is probably partially why she was able to sleep so well, knowing that Fallon was finally resting at her forever home. Harry helped to organise the funeral and had been more available to both her and their other two children in the lead up to it and insisted in paying for it in full. But yesterday was too much for him, he left somewhere between the wake and the kids’ bed time and Eliza hadn’t heard from him since.
Harry woke up in his apartment for the first time in weeks, he’d be living at Eliza’s in the spare room from the time when things got to be too much for Eliza to handle on her own. He missed his bed and the peace and quiet, but he’d never allow himself to say those words out loud.
Right in between losing her and laying her to rest, they celebrated her birthday. Gemma thought it would be a good idea to acknowledge the day instead of pushing it to the side, Harry just kind of wanted to push through and try and get through the day, but Eliza liked the idea of being able to blow out a candle for Fallon and so to appease his ex-wife’s needs and support her through her grief, Harry bit his tongue And they did just that, celebrated her.
elizadoherty 4 years ago you made me a mama sweet angel baby Fallon. I miss you, thanks for changing my life 🕊
Liked by harrystyles, niallhoran and 12,378,346 others,
The funeral came around quicker than he had anticipated, it kind of crept up on him. After today things would go back to the way they were before Fallon got sick snd Harry wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. He wasn’t ready to be away from Koa and Lennon, or even Eliza for that matter. Everyone was so wrapped up in supporting Eliza on the day, they had forgot that Harry had lost a child too. So distracted by Eliza, no one noticed Harry when he slipped out in the middle of her wake, no one but Eliza.
There was no communication between the two in the weeks that followed, he locked himself in the studio with only a select few people and she was trying to get back to somewhat of a normal routine with the twins. He was making good progress with an album, it wasn’t as upbeat as previous albums had been but it just reflected what he was going through and how he was feeling. With no communication and his lack of interest in their other two children Eliza goes ahead and books a court date to finalise their divorce. Harry is leaving the studio when he gets words of the court date being set, he heads straight to the bar.
Harry is on his sixth drink when he finally gets a hold of Eliza. I miss you he tells her We just lost — we just — how can you even be thinking about finalising our divorce. She cries and that’s when he knows he’s fucked up. Eliza don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m such a fuck up, it should have been me, not her... Eliza knows she should hang up the phone, call Gemma let her deal with him and go back to bed. Instead she asks Harry for his location, calls a sitter and by the time she heads to the bar its almost 10pm.
Eliza finds Harry in the corner booth, away from prying eyes and away from windows with his back toward the rest of the people in the pub. By now he’s lost count of how many drinks he’s consumed. She orders herself a scotch on the rocks. The bartender looks between her and Harry and wonders what they must be going through to have lead them here tonight. They sit in silence mostly, Harry throwing back three drinks in the time it tasked Eliza to finish the one she ordered herself when she first got here. The bartender draws a line in the sand and cuts Harry off, he pays for his long bar tab remembering to ask the bartender to include Elizas scotch on the rocks and then he goes to leave.
Harry makes it all the way to his car before realising he cannot find his keys. When he reaches the bar door she’s standing out front her arms crossed over her chest,p. You didn’t think I’d let you drive home in your state did you? My children have already buried their sister this year, I’m not about to let them bury their father too. The words Eliza said to drunk Harry would play on sober minded Harry in the weeks to come. She half carries him to her car and takes him home with her. For the first time since they split, he sleeps in the same bed as her it’s only so I know if you stop breathing and to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit. Eliza watches Harry breathe for the rest of the night, much like she watched Fallon take breaths in and out until she took her last, the only difference here is that Harry never stops breathing. Somewhere between 4am and 7am she doses off and Harry slips out of her sheets and out her back door before she’s awake. Eliza canceled their court date again, realising that perhaps Harry needed time to grieve before they started to go down this path.
harrystyles ALBUM . IS. COMPLETE, Coming to you soon, happy holidays. All the love, H xx
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Harry finished writing his album just before Christmas, it was literally the fastest album he’s ever been able to write. After all this time and experience, he knew the people he needed in his space to get the job done. A lot of the songs were sad, and Eliza knew that some songs would be about her and she fully expected some songs to be about Fallon, so when he turned up at her place to show her the demo she was surprised to find no songs about their angel daughter. Eliza, that’s sick that you’d think I’d cash in on — no why would I — I can’t believe you would think that. He was angry, didn’t see she was coming from a good place and not trying to attack him. She didn’t think it would be a bad thing if he had written songs about Fallon, she was growing concerned about his abilities to deal with the loss of their daughter... he couldn’t even say her name.
He was trying to be more consciences to spend more time with Koa and Lennon. With the album complete it was only a matter of time before his management would undoubtedly have him on the road and all over the globe. Truthfully he was dreading it. He spent most afternoons putting the children to bed before bedding back to his house. He noticed things about her that were different in the Fallon aftermath. She was lonely at night, and when Koa and Lennon were out with him of an afternoon she had not so much to do. She had already organised the bookshelf, and the kitchen. Harry knew what the perfect Christmas gift would be to keep her busy.
Whilst she had redecorated the lounge and her bedroom. Fallon’s room remained untouched, the door closed and the room just the way their almost four year old had left it the day she left for the hospital and never come home. Sometimes when he would finish putting the twins to bed and when Eliza was sleeping on the couch, he would sneak into Fallon’s room and sob. Being in her room was the only time he allowed himself to feel anything.
elizadoherty Happy holidays from the Doherty-Styles household, wrangling two and half year old twins into a photo is hard work and this mama couldn’t get it done. Please enjoy a photo of our delicious cookie “nomies” that are absolutely not store bought. 😝🎅🏻🎄🤶🏻
Liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 2,637,367 others.
harrystyles ELIZA X OLIVE. Merry Christmas.
Liked by elizadoherty, olivedogherty and 18,573,663 others,
Harry’s album came out the week of Christmas. With the new year there would be lots of changes coming for both him, Eliza and their two children. He would be off on tour, first to the states then, back home for a UK stint, followed by the rest of Europe, then to South America wrapping up with Australia, New Zealand and a few dates across Asia. He wouldn’t be home for more than two days in the next nine months. This bothered Eliza. Partly because she wanted him to be home so they could finalise the divorce, partly because she wouldn’t have his help with the twins and mostly because he had already lost one child, had he not noticed the importance of having quality time with his children. She had already been annoyed by the fact that he had bought a dog into her home and gifted it to her for Christmas, she didn’t have time for a dog.. she would barely have time for herself and the two kids he was leaving behind to go on tour, and he though a doh would be a good idea?
Her thoughts all come to a head in the middle of an argument on New Years Eve. We need to finalise the divorce, we both deserve to move on. He didn’t want to move on, he liked being able to come by see her, and the kids and still be able to know she was legally still his wife. You don’t care about me and the kids, you’re not even going to see them for the next nine months, don’t tell me you care. He was mad, not because she was right but because he wanted to see them but didn’t know how to ask her to join him on tour with them. I never wanted to divorce you. You’re the one who filed for divorce Eliza. It’s Eliza’s turn to be mad. Well there was no hope for our marriage, we hadn’t had sex in months, you were sleeping on the couch, what the fuck kind of marriage is that. It wasn’t a healthy argument for the tel of them to be having, especially with the twins in the next room. I was a drug addict Eliza, I was also an alcoholic, I couldn’t really walk up the stairs, that’s why I slept on the couch not because I didn’t love you. He had stormed out, the following day he had booked in with his lawyers to come back the last week of February for their court date and two days after that he was back on tour.
harrystyles USA thank you for being the perfect start to this tour, you were all so beautiful! I’ll be back soon. All the love, H xx.
Liked by annetwist, gemmastyles and 27,627,855 others.
January rolled by faster than she would like to admit. Harry was back in London briefly to see the twins, Anne picked them up and took them to him as per his request. His birthday was tomorrow, Eliza offered for him to keep them for the weekend whilst he was in town, but he had other plans and declined her offer. She’s trying to give you time with your children. Anne nagged him, but her words fell on deaf ears. He had plans to drink his way through his birthday and not be able to recall any of it.
He woke in the morning to a voicemail from her. Harry, happy — well i know it’s not happy really — but happy birthday. I’m sorry about the divorce papers, I was... reaaaaalllyyy dumb. Anyway, see ya. She had been drinking, she could never hold her liquor. He remembers back to a time pre marriage and pre children when she would go out and have a few too many cocktails and call him from the bar, he remembers driving to fetch her, pulling over on the side of the road because his driving would be too much for her stomach to handle. He thinks about the way he used to hold her when she was too tired to walk and then the way he’d hold her in bed as her breath would steady and she’d finally succumb to the effects of the alcohol and sleep. God he loved her.
elizadoherty HBD to my #1 (And only) bb daddy, @harrystyles, you’re a great dad, friend and I’m so glad I get to raise my babies with you. Here’s a throwback to when we were younger and when you had less wrinkles, old man.
Liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 18,257,268 others.
He made a mental note to return her the favour of nice words on social media when her birthday would roll around come summer. They were younger and happier in that photo. He wouldn’t wish his kids away, but he does wish he could go back to being that happy, young and carefree guy in the photo.
After his birthday, things continued to go downhill for the two of them and their co-parenting endeavour. It started when he was photographed leaving a nightclub with a random girl on his arm the night of his birthday and things escalated when a week before their court date she had been photographed with someone new. This was the first time since the two of them had started dating all those years ago that they had been photographed with someone else.
TMZ
Harry Styles ex-wife, Eliza Doherty, spotted out with new mystery beau shopping over the weekend.
It was the comments left the photo that sent Eliza into a rage. “Where are her kids?” “Spending all of Harry’s alimony I guess” that’s all the end of their marriage was to the public? Just about money? Never mind the emotional turmoil either of them had gone through, the sleepless nights the days where she wouldn’t know if he would make it home. The public didn’t understand, and never would, what it wad to be like Eliza Styles.
On top of the public ridicule, Harry of course had to get his two cents worth in. I don’t want you bringing random guys around the twins. It was a harmless comment and something she would surely say to him if she didn’t have manners or any kind of belief that he would be responsible with who he introduced their children to. Focus on yourself, Harry. And less on who I’m bringing home..
TMZ
reports of Harry Styles and ex-wife, Eliza Doherty, heading into court today to finalise their divorce after almost a year snd a half. He wore a black shirt and a cross earring for the occasion.
Harry was trending on twitter and the photo and article from TMZ were attached to every tweet. Most people agreed he didn’t look himself. Everyone agreed it was inappropriate to take the photo and then post it to the masses but here it was for everyone to see. Eliza shook her head and put her phone away, soon enough she’d be in the same room as him for the first time since New Year’s Eve.
She had never been more scared to see him, hadn’t heard from him personally for the entire first leg of his tour, which even when they were having problems was odd. Perhaps he was still angry, she had moved passed the anger stage and into the sad stage pretty quickly, it had been like this throughout their entire relationship. She would get over things quickly whilst he would hold onto things for days and days at one time. Harry knew based off of her voicemail that she had been ready to move passed the argument on New Year’s Eve, and he was almost on the same page as her and then they argued about partners and children and things had again been sour since.
As soon as the time drew closer she began to feel like she couldn’t breathe. Like she might collapse at any second and never wake up again, like someone had taken all the air out of her lungs and out of this building. She used to enjoy the way her heart would skip a beat and the way her lungs would lose all the air when he entered her orbit, but now the feeling made her sick to her stomach. For the first time in a long time she couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same room as him.
Part of him didn’t want to be here. This was partially to do with the fact that last night he had drank his body weight in alcohol, was very hungover and couldn’t think straight, but it was mostly to do with the fact that he couldn’t stand to see her cry and knew there was a good chance with the way they left things off that he might be the reason for her tears.
He reeked of vodka and scotch and tequila and definitely weed, at least that’s all the things that Eliza could smell as he sat across from her. He was using again, or drinking again at the very least. It made her sad, he had worked so hard to get to a good place. Perhaps this was his way of coping, his way of dealing with Fallon dying. His way of forgetting about his problems. It wasn’t healthy, she’d make a note to talk to Gemma and Anne when she got back to the kids later in the afternoon.
He looked as if he hadn’t slept at all since the last time she saw him some five weeks ago now — which would make sense because she hadn’t slept properly in that long either. His shirt was creased and it was a mess, he looked unkempt which was a rare sight. Mismatched socks, untucked shirt, the pants he was wearing just as creased as his shirt was. His hair was longer than usual— he was letting it grow again... was this even any of her business anymore? — It probably wasn’t but she still examined him from head to toe, He’s wearing his shades inside, what an asshole she thinks. He was almost unrecognisable. He was most definitely no longer her Harry. She didn’t care make eye contact with him, and he extended the same courtesy not that he had much of s choice in the matter.
Mr Styles is offering Ms Doherty 50% of all his assets, as of this time that part has not changed.
Ms. Doherty would be happy to only 25%, your honour. She feels it’s adequate enough to provide for the children, she has a job and doesn’t require 50%.
Mr Styles insists in the 50%, even 25% of it were to go into a fund for the children.
Her lawyer looks to her for approval, even though she really doesn’t need Harry’s money, she doesn’t want to argue with him.
Mr Styles would like joint custody of their two children, Koa Everett Styles and Lennon River Styles.
Your honour, Mrs Doherty requests that the father of her children submits to drug and alcohol tests and has supervised visitations until he can get himself — uh well... clean.
The judge rules in her favour, Harry has to pass three tests in a row for both drugs and alcohol before he can come anywhere near the twins. The rest esd pretty straight forward and not much different to what they had already signed on, she got the house and would receive child support on top of the 50% of the money they made from the time they first got married. Harry doesn’t see his children till two days before their third birthdays, almost three months after the court hearing. It had taken him three months but this time he swore to keep clean.
elizadoherty happy three my miracle babes, there are no words 🥺
Liked by gemmastyles, annetwist and 4,472,378 others.
A month after the twins’ birthday it’s Eliza who changes the agreement for supervision required to him being allowed to do visits at their house. Both the twins and Harry would be much more comfortable and if would give her more of a chance to observe him with them before she lets them stay with him overnight. He’s the one who suggests they go to therapy. He tells her it might help, and that he’s willing to try anything so long as she is too.
The first session back in therapy goes well, they haven’t done one together since just after the twins were born. They mostly discuss how to co-parent better and how to communicate with each other, the therapist warns to discuss Fallon and Harry practically has a panic attack at the mention of her name. When he instantly gets up and walks out on the session it’s just you and the therapist and 20 minutes left on the timer. I don’t think he’s ready to talk about her yet. It’s a sensitive topic for him. It hasn’t quite been a year yet since she passed. He won’t even talk about her with me and that was out daughter.
When Eliza gets home, Harry is on her doorstep. He’s sober, but crying and hyperventilating. She sits next to him and just hugs him not really knowing what to do. Eliza prays that her boyfriend, Andrew, doesn’t come over today. Her prayers are answered Eliza and Harry are left on their own. He cries for a long period of time before the head inside her house, Eliza is silently grateful that Anne offered to take the kids to Holmes Chapel for the week. Where did we go wrong? We should have been better and communicating. I was depressed when I couldn’t tour straight away and then you let me go and honestly this is going to sound fucking terrible but I didn’t want to come home. So many confessions spill from his lips in a short space of time. Then Eliza starts. I just wanted you to be okay, you were struggling, I know you were depressed. I keep thinking about it, I don’t remember the last time we kissed or had sex, maybe it was before the twins were even born, we should have made more time. When she stops he’s not crying anymore he’s just staring at her with his eyebrows furrowed and then he does the unimaginable he kisses her. Not just a regular peck, his hands on the back of her head and her hands are on his chest and for just a moment they’re back in 2019 and they’re newly engaged and their wold is perfect. And then he pulls away, apologises and leaves and they are back to being divorced, estranged people who happen to share two children together.
#Harry styles#harry styles fanfictions#harry styles fanfic#harry styles oneshot#harry styles imagine#harry styles tpwk#hs2#fine line#harry styles fine line#harry styles imagines#harry styles x reader
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SORRY THESE ARE JUST SO GOOOD “don’t act like you know what’s best for me after you came back out of nowhere!” for any pairing!!! <3
Do not apologize! I had so much fun with these. I hope you like this one too!!!! <3 I took some creative liberties, as one does, lol. Thank you so much for sending these!! I changed the prompt up a little, hope that’s okay! <33
The original prompt from this angsty prompt list!
Title: ???
Pairing: Sam x Bucky
Bucky’s phone lights up silently from its place on the kitchen counter. Bucky sees the brightness bloom behind his closed eyelids even with the hall light on. It’s dark enough, the middle of the night most likely. He’d be worried about Sam texting him so late if he didn’t do it every two days for the last however many weeks.
Of course Sam knew Bucky wasn’t sleeping. The man didn’t seem to care much that Bucky was still trying though.
He doesn’t get up and check the notification. He lays there stubbornly and refuses to open his eyes until the sun begins to peak in through the windows.
Then he checks it. Then he ignores it.
He doesn’t want to ignore it, which is exactly why he does. He doesn’t want to be alone, which is exactly why he is.
And Sam is Sam.
He’s the last person who Bucky should be around right now.
At first it was because going out to lunch with Sam felt like extra therapy, like a chore, like an interrogation, a job interview for something he was vastly underqualified for.
Now it’s because going out to lunch with Sam doesn’t feel like that at all.
Sam is…
Too much like Steve, but not enough like Steve for Bucky not to feel the way he does, if that makes any goddamn sense.
It doesn’t. Why would it? Nothing in Bucky’s life makes sense.
Bucky checks his list like he does too many times a day to really want to think about, sighs when it remains unchanged from the last time he looked, and starts his day.
Not that he does much with it.
He feels lazy and bored, stir crazy just like his shrink says he will, isolated like he is, just like Sam says too, but Bucky can’t bring himself to cross this next name off his list, and he can’t leave New York until he does.
Sam texts Bucky twice more that day, which is unusual. Goes beyond the cursory check ins he’s been dealing Bucky for the last few months.
Bucky wonders if Sam might also be lonely, but then he shakes the thoughts away. Sam’s not lonely. He has his family in DC, he still has friends, a job, he visits Steve still.
Bucky doesn’t.
Bucky can’t even think about Steve without feeling like the air is gone from his lungs all of a sudden. Like the big blond punched him right in the chest, and really he might as well have for all Bucky saw it coming.
He’d wonder if Sam felt the same way, but Bucky actually knows that it’s true. It’s the one thing they managed to talk about that touched on feelings and that didn’t make Bucky shut down completely.
Mostly because Sam did the talking.
Bucky hates how good it feels to know he’s not alone in that. Hates how glad he is that Sam suffers with him. It’s why he stays away from Sam now.
