#but im getting my bearings and refuse to give up again so like i said
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i definitely intend to be active here but i am reliving why i left the star wars rpc to begin with so do bear with me, and if you're interested in writing feel free to reach out or send asks if i don't get there first!
#i just have no interest in being part of a collection#and even back when i wrote din previously#no one ever wanted one of a muse#and the whole fandom would follow like a primary dupe#and you'd be expected to just be?? sloppy seconds for plotting and shit?#idk i've always operated that way with all my blogs#because i like to build unique dynamics and exclusivity is important to me#bc it just??? MEANS the best stuff imo#but im getting my bearings and refuse to give up again so like i said#bear w me on this blog#ooc.#delete;
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you fight and send them to sleep on the couch
(but you get lonely and join him)
lucifer
When was the last time he felt so much dread in his heart?
He's hurt that you'd even suggest such a thing but he doesn't want to argue more, so he stays silent
Lucifer grabs his pillow and goes to the couch without looking back, regretting it embarrassingly quick
He won't admit it, but he can't sleep without being next to you, much less knowing you two fought
He's sitting upright and contemplating until he hears you sneaking around the living room with your blanket
He's a bit flustered at how fast he shot up from his seat to meet you halfway but if you've come to join him then just maybe there's chance to fix things
"Come here, my love. You got lonely? ...I cant say you're the only one. I can't sleep knowing you're upset with me....is that too honest of me?"
mammon
He hates it. Why do you "need space"? He doesn't want space, he wants you!
Grabs his pillow and blanket with a quick "whatever" and scurries out of the room
He's crying, of course he is, but he burrows himself in the couch cushions so that he can stay quiet. What if this is end of your relationship, then what?
Mammon stills when he hears your footsteps, no longer making any movement when he feels you make your way to him
He doesn't move until he feels you slip under his blanket to lay next to him, only them does he peek his head out of the cushions to give you a tight bear hug
"MC, I'm sorry, ok? Im so sorry, let's just.. forget about this. Don't be mad at me anymore..."
levi
Shocked at your request, you're always so patient with him so he knows this is serious
Watches you for a moment to gauge your reaction but when you stand your ground he can't help but tear up
Grabs his stuff and opts to lock himself in his room instead, leaving your room with just an "okay."
Lays in bed and overthinks everything, maybe you were gonna break up with him. Or maybe this is the breakup and you just were being indirect about it or what if-
It takes a few knocks on his door and a small call of "Levi..?" to pull him from his thoughts
Levi recognizes your voice immediately but he feels hesitant to open the door until you properly ask him to please open it
"Please tell me this isn't a breakup, MC"
satan
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't extremely hurt, but he decides to give you space
Gives you a curt nod and let's you stay in his room with all his pillows, goes to the living room empty handed and lays quietly
He decides to just listen to the crackling fireplace to gather his thoughts, not bothering to try with sleep
Keeps sneaking glances at the room to his door, hoping you'll change your mind
To his surprise, his door opens and your eyes meet
"Satan.. I-"
"...Did you get lonely, MC? ..No, I don't care about that stupid argument anymore, it was ridiculous anyway, Just... come here please. I'm sorry"
Refuses to let you go for the rest of the night, worried you'll leave again
asmo
Asmo storms out quickly, he knows it's not like him but he can't stand being looked at with so much heartbreak, especially not from you
Instead of going to the couch he goes to his own room and just cries
He doesn't bother with sleep. He knows he won't be able to so he curls up on his bed instead
It takes him a while to get his composure back but he decides that things can't stay this way, he's not sure what he'll say but you're love is the one he just can't afford to lose
You two bump into each-other in the hallway, him on his way to your room and you to his
You're pulled quickly into his room, of course there's a lot of things you want to say but Asmo just holds you tight, some things being better expressed without words.
beel
"Oh...okay"
Beel wants to discuss more, ask you why you feel the need to push him away but he really doesn't wanna make things worse so he closes the door behind him instead
He sits down in the hallway near your room, you asked him to sleep on the couch but it's too far for his liking, and what if you need him?