Sam is good, the personification of America good, even according to Steve. Sam’s bright too, he smiles and it’s real and it’s contagious and that has nothing to do with Bucky’s feelings and everything to do with Sam being one of those people who light up the room. Sam is a hero. He’d be a hero even without the wings, even without the military. Sam would find a way to be a hero in any world, in any reality. He’d be a doctor or something. Save babies. He’s that kind of good.
He’s good and he cares which is why Bucky needs to stay away from him. He’s smart too. Too goddamn smart for his own good, really. One of these days he’s going to get in too deep trying to help Bucky out of this hole he’s been tossed in and they’re both going to be stuck.
Bucky’s head isn’t a safe place for anyone, fuck, not even his therapist deserves to have to listen to the things in Bucky’s head, and Sam? Sam likes to try his goddamn best to get into Bucky’s head and he just cannot let that happen.
Sam likes to show up unannounced at Bucky’s door, too.
“You weren’t answering my texts,” he says.
“I never answer your texts,” Bucky replies, not moving to let Sam inside, but the other man shoulders past him anyway. Bucky rolls his eyes and lets the door shut behind them.
Sam smirks, “But you read them,” he says.
Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, I guess. Make sure you’re not dying somewhere,” he says, going to the kitchen.
Sam’s eyes don’t linger on the neat pile of blankets in the corner of the room.
“You think I’d text you if I was dying?” Sam asks, and Bucky can tell he’s joking. Sam is a jovial person. He’s… playful. Bucky likes that about Sam, most of the time.
Bucky is not a playful person.
“No”.
“I’m not really looking for a sidekick,” Sam says.
Bucky rolls his eyes where Sam can’t see him, “Sure,” he says, getting a beer from the fridge and sliding it across the counter to him.
He tries not to think about why he keeps it on hand when he can’t get drunk. Hopes to god Sam doesn’t think too hard about it.
Sam has the audacity to look surprised, and then confused, and then says nothing but a nod of thanks. Bucky can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not, that Sam doesn’t know how much Bucky fucking thinks about him, all the damn time.
“Why are you here?” Bucky asks curtly.
Sam makes that smile that always comes with bad news, “Steve wants to see you,” he says.
Bucky can’t suppress the groan and eye roll then.
“Is this supposed to be an intervention then?” he spits out.
Sam shakes his head though, looking earnest but not surprised by Bucky’s tone, “No, I’m just the messenger. Steve can’t… can’t make the drive,” he says, and he’s frowning, looking sad and that makes something in Bucky’s chest tighten painfully.
Steve can’t make the four hour drive to New York from DC and Bucky feels gutted at the thought of Steve now all over again.
He wants to say something about it, about Steve, and it’s nothing good, but Sam already looks broken by it, so he just fucking nods and goes to pack his shit.
“Well that was easy,” Sam says with a little huff of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like Sam.
He wants to say it was Sam’s broken hearted expression, or that he’s only going so he can reel Steve out for making Sam look like that, but he says nothing instead.
They rock-paper-scissors on who drives, and when Sam wins with paper, he doesn’t have to cover Bucky’s hand with his own, but he does, and it really shows Bucky just how bad this school-boy crush has gotten that his heart flutters in his chest at the contact.
“How is he?” Bucky asks when they’re an hour out from Steve’s place.
Sam looks at him out of the corner of his eye, “Worried about you,” he answers.
“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky retorts.
Sam’s face loses some of its brightness, “I know,” he says softly.
Bucky closes his eyes to the rush of anger he feels. On Sam’s behalf… but also on his own.
He doesn’t mean to fight with Steve no matter what he’s feeling, no matter whose behalf. He doesn’t really hold this against Steve, it just… hurts. It’s the weirdest kind of grief, so opposite to the grief he feels for the loved ones whose lives and deaths he missed. He’s grieving Steve even as he’s looking at him, even as he’s hugging him, gentle, so gentle because he’s frail now, again, and it’s all these parallels and it’s nothing he can be prepared for so he should just stop trying.
Sam honest to god, waits in the car, rather than face this.
Bucky’s glad for it, even if it means he has to deal with Steve alone.
“You can’t be alone forever, Buck,” Steve says and he doesn’t even sound like Steve, except that he does.
Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve, “What do you expect me to do, Steve?” he asks.
“You shouldn’t be ignoring Sam, you two need each other,” Steve replies.
It’s probably the mention of Sam, but Bucky finds himself snapping at Steve then, “Don’t act like you know what’s best for me after you just left out of nowhere”. He feels something like indignation rise and fall, then taking a deep breath, “Sorry, I just…” he apologizes softer, “I don’t want to hear it, Steve,” he says.
It was just... how dare Steve try and tell Bucky who, or what he needs in his life after he left like he did? Left both Bucky and Sam in the wake of the end of the world to just figure it out alone. Bucky might be isolating himself from people, but fuck if Steve didn’t do it first.
He abruptly realises how childish that line of thought is and lets the anger dissipate, for the time being.
Steve is quiet for too long. Long enough Bucky gets suspicious because Steve so rarely thinks before he acts, before he speaks. Not when he knows he’s right, like he is now.
“If not because it’s what you need, then because it’s what he needs, Buck,” Steve says, “Please”.
Bucky shakes his head, feeling a lump form in his throat, “I’m not…” he tried, “I’m the last person he needs hanging around,” he says.
“Seems like he might want you though,” Steve says easily, and Bucky looks up sharply, too sharply.
Steve inclines his head in silent question, then smirks.
“No,” Bucky says, “No, get that out of your head right now, Rogers,” Bucky says seriously, “I don’t-- it’s not like that,” he denies, too loud, too fast.
Steve has that knowing look in his eye still when he agrees to drop it. When he tells Bucky to scram. When he sees Sam waiting outside for Bucky and they exchange a friendly wave.
Bucky doesn’t even feel bad when he hopes Steve’s degrading mind forgets that entire interaction. Well, he feels only a little bad.
“How’d it go?” Sam asks.
Bucky shrugs, “He said you missed me,” he replies, goading.
Sam looks at him for a moment before he starts the car, “You know,” he says, “I couldn’t actually tell if you were lying that time”.
Bucky’s heart does that stupid flutter again.
“Can you usually?”
“Every time, Barnes,” Sam answers, smirking.
Bucky glances at Sam out of the corner of his eye. “Good to know,” he says. He’ll need to get better at it if he’s going to be hanging around now.
#bucky x sam#tfatws#fanfiction#i don't know the fun ship name for these boys?#this is my first time writing them#but it will not be the last
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Trigger warnings before you read the written part: a slur is used (it’s a slur I’m allowed to use however I do ‘censor’ it for the comfort of myself & my readers!)
Kun sighs as he clicks his mother’s contact information. He dreads speaking with her. Hearing the rings makes him feel like vomiting. Just when he’s ready to hang up he hears her voice.
“Ah my son!! What a lovely surprise, you never call me anymore!! How are you doing?! Are your studies going wel-“ he cannot stand the fake honey tone in her voice.
“Enough. You know why I called” He cuts her off with no emotion in his voice
“That’s no way to speak to your mother.” Her tone becomes dark.
“Tell me how you found out.” Kun demands.
“You told me Kun, don’t you remember?” Her voice is back to that fake sugary tone he hates so much.
“I would never tell you something like that.” Kun can feel his anger rising.
“Why would you hide that from me Kun? Why would you hide that fucker’s sins? She killed my sister and she gets to continue this phase with no repercussions?! She’s a f*g-“
“Enough” Kun feels himself shout.
“She didn’t kill them. She was not the fucking person behind the wheel. She didn’t have any part in their death. She didn’t ask them to take her to pride that was your idea. Your sister would be embarrassed to be related to you if she knew how you were acting. I’m embarrassed to be related to you.” Kun seethed.
“She brings a dishonor to our family Kun why don’t you see that?!” His mother bites.
“You bring more shame to this family than she ever could. Y/n is in love you’re just bitter and full of hatred. Your own parents are embarrassed by your actions. How is Y/n the one bringing shame and dishonor when she’s not doing anything but being who she is?! You’re the cruel one. Y/n suffers so much everyday she doesn’t need you to remind her that her parents are gone. Grandma and grandpa love her. Why can’t you? Why can’t you look past the fact Y/n likes women and love her as a niece who lots her parents tragically? Why are you allowed to be spiteful with the excuse of grieving your sister but Y/n who lost both her parents & was also injured in the accident has to be perfect? You lost your sister and that sucks. Grandma and grandpa lost their daughter & that sucks, but Y/n lost her parents, her freedom, and her entire life in America. Now you’re trying to get it so she loses me? How much more selfish can you be?!” Kun feels tears in his eyes. It’s not fair that you lost your nothing but loving and supportive parents while his mom who is full of nothing but greed & hate got to stay alive. He doesn’t wish his mom died, but he’d trade her for his aunt and uncle to be back without a second thought.
“Mom, I understand you are grieving, & it must’ve been so hard for you to grieve & take care of Y/n who was also grieving. But that doesn’t give you any right to act the way you are. Now I’m not going to ask you again, how did you find out?” Kun sighs hoping his gentle but firm tone shows his mother regardless of how mad he is that she is still his mother.
“Kun you told me the last time we spoke, back when you told me about you & that girl you‘re seeing what’s her name again?!” Kun doesn’t answer. His mind is racing trying to recall their last conversation. It was shortly after Y/n moved her. Back when she told him that she’d be sending him Y/n’s inheritance because she didn’t trust Y/n with it. Back before Kun even knew his girlfriend... back before Kun even knew Y/n had a crush on Wendy.. alarm bells were ringing in Kun’s head. Something is wrong. His mother speaks up again.
“By the way Kun, I cannot believe you’d have part in Y/n’s sins. How could you possibly take part in setting her up with another woman-“ Kun hangs up instantly. Dropping his phone on the ground before he ran to Haechan’s room. It’s all starting to click. She’s always known details Kun never remembers telling her. details he always just assumed he forgot that he told her. But he knows that’s never been the case. Frantically he knocks on Mark & Haechan’s door until Mark finally opens it.
“Why are you knocking so early?!” He whines as Kun pushes his way to Haechan’s sleeping figure. Shaking him awake.
“Haechan, I need you to do something for me” Kun feels like he’s running out of time. He knows he’s not yet he feels as if he won’t be able to say what he needs to say.
“Kuuuun I thought we agreed you couldn’t ask me to do chores before 10am” Haechan groans rubbing his eyes.
“I need you to see if my phone has been bugged” Haechan shoots up excitedly.
“That’s the only exception! Of course I’ll do that free of charge I love looking for other people’s mistakes give me your phone!” Haechan gets out of bed & walks towards his desk turning his computer on.
“I’ll have to go get it. I left it in my room. I think my mom has been listening to me.” Kun says sprinting back towards his room
“Dude that’s kind of fucked up if his mom has been listening to him?!” Mark says climbing back into his bed.
“I mean have you heard how he talks about her? She’s crazy!” Haechan responds before Kun reenters their room, tossing his phone Haechan’s way.
“What makes you think she’s listening to you?” Mark asks, while Haechan gets to work with hacking into Kun’s phone system.
“She knows information about Y/n that she claims I told her back in September or maybe even August & I know that I didn’t because this didn’t happen until October. She’s always known weird details I never remembered telling her, I always just assumed I forgot I told her. I know I would’ve never told her this though.” Kun says. His legs are bouncing as he waits for Haechan.
“You know, if you’re going to install a listening device into someone’s software at least hide it better. It’s not fun to find it when it says ‘listening bug’ in a ‘secret’ folder” Haechan groans before deleting the software. “Kun I don’t know what this whole thing is about but I get the feeling you owe Y/n an apology” Haechan finishes handing Kun back his phone before he finds himself buried into his bed. Kun takes this as his cue to leave muttering a thank you as he walks towards the door.
Roommates, no refunds!
Trigger warnings: homophobia, mentions of death, car accident, injuries from car accident, phone being bugged, hacking, hints at wanting to cause harm on oneself (but they ask for help!!), use of a (censored) slur, slight attempt at gaslighting!)
Reader x Wendy | featuring Brother!Kun, Nct, and Red Velvet.
Previous | 21 | Next
When Kun’s sister transfers to SMU Korea & left without a place to stay due to a mix up, Sorority sister Wendy who got a double room instead of her single room gets a last minute roommate. Maybe?
#kpop scenarios#kpop imagine#kpop sm au#girl group imagines#red velvet seungwan#red velvet wendy#red velvet scenarios#red velvet sns#girl group scenarios
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Blue Eyes Part 30
Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.
Part 30: Tommy receives a letter from a dead man.
“Mr. Shelby, this was delivered to you.” Tommy’s assistant at the House of Commons set the envelope down on his desk.
“Thank you.” He set his pen down for a moment and picked up the letter. It did appear addressed to him although the penmanship was very unkempt and blotted. Either way, Tommy opened the envelope.
Inside was a very brief letter written in the same scrawling handwriting with several errors in spelling and grammar, almost as if a child had written it.
Dear Tom,
Try an stay awy from black horrses. Rmind El ta feed Cril n Antea.
Alfe
It was utterly puzzling, to say the least. Tommy was holding what seemed to be the drugged-up stream of consciousness of a man who was supposed to be dead. If the letter was coherent, he would’ve assumed it had been sent before Alfie was shot. However, it wasn’t only the disjointed writing that proved that theory wrong. Up in the top right corner, no matter how much pain medication he was on, Alfie still managed to scribble out the correct date.
Three days after he was supposedly gunned down.
It took Tommy a moment and he wondered if he was mistaken. The idea seemed so outlandish but he had some sort of evidence.
So, he picked up the telephone to find out where his sister was.
~~~~~~~~~~~
To Ella’s dismay, it didn’t take Tommy long to find her. She wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice on the other end of the line, but she was disappointed.
“Packing for America, then?”
“Are you taking that tone with me while I’m grieving?” She retorted.
Tommy leaned back in his desk chair and removed his glasses. “About that. I realized I never offered my help in assisting with the burial.”
“Well, Jews have their own customs. They’re not like Travelers, they’ve got different ways of doing it.” She replied. The phone call had come out of the blue. Ella had returned to her room at the inn after walking the dogs to visit Alfie at the hospital. She brought them back and planned on returning to him once Cyril and Anthea were settled. Tommy caught her with one foot out the door.
“Right.” He nodded. “Does that include addressing a barely readable letter to their brother-in-law?”
Ella froze in place. Alfie was starting to slowly be weaned off the medication. He hadn’t mentioned anything about contacting Tommy, in fact, they both agreed that they’d lay low. At least until things were properly sorted and there wasn’t an evil anti-Semite threatening them.
But she hadn’t been there by his bedside every second of every day. “I don’t know what you mean…”
“I just received a letter from your deceased husband warning me about black horses and asking me to remind you to feed your dogs.”
“I’m not sure what he meant, but I’m sure he sent it before he passed.” Ella clung onto the lie. The veil of falsehood was all she had to protect her husband as he lay vulnerable in a hospital bed. Absolutely no one could know.
“Does he date his letters for the future?” Tommy inquired, clearly not buying what his sister was trying to sell him. He’d bought the tears but he liked cold hard facts.
“Must’ve been a mistake.”
He rolled his eyes. After all, he only had himself to blame for teaching her how to be such a damn good liar. “Where is he, Ella?”
Silence.
“My husband is dead.” There was no telling who was listening to Tommy’s calls in the Commons. Even if she was going to admit the truth to him, it wouldn’t be over the telephone. “But if you’d like to say goodbye to me before I leave for America, you’re welcome to do so. I would ask Polly of my whereabouts.” She wasn’t even willing to divulge her location just in case Mosley decided she was a loose end that needed taking care of.
Tommy glanced at the phone and began to pick up on what his sister was implying. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.” He said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about Alfie. I misread the date on the letter. His fours look like nines. It wasn’t fair of me to confront you while you’re grieving.”
Ella could hear when Tommy was lying to her. He was playing a part over the line just like she was. “Alright, come soon then, I’ll be leaving within the next week and I don’t want to miss you.”
“I’ll come as soon as I can.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Tommy consulted with Polly who didn’t know Alfie was alive but did know Ella was still in England. She was in Southampton, still giving off the impression that she was leaving the country.
He arrived at the small inn and met Ella at the door.
“Where is he?” He asked the same question but with the intention that he was going to get the truth this time.
“The hospital.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Tommy ran a hand over his face. “Why…why?” He asked. “Why did you lie to everyone? Ollie said…then you told me…”
“What was I supposed to do, aye?” She snapped. “Let it get out that Mosley’s men missed the mark? They’d be storming the hospital room within hours. And they wouldn’t leave him alive the second time around.”
It was a valid point that Tommy couldn’t refute. He sighed. “How is he?”
“He’s making slow improvements.” She admitted quietly. “He’s blind in the left eye now. The stitches will heal but they’re worried about damage to his brain. He’s always complaining about pain if he hasn’t had medication. Said his head hurts.” She swallowed, her brow wrinkling. “But at least he’s alive. That’s all I can thank God for now.”
“I’m sorry, El.” Tommy pulled his sister into a hug. “I really am, I just…”
“Who’s doing it?” She asked, her voice muffled into his shirt.
“Who’s doing what?”
“Who’s killing this son of a bitch?” She pulled away. “Because I want to do it.”
“I already recruited someone. I need you to stay as far away from this as you can.” Tommy replied firmly.
“That man tried to murder my husband solely because of his religion.”
“And if he finds out that you want to kill him then he could put hits out on our entire family.” He interrupted. “And if you killed him, the police would lock you up.”
Ella looked disgruntled but dropped the matter. It was true that she didn’t want to worsen matters. She just wanted a little revenge. “Fine.”
“Are you going to go see him now?”
“Alfie? Yeah, I was just about to leave.” She nodded. “Do you want to come see him?”
“I need to discuss plans with him.”
“Plans? No, no, no, Alfie is not a part of this anymore. It’s over, Tom. He’s dead to everyone except you and me and that’s how it’s going to stay.”
“I need his help for this to go through…”
“No!” She shouted. “You keep pressing and pressing and I’ve had enough. He is in the hospital, nearly off his rocker because of the drugs they’ve had to keep him on because of how much pain he’s in! I could’ve lost him, Tommy, another centimeter and he would’ve been taken from me.”
Tommy didn’t know what to say. At the end of the day, he knew that Ella didn’t control Alfie’s decisions. But it was rare that Alfie would disagree with her to agree with Tommy instead. Still, he knew he needed men from the Jewish community to cause a stir at the rally. And Alfie was the only way to ensure that.
“Can I at least talk to him?” He asked.
“You can talk to him for as long as you want. But under no circumstances will you put his life back in danger.” She jabbed a finger at him before starting to walk off.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Alfie wondered if he was starting to see things now. His dose of morphine had been decreased but it still affected him. Still, he’d yet to have hallucinations.
“Tommy?”
“Hello, Alfie.” The Blinder walked in and took a seat. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”
“Hang on,” Alfie looked to his wife for clarification, “I thought I were s’posed to be dead to you.”
“You wrote me a letter, Alfie.”
“Did I?”
Ella frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, you did.”
“Well, fuck, m’sorry for what I did while I was on drugs. I were shot by a fucking cunt, weren’t I?” Alfie grumbled. “What’d I write to you about then?” He asked.
“You told me to stay away from black horses,” Tommy replied.
“Oh, right, right…see I’ve been having dreams, mate. Dreams, yeah, ‘bout you with a horse. Big black horse out in a field, right, and you said goodbye. Then, bang.” Alfie folded his hands over his stomach. “What’d you reckon that is then, Tom, aye?”
“I would say it’s the drugs talking,” Tommy replied coolly.
“What’d you want to talk ‘bout then?” Alfie asked.
Ella perched on the edge of the hospital bed. She wasn’t going to leave and let Tommy talk Alfie into doing something silly. She had a feeling her husband might be pissed off enough to be talked into getting some revenge. Hypocrisy at its finest, as far as she was concerned.
“I’m in need of some of your men. There needs to be a disruption at the rally Mosley’s speaking at. I need a distraction.” Tommy explained short and simple.
Alfie pondered the idea. “Right, how much then?”
“How much? Alfie, people need to think you’ve passed. You cannot get yourself involved in this again!” Ella exclaimed in disbelief. “You were nearly killed and now you want to put another target on your back?”
“No, love, what I want is for this fucker to be killed. So if Tommy needs some of me men, then he can pay for that privilege.”
“It’s never enough for you two, aye? You can be shot a million times over but as long as you fucking survive, you’ll keep at it. When will you learn? Because I’m fucking sick of this!” She snapped and stood up to leave.
“El, Ella, c’mon!” Alfie groaned as she slammed the door behind her.
Tommy sat quietly for a moment. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Alfie.” He reminded him.
“I fucking know that.” He muttered in response. “But I ain’t just gonna sit ‘round doing nothing, am I? You need men, that’s fine. People are bound to find out ‘bout my survival anyway. Long as the right people don’t know then that’s fine. But you’re gonna need to offer me something in return.”
“I’ll offer each man twenty pounds,” Tommy suggested.
“Nah, mate, I want protection for Ella. Twenty-four-seven. From good fighters with good aims. ‘Cause if I do this for you, and it gets out that by God’s good grace that I’m still alive, he’ll be after her. Don’t fucking care if he offs me. But I’ll be damned if he even goes near her, right?
Tommy nodded. “Alright. I can do that.” He stood up to shake his brother-in-law’s hand.
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I just came here to say, can you imagine after endgame Sharon finds Nat's white suit in her belongings and decides to wear it and make it her own as a reminder of what she lost and what is left to fight for?
When Sharon Carter first came to SHIELD, she wanted to be just like the other agents.
And yet that was hard for her. It was hard to act like every other agent because she wasn’t like the other agents and they knew it.
She had someone in the organization before her. That’s why she was Agent 13. There were always members of family, but it was usually only the agents that either posed an individual danger or a family danger that got the number.
In the first two weeks, the rookies had figured out that Sharon and Peggy shared the same harsh gaze when they were frustrated.
They scorned her, leaving her to fend for herself.
“You got in because of Carter,” they sneer. “I’d rather have someone who actually earned their spot.”
“Even if that did happen, do you think my aunt would’ve let me into this profession if I wasn’t as skilled as you?” Sharon fires back. “I can finish this mission in twenty minutes on my own if I really wanted to.”
“Then do it,” Agent Riker bites, smirking. “Go ahead and prove yourself, Thirteen.”
Nineteen minutes and twenty-two seconds.
And she does it all in a white t-shirt and jeans, the worst outfit that could’ve been.
“So what, you’ve proved yourself,” they shrug. “Doesn’t make a difference to us.”
So Sharon scraps the idea of having people who are friends at work, friends that she can talk to and go to the bar with after work.
And then she does perhaps the ballsiest move.
She orders a custom white jumpsuit.
The SHIELD tailor laughs. He’s an old man who goes by the name Joe.
“You’re crazy,” he tells her, sweeping a measuring tape across her shoulders. “Maybe they need a little crazy.”
Sharon nods, looking at herself in the mirror.
She shows up to work in white, ponytail out of the way.
Fury gives her a look.
“Really, Thirteen?”
“Everyone’s already criticizing,” Sharon answers. “Why not get some for the suit as well?”
White really is her color. It’s what she’s known for, and a lot of agents still criticize her for it.
“You trying to show off even more?” one sneers.
“Why would I have to after your last mission?” Sharon answers sweetly. “It’s clear to me that you obviously need more tips on how to be inconspicuous.”
It’s bitchy. She knows that. But she also can’t be bothered to give a shit if they’re judging her by family and not by skill.
And then Black Widow.
Natasha Romanoff takes one look her and scoffs.
“Got something to say?” Sharon asks.
“I don’t get the white suit.”
“You will,” Sharon responds. “Just wait.”
Romanoff hears the rumors. Sharon Carter only got into the organization because of her connection to her great-aunt.
“You really think SHIELD would be that stupid?” She asks Agent Riker. “To hire an agent off a basis of family? I thought they hired people smarter than you.”
Sharon’s surprised.
She also makes her first friend.
Natasha Romanoff is deadly, has horrible humor, and wears fun socks after Sharon takes her to get some color in her wardrobe.
“You cannot tell anyone,” Nat makes her swear.
“Who is there to tell?” Sharon asks, grinning. “Besides Clint.”
“Clint doesn’t count, I’m not even sure if he’s human. He ate a paper plate because he was too tired to differentiate it from the pizza in the fridge.”
“I love that man,” Sharon deadpans. “I think if I ever dated men, he would be my type.”
Natasha laughs.
They’re friends. Sharon’s there with coffee in the rough mornings and Natasha is there with words that have lost their edge as she sheds her reputation at the door.
-
The Avengers is a new thing for Natasha. She loves it because she tells Sharon that it makes her feel like she finally has a family and she’s doing something that’s worthy.
Sharon ignores the jealousy and envy and sadness burning in her gut as she takes a sip of her wine glass and asks Natasha how it is working with Captain America.
(She knows who he is. She’s always known. But that kind of connection is one that she’s not sure she’ll ever flaunt because Steve does not know that she knows Steve.)
Natasha gets more involved with the Avengers and still texts Sharon, but she knows. This friendship is fading and Sharon turns back to a white jumpsuit lying on the couch when she gets home and gets out of her shower.
Natasha can’t make it to lunch. Or dinner. And their shopping trip gets cancelled by an Avengers mission.
Then Sharon loses SHIELD, which in some cases was everything to her. It’s the last connection to family, to a place where Sharon did what she did best: her job.
And now it’s razed to the ground and the Avengers are still there and Natasha--
She has her hands full.
Sharon bitterly looks up at the sky to see the Iron Man armor and for a brief moment, hates the team that has taken her friend from her.
But Sharon has shit to do. She has to decide if she wants to work for the FBI or CIA, and which one can offer her more security.
CIA agents don’t give a singular shit if she came from SHIELD or what her last name means. They’re mostly concerned with making sure that the Congress and the Senate don’t fuck everything up and that they catch whoever the hell is eating all of the leftovers on the third floor fridge.
Sharon gets paid for this. Real, actual money.
And they know that she’s good and they send her on protection missions and she misses Natasha’s calls and she doesn’t feel quite bad about it.
It’s when she’s assigned to survey Germany because some idiot used facial recognition software and Steve’s making boneheaded decisions that she reconnects with Natasha.
“Your hair got longer,” Natasha says.
“Nice of you to notice,” Sharon says tersely. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re about to be in? You won’t be able to go anywhere.”
“Anywhere, really?” Natasha asks, amused. “I’m sure I can think of someone who would welcome me back with open arms.”
“Clint doesn’t count,” Sharon fires back.
“Not who I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant,” Sharon says. “No calling, no plans, all of it cancelled. You’re a family kind of girl, Nat.”
“You’re part of it.”
Sharon turns, incredulous. “Really. You’re doing this now?”
Sharon knows Natasha like she knows her apartment. She could walk it with her eyes closed. And she knows that Natasha is never this open, not in public.
“Either you’ve changed how you approach your emotions or you’ve gotten sloppy in how you manipulate people,” Sharon says, casual as can be. “I know that you want to go against this. I understand that because chances are later on down the road this will blow up in your face.”
“And now you’re going to pretend like you didn’t slip that file to Steve?” Natasha accuses.
“I slipped it to Steve because as much as I don’t like this, I don’t want an innocent man to die,” Sharon hisses.
She has her white jumpsuit. But she hangs it up in her closet because for something like what they’re planning, she can’t afford to be in white. This isn’t like the twenty minute missions.
And then it gets more serious and she’s fighting like hell against Thanos and his aliens and the fact that everyone is gone.
But not Natasha. Not she’s still on this earth and Sharon knows it kills her because she’s never thought she was enough for that.
They make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sit on the floor in a sunroom. It’s a beautiful day, probably one too beautiful for how many memories they both hold.
“I don’t know if it’ll be okay,” Natasha says. Her voice is thick with unsaid and unheard emotion, and Sharon pulls her into a hug.
“It might not be,” Sharon says quietly. “But we’ll have to keep going anyway.”
So Sharon is introduced to Steve, the guy with a beard who still keeps fighting and looks at Sharon as if he’s expecting someone else. (She pretends like she doesn’t know what he’s doing.)
She starts looking at sightings and patterns and helps people who she’s never met help keep the world safe.
Natasha and Sharon tell stories to each other of people they’ve known. Sharon listens as she grieves and Natasha finds out that Sharon’s own family has been gone.
They spend Christmas together and Christmas kind of sucks right now because everyone is crying and the only thing that’s sold out at stores are tissues.
Sharon wonders if Tony got dusted. No one knows. He was up in space and they haven’t found him yet and she can’t say it doesn’t hurt.
But then. He comes down in his spaceship, Carol Danvers finding him on the verge of death.
He can’t stand the sight of Steve, and Sharon can’t say he blames him. She’s in charge of getting him to in-house care and making sure he doesn’t stray off the nutrition goal.
Pepper and Rhodey sit by his side all the time and they give Sharon looks because she’s Tony’s cousin but not really, not in the sense of a traditional cousin.
She met him that one time when he was probably a little bit buzzed, definitely over having small children look up to him and ask if they can have him play, and probably brushed her off.
Or something.
He’s angry with Steve and tells Sharon right off the bat that he refuses to have anything to do with what’s going on.
“This is my second chance and as shitty as it is for all of you, I’m keeping it,” Tony says firmly.
Sharon says okay because she really can’t blame him.
(Not when six months after he gets back and gets himself better, Pepper announces that she’s expecting.)
Sharon visits often. She brings Pepper her first supply of diapers and formula and Pepper smiles and says she’s welcome for lunch if she’d like.
Natasha doesn’t talk to Tony. Sharon thinks she kind of resents her own position in this whole thing, but Tony nods to her and they understand each other on a level that’s changed.
“Do you think you’ll ever want a family?” Natasha asks one night. They watch the stars and come up with new names for them and sometimes talk about emotions. Like tonight.
“I’m not made for that,” Sharon says. “Work and all.”
“Me either.”
Sharon looks at her.
“No, you are. Because you care so much. You just learned it a little bit differently. You’ll get your family, Nat.”
Natasha gives her that pained smile, the one that holds so much wisdom and hurt in it, and they drink their beers in silence as Sharon contemplates the next mode of questioning that doesn’t have to do with loss or the future. (Possibility: cats.)
And then Scott Lang makes a fucking appearance. They’re not sure how, but he gets out and starts rambling about time travel and they take it to Tony who says “no thank you and goodbye” and Steve tries to get him to help but he won’t.
(It’s bitter in Sharon’s mouth, but it’s the kind of bitter you understand that you can’t spit out.)
Natasha thinks about all the people that are lost.
Sharon asks Scott how well he can do math.
Tony passes along a note, and it seems that Scott gets it, because they’re going to time-travel.
Clint and Natasha leave together, because they’re like two peas in a pod.
“I’ll see you soon,” Natasha says, grinning. Her smile is so nice.
“You better,” Sharon teases. “We still need Margarita Mondays.”
And then Sharon is also gone on a mission to go see her aunt and see Steve witness what he’s lost. Sharon looks at a young picture of her great-uncle.
“She had a good life, didn’t she?” Sharon murmurs. “She got to have somebody she loved and she got to have kids.”
“Yes, yes she did,” Steve says quietly.
It’s heavy for him but he relaxes and they run into Howard Stark, who doesn’t quite understand why Sharon’s there but doesn’t really push it because he’s excited for a new baby.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that baby,” he says with a gentle smile that’s so fake Sharon can’t believe it.
So she says something. Because she can’t keep her mouth shut.
“You practice that every night in front of the mirror?”
Steve scolds her, but she thinks it’s worth it. She can’t wait to tell Natasha.
-
Natasha doesn’t come back. She died for a fucking rock and Sharon breaks because that was her friend. That was someone that she would’ve given the world for, and now she won’t get to tell her about her sick one-liner or about how time travel kind of feels like you’re going on a loopy roller coaster.
She’s gone.
But then Sharon can’t focus on it because she has to fight against Thanos who apparently is from a different time zone and has come to destroy everything again, and Sharon really can’t let Tony do his whole “self-sacrifice” shtick he pulls. (Jesus, if he couldn’t have just pulled a Dean Martin maybe they would’ve had televised roasts instead of a universal fight...)
Tony doesn’t die. She doesn’t think he deserves that. But he falls to his knees, the stones fading, and she’s holding him to stabilize him as he falls and his family comes and he gets rushed to the nearest medical facility Dr. Cho can find.
And Sharon is alone.
She doesn’t particularly like being alone in this instance but sometimes you have to be because those are the cards out of the deck.
So she helps relocate families, tells those who were gone the news, and buys herself a pint of ice cream. The news is talking about all these new accommodations and what it’ll do to the price market. She finds that she doesn’t much care and she thinks that all those conversations will be a thing of the past.
And there things to go through. Things from the dead. Clint has his family to focus on, and so it is up to Sharon to get Natasha’s things.
Then she finds it.
A white jumpsuit.
Natasha had called Sharon’s “stupid” for years, with no real explanation to why except for the fact that she would get caught easier.
(“Maybe that’s my intention,” Sharon says, body leaning in too close. “Maybe I want to get noticed so that I can get it done quicker.”
Natasha gives her a dim smile.
“Doesn’t always mean you get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
And then Sharon didn’t ask her about that. Figured it wasn’t her place.)
A white jumpsuit is something she didn’t know connected them. And she remembers having her own, but this one...this one has to be used. Has to be reinstated because someone needs to carry on who Black Widow is. Or rather, who Natasha Romanoff was.
It’s a slow start. But Sharon starts wearing the white jumpsuit that’s a little bit loose around the shoulders and looks for criminals, because god knows there will be a plethora of those.
Bucky and Sam join her in this. They were both gone and still look stupidly gorgeous, although Sam has the shield because Steve has decided it would be utterly convenient to go on a little time travel trip.
(Sharon’s not sure what’s up with that, but so long as she doesn’t start remembering a Great-Uncle Steve, she’s fine with it.)
It’s hard, definitely. Because sometimes she pulls out her phone to send something to Natasha, and she’s...well. She’s not there.
Sharon will sometimes wear her old jackets with outfits and cry, but she still has the memories.
A cute white jumpsuit can’t hurt either.
#lovelyirony writes#this turned out to be WAY longer than anticipated#just hot damn#sharon carter#natasha romanoff#sam wilson#tony stark#steve rogers#bucky barnes#sharon and nat have difficulties BUT HEY LISTEN#THEY'RE GONNA COME BACK TOGETHER
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once upon a time, I forgot her name
Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary - Steve forgets you. He forgets himself. He knew you once, he can feel it in his bones
Warnings - SMUT/memory loss/angst/gore
A/N - so this is hella fucking long and I wanted it out earlier than this but ohhhh well. Its finally here! Hope you all enjoy!
“My name is Steve Rogers. I was born in Brooklyn. I’m Captain America.”
It’s like a game. Look at the facts and see how many you can remember. He wonders if he was good at games before. He shakes his head. Starts again. He has to remember, he wants to remember, he needs to remember.
“My name is Steve Rogers. I was born in Brooklyn. I’m Captain America.”
The name is so foreign on his tongue, as though it doesn’t belong there. As if it’s not really his, and he finds himself staring at his reflection in the morning. The person staring back is a stranger. He’s afraid he’ll never remember.
But he doesn’t cry. He cannot mourn what he does not know. And maybe that hurts more. Maybe that’s enough for him to grieve.
He sees faces in his dreams - memories. Places and missions and a life before the accident, but it’s almost like he’s seeing someone else’s life through his own eyes.
And he wishes to be a part of it, because he feels as though he doesn’t belong. Our need as humans is always to belong, to be wanted and to be needed by someone - anyone.
The 1930’s. He feels the heat of a summer day in Brooklyn. He’s much smaller then, can’t stay in the sun for too long or he burns. The humid air makes his asthma spike, steals the air from his lungs like a searing, wet kiss.
He feels a mans arm around his pointed shoulders - he’s much happier then - ice cream melting on their tongues and coating their throats, in a way that can only be described as blissful.
“Captain Rogers?”
His thoughts are broken, shards scattering like stars in his mind. They’re so far away. A nurse stands in the doorway, beside him is the man from his recollections. He’s different now, more obscure - criss-crossed in shadows and a dark past of his own. Long, unruly hair and a metal arm - ugly, puckered scar on his shoulder where it’s attached to his body.
But deep down he’s still there. Much like Steve.
“You okay pal?” He asks.
Steve doesn’t know what to say, because he’s not, so he settles on - “Y-Yeah. I’m fine. What’s your name again?”
And the hurt that flashes is the lapis glare of the man is enough to tell Steve that his words sting. “It’s Bucky.”
“Mr Barnes is here to take you home,” the nurse adds.
Home. Where was home for Steve Rogers? The man he was supposed to be. The man he used to be. They’d shown him pictures. There was no white picket fence, with wild viridescent grass. The kind that grounds you, caresses your skin like a thousand tongues, and sways with the cool breeze.
No. His home was built like fucking Fort Knox. The grass was garish, and the white picket fence was a reinforced vibranium wall. Steve Rogers home was uncommon.
But something about it made him smile.
“Home.”
***
2 months ago
It was supposed to be easy.
You’d done it a million times before. Save the hostages and get the fuck out. Ten shivering bodies followed in pursuit, grime covered and sweat slicked, and there’s children - small children. You’re glad you got there when you did.
Until you aren’t.
“Cap, (Y/N), I’m detecting multiple bogies outside of the warehouse - you gotta get out of there.” Tony comes through the coms.
Simple recon turns sour. At least twelve men make themselves known. Hydra stragglers. The evocative emblem stitched to their chests and you wonder how they wear it with pride.