Maybe he'd go talk to Belphie but you might not be comfortable with him knowing your relationship problems so he stays put
It's already dusk by the time he nods off to sleep, still sitting
The sounds of your door wake him up and he's surprised to see you looking down at him
"You got lonely?...I was lonely without you too...Please let me back in. Im sorry"
belphie
He looks angry, he looks livid even, but truthfully he's holding back his tears
He wants to say "no" and maybe even confront you for pushing him away but he has half a mind to grab his pillow and leave
He goes to the attic instead, wiping his tears furiously because in all honestly, your pained face was all it took to get his feelings mixed up
Usually he'd sleep quickly, especially in the comfort of his attic bed but he tosses and turns for hours before settling in
Belphie's eyes open groggily and it takes a him a bit of shuffling to realize you're there next to him, holding him tightly in your sleep
"I'm sorry, MC. This whole argument was stupid, I'm so sorry"
He knows you can't hear him in your sleep but he says it regardless, pressing kisses to your head in between
forcefully spoon feeding you angst
#obey me#obey me shall we date#omswd#obey me swd#obey me devildom#shall we date#otome game#om! shall we date#obey me brothers#obey me headcanon#obey me headcanons#obey me x gender neutral reader#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me levi#obey me leviathan#satan obey me#beelzebub obey me#obey me asmo#belphegor obey me
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mae girl! i’ve been living for your carmy stuff. k know you’re just getting back but i’ve been thinking about this idea for a while and i believe the last writer i shared with had gotten deactivated. this might be two ideas instead of one so feel free to do whatever you desire. idk why but would you be down to write some fluff and angst with maybe like married!carmy? maybe something where nat and pete legit ambush carmy and his wife to start talking again? but it like a lighthearted fluffy kinda way at the same time ? utilizing the scene carmy yells at syd as a base- i hate to use that scene as an example but it’s one that comes to mind when writing this atm. anyway, like the reader doesn’t work at the bear but’ll come in on her days off and mornings before her shift to help them open. and carm is already on edge about something going on in the resto and he yells at his wife out of overwhelming frustration. evidently, he’s mad at himself for it after he does it he apologized but she’s all like “no.” and she’s literally giving him the silent treatment. ofc her and nat are besties and loves her sil, so i totally see nat roping pete into getting carmy to come over whilst the reader is already on her way since they haven’t spoken in a while. both nat and pete are literally doing whatever they can to keep these two in separate spaces of the house because neither carm or his wife have any clue they’re there. maybe like y/n is inside with nat and pete meets carmy outside on arrival? the reader is walking towards to the door to out and nat’s still stalling like “so are things with you and my brother?” and the reader scoffs and nat’s just like “still not talking to him huh?” and while the reader grabs the handle slowly opening the door open she’s all like “look, sugar- you know i love your brother, but carmy sometimes can be a piece of shit” and then all you hear is carmy being like “oh, i’m a piece of shit- even after i apologized to you?” and i can just see carmy and the reader being like wth is going on here. idk but nat and pete will sillily have to do the most to get these two the civilly sit down inside of their house to even have anything of a talk. and then nat team tagging with pete to get to the bottom of things and then she lets it slip that y/n had mentioned that they were trying to get pregnant and camry’s just like “wait. what? and carmy already up and ready to talk to her alone. this man would be so loving the first time all like “y/nn can i talk to you in the kitchen for a second?” and then she’s tryna explain and carm out here using her FULL name “in the kitchen now.” just hearing how he’d say it makes me squirm and squeak 😂😩. and she’s just speeding over because she knows he means it when he pulls out the first name. and think with that he’s all just hurt that she told his sister and he hadn’t really said anything- since it was their thing they they were still figuring out. seriously feel free to do whatever you desire. just sharing the same idea i’ll dream about in a few moments. tysm in advance 😭.
- 🥣.
i'm so sorry this took me so long to write, my love! this has nothing to do with you i just got a bit concerned and got lost so many times lmfao, im just dumb like that
ʚɞ
naturally, carmen wants to try to keep his anger away from you. you’re his love, his angel, his everything. the idea that he blew up at you makes him wanna cry but you won’t talk to him, you refuse to in fact until you process what he said.