It’s the weapons they wield that catch your eye. “Is that...” you turn to Steve, see the storm raging in the blues of his eyes, broken by shards of ice.
“Chitauri debris.”
And you have so many questions. But fail to come to any answers. Midnight blue energy forms around your hands, and you and Steve fight like rogues to protect the hostages. It’s like some twisted dance. Graceful, and beautiful and so fucking morbid but it’s you. And god, it was supposed to be so fucking easy.
You’re blasted across the room, back slamming against a wall. You remember searing pain, skin split and violent red as your insides spill out of your hip. It’ll heal. Steve looks over, concern, worry, scribbled across his face like an artists page. Your eyes meet for just a moment before -
It happens too fast.
And your screaming. Steve’s body falls, crashes against the ground and the room goes silent. Or at least it feels like it does. And your world collapses.
You turn murderous - kill every Hydra agent in the warehouse. Your eyes are fire. Gasoline set to a match. Aegean energy wrapping around their corpses and you squeeze until they’re purple and black and gasping.
You crush their skulls with ease. Watch as their eyes pop from their sockets like marbles. Their blood spills across the floor in a flurry of bone and matter. It’s all gore and slaughter and pained screams. Relish in the sound of death. And you feel nothing.
And when the job is finished you turn to him. Collapse on your knees beside his body and drop your hands into the blood that pillows his head. Your heart is pulled from your chest, veins and arteries attached, and you watch it burst in front of your very eyes.
The jets arrive. Agents load the boxes of weapons, the hostages - and you carry Steve’s body in your arms. Your stare is blank. You feel empty. And Tony looks at you for reassurance - reassurance that you’re okay. And you can’t give it to him.
“They came out of nowhere,” Tony tells you. “It’s as if they knew you would be there.” And his eyes spark, burn wide and bister, as he pieces together the coincidence of the hostages and the weapons.
Nick Fury set you up. He knew Steve’s need to help people. He knew the hostages would be there, and he knew the weapons would be there too. Steve’s skull was cracked like a nut because of him. You were covered in Steve Rogers blood - head to toe - like some hellish angel because of him. Steve was lying on that table, fighting for his life because of him.
And he would die because of you.
There’s a ringing. It’s long, and piercing and you feel your stomach in your throat because you know he’s dying. Tony holds you back as you scream at the doctors.
If he dies, you die too. Please! Oh god. Please!
You could easily throw him aside but you don’t. He wraps you in his arms, whispers in your ear, holds your face to his neck. But you don’t listen. And you’re crying, trails of anguish breaking rivers through your dusted cheeks.
You mumble - “I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him.”
***
Your knuckles bleed lurid red. It’s smeared across the leather of the bag like some morbid painting - your hands the brush. Angry red valleys coat your hands but they don’t hurt. Nothing hurts anymore.
“I love it when we ruin the gym equipment.”
You ball your fists and they’re coated in blue - pulsating twisting. And Tony holds his hands up, earthy hues coming to life with fear, the anticipation of being hit by raw power. When you realise it’s Tony, your hands fall to your sides once more.
“If you’re here to lecture me on the importance of value Tony, I’m not in the mood.” You respond.
“I’m not here to lecture you babe,” he walks further into the dimly lit gym, stands under an ugly yellow light and gives you a genuine smile. Not the forced, seductive smirk pulled over a pristine face. No. This was Tony.
So you wait expectantly for him to speak. He pulls the pillow of his lip in between his teeth and chews thoughtfully. “Steve’s coming home today.”
The penny drops. Hits the ground with a deafening thud and you feel the involuntary stiffening of your spine. Each vertebrae seems to snap in place. “Oh yeah?” You shrug it off, pack your gym bag and sling it over your shoulder.
“Yeah,” Tony replies. “You should be there, to welco-“
“You know I can’t do that.” You’re stern. “He doesn’t know who I am, I can’t help him.”
“You can’t or you won’t?” Tony is blunt - straight to the point. You guess that’s what makes him a reliable friend. “Because he needs you (Y/N).”
Anxiety coils in your stomach, spirals tight like copper rod and it’s as though your nerves are set alight - sizzling like furious firelights, marring your skin.
Tony’s hands are cool when they land on your shoulders. It’s a relief from the heat, and the simple gesture grounds you again. It Pulls you from your own head, and throws you on the floor - bare and unfiltered.
“Whether you believe me or not, is your choice,” his irritated tone is oddly gentle. “But you both need this.”
“He would do it for you.”
***
“Welcome home Cap!”
Smiling faces. Lips pulled tight over gleaming teeth. Each smile was familiar - resonates something deep within him. He just can’t place it. And he scatters around in his own brain, searching for names.
“It’s great to have you back man.” One man steps out from the sea of faces, a warm toothy grin that sets his eyes alight. That earthy brown, the kind after heavy rain - welcoming. He’s a sturdy man, gleaming cocoa skin and clad in tac pants and a plain shirt.
His name is Sam.
“Hey gramps, welcome back to the world.” A smirk - devilish - and Steve knew this man was devious. He was smaller in build, compensated with his wit, with a fancy suit and gaudy facial hair over olive skin. An air of confidence surrounded him like no other, but Steve could see the selflessness in him.
Tony Stark.
His eyes travelled to a woman. She was beautiful. Piercing blue eyes and pressed pale skin with a cotton pink hue. Her hair burned chestnut and it reminded him of autumn. Of trees clad in gold and brown and scarlet. That fresh natural smell of the earth, and the sound of birds singing in the trees - harmonious, peaceful.
And he feels a hand. It’s warm and small but so fucking strong. Steve’s sees her - not the woman with the red hair - the woman from his dreams. They walk hand in hand, surrounded by the fire of fall and vivid colours. She stands out against the landscape, but Steve knew she always stood out. She was a dream. Clad in cut offs, black boots two sizes too big, and a tank top - no bra - her hair spills liquid down her back.
He smells it. Orange blossom, burning wood. It’s pressed into each strand of hair, and Steve feels the velvet between his fingers. And her smile. Oh god her smile. It was like looking into the fucking sun, and it incinerates away every shadow, as though the sun were just shining on her. As though everything wrong with the world just stopped to see that smile. Everything about it feels like home.
“Steve?”
He’s mumbling, staring at the woman in front of him and she looks genuinely concerned. Natasha. Her name is Natasha. “Steve, is everything alright?” His eyes dart around the room, words stuck in his throat like hot glue. Everyone stares at him, marble eyed and worried.
“Yeah... I just... never mind.”
It’s dropped. Left in his mind to fester. That is until Bucky speaks from his side. Answers his silent prayer, puts a name to the girl he feels so connected too.
“(Y/N) not here?”
“Yeah... uh - something came up.” Tony lies, scratches the nape of his neck. “She wishes you well Cap. Speedy recovery and all that nice shit.”
“(Y/N),” Steve repeats the name, tries it on his tongue for good measure. It feels right. It feels like the only right thing in the confusion of his mind, and he can’t help the way his heart skips at the sound of it. It’s so pure, and so beautiful.
(Y/N).
***
2 months ago
Steve stabilises. Is whisked away from you as soon as the jet lands, with a faint heartbeat and his skull cracked open and spilling across the gurney. And you have one name at the forefront of your mind.
Nicholas Fury.
You’re like some hellish warrior queen, coated in the blood of her lover, eyes that could tear you apart with their stare - cold, hard, lost. Anger scorched white hot in your stomach, licked your insides and pushed through your pores to break free. Fury didn’t stand a chance against you. No one did.
Tony was hot on your heels. “Please calm down babe,” he pleads, grabs your forearm and you growl. “Killing him will not make Steve better.”
You tossed him against a wall. Gasps came from those who walked past, but no one dared cross your war path. They knew the outcome. Tony’s eyes begged from his position on the floor, searing pain shooting up his spine and he knew he couldn’t stop you.
“What the hell is going on out here?!”
Tony gave Fury a warning glare. A glare that screamed - ‘run as fast as you can, she’ll still catch you.’
Before he could even process what was happening, you had raised your hand.
Indigo stretched around his neck like a blue noose. He felt the tightening, a boa constrictor wrapped around his pulse and squeezed the life from him. He flailed pathetically, tried to pry the energy off, tap out - anything. But you were relentless, and you would kill him before he ever got the chance to explain himself.
His eyes bulged from his head, veins popping and straining under his skin, it’s a wonder they didn’t burst and bleed across the hallway. His muscles struggle under your force. He makes this horrible gargling sound - the last of his life bubbling in his throat. And he looked so ugly under the stress you almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“He was a good man,” your teeth rub together like plates. “And you sent him to his death. And I will send you to yours.”
You never got the chance. A small pinch to your neck and your body falls into Tony’s arms, blue cord loosening from Nicks neck in the process. And he’s on all fours, gasping for breath.
You were sent to psychiatric evaluation for a month.
Nick Fury escaped with his life and a neck brace.
***
She comes to him at night like a fever dream.
Her bare skin glistens like ice under moonlight, and he feels her melt under his hands. That sturdy exterior she has falls, breaks like the heavens and he only feels her. He only ever feels her.
Her hands sliding over his body, reminded him of so much more - breathed life into his chest from her fingertips. Her hair falling like tendrils, brushed against his cheek, keeping his eyes focused on her. Steve flips them so she’s underneath, and her eyelashes flutter like black butterfly wings - kiss her sharp cheekbones and she giggles.
Steve’s lips meet hers and he feels himself opening up to her. It’s trusting and passionate and as their tongues slide together he sees stars scatter his eyelids.
He knows very few people see her like this. Very few people seldom see her vulnerable. So when she lets out a breathy moan at the feeling of his fingers dipping into her wet heat - it makes him feel special. Like he’s the only one in the world that can do this. Make her feel like this. Make her ache like this.
And she comes fast. Gushes all over his hand like some erotic fantasy - hands fisted in the sheets, back arched, mouth gaping and his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer.
Steve wastes no time pushing into her, stretching her to her limits but he knows she can take it. He fucks her with abandon. It’s a flurry of lips and spit and everything nasty but so fucking sexy and he loves it. Who knew Captain America was so dirty in bed?
He devastates her like a storm, relentless and powerful, and she gives it just as good. Pushes her hips down to meet his with a slap. The front of his thighs sting, burn with passion as he drills into her at an unforgiving pace - finger tracing through the hair that cushions that heavenly face.
An angel.
And she tightens around him once more. The coil in his stomach snaps at the sound of her mewls, at the feeling of her squeezing his cock so tight she might pull the fucking thing off. And fuck - that would be hot. And he pounds faster and faster, shouts out to whoever’s listening as he bursts inside her - fills her with everything he has.
They’re coated in sweat, laboured breaths and blush tinted faces. It’s all that true love bullshit, when he crashes down next to her. The kind he never thought he’d have. Carding his fingers through her hair, running along the soft skin of her face. He sees the love in her eyes, swirled in her irises in the haze of bliss and she’s so fucking gorgeous it hurts.
She opens her mouth to say something. And he hopes it’s ‘I love you.’ He yearns for it. Wants to hear it roll of her tongue and hit his ears in the form of that sweet, sweet sound. But instead it’s -
“Why don’t you remember me Stevie?”
And he’s awake again.
***
You hear him pacing at night.
Sometimes he cries. Other times he shouts. But he always paces. It’s never ending - the thud of his feet, mumble of his voice - cursing himself because he can’t remember. And you want to help him, but you stop every time. Never making it far enough.
You long to hold him. Tell him you love him and kiss him with the stars watching like some fairytale theatre performance. But life has a funny way of fucking you over. Always has. Always will. So you don’t.
You cross paths one night. You’re all messy hair, a pair of short shorts and an oversized T-shirt. You fetch a glass of water and he’s standing in the doorway, staring at you as though you’re the moon. It’s the way he used to look at you, like he couldn’t believe someone like you could exist. Someone so undeniably amazing. And you couldn’t help the small flutter in your chest.
Your heart beating once more.
There’s a crimson flush running across his cheeks and nose, blue eyes speckled with stars. Golden hair a mess atop his head. And you want nothing more than to suck that pillowed bottom lip into your mouth and hold his face between your powerful hands.
But you stop yourself.
You offer him a small smile.
***
He catches her stargazing. Sprawled across black grass underneath a Norway maple. Her arms are folded beneath her head, face illuminated in the night. And he wonders how she’s so effortlessly beautiful. He wonders if she were gifted to earth by the gods.
Steve approaches her. She looks at him with those curious eyes, quirk a brow when he says nothing.
“I see you in my dreams.”
Probably not the best conversation starter. And he half expects her to walk off. So when she smirks he’s surprised. “Creepy way to start a conversation with a girl you just met, Captain.”
Steve sits down beside her, runs his fingers through the blades of grass - coats them in the dew that rests there. “I’ve not just met you though, have I?” He asks, already knowing the answer. But wanting to see if she’ll be honest.
She stiffens beside him, sit up and curls her knees to her chest - white knuckled as she thinks. And during the stretch of silence Steve second guesses himself. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe she really hates me. Maybe -
“You knew me very well,” she answers, finally. “And I knew you.”
The silence returns, stretches between them like a void - dark and ominous and seemingly unbreakable. “We were lovers,” Steve looks towards her once more.
“We were.”
“You visited me in the hospital.”
“I did.” She looks away then.
“I forgot you.” He says it sadly. The weight crushes him, and he feels like he’s drowning again. “I’m... so sorry... I-“
“It is not your fault.” Her hand covers his forearm and it feels like it’s burning. His body longs for the touch his mind cannot remember and it hurts him even more to think that he had hurt her. He was still hurting her.
The panic subdues with her touch, leaves his body feverish in the night. She releases him, studies the tree line intently. Her brows are pulled tight, the sparkle in her eye dulled. When she turns to him again, her face softens, her eyes sparkle and it’s like looking at the clearest night of the year - dark eyes speckled with glowing flames.
“Watch the stars with me.” She says.
And he does.
***
1 month ago
“The serum saved his life,” the doctor explains. “Made our job a whole of a lot easier.”
Alexander was her name.
The hospital was all bright white lighting and eggshell walls, paint peeled away and marked from the countless scrapes it had endured. The air was thick, loud with sobbing and bleach. It was garish and you hated it.
“As we explained, he has suffered serious damage to his limbic system,” Dr Alexander’s hands flailed as she explained. “So, he has forgotten a lot.”
Forgotten. Your jaw clenched, teeth clamping together like a vice at her words. “What do you mean?”
You didn’t need it explained. You just didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Steve might have forgotten you. No - not might - definitely, has forgotten you.
The fear creeped in like a fever, making you sweat and your skin icy. It settled in your chest like thick smoke, clouded your lungs and made it impossible to breathe.
“I’m sorry Miss (L/N),” she continued. “He’s only just remembering his name. But we thought by bringing someone close to him in, we would be able to trigger some memories.”
You shake your head. Everything sticks in your throat and you become hyper aware of the situation. Hollow, tear stricken faces study you as you crash against the wall, your spine coils like a snake as it tries to push you to the ground.
You don’t cave. You can’t. “Why couldn’t you have gotten Bucky?” You asked. “Sam?”
Anyone but you. It was selfish and you knew it but you couldn’t see him if he couldn’t remember. You tried to think of the positives. He’s alive. He’s still here. But he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know anyone.
He doesn’t know himself.
“Mr Barnes thought it best if you were to see him first,” Dr Alexander claims. “You are his fiancé. Romantic connections can be more successful in conjuring up the past.”
You pulled it together. The shock dulled to a slight haze. But you were walking on unsteady feet, stumbling as though you’d been hit over the head. It felt like you had.
She knocked the door and you heard nothing but your heartbeat in your ears, pounding away at the drums as though it were for fun.
His voice replied. “Come in.” And it sounded just like him. But you knew the man on the bed was a stranger. You didn’t know each other anymore.
And when you stepped into the room you could see the confusion. It was etched into those blue eyes like some sick tattoo, embedded in the ice. His eyes didn’t light up like they once did. He just stared. Looked between Dr Alexander and you and then -
“Who are you?”
It hit you. Hard. Sent your heart crashing to the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t let it show - stoic. And this man was not Steve, he was not your Steve. He was a shell, a broken jigsaw - scrambling to fit the pieces back together. It fucking hurt to see him. To see him so lost, and to come face to face with the cold hard truth.
You remembered everything, and he remembered nothing.
***
The lake was like a sheet of glass. It lay still, reflected the murky, bruised sky, and everything was in a violet hue. Honey locusts branched over the water, their garish mustard leaves falling into the reflection - rippling the sky, breaking the mirror.
Steve knew this place.
He could feel it deep in his bones, stirring his marrow. It was special to him once. And he tries to force the pieces together, to make them fit in some unfit shape. It’s a mess, jagged and unrefined. But he’ll get there someday, he has to.
“You proposed to me here.”
She smirks as he jumps and he narrows his eyes. She was sneaky, slink like a cat, and he never saw her coming. She slumps beside him in the grass, slipping her bare feet through the short blades. Steve stares at her, takes in the smooth shape of her profile, the sharp bones, outlined in silver that look so subtle.
“I did?” He asks her, waits for her reaction and she turns to him then.
“Mh-hm,” she picks a piece of grass, plays with it in her fingers and studies it closely. “You were a nervous wreck. Sweating, red in the face, stumbling over your words. It was pretty fucking cute.”
Steve snickers. “Pretty fucking cute, huh?” And you nod with a smile, sadness swimming in the whirlpool of your eyes. But here you were, refining his memory, cutting off the jagged parts of the shape and making it whole - filling the cracks.
And Steve remembers. He remembers he loves you.
“I love you.” You’re startled by his words, turn to stare at him and he can’t read you - doesn’t know what your thinking for once. It makes him worry. Makes him think he’s overstepped the line.
“You can’t love me Steve,” she says, gaze flitting to the horizon and he sees the violet in her eyes, sees the bruises. “You don’t remember me.”
“I feel you,” he slips in. “In everything. And I might not remember much, but one day I will.”
When she’s silent he takes her hand, runs his thumb over her angry red knuckles. “I know I hurt you,” he whispers. “And I might not remember our first date, or your favourite colour. But I remember that I love you sweetheart.”
“I remember that you love to dance when you think no one is watching, but I always would.” She hides the flush that rushes over her skin at his words, a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “And I remember making love to you right here on summers eve. The sky burned red and orange and gold, and I was worried, but you didn’t care if people were watching.”
“God, you’re so cheesy Steve Rogers,” she laughs, and it warms him, because he knows she’s not laughed like that in a long time. And he laughs too. And it’s like how it used to be.
She reaches around her neck, pulls a chain from beneath her shirt and places the warm metal in his hand. Steve looks down, catches the glint of a diamond in the lilac light and he feels his heart flutter.
He looks to her once more. Her hand on his cheek.
“When the day comes that you remember me, I will be here.”
And he remembered her name.