“why the fuck are you here?! i don’t need you messing shit up and crowding me!” he yelled at you. the memory fresh in your mind. it should be since it’s the only thing you’ve thought about for the past few days.
nat and pete, in their own ways, notice this and take charge. pete thinks you two can handle it but nat chimes in with the, “i know my brother. he can’t handle shit. If this is left up to him to resolve, nothing will happen. i love him but still.”
so they form their plan. pete invites carmy over to set up furniture, catch up, whatever and nat invites you over to talk about the baby and ask for your help with meal prepping. “so, have you and my brother talked about what happened at the restaraunt?” she asks.
you walk over to the couch, putting on your jacket and scarf. you let out a scoff as your answer. “taking that as a no.” nat answers. you put your hand on the doorknob, your back to the front lawn where carmen and pete, unknowing to you, stand.
"look, you know I love Carmen. and you know i want-" you sigh. "i want a family with him, Nat. i want a child, or children, with the guy. but your brother can be a real piece of shit sometimes." You open the door fully at that point, where carmen's now staring at you.
"i'm a piece of shit, after i apologized to you?" carmen asks. you stare at him before looking at pete, then at natalie whose got a guilty smile on her face. "okay. what the hell is this?" You question.
"oh! carmy, hi! i had no idea you were gonna be here. come on in, we'll all have some coffee and we can talk about what's happening." natalie says as she pulls you inside, motioning for carmen to come inside.
he reluctantly agrees, stepping inside as he sits at the dining room table. you stand in the kitchen, far enough away from them.
i think once nat reveals that you told her you want kids his reaction changes. maybe you two talked about it or maybe he doesnt know but either way, he wants to talk to you. that changes things in his mind. because you still want kids with him.
while you and carm work out your own issues, of course nat and pete take credit for it, even though you and carmy are both mad at her. also the idea of carmen using your full name as a way to call you stop oh my gosh
#maeberzatto#mae writes!#mae writes: the bear#mae has mail! 💌#mae's anons!#bowl anon#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#the bear fx#the bear hulu#carmen berzatto fanfiction#mae answers your asks!#mae answers: carmen and reader making up</3
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Messy CoD: Ghost's headcannons ::
on the topic of CoD charachters as animals, Merrick strikes me as a bear. dunno ENTIRELY why. i saw this other post montttthhhssss back(more like a year ago) of someone headcannoning that Merrick kind of instinctively starts watching out for the Walker brother's/doting on them more after Elias' death and i REALLY resonate with that.
he takes care of his cubs :) definitely gets protective of the two brothers after his best friends death. (also headcannon that Elias and Merrick were closer buds than we got to see. those two definitely drink beer together.) Merrick seems like the kind of guy to have never seen himself as a father figure, its just an instinctive move after Elias dies since the two boys are still pretty young adults. (dunno if the person said all this in their posts, i have zero way of finding them again 😭😭)
(i was getting stuffed animals from build a bear nd making them themed as CoD charachters and i have a bear one as Merrick because of this[lmk if you want a bear!Merrick reveal because i also have doodles of him with bear ears])
Merrick, Merrick, Merrick..
honestly dont really know what to say about this man. i feel like he's extremely un-tech savvy unless its military technology. definitely does that dad squint with his eyes while reading something/trying to figure out how tf a phone works.
OHHH and on the topic of being horridly bad with tech and internet shi, if Logan and Hesh were to ever show Merrick tiktok for any reason, Merrick would probably find himself an addict of the app and incidentally pick up a shit ton of Gen Z humor but have zero idea what ANY of it means.
catch him throwing around old 2019 jokes or being one of those awkward father's who try to relate to the younger demographic by using outdated slang. thats IF he has the confidence to use any of the humor. if anything, i feel like he'd be awfully self conscious about doing so due to his lack of knowledge on it all.
no idea where im going with these headcannons. it is 12am and i am doing my workout routine as i wrote this while sleep deprived. dw im going strong.
but on the topic of HEADCANNONS,,,
Keegan, i feel like, leaned alot on Elias (probably without realizing it). i just see a kinship between Keegan, Elias and Merrick. Keegan seems to be by Merrick's side ALOT and i feel like HE feels he belongs there. not reliant just.. connected. soul brothers, really.
and if it wasnt Logan and Hesh who were fucked up over Elias' death, it was Keegan and Merrick. Merrick lost a bestfriend, Keegan lost a friend maybe even a father/uncle figure.
mostly Merrick gives me uncle vibes, though. Elias is a father figure, someone to lean on / someone to really show you how to do something and help you through hard times with insanely good advice. and Merrick's just the awkward, un-tech savvy uncle. i refuse to elaborate any further.
my personal headcannon for Logan is that hes semi-mute. i dont, personally, headcannon him as someone with full mutism but i do feel like he doesnt speak 90% of the time and shocks everyone whenever he does speak.