#Steve Rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers smut#steve rogers imagine#marvel cinematic universe#captain america x you#steve rogers x you#captain america#captain america fanfiction#captain america fandom
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Chapter 1 “Remembrance Day”
It’s time. He doesn’t want to but he knows he has to get up. He could hear the alarm clock blaring across the room. Silently he cursed to himself. There’s really no need for the alarm. He doesn’t sleep deep enough to need one but he keeps it anyway.
It was Steve’s alarm.
He tried, a thousand times, to get rid of the damned thing. But he couldn’t even find the courage to change the time on it so it didn’t go off at such an ungodly hour. God, why did he always get up so early, he thought. Every time he tries his heart contracts and he’s left shaking and drenched in sweat. So he just lives with it—even though it’s a painful reminder that Steve would never wake up early to watch the sunrise again.
Somehow he managed to get out of bed and get ready. It’s Remembrance Day, a day dedicated to the fallen heroes of the war against Thanos. It’s also the day Steve died. A day he would rather forget. A day he can never forget. A day no one would ever let him forget. Because as the world celebrates the bravery and sacrifice of Captain America, Iron man should always bear witness. The husband. The widower. The one he saved the world for and gave up his life.
To Tony Stark, it was pure torture.
He’d rather be lying down dead beside his husband. But Steve made sure he lived. That fucking bastard,” he muttered as he made his way to the helipad where the Quinjet is waiting to take him to Washington. There, he and the remaining Avengers are going to be honored for the 7th year in a row. Dead for 7 years and Steve still drives him insane. He’d give everything to have him back.
The flight was only less than an hour but he could already feel his head throbbing. He’ll definitely be in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Good, he thought. Maybe then they’ll let him skip the ceremonies. As soon as the thought came to him he knew it was never going to happen. The world needed a symbol for their superficial annual grieving. Why they can’t understand that he is still living with the grief is beyond him. All he wants is to be left alone. He doesn’t need to be reminded of how selfless Steve was—he sees the proof in the mirror every day.
He found Rhodey in the standby room, already finished with his coffee.
“No Peter and Harley again?” Rhodey asked as soon as he saw Tony by himself. Tony shrugged. He’s used to going alone to this charade now. Peter refused and begged Tony not to force him to attend the ceremonies from the beginning. I can’t do it Dad! I can’t let him go! Meanwhile, Harley stopped coming after the 3rd year. If Peter doesn’t have to go, then I don’t want to go. He wanted to get mad at his children, but he knew how hard it was for them. Things weren’t exactly peachy between Peter and Steve when Steve died. Steve was still trying to make amends for leaving him for Bucky. Peter, who was old enough to understand what his Pops had done, couldn’t forgive him.
“Isn’t this supposed to start at 8? Where is everybody?” he asked, changing the subject. Before Rhodey could reply the door opened and in came Nat and Sam.
“Bruce isn’t coming,” Nat spat. “And so is Thor. It’s just the four of us today. I can’t believe those shitheads, missing something this important!”
Tony and Rhodey exchanged curious looks. Natasha is in one of her moods—something they’ve seen getting more frequent over the years. She used to be one of the hardest people to read but ever since she lost Steve, the person she trusted the most, she had become temperamental and careless. Sam subtly signaled them not to engage with her. And they didn’t. Tony had no desire to further agitate his already massive headache. Hesilently wondered how Sam could tolerate her temper tantrums. Maybe the rumours about them being a couple now are true. Whatever. It wasn’t really not his concern. As long as Sam is there to make sure Natasha doesn’t go off the edge he could care less about their status. He just wants to get this event over with so he could go home and sleep.
These days nothing hardly ever happens in the world. Yes, they still had the occasional nuisance. But nothing major enough to require the services of the Avengers. They’ve become nothing but figureheads. Perhaps the hullabaloo with Thanos wore out would be bad guys. He couldn’t decide if it was a bad thing. Yes, they had peace. But all he wanted was peace of mind. And since he couldn’t really get that he craved distraction—which is so hard to come by these days.
Tony silently thanked the heavens when one of the organizers finally fetched them. The presidents were already onstage. It was show time.
Skies were blue. There was a gentle breeze. Everything looked and felt perfect.
Fuck me. It was all Tony could think.
Fuck me. Fuck you. This is all your fault you selfish sonafabitch.
They were playing a tribute video for Captain America. The background music was deep and sweeping and full of drama. It was supposed to bring tears to everyone’s eyes. He didn’t need an audiovisual cue. All he needed to do was think of his husband’s smiling face, the one he will never see again, and he is lost. Lost in an ocean. Adrift and drowning at the same time.
His memories took him to the night he first met Steve in person.
He grew up in the shadow of the super soldier. Steve Rogers. Captain America. All his father could talk about while he was growing up was this man who was the very definition of hero. A man who was so selfless he died to save literally the whole world. To Tony he was like the perfect older brother whose perfectly timed death cemented his place on a pedestal. An older brother he was striving to be, while secretly hating on because he could never be him. He resented him, even though he was nothing but a memory. So when he found out from Fury that Captain America had just been recovered and revived, he just had to see him. He wanted to know if his resentment was misguided. He never imagined that seeing Steve for the first time would take his breath away. He was the most beautiful human being he had ever seen.
He was still lost in that memory when the first explosion went off.
“Get the presidents out of here!!!” he heard Rhodey scream. It took him a couple of seconds to register what was going on around them. Another explosion was heard, followed by rapid gun shots.
“Tony! TONY! Get your head out of your ass! We’re under attack!” Natasha was already running towards the end of the street where the explosion came from. Sam was already airborne, ahead of the swat team assigned to this event. It was pandemonium everywhere.
He stood frozen for a second.
Shit.
And then his muscle memory activated.
“Friday, get me my suit,” he spoke to his AI. Nowadays he doesn’t wear the automated suit that lets him gear up in seconds. It’s always just nearby though, in this case, in the Quinjet.
“Already on its way, boss,” his AI replied. A minute later he felt the familiar weight of metal around his skin. It has been so long since he was dressed this way. It almost feels uncomfortable.
“Look mom! It’s Ironman! He’s back!” he heard a kid scream while he was being dragged away by his mother to safety. The word seemed so foreign.
“Tony? Are you suited?” he heard Rhodey through his coms.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“I’m escorting the presidents. Sam and Nat are headed east.”
“Do you have visuals on the bomber?”
“Bombers. And they’re armed to the teeth—“
Another explosion shakes them. This time, near the Lincoln Memorial.
”Fuck!” Nat’s curse rang in his ear and another memory ate at him.
Language. The first few years of Captain America’s 2nd life was a source of fond memories. His propriety and naivety gave them all quite a few laughs. But he was also a great leader.
“I’m on my way to the 2nd location,” he said. He flew towards the Lincoln Memorial, suddenly alert and focused.
“Tony, please be careful,” said Rhodey.
“Of course,” he replied. He wanted to be offended but knew his friend only meant well. He knew Rhodey thinks he’s emotionally compromised.
Nothing could have prepared him for the devastation he found. He smelled and heard it before he saw it. Bodies everywhere. Death. Destruction. The screams of people in pain or running away were piercing. He surveyed the area, looking for the bomber, but all he saw were more bodies, dead and alive. It never used to derail him whenever they were in battle. Sure, he grieved after every fight but during the fight, all he focused on was the enemy.
He struggled to keep alert.
“Tony, do you have visuals on the perps?”
“No, not yet—“
“HELP! SOMEONE HELP US!”
A voice steals his attention.
No. It can’t be.
“Please! I need help!”
He followed the voice, his heart beating wildly in his chest.
“Please, someone, anyone! Help us!”
There’s ringing in his ears—but the voice was crystal clear. He knew that voice.
He searched frantically. He didn’t care that the bomber had been forgotten suddenly. All he cared about was that voice. He cannot be mistaken.
Steve.
It was Steve’s voice.
“Help!”
“Tony, what’s going on?” he heard Rhodey. But he dared not reply, afraid that speaking would break it—whatever spell it was that was letting him hear his dead husband’s voice so clearly.
“Tony?!”
He turned off his coms.
Where are you? Oh God, please let me find him—
And he did.
#stony#stony fic#stonyfic#stony fanfiction#captain america#ironman#iron man#spiderman#avengers#black widow#falcon#steve rogers#tony stark#peter parker#natasha romanoff#sam wilson#rhodey#tragedy#drama
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Messages Worth Listening- Chapter Two
This was fast! There were less things to change here, and I hope the other chapter does as well. Enjoy!
‘God, will this day ever end?’ Tony wonders. Everett Ross has just called him; and things are even worse than this morning, as impossible as that might seem. Severely hurt officers, dead officers, endangered civilians, dead civilians, an uncontrollable Black Panther, a locked Winter Soldier, a rebellious Captain America and his loyal dog the Flacon… Jesus Christ, what a mess.
All of them are on the way; but Rhodey came back flying the War Machine armor, so of course he is here sooner. For now, they are alone in one of the conference rooms. Tony cannot help but think that his Steve wouldn’t have done this if he heard the voicemails; so maybe he ditched his phone after talking with Natasha?
“FRIDAY” starts Tony suddenly. “Do you know if Steve listened to the messages I left him?” he asks, desperately holding onto that hope.
“He did, Boss. He heard and deleted all three messages.” Pause. “I’m sorry, Boss.” She sounds sad, that’s the thing. How pathetic is he, that even his own creations feel pity for him?
“Tones, you alright?” Asks Rhodey; because he is the best person (Alpha, Beta or Omega) that Tony has ever met. He really doesn’t know what he would do without his Rhodey.
“Always.” He answers, with a bitter smile on his face. “I just thought that the…news would be enough to make him think things through and not do stupid bullshit like this.” A bitter laugh resonates in the see-through room. “I was wrong, obviously. I just hope that his…need to protect Barnes convinces him of signing. I don’t have anything else to offer General Ross if he doesn’t.” ends the brunette, with a grimace.
“Hey” says Rhodey, pulling Tony towards his chest, letting him rest for a minute; like the Alpha always does when his friend needs comfort and they are in a public place. Even if they are ‘alone’ right now, there is always someone watching. “I’m with you, alright? Always; I’ll always have your back, Tones.” He murmurs in the Omega’s ear, feeling Tony shake in his arms, while he gently rubs his back to calm him down.
“I know, Jim, I know. I don’t know what I’d do without you, my Rhodey.” the brunette answers, giving him a wobbly smile. Tony takes a step back and locks his eyes with the Alpha. He kisses the older man in the cheek and hugs him a last time, throwing his arms around the strong neck.
Then, he unlocks his arms and takes several steps back, puts his mask on its place and prepares to greet a grieving and raging King, an Assassin, his Alpha and a loyal dog.
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“Did you know about this!?” Steve growls, as soon as he is through T’Challa’s office door. The King lifts his eyes from the paperwork on his dark wooden desk and pins him with an impassive gaze.
“Knew about what?” Questions the Wakandan.
“About Tony! About his…his state.” the blond chokes out.
“You mean about the coma Dr. Stark has been in since he was rescued after your battle in Siberia?” Asks the Black Panther; a disapproving note on his tone.
“Yes” Hisses the ex-Captain. “Did.you.knew.about.it?” He repeats, taking a few steps forward, glaring with all his might at the King.
“Yes, of course I did.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me!?” The American yells.
“I observed you for a few days after Dr. Stark was found, Captain, and judging from your behavior; you did not wish to learn about your Omega. You changed new channels as soon as his name or his company was mentioned; ignored anything related to him in the media; never questioned me about him or his health and any time someone tried to talk to you about him, Mr. Rogers, you shut them down. So, per your requests, I decided not to bother you with news about his health.” Explains T’Challa, and despite his impassive demeanor, the blond can detect a hint of disgust on his eyes.
Steve falls silent at this, because, who wouldn’t? What decent human being wouldn’t feel revolted by him in this very moment? He attacked his Omega, and abandoned his badly injured Mate in the middle of a wasteland, left him stranded and defenseless, to boot. Broken bones, blood loss, hypothermia, concussions… God, Tony was so close to dying…how did he not notice that? The Bond should have made him feel part of it; sense his mate slipping from life and feel his pain. But he doesn’t feel a thing. All this time he thought Tony was blocking him, building wall upon wall to stop Steve from noticing how much his betrayal injured the Omega (which it’s useless, because every time he closes his eyes for more than a second, he sees those deep brown eyes full of incredulity, sadness, rage, raw hurt).
He needs to go to Tony. He has to help his Omega. He already filled his role as friend, now it’s time for him to redeem himself to Tony by carrying out his duty as an Alpha. He needs to be beside his Omega. Has to find a way to get to the States and into whatever hospital Tony is in.
Judging by the way the King is looking at him, though, T’Challa won’t help him.
But he might just have the man for the job.
Time to talk with certain fan of his.
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“Are you sure about this?” asks Rhodey, watching him with concerned eyes. “You already got beaten today, and Barnes hit you right in your belly…I’m really not comfortable with you going with us to that fight.” The Alpha seems really worried, mouth tight and a frown on his forehead.
“I know; that scared the shit out of me.” The brunette fiddles with his gauntlet for a moment, not meeting Jim’s eyes. Then he takes a deep breath and locks eyes with the other man. “But I really don’t think that this will become a full-on fight, you know? I believe that Steve will listen to us; he has to. And Sam should get what we are trying to do with the Accords, the accountability and all is a strong concept on the military, after all.” He breaths in once more, letting the air out slowly. “And I hope he thinks of his children before starting something that could hurt us.”
There is a minute or two of quiet, in which they both finish putting on their armors, and then they stay there, in an uneasy silence. But Jim sees the glow of unshed tears and the deep pain in Tony’s eyes. He was always able to detect it, even if he wasn’t always able to solve the issue.
“Tony…”
“It’s just-” Starts the Omega, his voice raw. “I thought he would care, you know? About what could happen to me, to our babies.” A sob escapes Tony. Rhodey regrets deeply the fact that he can only embrace the brunette in the suit, not give him physical comfort. “God, why am I such a fuck-up that not even my own Alpha cares for me or his own children, Rhodey? What is it about me that-” By now a few tears have rolled down the brunette’s cheeks, and those deep brown orbs are so sad and broken that Jim wants to rip Rogers apart. “They are not even born yet and I already ruined it for them, I’m-” His whimpers interrupt him.
“Hey, hey, Tones.” The Alpha starts, removing his gauntlet and caressing one wet cheek. “This is not on you. You are magnificent, and Rogers is too blind and too much of an idiot to see it. You are the most caring, giving, sweet Omega (hell, person) I’ve ever met; and these babies will be the most lucky ones in the world, because you are going to be a loving, careful and dedicated mother. And they will love you and cherish you for it, and because you deserve it. And you know the best part, for me?” Rhodey asks, relieved to see the tears have stopped and there is a minute smile on the Omega’s lips. Tony shakes his head. “That I will be there, with you; every step of the way. I’ll witness every change you go through, will be there when they are born, will help you help them walk, and will laugh with you when their first words turn out to be ‘robot’ or ‘dummy’.” They both laugh at this, and the room feels less tense already. “I love you, okay? You know that.” They both know Jim means it in more than one way, but right now it’s not the time. “And I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.” He presses a kiss on the brunette’s forehead. “I promise you everything will be alright.”
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Steve runs back to the communal rooms, hoping that Scott is still there. He is out of breath. He is rarely out of breath, after the Serum.
When he gets there, he sees Bucky, sitting still on one of the couches and staring at the TV, which is showing the crowd of people outside the hospital, the candles and the walls covered in cards, drawings, photos… Sam is standing by the window, looking at the Jungle, so different from home.
“Hey, have any of you seen Scott?” He asks, relieved that he doesn’t have to go and look for them himself. He is going to need Sam and Bucky on this one.
Neither of them answer.
“Hey, Buc-”
“We did that” says Bucky, not moving at all. He is still facing the TV but his words are meant for Steve, there’s no doubt.
“Buck-” tries the blond.
“We… did that”. The brunet repeats. “To him, to your Omega.” It’s like he is still trying to process it. Meanwhile, Sam has turned around to watch them. The pilot has a severe expression on his face, arms crossed in front of his chest. But he doesn’t speak, just looks at Steve like he should do something.
Steve hates seeing Bucky like this, a shadow of the man he once knew. This Bucky is ridden with guilt and anxiety and paranoia. This man is always thinking about the Winter Soldier victims and doesn’t listen to him when Steve tries to tell him it’s not his fault. But this? What happened to Tony wasn’t because HYDRA or Zemo controlled his mind, it wasn’t a mission. Tony went to help them, admitted his mistake and tried to work with them. And then…and then the video happened and everything went to shit. Steve knows Bucky would have let Tony kill him, if it wasn’t because Steve himself got into the fight. It was his fault for keeping the truth to himself all these years, not Bucky’s; but in that moment there was no other thing he could have done. He had to save Bucky from Tony and Steve knew- thought that his Mate would be okay. What happened to Tony is Steve (and Tony’s too, let’s be honest, he didn’t need to attack Bucky because the man wasn’t guilty, that was HYDRA) fault.
Thing is, he doesn’t know how to make this Bucky listen to him, how to make him understand that. But before he can try to, Clint enters the room from the hallway, a phone on his ear and a bag on his other hand. He leaves the bag on the couch and talks to whoever is on the other side of the line.
“Yeah…yeah. Okay, I’ll see you there. Bye.” He hangs up and looks at the hall, and Wanda walks up to him, a backpack on her back and holding a handbag. They talk among themselves for a little while, then the young female Alpha nods and Clint grabs his bag again and starts walking with her on tow.
“We are leaving, Rogers.”
“Wha-Clint?” Steve asks, baffled. He knows he has things to explain to his team, if the way Clint is glaring at him or how Wanda won’t look at him is anything to go by.
“I called Nat; it turns out her decision to stay out of Wakanda has less to do with the King and more to do with her not standing the sight of you. God, I knew there was something you weren’t telling us, but beating Stark half to dead and leave him to die?” The shorter blond takes a few deep breaths and then “I’d have never believed you to be such a coward if I hadn’t seen it myself.” he finishes. It hurts, that his teammate thinks so lowly of him.
Before he can retort and say something to make Clint and Wanda change their minds, Scott comes out of the hallway, also with a bag ready. He can’t look at Steve in the eyes either, but the blond can’t let him leave; Lang is his only real chance of getting to Tony.
“Scott, don’t go.” he starts. An awkward pause. “Please.” He adds at last.
“Why do you want him to stay, Rogers? You never seemed overly interested in him before.” Says Clint, before his eyes widen as he comes up with the answer. “Of course; you need Scott and his ants to help you get to Tony. Bastard.” He hisses.
Said Omega seems to shrink in himself a bit, not looking up from the floor; letting Clint shield him a bit. Steve takes two steps to the left, so he can see the other man’s face, trying to get Scott to look at him.
“Please, Scott.” He says again, hoping that the words will convince Scott to face him. “I need you. I need your help to go to my Omega. I wouldn’t ask if I had another choice, Scott, but I don’t. Please, Scott, help me go to my family.” Begs the blond.
“Family?” spits out Clint. “Now you care about family!?” he yells. “You should have thought about that before all of this! I haven’t talked to my kids or my wife in two months! Lang missed his court hearing because he was on an underwater prison! Natasha hasn’t spoken a word to us since she helped us get away, except for today’s phone call! She thought all of us knew about Tony and didn’t care! I explained to her that we didn’t knew shit, that our virtuous Captain never told us and that he made sure we ignored everything about Tony Stark on any kind of media; that saying his name or asking about him was pretty much forbidden. And of course, with how mad we were at him and how much time we spent outside after being cooped up in a cell for weeks; it was pretty easy for you to control what we should know and what we should ignore.” The archer is breathing hard, eyes shining with fury. Steve is taken aback by how much hate leaked into the beta’s words.
“That’s what you think of me? That I hid this from all of you?” None of them meets his eyes, not even Sam or, God, Bucky. “Well!?” he growls.
“What do you want us to believe, Steve?” Asks Sam; finally meeting his eyes. “Even if you didn’t watch the news or ignored everything about your Omega for two months, the bond must have told you things were bad, if not how bad.” He sighs and turns his head, and it feels like rejection. “That you choose to ignore that speaks more than anything.”
Steve takes a deep, deep breath to calm himself. He can’t lose his temper now, not if he wants his teammates to understand and support him. Or, at least, convince Scott to stay. He needs Scott, that’s nonnegotiable.
“I swear to you, I didn’t know about his state. After Siberia…I thought that Tony was blocking me, because every time I tried to reach out there was just this…blankness I couldn’t get pass. I thought he was mad at me” he takes note of the fire in Clint’s eyes and adds “reasonably mad at me, and that he was preventing me from reaching him because of how hurt he was. I’d never imagined that the reason I couldn’t feel him was because he was unconscious all the time.”
He holds his breath for an answer; but after one or two minutes of silence, Clint shakes his head and starts walking again. Wanda follows him without a word and without looking at Steve, just nodding in Sam’s direction.
Scott…Scott just stays where he is; vibrating with energy and nerves, but not moving. The archer looks back at him with disbelief, but then sighs.
“When you grow tired of being used by him, call me and we’ll get to you.” Says Clint, and then he and Wanda are gone.
“Scott” breaths out Steve, relieved. “Thank y-”he tries to say, but gets interrupted.
“Don’t, Cap, just…don’t.” Says the Omega, with a hand up. “I’ll help you because I got a second chance and it’s not my place to deny anyone theirs; not because I condone what you did.” With that, he turns around to get his bag. “I’ll go change. Be ready in fifteen.”
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Later, riding in the back of a flying ant (another thing he never thought he would say) with Bucky and Sam on each side, but not talking or looking at him, he thinks that the thing that torments him most is the loss of his Omega’s trust; and his team’s trust. Steve really wishes he could have done something different, but there was no other choice, no time, no way out. They were played magnificently by Zemo, like chess pieces. His hands and feet were tied, and he could only fill the role that Tony and Ross and Zemo had pushed him into. If his Omega, Rhodes, Vision and Natasha had not agreed to sign the Accords, things would have gone so differently.
He had hoped that Tony would come around on his own, given time, but if his Mate is in a coma…Tony needs him right now. And his team…they pretty much loathe him; though Steve knows they will forgive him, when they see Tony awake and fine; and both of them together again. It’ll take work, and Steve has a lot of making up to do, but he has done nothing irreversible, so.
Things will work out. They always do.
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Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Voices.
“He’s over here!!”
Whispers.
“My God…his own Alpha did this to him?”
Cold touches.
Pain.
“You are safe now, Mr. Stark. We will help you, sir, don’t worry.”
“Mr. Stark, are you with us?”
Movement.
Pain.
“He is in very bad shape, ribs fractured for sure, concussion, God knows what else.”
“Mr. Stark, I know you want to go to sleep, just a few more moments. Is anyplace in particular hurting more than others?”
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
“My…m-my babies…s-save my b-babies…” Tony manages to get out. Only that matters.
Yelling.
“Fuck, he’s pregnant!!”
“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, stay with us!”
“We are losing him! We have to move him!”
“I need that stretcher yesterday!”
“One, two, three!”
Pain.
“H-help…them…” Whispers out the Omega, blood choking him.
Pain.
Steve...why?
Pain.
Pain.
Pa-
Blackness.
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Pacific Rim AU where Bitty is the cook who holds the morale of the entire population of the shatterdome on his shoulders.
Initially he had trained to be a pilot, but flunked out due to a lack of drift compatible partners, and instructors saying they’d fear he’d chase the RABBIT while drifted with someone in a Jaeger and endanger himself and those around him.
Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann bounced between the shatterdomes from Seattle to Anchorage making a name for themselves as THE team that gives any kaiju an ass-whooping. That is, until they quietly retired a few years back. Publicly, the reason is due to a training exercise going wrong and injuring them. The true reason has to do with the radiation poisoning caused by the Alpha I’s finally getting to them.
Almost immediately after their retirement, their son Jack rose to take their place with his Drift Partner: Kent Parson. They were the golden boys until a very, very public failure while fighting a Kaiju off the coast of Vancouver. A combination of the mental strain of the PONS unit while also abusing his medication proved catastrophic. They barely made it out alive. Jack was Grounded and works as a LOCCENT operator. Kent was reassigned to a Shatterdome in Panama City.
I wonder who is gonna be Jack’s new partner??? I wonder??? No one else is drift compatible with him except this dude who makes really good pie come out of no where??? Where does he get those kinds of ingredients in Alaska????
It is a mystery
Anyways if you wanna know about where all the other characters fall in this AU...
Lardo is J-Tech Chief and LOCCENT operators. She oversees all operations of Rangers and Jaegers. She gets to be a living legend among the locals of every town she’s stationed in. (”One time Lardo and I went to a pub in Hong Kong during our shore leave. It ended with her taking me to get my eyebrow pierced and then she belched for three minutes in my face. It was awesome”)
Johnson is a custodian, but everyone knows him because he seems to be more accurate in predicting Kaiju emergences than the War Clock. It annoys the scientists to no end.
Ransom works on the Med Team. He specializes in keeping the Rangers in tip top, fighting condition. It was a great job when he was a part of a team, and the Jaegers were a can of Kaiju Whoopass. But after a wave of budget cuts, staff cuts, no new equipment, and Kaiju getting stronger, his job is getting a lot harder. In his spare time he could be found -- ha ha what spare time? You can find him on his lunch break curled under his desk in the fetal position.
Holster is the nice Ranger who runs a Jaeger with his older sister. He has every episode of Golden Girls on VHS hidden under his bunk with an absolutely ancient old TV with a VHS player built into it. According to a certain Medic named Justin Oluransi he makes the best smoothies, hot chocolate, and cocktails. No one else, however, can verify that. Since Ransom is the only one he makes them for. His sister teases him to no end.
Shitty is the liason between the PDCC and any “political fucksticks” that try to shut it down. He graduated Harvard about 5 years after K-Day, so he knew that negotiating for the PDCC is what he wanted to do. But god can he rant about any of the social justice issues surrounding the breach. From the gentrification and pricing out of Middle America (Not only are the poor forced to stay in the safe zones, those that lived in those flyover states are being priced out of the place they lived for centuries! Not to mention how it’s fucking up the agriculture), to THE WALL( “A wall isn’t gonna stop these giant lizard dicks from busting in and taking what they want”).
The only time he is seen wearing clothing is with the Marshal when he has video calls with Leaders of the Free World, and when he negotiate with certain...notso wholesome folk over obtaining kaiju specimens not so legally. He only wears a full suit for the latter.
Chowder and Farmer are a Jaeger duo born out of loss. Both were both witnessed Trespasser attack California firsthand. They both lost everyone close to them. Caitlin has a cousin she visits in Nevada as much as she can, though. The cousin was just outside of Oakland when the nukes came, and they were exposed to a lot of radiation.
They met each other in a makeshift refugee camp outside of Yosemite, and they gravitated toward each other in their grieving. As soon as they were old enough, they enrolled in the Jaeger Program. Upon graduation and assignment to a nifty little Mark III, they were married in a swift but heartfelt ceremony.
Dex is a officer in J-Tech in charge of keeping Chowder and Farmer’s Jaeger in fighting condition. It is a perfect combination of his programming skills and his striking ability to fix any machine placed in front of him. Well, except for the dryer in the laundry room. There’s only one and it can’t dry even one sock. He’s dedicated as much time as he could, but it just won’t work. Everyone is forced to dry their clothes on the roof.
Dex’s paths cross with a certain drivesuit technician named Derek Nurse constantly, much to his chagrin. The first time that they meet is during Dex’s offtime. He got a call from the dome’s radio station asking to tinker with some malfunctioning sound equipment. It ends with a shouting match between the two having to be broken up by none other than Lardo.
Dex learns that he shouldn’t make enemies with the man who is second to only Bitty in boosting morale. It’s a sucky world without social media, and radio is the only way to really keep up with petty gossip. For the next couple of days, Radio LOCCENT hosted a Roast of William Poindexter.
After that, they kept bumping into each other in the worst places: parties of mutual friends (Chowder), shore leaves into town with mutual friends (Chowder), the laundry room where Dex passive aggressively dumps out Nursey’s clothes the second that they’re done. (”There are 13 other empty washers what the HECK Poindexter?”) And you can bet your bottom dollar that Nursey would talk about it during every break between songs.
They only called a truce when the burden got too great to bear alone. No one except for LOCCENT could really do anything after the Jaeger was sent out. The only thing to do was listen to the reports being broadcast over the intercom. It’s been 2 hours since deployment and Dex is working on that damn dryer when he hears announcements that the Sharkpulse had gone dark. Last reports were that there was massive damage to Jaeger and, if the other Jaeger sent out 35 minutes later doesn’t arrive in time, is likely to be completely destroyed.
Nursey finds Dex in the laundry room beating the absolute shit out of the dryer. He grabs him and tries to comfort him the best they could. Sharkpulse is still dark, the Kaiju is inching closer to the miracle mile. Dex lets himself, if only for a moment, collapse in Nursey’s arms. And then the moment is over, and they both wish each other luck and make each other useful. When the Kaiju is killed and the remains of the Sharkpulse is recovered, they both stop holding the breath neither of them knew that they were holding. Somehow, both of them were alive.
They kept working. The animosity between them was gone and replaced with what could be called amicable tolerance with each other. After the eventual shutdown of Anchorage, they both volunteered to transfer to Hong Kong. There they would be forced to share a tiny room.
ANYWAYS. WHO ELSE IS THERE?
Until K-Day, Whiskey was satisfied with studying economics and going into a cushy Wall Street job. Seeing tens of thousands killed in California by a giant alien changes things. Maybe he should join the PDCC after graduating college. And then they hit Manila. After that, Whiskey applied himself to the very fullest. He graduated high school a year early, and enlisted. He worked in Panama City as a drivesuit technician. For a couple years, he just kept his head down and focused on the work at hand. He made friends with the Rangers he met, and even was invited to spar with a couple of them. After quickly defeating many of them, he was recommended to join the Jaeger program.
There, he met his inquisitive partner in crime, life, the Jaeger, etc: Anthony “Tango” Tangredi. He absolutely loves drifting. It’s like every question that Tango never even considered asking gets answered in a split second. Unfortunately for the scientists, Tango cannot drift with them. He has to ask all the questions the old fashioned way. Most of the time, they are happy to explain what they are doing, but not when they are running on approximately 15 minutes of sleep that they got maybe 3 (??) days ago.
Foxtrot is the Marshal of the Shatterdome in Anchorage. She’s one of the youngest, but still as capable as ever. People will follow her to the ends of the earth.
Tater is was a Jaeger pilot in Vladivostok until his partner was killed in combat. It really shook him. He used his status to build affordable housing for the poor inland, so that they could be safe. After that, he spends all of his savings on a one way ticket to the Hong Kong Shatterdome to help finish this once and for all in any way possible.
#omgcp#check please#au#pacific rim au#bruh i really like pacific rim you don't even know#and this will be a fic someday but if you guys want something...to tangibly see#yeah here you go#and its kinda more of a crossover because all the kaiju are canon?#and some characters?#god why can't things write themselves???#like it just...needs a plot#which i have#but still#there's a lot of worldbuilding i'd have to explain#drug abuse cw
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do you know any really long and hella angsty larry fics on aooo ?? sorry to bother you!
No bother at all! I LOVE getting asks!!! Also, I got a little ahead of myself here, so this is a long list! I’m doing this in numerical order starting at 100k and up! I will forewarn you, some of these fics may not be as angsty as you’re looking for, but I figured I’d add them still because you might like them! Hope you find what you wanted! :D
Angsty Fic Rec
take my hand (and my heart and soul) by bananasandboots
Words: 45k
Or, the one where Harry hasn’t spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can’t remember why.
Even Angels Have Their Demons by AFangirlFantasy
Words: 53k
Louis is appointed the role of Guardian Angel, and his first mission is a boy named Zayn Malik. Unfortunately, it seems that a certain Demon has gotten to him first.
Or… an Angel/Demon AU where Angel Louis hates Demon Harry, but somewhere along the way that stops being so true.
No One Does It Better by nodibs
Words: 49k
Harry’s an alcoholic and Louis is a bartender. The first time they meet isn’t the first time they’ve met.
Tug-of-War by cherrystreet
Words: 63k
Louis’ husband dies suddenly and he is left with nothing. Well, not really nothing. He has Harry. And a St. Bernard puppy named Link, whom his late husband left behind for him. Louis takes care of Link and Harry takes care of Louis. Everything is okay until suddenly, it isn’t.
All Your Dreams Are On Their Way by1Diamondinthesun
Words: 73k
Or, Louis Tomlinson is a grieving author with a deadline. Harry Styles is afraid to realize his potential. The Caribbean is the perfect place to dream bigger. Featuring cocktails, imposter syndrome, and a race-against-the-clock rescue under a starry St. Lucia sky.
don’t tell the gods (we left a mess) by bottomlinsons
Words: 71k
After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.)
Truth Be Told (I Never Was Yours) by JustForTommo
Words: 76k
or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.
Baby, I think we might be too cold to float by forreveries
Words: 81k
AKA: Harry is a journalist that goes to Lake Tekapo, New Zealand, to look into a girl’s disappearance after a year of no movement from police. What he finds instead is his ex boyfriend Louis, who, six years earlier, ghosted him after five months of dating in university. A story of trauma, secrets, and the power of finally letting people in.
And down the long and silent street by whimsicule
Words: 86k
The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy.
Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis’ past finally catches up with him.
Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds
Words: 88k
1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.
Off The Record by Tomlinsontoes
Words: 90k
Louis is an out of control teen heartthrob, Harry is hired to get him back on track and they both hate each other while they secretly don’t.
Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark
Words: 95k
Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six’s victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven’s victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.
Dance to the Distortion by Lis (domesticharry)
Words: 96k
Louis accidentally breaks Harry’s camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.
Untangle Me by suicxne
Words: 103k
Louis finds himself out of place in LA, unable to get at an itch that’s been bothering him for years. He supposes back in the early days, home hadn’t been a place. It’d been a person. He’d etched it permanently into his skin for fucks sake.It was always him and Harry. Stuck to each other like super glue. Pulled together by some magnetic force, existing in their own bubble. Everyone could see it, but that was half the problem, wasn’t it?
It’s not like Louis can pinpoint the exact moment in time when him and Harry fell out of sync. There wasn’t really one at all. It had been a gradual slip, like the tide wearing away at a sandstone cliff. Chipping the solid foundations until there was nothing left to stop the structure falling to the waves below. It’s not like he spends all of his time sitting around moping over a lost friendship, he’s good at distractions. But LA only seems to accentuate the distance between them. Two separate planets, not even in the same solar system.
Or the one where Harry and Louis finally get it right.
Take me down with you by harrystylesandstuff
Words: 107k
Louis is fine. He just happens to walk to the suicide bridge of Bristol at least once a week, just happens to be dealing with a lot of anxiety, and just happens to be done with life. But he’s fine.
Everything is just fine until a mysterious guy starts showing up every time he tries to kill himself, and he should be very scared, but he’s somehow very glad to have company. Until he’s not.
AU where Louis tries to kill himself multiple times but he’s not very good at it, Harry keeps showing up out of nowhere, and maybe life isn’t as bad as it looks sometimes.
Give Me Truths by iwillpaintasongforlou
Words: 110k
Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.
Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.
Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante
Words: 112k
American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).
Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.
A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?
Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore
Words: 113k
As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.
nobody shines the way you do by wildestdreams
Words: 115k
Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to help him win back his douchebag ex-boyfriend, but things don’t go according to plan.
The Dead of July by whimsicule
Words: 117k
or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.
Never Be by cherrystreet
Words: 117k
The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.
In Vogue by otpwhatever
Words: 121k
Fashion AU. Louis is the editor in chief of Vogue magazine, and Harry’s running British GQ. Featuring Zayn as the crazy creative director and Louis’ confidant, Liam as the sports writer that gets to sit front row at fashion week and DJ Neil as the only sane person in the whole story. (There are no skinny jeans in this fic)
more than just a dream by spit_on_me_larry
Words: 122k
Louis Tomlinson loves his life, he really does. It’s just that he’s constantly on the verge of everything completely going to shit. He’s disorganized and clumsy and hotheaded and just a little bit ridiculous.
And then he meets Harry Styles. Harry is the type of person Louis hates. It seems like everything comes easily to him. He’s rich and brilliant and everyone loves him and he has his life impossibly and perfectly together.
Louis detests Harry Styles. Except for the inconvenient fact that he can’t seem to get Harry out of his head.
Wild And Unruly by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews
Words: 123k
Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.
got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove
Words: 124k
(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)
Coeur d'Enfants by lavenderforluck
Words: 126k
As Marx said of the bourgeois class: all that is solid melts into air. St. Peter’s verse.
For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings
Words: 128k
After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.
Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.
Empty Skies by green_feelings
Words: 134k
For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.
Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?
Let’s Fall in Love in a Place You Want to Stay by embro
Words: 134k
A George of the Jungle / Tarzan AU where Louis is a model who meets Wild Man Harry in the Congo. He was raised by apes and barely speaks a word of English and turns Louis’ life upside down.
Love Is A Rebellious Bird by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews
Words: 134k
AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who “has made Mozart cool again” according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.
Don’t hum Bolero.
Empty Skies by green_feelings
Words: 134k
For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream – making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.
Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He’s still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?
Featuring Perrie as Harry’s adorable flatmate, Niall as his manager, and Liam and Zayn as Louis’ bandmates.
Lights Will Guide You Home by louisxharry1
Words: 137k
Louis Tomlinson is his school’s resident bad boy and easily the most liked person there. He’s loud and confident and popular. He spends most of his time abusing his parent’s money or partying or playing football. He also spends a good deal of it obsessing over the quiet curly boy in his English class, but no one really needs to know that.