Keegan going about his day, saying a brief good morning to Logan and the Walker boy saying a quiet ''morning'' back to the man. has Keegan freeze on the spot, taking a full minute before looking up at Logan. takes a glance at Hesh and the brother merely shrugs, used to Logan's rare speaking.
out of everyone, Logan mostly speaks to Hesh. whenever Logan does speak, i feel like its aimed, USUALLY, at Hesh and nobody else in the room. keeps ot brief but sometimes has an actual back and forth while Merrick and Keegan are just reeling.
Merrick, wanting to help understand Logan better and show he cares more after Elias' death, put time aside to learn sign language for Logan's 'no talk days'. definitely mixes up a few signs and still has alot to learn but it surprises Logan and the man feels heard. definitely better than Logan having to rely on Hesh fully to communicate what Logan's trying to say / Logan having to fumble and point out different things and use unconventional means to try and get something across.
no hcs for Hesh rn..i THINK. actually i think i do have some but i cant remember and am tired. i spent likr an hour writing this yw im so eepy
gonna make a post strictly for Elias hc's because i have ALOT. (can you tell i have daddy issues)
A/N:: if anyone else has done these hcs tell me, im losing my mind over if ive actually seen anyone else have the same thoughts as me or not.
#call of duty#cod#swemheadcannons#cod headcanons#cod ghosts#call of duty ghosts#keegan hcs#keegan p russ#logan walker#hesh walker#david walker#headcannons#cod hcs#cod headcannons#imsotireddddd#merrick#merrick hcs#thomas a merrick#thomas merrick#captain merrick#cod ghost#callofduty
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omg im having brainrot about venti and how do u think he would cuddle windblume? would he be big spoon or small spoon? lmk ur thoughts!
i am so sorry it took me a while to respond bUT OOO
i hope you’re still having a venti brainrot because i’m still having a brainrot abt him (24/7,, check my dms with tala aka tumblr user blooming-cecilia LOL i flood her with venti stuff a lot)
anyway.
cuddling venti hcs, you want? i’ll give it to you. let me just ransack my mind for a bit;
- imagine just laying supine on the bed and venti just. crawls on top of you and buries his head on your chest. venti likes listening to your heartbeat and he also likes it when you stroke or pat his head. go on. run your fingers through his hair. he’ll probably sigh, pleased, and if you stop – he’ll definitely tell you to do it again (do it again! why should you not?) if you’re feeling playful and decide to stop, there are chances he’ll put your hand back to where it belongs.
- imagine sleeping so deeply that nothing ever wakes you. a venti comes to join you for bed, and when he sees you hugging a pillow, he won’t hesitate to replace said pillow with himself. venti will either nuzzle his face on the crook of your neck, or he’ll let your head rest on his chest. hm. he likes smelling your shampoo, by the way, because it makes him feel so much at home.
- ((akshsjbsjsjsjb the idea of venti just content with windblume… it’s so nice…))
- in the idol au, i discussed a similar concept where you try to make venti jealous by cuddling a plushie instead of him. it didn’t end well cuz venti couldn’t take it (archons, he’s just so silly-) and threw it across the room, before glomping you. why is the plushie getting more love than him??? he’s your boyfriend!!
- during the morning, it’s hard to get up because of venti’s hold around your waist. you’ll have to wake him up so he can let go of you. (but bear in mind, though: that venti’s very clingy—an understatement, tbh—and he loves you very much. i think waking him up just made it worse because he’ll hold you tighter. he refuses to let go.) there is no e s c a p e.
- cuddle him and he’ll cuddle you back. it has more passion and vigor it’s overwhelming. he’ll giggle a lot. cuddling is his favorite past times with you.
- you expect me to not think abt needy venti???? wrong. needy venti is for the soul. imagine him just sitting on the couch and has his arms raised. hands closing and opening in a grabby motion. he pouts at you, “windblume. cuddle.”
- he wants your attention, your affections, so it’s not so surprising when you’re on the phone with someone and you feel arms squeezing your waist… and kisses on your cheeks…
- don’t get me started on possessive venti during cuddle sessions cuz even though you both look cute & wholesome on the outside, who’s not to say that venti’s mind is only filled with mine, and only mine… mine always
- the anemo archon “i’ll be your alternate jacket / hoodie / sweater!” barbatos, then proceeds to BEAR HUG you
- AJAHAJWBDKJDKKDLNDNP i just remembered abt his wings 🥺🥺 venti will definitely wrap his wings around you for more warmth……they’re so soft and comfortable and fluffy
- imagine you just both sitting together and one of his wings guide you close to him
- during rainy days / winter season, cuddles with venti will increase (if venti’s being a lil trickster, he’ll insert his cold hand under your shirt)
- “windblume, i’m cold. i think i deserve some cuddling, don’t you think?”
- personal hc: venti can’t choose which position he likes, but he has a soft spot for digging and hiding his face on your neck… he wants to be in his haven; his paradise; your arms around him, his arms around you. or just you, really. you’re home to him.
- after a long day, venti just drapes all over you. there are no words exchanged but you can understand what’s happening. he’s recharging. praise him, will you? comfort him? give him little kiths… or if you can, sing him songs? (yes. when venti’s upset, he calms down when he just presses himself closer to you)
- venti’s hugs are just the best. there are times where things are hard and it’ll always be resolved with proper communication and really— just a tight hug will suffice.
- when you’re both curled with one another, venti rubs your fingers with his thumb tenderly. hand holding with venti is always nice because you can feel that he really loves you, even in simple gestures.
- look at venti whenever you guys cuddle. yep. the soft gaze. the small smile. ah, yes. he loves you very much.
as for the big spoon and little spoon… venti can be both. he can be the big spoon or the small spoon.
that’s what’s perfect about him.
he doesn’t care.
as long as he’s cuddling you, he’s satisfied.
at first i only thought him as a small spoon because i want to give him the comfort that he deserves uNTIL I REALIZED THAT BIG SPOON VENTI IS GOOD, TOO. i mean. wouldn’t you want to be spooned by the anemo archon???
((tho… i’m in a huge big spoon venti mood rn…….. time to feed myself))
so yeah!!! it depends on the mood.
but you know. venti prefers it more when he sees you.
there’s easy access to the lips—easy access to the eyes. easy access to the face. he loves seeing you.
#venti x reader#tomato.thoughts#i ditched the venti fic i was writing for this#answering this was so fun i literally had to go over my fav venti scenarios and hcs#pls give me more venti asks i like challenging myself#wAIT I DO HOPE VENTI IS IN CHARACTER THO#venti’s cuddles are the best#i didn’t want to go overboARD WITH THE JEALOUS VENTI PART CUZ GODSSS THAT’S FOR ANOTHER TIME Y’ALL
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Therapy
Warnings: Lil bit angst, fluff.
A/N: I did it for her. I did it for @galesdekarioss birthday. I dont know what I did, but here it is. Hope you like it bestie and dont judge, its my first time writing something without my man so… I tried.
There was a different atmosphere, everyone was relaxed, problems weren't hanging over their heads. Someone still tried to make things a mess, but it wasn't the same, he knew that. He had been on the front line trying to ruin lives of those people and now he was paying the price for his choices sitting in a corner with emptiness around him and voices far away.
Someone had greeted him, someone had spoken to him trying to give him a second chance. He was there for that second opportunity and he was ready to take it at any cost, which is why he had no problem working hard, earning a place that was his, showing who he had always been, even if loneliness had a bitter taste on his mouth who alone had ever been before.
He had never thought of getting to that point, of turning his back and walking away, of being selfish for his own good, to save what was left of him. He had had to, he had left him no choice and like a medicine, he had swallowed pain, resentment, pieces that those who had loved him had walked on and he was waiting to heal. Day after day, taking what was given to him, fighting for more.
He was in therapy. That was his therapy. Sami was his therapy.
He watched him laugh, greet everyone with hugs and smiles, with that energy that belonged only to him and that for a while Jey had hated like a blind man who can't bear to see the light again. Sami, however, had fought to teach him to see again, he had endured for him and even if Jey had continued to turn his back on him, his hand had always been there ready when Jey had really needed it. Like in that moment, once again, tearing yet another smile from him.
- Im happy you here.