Harry Styles is more or less invisible at the same school (unless he’s being harassed). He’s shy and painfully insecure and quiet. He spends most of his time crying on his bedroom floor with a razor pressed against his skin or trying (and failing) to think of reasons to stay alive.
So, of course, it’s inevitable that they fall for each other.
As You Are by zarah5
Words: 139k
AU. Five years after The X Factor launched his career as a radio host and songwriter, Louis Tomlinson returns as a judge. Falling for a contestant is the last thing he needs. It’s also against his contract.
Empty Gold by rainbow_kings
Words: 148k
AU where Louis Tomlinson attends the vigorous, demanding performing arts school: Guildhall in hopes to complete his theatre degree. He is a scholarship student, always having to work twice as hard to prove his worth which has caused him to feel resentment and anger towards his subordinate position.
Harry Styles is the wealthy, naturally gifted actor who effortlessly snatches all the main roles within the class. The complete contrast to everything Louis is.
Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles have had bad blood and despised each other for the two years they attended Guildhall together, making each task a competition between each other.
In the final year, when Guildhall produces and performs an original play, Louis is heartbroken to learn the lead role has been been received to Harry and he’s the second role. He’s mostly terrified, however, when he realises he has to date Harry in the play as their characters. They come together through awkward stage kisses that transforms to hate sex, heated arguments, rehearsal times after lectures and baking carrot cake together.
Take My Breath Away by RealityBetterThanFiction
Words: 153k
There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.
Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.
Nameless Night by green_feelings
Words: 155k
For their 18th birthday, every person receives a letter that reads a simple date. That is the date you’ll meet your soulmate.Harry and Louis have different beliefs, live in different worlds and have different dreams, hopes and fears. Yet, they’re not so different from each other when it comes to love. When their paths cross, there is no doubt they belong together. Except for that one, essential difference: they didn’t receive the same date.
Or, a fic about differences that make no difference at all: Harry and Louis are soulmates. In every way possible. Featuring Niall as a role model, and Liam and Zayn as a different kind of role models.
And Then a Bit by infinitelymint
Words: 158k
(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)
I Need A Fix Cause I’m Going Down by larryshares
Words: 158k
louis has been dealing with depression for as long as he can remember. he doesn’t expect green eyes and toothy grins and sweet petals in messy curls to save him, but they’re doing a hell of a lot more to help than regular therapy and prescribed pills ever have.
To Destroy a Dam by Evancalous
Words: 198k
AKA: Louis and Harry are best friends for six years. They lose touch, and sixteen years later, fate collides their paths into each other again.
Gods & Monsters by Velvetoscar
Words: 201k
The instructions were simple: seduce and destroy Harry Styles. Not once did they discuss the option of Louis actually falling in love. So, naturally, that’s exactly what he did.
Fading by tothemoonmydear
Words: 202k
Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.
Shake Me Down by AGreatPerhaps12
Words: 208k
Harry’s new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.
Young & Beautiful by Velvetoscar
Words: 227k
Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn’t stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.
You are in love by wildestdreams
Words: 270k
The one where there’s late night coffee runs with deep conversations, lots of frat parties with cute frat boys, TV show references, numerous social network interactions, first kisses in the rain and a slow burn love story between two unlikely people.
You’ve got to see yourself from far and wide by Emm77
Words: 286k
(No summary so check tags)
He kissed my lips, I taste your mouth by MrsStylinson
Words: 290k
When Louis moves into the flat next to Harry’s, neither of them thinks it will change their lives. Louis is stuck in a relationship with his controlling and overly possessive boyfriend who he loves too much to break up with.. Harry is content, seeking refuge from the snobby world he grew up in and forging a new path for himself. He does happen to have a habit of wanting to fix people though and when he meets Louis, the gorgeous man with a prat of a boyfriend, he finds himself trying to do just that. While Harry tries to avoid getting tangled in a messy situation, Louis tries to deny that there’s a niggling voice in the back of his head that prefers Harry to his own boyfriend. While both studiously refuse to let change come, they fail to notice that exact force wrapping around them and pulling them tighter together until there just might be no escape from the feelings brewing within.
The Afterlife Fic (The Best I Ever Had in My Entire Life… Or Death) by LovingCup
Words: 491k
AU- After dying in an accident, Louis Tomlinson arrives in the Afterlife. Not Heaven and not Hell, Louis finds himself in Judgment City UK: a pristine city where the food and entertainment are divine and the newly departed must undergo a Review of their life on Earth to determine if they have lived a life worthy of advancement in the universe, or if they must be returned to Earth to be born again in a new body.On his first full day in the Afterlife, Louis meets Harry Styles, and the two have an instant connection. Over the course of their Reviews, they fall in love and begin to find that even though they didn’t know each other on Earth, they are nonetheless linked to one another in perfect ways. Both are hoping to move ahead in the universe together, but they are challenged with the threat of separation if one or both of them is sent back to Earth to be born again
credit to the owner of the manip
updated 08.17.19
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Charlottesville
To say that this weekend was a tangled mass of emotions for me would be an understatement.
I don’t even remember what I did with my life on Friday. I know I went to work despite getting to bed super late the night before, my summer vacation being pushed back each day as some other something had to be dealt with or managed or taken care of -- and I did the thing, because why not do the thing and make some extra money?
Saturday I spent with friends -- one friend I’ve known for twenty years (twenty years!) but had never actually met, three I hadn’t seen in far too long, and made a new one.
I know how to leave my phone alone, mostly. I know how to not fixate on news when I’m in the company of friends, when I’m socializing, when I’m having fun. It was a fine day, a fun day, with a lot of laughing and really really super intelligent conversation.But as it progressed, news started trickling in, and it started to become apparent that something really fucked up was afoot.
It didn’t hit me until I got home, and even then, not really -- it wasn’t until the next day that it started to sink in.
The anger is real -- the anger is profound, bone-deep. But it’s the kind of anger that masks other things, because it’s so blinding and it shakes me, like I feel like my body will start trembling if I don’t clench my fists or tense my muscles. I broke a filling grinding my teeth. My body has felt contorted all week, my back, my shoulders, my neck, my chest struck with sharp pain, knots on top of knots, as my body tries to take on what my mind keeps dancing around processing, because I honestly have a lot of other shit to do.
But I keep coming back. I keep wanting to spit and curse and hiss and plunge darts into the heart of everyone who is any way associated with this, anyone who wants to look at anyone, any PoC, any Muslim, any Jew, any queer, anybody, sideways, and especially anyone who tries to tell me I should try to give peace a chance.
Fuck giving peace a chance. Fuck peace.
Fuck sparing feelings and kindness and unity and patience and explaining and calling in and making room and not getting on my high horse and kumbaya and fuck that and fuck this and fuck everybody because I am fucking
angry.
And it comes in waves because sometimes I take a breath and I feel ashamed, because I have so many truly close, dear friends who are white women and white men and I love them, I’m not angry at them, they’re good allies, they’re good people, they would never in a million years, they want to help, they want to fix this, they want a better world, they know a better world is one in which no one need live in fear, one in which everyone has the same opportunities, one in which white nationalists and Nazis have no fucking place.
But then I read something or someone says something or I start writing a blog that was supposed to be conciliatory, that was supposed to say something like I know I was wrong, because when I reflect I feel wrong for not calling in, not remembering everyone’s humanity, for painting people with broad strokes and letting my anger and fear (because yes, there’s fear, there’s so much fear, and hurt, and some anguish, even though that word is dramatic, but it’s there and it’s real and that’s the word for it so I’ll use it) get the better of me.
But then someone tells me, someone tells me, or tells other people which I take personally and read as them telling me, how to feel, what to say, how we need to be and it’s implicit that I’m the problem or that I’m posturing or that it’s not that bad or that I shouldn’t lash out or that I shouldn’t I shouldn’t I shouldn’t and I am like
Fuck. You.
Fuck. You!
Don’t tell me, don’t tell me! Don’t dare tell me that in 2017 the KKK and Nazis and white nationalists armed with shields and hate and poles and guns can agitate in the streets, can beat innocent 20-year-olds, can menace and threaten and murder and that I need to be conciliatory and watch my words and police my tone and say the right things
because fuck. that. Fuck it!
Do not. Do NOT presume to tell me how to feel, or how I should express it, or whether I should express it. I don’t care if you’re black, white, Asian, Inuit, or goddamn motherfucking King of Wokeness and Righteousness, now is not the time to come at me.
I will not. Have it.
I have swallowed a lot of shit. Less so in the past few years (because I’ve been more inclined to spit it in the faces of whomever’s trying to make me swallow it), but even still -- I have swallowed a lot of shit. Everything from the way people talk about Muslim women when they don’t know my last name or have forgotten it to the way people treat their Latino servers or bussers or cleaning ladies or custodial staff like they’re invisible, like they’re fucking little brown Roombas that exist as incorporeal spirits only to clean up their messes. Everything from the fact that the President of the United Motherfucking States of America has tried over and over and over and over and over to ban Muslims from being able to enter this country, that he keeps pushing to build a fucking wall to keep people like my family out, that ICE has become a code word for the new American Gestapo and many of my students live every day in fear and agitation and anger and helplessness, attendance in New York City public schools suffers, and the DoE had to write a letter reassuring them that we would protect them because this country doesn’t want them, doesn’t want us here.
I have swallowed the fact that the vast majority of PoC I know are more intelligent, more educated, more insightful, more charismatic, and all around more exceptional than millions of people who think they are better than we are because an accident of birth has had the whole world telling them so their entire lives!
I have swallowed the fact that I have loved this country and believed in this country, that I was born and raised here, that this is my home, that this is everything I know, for good and for bad, and I am not enough, am not authentic, am not as American as, despite the fact that my very existence literally embodies everything this fucking country is supposed to be about.
I have swallowed the fact that I am expected to perform my gender in a way that has been molded by a culture that is not my own.
I have swallowed bartenders telling me “Don’t make it about race.”
I have swallowed respectability politics and fragility and presumption and assumption and condescension and ignorance.
I have held hands and explained and considered and gently pointed things out and listened thoughtfully and dedicated intense thought and consideration and energy to diplomacy and bridge building and embracing and education and calling in and calling in and calling in and calling in.
In person.
Which is at once a fuck of a lot harder and a fuck of a lot less aggravating than it is on the internet.
I want to believe in love. I want to believe in unity. I want to hold and be held by anyone and everyone regardless of race or orientation or gender or ethnicity or religion or whatever.
But not really, because I am afraid of white strangers. And I am guarded and tense around white people in general, whether strangers or people I know who haven’t been properly vetted.
I am tired of explaining, I am tired of people who demand explanations without realizing how many times I’ve had these conversations, what it costs me to be genuinely empathetic and patient and understanding and generous and assumptive of the best when I am hurting. I am hurting.
I am hurting, not just on behalf of my black friends -- I am hurting for my neighbors, my students, my parents, my siblings, my baby niece, for myself. For me, female and Cuban and Algerian and Muslim-adjacent and deeply sensitive and highly intelligent and tough as a motherfucker, too. And for us, for my city, for my country, for my people, for my many tribes. I am hurting and I am unspeakably devastated, truly -- the profundity of my grief and sadness at all the events of the past seven months is something I sometimes feel like I can’t bear for even one more moment. Not even one. I have always believed in a better world, that we can be better, and it’s made me strident and passionate and loud, and it’s made people around me uncomfortable sometimes, but it comes from a genuine and wholehearted optimism, an idealism about the beauty of humanity and what we can be if we push harder, fight tirelessly, if we keep going and learning and doing and making and creating and loving and doing the right thing.
I have always believed that the good of this world outweighs the bad, and that is not naivete born of a lack of experience with the bad, I assure you.
But my god, I am aching, physically, emotionally, psychologically, intellectually. Everything, everything, everything hurts, and it’s inescapable. Grieving this country and how far we’re backsliding has been draining something in me, or maybe disintegrating something in me, I don’t know, for a long time, and Charlottesville seems to have been a breaking point where I simply cannot give any more fucks -- I have no more fucks to give. I told my stepsister to go fuck herself because I lost patience with her, and I am losing patience with dear friends who seem to want to dictate how people (how I) should be responding to this.
I simply cannot.
I’m losing steam because I think that I really needed to write these things down, to get them out of my body, and I hope, I really hope, that in some small way, it helps. I hope you all are taking care of each other, that you’re being kind to yourselves and surrounding yourself with love and things you enjoy and getting good rest. I’m trying really hard. Hopefully over the next few weeks, I can continue to reflect and decompress, execute some self-care and articulate my feelings so they manifest in more productive ways.
But if I can’t, fuck it. LOLOLOLOL
#charlottesville#POC#WoC#rant#i can't#i'm so tired#respectability politics#kumbayfuckingya#tone policing#educators of color#fix yo self#word vomit#nazis#white nationalists#wypipo#white feelings#white fragility#unity
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Chapter 8:
Figuring All The Shit Out: Part 2
I Wish So Dearly,
For Soft Simplicity.
I Am Not Sure I Can Tolerate This Cursed Intellectual Complexity.
Breaking,
Consistently.
Beauty And Intellect Are Doomed Things.
Mastered By Those With The Deepest Demons.
Constant,
Contemplation.
Alone Within A Piece Of Paper:
Seeking, Begging, Pleading…
Someone, Anyone, Please Comfort Me.
Screaming For Unconditional Affection,
Left Cold, Silence, Tears Within A Grey Tee.
Why Won’t He Recognize Me?
Why Can’t He See?
When My Fire Dims At Such Dangerous Light,
When Contemplation Is To Vigorous To Fight.
Like, I Don’t Exist In Much More Than A Pawn In His Game,
Just A Stupid, Foolish Woman, Given Love An Undesirable Fame.
Two, Three, Four In The Morn,
Passed Out On The Bathroom Floor.
Who Cares If Your Breaking,
He Only Desires More.
I’m A Monster,
Psychotic,
A Fucking Lunatic.
Such A Selfish Bitch,
Neediness,
(Her Favorite Niche.)
How Dare She Ruin My Good Time?
She Cannot Even Communicate Without Rhyme.
Who Gives A Fuck If She Happens To Leave?
Why Would Anyone Donate Even Three Seconds To Grieve?
A Love So Deep,
Forgiveness,
(I’m Such A Fucking Creep.)
Insanity: A Crazy Thing,
Inventing Situations,
A Child’s Attention, Crazed To Cling.
His Passion Flows As Heroine Through My Veins.
So Sweet, My Darling:
(My Twin Flame.)
This Part Has Been Especially Difficult For Me.
I Have Found Myself Fighting Demons I Had,
(Thought,)
We Defeated Years Past.
The Unfaltering Self Doubt Returned,
(Ringing Throughout My Psyche,)
Attempting To Draw Me Back.
Much As The Depths Of A Tide,
(Ripping All Forward Movement,)
Extracting Into It’s Daring,
(Dark,)
Endless Mystery.
I Find Myself Using Any,
(All,)
Possible Strength I Can Muster,
Just To Continue Publishing,
(And Writing.)
Upon Giving Life To My Beautiful Daughter,
My Body Took Detrimental Toll Under The Weight,
(That Is “Motherhood”.)
I Spent Eleven Years Self Harming My Digestive Track.
(Starting In Year Twelve,
Continuing Throughout My Adolescence,
Into Young Adulthood,)
Finally Gathering The Strength To End,
This Hardwired Self Hate,
(In Year Twenty-Three.)
Looking Back Through This,
(Decade,)
Of My Life,
I Cannot Help But Feel Exponentially Somber.
Not,
(Necessarily,)
For The Extended Mental Illness I Had Wrapped Myself Into,
Or The Detrimental Long Term Consequences,
(Now Faced As A Daily Reminder,)
However,
For The Loss Of Time.
Time I Could Have Spent,
Manicuring Talents,
Inventing An Answer,
(“Who Am I?”)
I Feel As Though,
Starting Now:
(The Twenty-Sixth Year,)
I Have Only Begun To Live MY Life.
A Quarter Of A Century,
Forfeited.
(Bequeathed.)
Things Of Such Silly Nature.
You Don’t Realize,
(Amongst A Reality Clouded,)
The Absurd Nature Of Your Infected Sensibility.
These Alternative Personalities,
(Alter-Egos,)
Merely Exist,
(Created,)
In Detrimental Loneliness.
In My Nineteenth Year,
I Made The Executive Decision,
(The Purpose Of My Soul,)
I Was An Author,
(Though,)
Dyslexic,
(Struggling With Language In General,)
I Was Born To Write.
I Was Asked Many Times Since This Moment Of My Life,
“What Is Your Book About?”
Replying,
“My Life.”
Always Receiving The Same Reaction,
Too Young To Accurately,
(Deserve,)
An Autobiography.
(A Fair Reaction To This Adolescent Goal.)
This Is,
(Never Was,)
An Autobiography.
“Is It Fiction? Or Non-Fiction?”
It Is Neither,
(And Both.)
This Is The Reality My Mind Lives Within,
This Is My Life,
And It Cannot Be Defined,
(By Titles Established Centuries Before My Time.)
An Organic Evolution Of Written Thought,
(OEOWT.)
How Do We Categorize A Human Mind?
Giving It Stereotypical Structural Confines,
(Another Cage Imposed Through Societal Structure.)
What Would Happen,
(If All The Bullshit Dissipated,)
Society Ceased To Cage Wild Mammals?
(Precious, Intelligent, Humans.)
What If,
The Purview Our Governments,
(Captors,)
And Media,
(Propaganda,)
(Fed Into Our Minds,)
Dissolved Into A Nothingness.
What If We Woke Up?
(Wake Up.)
What If We Could Control Our Lives?
What If We Didn’t Have To Feed THEIR Machine?
Working,
Day In,
And Day Out,
For Employers Who’s Greed Feed Only Themselves.
Lawmakers,
(Millionaires,)
Stealing Our Money To Line Their Pockets.
Taxation,
(Without Representation.)
America Was Founded On Rebels.
People Willing To Die,
As A Means Of Creating Lives They Worked Hard To Deserve.
Look At Us!
JUST FUCKING LOOK.
(We Need To Wake Up.)
Look Around.
Observe The Crumbling,
(Greed Invested,)
Corporation That Is Our Current Governmental Structure.
Using Our Tax Money To Fund Luxurious Lifestyle,
(While Our Citizens Die In The Streets.)
Our Citizens,
Dying,
(Self Inflicted Harm,)
A Sphere Unable To Fit Within The Cog Space Provided.
You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself,
(And So Should We.)
We Can Be The Change.
We Can Reject Structures That Do Not Define Us.
We Are Not Required To Be “Fiction” Or “Non-Fiction”,
We Are Not Structured To Run Nine To Five,
(While Our Family Grow, Absent Of Us.)
We Should Not Have To Settle For Medieval,
(Royal Trickery.)