- Im happy to see your stupid face too Sami – eyes that dug behind his facade, like the night he asked him how he could sleep with all that hate in his heart and he had lied.
Like a baby, he had said. Yes, a baby with nightmares and Sami had woken him up, put him back on his feet. Mentally and physically. In the ring, on the phone, in a parking lot, outside that club. He had held him up, helped him raise his head, his hands pressed on his face to force him to look at him, to listen, with love, support, without force, for his own good, not like their old mutual friend and his games...
“If you need-”
“You know nothing! Mind yo business!”
“I care about you, you're my business. And If I don't know, lemme know. I'm here to listen.”
“Go away Sami…”
He watched him turn, hearing himself called and immediately look back at him.
- Come with me.
- I dont-
- Cmon, you're with me.
With him. Not behind, not in a corner. Together in that second chance.
And did it matter if there were those who still looked at him with hate? If they didn't trust him, if he had to fight one more day, put up with rumors behind his back and doors slammed in his face? No, it didn't. He had been through worse and as long as Sami still offered him that hand, he refused to leave him alone, karma was already paying off. Sami was his karma, his therapy and it was enough.
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@galesdekarioss @thewarlordsworld @samijey idk who I should tag for this one 😂 forgive me
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hello!!! mgs4 raiden requester back!! <3
i was wondering if you could do any angst (to maybe nsfw if it fits) around a fem reader & raiden, reuniting again after they lost contact after the events of mgs2. potentially working with the cybernetic/scientist reader again seeing how their work was used by the patriots to experiment on raiden and turn him into what we know in mgs4
take your time!! i genuinely love reading your stuff even if im not into/played the same media <3
Thank you! That makes me so happy to hear 💜 I hope you enjoy, and have a great day.
What have they done to you (MGS4! Raiden x Fem!Cyberneticist!Reader angst)
"Doctor Y/N," A guard said, striding into your laboratory and over to the desk you were seated at. "There's a visitor come to see you."
Groaning softly, you reached up and massaged your eyes, which felt heavier and more fatigued than they should have been. Ever since yo learned your boyfriend Raiden had been captured by the Patriots, you had gotten very little sleep.
"Who is it?" You drawled, too tired to meet the guard's eyes.
"A cyborg," The guard responded, sounding somewhat worried. "He won't give his name."
"A cyborg?" You repeated, rising from your seat in awe. "Where is he from? Not the Patriots, I hope."
"I'm not sure," Replied the guard. "He bears no identification, and as I said before, refuses to give his name."
Several thoughts traveled through your mind. This could be a trap; the cyborg could be an assassin sent to off you, or he could be someone willing to contribute to your research. If this was the case, you couldn't let such a glorious opportunity slip by.
"Send him in."
The guard nodded and ducked out of the room. Seconds later, the door opened again, and a lean man in a black cloak strode into the room. The lower half of his face was almost entirely encased in metal, but his eyes were so familiar. So, so familiar. You knew those blue eyes; you recognized the dormant sadness hidden deep within them. You were sure you knew who this person was, but for some unexplainable reason, you still felt the need to ask. After all, it had been so long since you'd seen them--and the Patriots were know for deception--why should you believe he'd returned to you now?
"Who...who are you?" You inquired, nervously. The cyborg stared blankly at you, as if he hadn't heard your question. A few moments later, he opened his metal mouth and spoke.
"You don't recognize me?"
"No...I...I do," You mumbled, clasping your hands together. "I just...can't believe it's really you..." The cyborg nodded, continuing to stare ahead with that blank, almost dead-looking expression. You tried your best to meet his gaze, but it was so intense, so unsettling, you couldn't keep it up for long. Averting your eyes in both fear and shame, you let out a sigh.
"Raiden, what have they done to you?"
Raiden did not respond. He just kept his bluish-gray eyes fixated on you like a laser beam. You didn't know what to do now; you had nothing to say. The pain on Raiden's face told you everything you needed to know--that he was hurting, that he was afraid, and that he needed someone to lean on.
Almost automatically, you started edging closer and closer to him, your arms reaching out to wrap around his shoulders. You wanted to hug him, and he clearly needed a hug, but for some reason, he backed away.
"Don't touch me." He said, coldly.
"Why, what did I do?" You asked, voice quavering.