What Would You Do?
If A Significant Portion Of Our Country’s Population,
(As A Whole,)
Refused To Pay You Our Hard Earned Currency?
What If…
Communities Chose Where Their Money Belonged,
(Within Their Own Society.)
Would a Young Family Get The Financial Chance To Succeed In Their Lives?
Would They Get The Chance,
To Start Their Family,
(Without Jeopardizing Their Ability To Pay For It?)
REQUIRED BY LAW.
(Laws Written Directly From The Rapacious Medical Industry, Itself,)
More Concerned With Profit Margin,
Than The Margin Between Life And Death.
(The Doctor, Crow Mask Pointed, Ferrari Freshly Polished,)
Simultaneous,
Patient’s Debt,
(Unmanageable,)
In A Wage War Society.
Ripping The Family Home Away,
A Child’s Life,
Affected Upon Birth.
My Baby Took My Knees,
My Digestive Tract,
My Hair…
You Took My Liberty.
My Human Right To The Pursuit Of Happiness.
You Are Responsible,
(For All Those Relatable Stories, Too Common.)
What Would You Do,
If We Refused To Pay You?
How Would You Function?
(Within The System You’ve Created For Us.)
You Are Responsible For The Death,
Claimed By Poverty.
You Are Responsible For The Death,
Claimed By Mental Illness.
You Are Responsible For The Death,
Of Those Who Cannot Afford To Live.
You Are Responsible For The Death,
Derived Through The Poison You Feed Your Needy.
How Fucking Dare You.
Fulfill Your Capitalistic Addiction,
Upon The Corpses You Buried,
(Piled, Naked, Stripped Of Humanity.)
A Modern, Wealth Holocaust.
How Did We Get Here?
Lost Within Our Time,
Guided By Misconstrued Commands,
Our Parents Demanded Upon Us,
(I Suppose.)
Media Propaganda,
Misguiding Our Attention,
Eleven Years Of Wasted Focus.
Pick Your Flavor,
They Have A Magician For Each And Every Little Boy And Girl.
An Impractical,
(Unhealthy,)
Standard To Take and Twirl.
Brainwash The Kids,
OBEY YOUR AUTHORITY!
Separate Them With Judgement and Scrutiny.
Tell Them That “Love” Is Found Within Beauty, Strength.
Laugh At The Ones Who Are Too Intelligent For Your Face.
Tear Them Down!
(Their Too Dangerous To Keep.)
Drive Them To Madness!
(Will Make Millions Off The Story Next Week.)
They Think Too Much!
They Are Imperfect!
(In Compliance,)
Though,
Adolescently Meek.
Steal Their Fucking Future!
Take The Crosses They Bare!
Crosses,
Crosses,
Let’s Not Go There,
(Just Yet.)
We Are Coming For You Too,
You Greedy Mother-fucking Threat.
Your Day Will Come,
When The Millennial Revolution Begin,
We Will Be Coming For You All,
Determined Through Chelsea Grin.
When I First Began This Project,
(Recently, Not The Beginning,)
My Husband Advised Me To Be Cautious.
“Don’t Get Lost In It.”
I Didn’t Understand What He Meant,
(Brushed Off, “It’s Just A Bit.”)
The Further I Work,
The More I Realize,
It’s Equivalently Trying With Clean Eyes.
Pursuit To Relinquish,
(Angst Of Failure.)
Though,
What Is To Fail?
With Nothing To Lose?
Excuses,
Excuses,
I’ve Told Every One.
Attempting To Bruise,
My Purpose In Life,
A Battle Permanently Won.
(At Times,)
The Greatest Journey Is Not That Of Which,
You Have Guided By Your Own Hand,
(Rather,)
The Distance In Which You Are Guided,
Amongst The Benefit Of Something Greater,
(As A Whole.)
A Paradox,
(Guided Toward An Unprecedented Stride For Ultimate Freedom.)
A Sea Of Voices,
(Holding You Down,)
Drowning Within Other’s Desires,
Directing A Life,
(Designed, Un-inhabitable For A Bird.)
A Bird Has No Business Within The Sea,
Parallel,
We Have No Business Bowing Down To Thee.
A Haze Of Words Suffocating My Soul:
I Can Barely Breathe,
Trapped Within A Cage Of Societal Things
(Meaningless When One Cannot Be Seen.)
Spiritual Beings With Human Experiences.
(Most Unaware Of Which This Means.)
To The Man Which Sits Behind Closed Bars,
(The One Who Thrives For Play And Fun.)
To The Girl Who Dreams Of Living In The Stars,
(The One, Simply, Desperate To Find The Sun.)
An Idea Of Fulfillment:
Their Beautiful Souls Urning,
(Unacceptable At Best.)
“To Lead A Life,”
(Rather Than Some Joke,)
Running Through Toke;
Finally, Please God, Put Their Tired Souls To Rest.
Free The Sore Feathers From My Back,
(Caked In Tar,)
Dripping Black.
Release The Ropes,
(Holding Her Here,)
Open The Galaxy,
(Allure And Near.)
Show Him Clarity,
(Silence The Voices Logging The Mind.)
An Unwavering So Deeply Filled,
(From Places Most Choose Not To Find.)
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Imagination as Respiration, as Regiment for Pain. Imagination as Fuck it. Imagination as Fire.
Note: This article is much more helpful if you click the links. They range in types of content (articles, research, data, organizations to support) and have a lot of useful information! The majority of bold sections are lyrics from Mos Def & Talib Kweli are Black Star (1998).
I trust, I hope Philando Castile’s spirit finds rest and justice in the fires lit for him.
Police are pigs, and should be treated as such.
The state arrested 18 protesters in Minnesota after the verdict came out.
The jury was more over 50% middle aged whites.
Bill Cosby rape case ended in mistrial.\ Could be 365 days til re-trail, but they're "pushing it along"... \ And how many white rapists will they let go low-profile in the span of that time?
Charleena Lyles.
Say: Her name
How many more cops will go free after committing murder?
“Every year $9 billion dollars are wasted incarcerating people who've not been convicted of a crime, and insurance companies, who have taken over our bail system, go to the bank.”
2.3 million people incarcerated. And if you are aware of anything in this country, you already know the racial breakdown. The state will inflict fear in whatever ways it can. How physically, how psychologically difficult will they make it for any person of color to [fill in the blank].
How many immigrants detained? How many people (”terrorists”) held in Guantanamo? How many survivors of domestic violence unjustly convicted? How many queer folks, how many trans women of color locked up or killed for existing?
“Same song, just remixed, different arrangement
Put you on a yacht but they won't call it a slave ship
Strangeness, you don't control this, you barely hold this
Screaming "brand new", when they just sanitized the old shit
Suppose it's, just another clever Jedi mind trick”
Why the fuck should anyone wait for these racist patriarchal systems to magically change, when we could burn it down and start again? How much longer will white people continue to lie to themselves? How much time can be bought, to “hide like thieves in the night from life”?
This year I worked for a college access organization that serves first generation college students. After one of our weekly tutoring sessions, a visiting tutor asked “how we could have possibly ended up here”--”here” meaning, high school students not being able to pass basic math courses. I said there’s no question, the system is designed for these students to fail... In too many ways to count.
Colorism: an intentional set of lethal mindgames.
“The paradox of education is precisely this - that as one begins to become conscious one begins to examine the society in which he is being educated.” -James Baldwin
Enter the need for critical consciousness.
amerikkka creates its own twisted history. Writes a false narrative of motion. Spits it down our throats with pat on the back after every swallow. amerikkka stores archives of criminal evidence in its basement. Inconvenient, for gentrification, for the colonization agenda. Perfect for a culture of gas-lighting. Where violence hides behind the innocence of an opinion.
“Because white men can’t/ police their imagination/ black men are dying.” - Claudia Rankine
Imagination is deadly. Hence the state’s thirst to monitor and control the ways we think, the concepts we imagine.
“A lot of people don't understand the true criteria of things
Can't just accept the appearance, have to get the true essence”
amerikkka chooses to stay mentally and emotionally disturbed, caught in an abyss of disgusting history, frantically running through the same corporate racist cycles that are killing every good thing on this earth.
amerikka will do anything to fuck with your head. Will force you to accept shit that is slowly killing you, or quickly killing the people around you, just to make it through another day. It will do anything to brainwash, to separate you from your own body, to wrap you in isolation until the fear of explosion is so great, dying doesn’t seem like a bad option. Suicide among people of color then, is not counted as murder by the state?
Enter the truth.
“This life is temporary but the soul is eternal
Separate the real from the lie, let me learn you”
Put in the work your mind deserves to undo the lies it has been soaked in.
“Yo, I'm sure that everybody out listening agree
That everything you see ain't really how it be
A lot of jokers out running in place, chasing the style
Be a lot going on beneath the empty smile
Most cats in my area be loving the hysteria
Synthesized surface conceals the interior
America, land of opportunity, mirages and camouflages”
I don’t think any of us will see a day of reconciliation and justice in this life. But the idea of freedom fuels revolution. “Freedom” can exist in our minds. It is the act of imagining that makes freedom more readily available in the mind than it can exist among these physical systems of oppression.
“At exactly which point do you start to realize
That (life without knowledge is death in disguise?)
That's why, knowledge of self is like life after death”
"I will continue to say murder because where in this planet do you tell the truth and you be honest and you still be murdered by the police of Minnesota?" Valerie Castile asked.
Every time I see an american flag, i burn it in my imagination. I kill trump in my imagination. shoot him, chop his head off. i feel nothing but satisfaction. kathy griffith did it, for fake. a photoshoot. a stunt./ they took it for real life/ no fucks about the death toll in his name/
“So much on my mind that I can't recline
Blastin' holes in the night 'til she bled sunshine
Breathe in, inhale vapors from bright stars that shine
Breathe out, weed smoke retrace the skyline
Heard the bass ride out like an ancient mating call
I can't take it, y'all, I can feel the city breathing
Chest heaving, against the flesh of the evening
Sigh before we die like the last train leaving”
A lot of us are just trying to hold on. Not “go crazy”. Pay bills. Navigate relationships. Survive pain, hurt, trauma, loss. How can we move past survival?
“Life or death, if I'm choosing with every breath I'm enhancing”
Taking care of your mental health is important in order to use your mind to your advantage, to build structures of resilience and resistance. Understand what resources you need in order to do the work. Make steps to start the organization you have always dreamed of forming. Write your business plan. Pull the bars of music hiding beneath your chest. Write those poems simmering in your belly. Tag that building or train with your art. Be the teacher, mentor, parent you imagine yourself to be. Be the role model Philando was, and should have had more time to be.
Free yourself to take productive risks in your efforts to self-sustain.
Because for real, lets start our own healthcare networks. POC run history archives. POC art galleries. POC therapy centers. Our own economies, our own ways to exchange food and skills.
Collective revolt calls for collective imagination. No justice, no peace. Do the healing to find your peace. Allow yourself to form community, and ride for that community/chosen family “Who are knowledge, truth, and peace seekers”.
Fight for your imagination and the wonders it feeds you. Preserve your energy. Direct it in places of healing. Talk to your ancestors. Allow yourself days to feel sad and tired. Allow yourself days to feel strong and motivated. Keep trying.
They will never know where your inspiration comes from. Where your fire originates. They will not understand your ability to keep breathing. to hold the fire in your chest and not burn. to drink water then spit bombs on cop cars. to grieve so hard your body thrashes salt against the walls, then still grow so soft, so centered.
Imagine: create: like your life depends on it.
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Boys Will be Boys is a Bunch of Bullshit and Everyone Knows It.
Growing up I had never understood a young boys fascination with ass grabbing and breast touching. I had never understood why teachers, parents, and the rest of my peers would turn a blind eye to when a boy would sexually harass a young girl. Often I’d hear “boys will be boys” or “they’re just playing around, don’t pay them any mind” or “ignore them”. In school us girls were taught to not wear spaghetti strap tank tops and to wear our skirts and shorts right above the knee, as we shouldn’t be a distraction. Though the schools never said who we’d be distracting, it was obvious of course: boys. At a young age society had began to teach me, a young Black girl, that my whole existence was a fucking distraction, and that any unwanted attention would just ‘poof’ disappear if I ignored it. It had been embedded in me at an early age that women were supposed to accept being touched and fondled without permission, because this is what boys just do and if they DO commit those acts, then we were asking for it.
The concept of “boys will be boys” never did die out, it never left. Instead “boys will be boys” just grew up and turned into “men will be men…. that still act like little dick boys”. In my college years and younger twenties I still experienced being at a party or club, minding my business or simply trying to make my way through a crowd, all while feeling someone’s ashy handed son grabbing on my ass. Clearly, boys were no longer boys. These were now grown ass men that were still carrying this ideology that it is okay to place their unwanted hands on my body and that I would let them get a pass. Wrong! I left a few hand prints and dick kicks as a memory that I am not to be fucked with. The same “boys” that felt it was their GOD given right as a man to find his fingers in the cracks and crevices of my ass without my permission, are the same “boys” that get upset went you condemn them and rectify their behavior. These same “boys” them begin to ask you what’s your problem and cause a scene, often playing victim to a situation that they themselves have created.
Many of these males who fit the “boys will be boys” prototype, have evolved into the “men will be men” that are often seen on social media and the internet passing themselves off as motivational speakers. However, none of these men really seem to be saying anything that motivates you as a woman. They seem to ONLY address the faults of women and place them at blame for the actions of men. Recently, I read an article on www.theroot.com titled, “Women, Stop Listening to Sexist Relationship Experts”, which exposes celebrities such as Reverend Run, Steven Harvey, and Tyrese who all have blatant sexist/misogynistic view points when it comes to failed relationships and why men behave the way that they do. Their point of views always seem to place women at fault for the mistakes of men, all the while justifying a man’s action, even if it is degrading to a woman.
On the now cancelled show (thank GOD), “It’s not you, it’s men”, Amber Rose faced off with Tyrese Gibson and Rev. Run regarding how women dress versus how women should be addressed. Needless to say the boys came out to play and Amber Rose shut it down with a quickness. Tyrese went on to justify a man’s unwanted approach by saying this, “If you see a basketball player, and he’s known as a basketball player, when you see him, you’ll be like, 'Yo, let’s go play ball.’ I’m just saying, the comfortability that some people find in wanting to touch or grope you. It’s an energy that’s being sent out there that creates that type of response.” First of all, comparing a woman’s existence to a profession are two complete different things. Having knowledge that someone is an athlete would generally compel you to engage in athletic combat and dialogue, which is still not the same as making unwanted sexual advances at someone and making them uncomfortable. Seeing a woman simply existing, meaning you don’t know anything about her likes or dislikes, does not compel you to grope her, you do. Rev. Run followed up with the statement “Dress how you would want to be addressed”. So let me get this straight. You, my fellow Black man, are constantly being scrutinized for your athletic gear, your fitted hats, baggy jeans, and dread locks. You fell alienated when a White man in a business suit is greeted first in a public place. You can’t help but notice when you are being over looked, ignored, or followed in an establishment simply because you don’t look the part. You grieve the deaths of many African American males who fell victim to racial profiling because they were wearing a hoodie and a beanie, but not once do you blame the (Black) man for the unwanted and unfair attention due to his attire or his “energy”. Instead, you blame society for marginalizing how (Black) men in America should be treated based on their attire, dialect, physical appearance, and for most importantly existing.
How dare you turn the other cheek when our (Black) women are being marginalized AND sexually abused/harassed for existing just like you? How dare you not defend us when we put our hearts on the line and will go to war for you? What I find even more baffling is that Tyrese is a model, singer, actor, and….. a sex symbol. Why is it that society is accepting of the sexualization of men, but not women? Why are women shamed for displaying their physical attributes, meanwhile men are applauded and awarded for posing topless and in briefs which exposes the size of their penises? You mean to tell me that if I were to see a man, half naked, in nothing but briefs, that I couldn’t just stick my hands in his pants and grab onto his manhood? That’s exactly what is happening to women across the globe.
What bothers me the most is how men/society refuses to hold other men accountable for their actions against women It is time for our judicial system, schools, and neighborhoods to stop letting boys slide through life without ever making them suffer the consequences of their wrong doings. Mother’s need to stop coddling their sons to the point that they are raising them to be just like the “ain’t shit” man that she despises. Father’s need to spend just as much time teaching their sons about consent, protection, and abstinence, just as much as they preach to their daughters about remaining a virgin. Often I hear ignorant men say, “If I have a daughter, she can’t do anything. I’m not letting her date”, followed by more misogynistic banter. I find something very wrong with this ideology. This plants the idea into young girls minds that any sexual advances made at them, whether wanted or not, if their fault. Meanwhile, young boys are being taught how to be a player and have multiple girlfriends and how to lose their virginity. Not that I condone children engaging in sexual conduct, but why do we teach young girls that sex and sexuality is bad, while we teach young boys to engage in early sexual conduct and that it is okay for them. We teach our young boys to take pride and have confidence in their bodies, while we tell our young girls to “cover up”.
I am not here for it. I refuse to raise my daughter with the mindset that her pure existence as a woman gives men the right to disrespect her verbally and physically. I refuses to raise my son with the mindset of sexual entitlement, that a woman owes his sex and her body just because they are in the same proximity as one another. I am not here for the woman bashing and especially against Black women. We are the most unprotected race of women on this here Earth.
OWN IT
If everyone is responsible for their own lives, happiness, actions, etc., then men so are you. Own it. YOU are responsible for your actions. No one can force you to rape, abuse, and harass a woman except yourself. Take responsibility for both the good and bad that you do.
NO MEANS NO
Nothing pisses me off more than a grown ass man practically begging for sex. Telling me “we’re both grown” as if that will make me want to drop my panties even more. Respect the fact that I know that I am grown enough to make my own decisions concerning sex. Constantly gripping at my clothes, whining, and pulling me closer to you will not change my mind. If anything it makes you seem more annoying and now I’m less willing to have sex with you.
I DON’T OWE YOU
My body is my body, not yours. I do not owe you sex, just like you don’t owe me your paycheck. Many men, whether conscious or not about it, feel as if they are entitled to sex from women. I do not care if you took me on 20 dates, if I don’t want to have sex with you, I don’t have to. You can simply stop entertaining me and leave it there.
DRESS HOW YOU WANT TO BE ADDRESSED IS BULLSHIT
You cannot apply this way of thinking solely to women and expect it to not be applied to the rest of the world, because it doesn’t make sense. If we applied this ideology to our every day lives, most of us would feel rejected and scrutinized. My attire does not give any man the right to touch me without my permission. A woman’s hijab doesn’t give you the right the assume she’s a terrorist. A White man in a business suit doesn’t give you the right to assume he’s wealthy. A Black man in athletic gear doesn’t give you the right to assume he’s uneducated. You get the point.
#boys boyswillbeboys feminism blacklivesmatter relationships sex couples advice amberrose stevenharvey tyresegibson revrun
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