"It was your tech that they used. Your inventions," Raiden explained. It took you a minute to realize he was referring to your work regarding cyborg enhancements, though you had no idea how the Patriots managed to get their hands on it.
"How...?" You whispered, in unbelief. "How did they...?"
"They captured other cyborgs, ones you upgraded," Raiden continued, still staring ahead with that blank expression. "Then they broke 'em apart, dissected every joint, and figured out how to make the parts themselves."
"Oh my God...Raiden..." You were too stunned to form a coherent sentence. Your hard work, your research, your ingenuity, had been stolen by evil people and user to forcibly modify your entire reason for doing all this. The shock was too much; it made your head spin and you knees weak. You sank into a nearby chair, your head in your hands.
"The excision was very painful." Raiden announced, adding to your distress.
"My God...what have I done?" You muttered, too ashamed of yourself to so much as look through man in the eye. "What have I done? What have I done?"
Eventually you pulled yourself together, straightened up, and sighed.
"I'm sorry, Raiden," You told him, tears streaming down your face. "I'm so...so...sorry...I never wanted this to happen, ever...I...I only became a cyberneticist so I could do good and make contributions, not for this..."
For a moment, Raiden's stony expression melted into one of genuine sorrow. It seemed that if he had tear ducts left, he would be crying. You never wanted to hold him so badly in your life.
Completely disregarding what he said earlier, you ran forwards and threw your arms around his neck, sobbing and squeezing him as tightly as you could. You didn't care that his metal body was ice cold, and that the various ridges and spikes on his skeleton poked and prodded your sides. You just wanted to embrace him and let him know you still loved him no matter what, and that nothing could change that.
"I love you, Raiden," You kept repeating, clinging onto him and refusing to let go. "I love you so, so much."
It took him several moments, but Raiden eventually snaked his arms around your waist and held you close with enthusiasm double that of yours.
"I...I...love you too..."
#Mgs#Mgs4#Metal gear solid#Metal gear solid 4#Mgs raiden#Mgs4 raiden#Metal gear solid raiden#Metal gear solid 4 raiden#raiden x reader#jack raiden x reader#mgs raiden x reader#mgs4 raiden x reader#metal gear solid raiden x reader#Metal gear solid 4 raiden x reader#Fanfic#Angst fanfic#Angst#Angsty fanfic#Kinda sad#Requester#Thanks for requesting#icycoldninja writes#Raiden x reader angst
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hola niña mosha 😻😙‼️
could I pls get my boys with their s/o who gets sick right, but they don't care how their body is in shambles and refuses to miss out on school- like showing up with a mask, ugly ahh sneeze, raspy voice, sleepy dead eyes, bringing their best hoodie so they won't freeze whilst constantly being hot, ancient sounding cough, cough drops-
BUT they gotta keep up that "goody two shoes perfect student" reputation with perfect attendance cuz yeah- and hanako n kou will not let that slide, no matter how many times s/o has declined their sweet offers to go home and rest (im very stubborn like that bear with me-)
gracias 😝‼️‼️
Hanako and Kou with a sick s/o who refuses to take care of themselves❣︎
Warnings: none
A/n: HOLA MI AMOR
I know no spanish help me-
HOWEVER IF YOU ARE SICK TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF-
Anyways, I hope you enjoy and have a great day or night!!
- It didn’t hit him at first that you were sick
- He has been dead for many years, it took him longer to recognize the sickness
- He knew something was wrong with you but he didn’t know what…
- You were coughing and sneezing
- Oh you were sick!!
- He kept pestering you until you finally confessed that you didn’t feel well
- He will tell you that you need rest now but you won’t give in
- He would try his best to convince you, saying that your health is more important than your studies but it doesn’t work
- You are very stubborn
- But so is he
- He will force you to sleep if he needed too
- Place two fingers on your forehead and make you sleep
- However, he doesn’t want to do that but he will!!
- He will overdramatize it, thinking that it's worse than it really is
- He will set up a spot in his bathroom for you and call it “y/n’s clinic”
- Your own personal clinic where your boyfriend is taking care of you
- He will check your temperature every hour and will get very excited when he sees it goes down, even by a little
- If you show up the next day as well, he won’t be too happy
“Y/n~! You are supposed to stay home and take care of yourself!!” Hanako whined as he hugged you from behind. “You need rest!!”
“I’m fine.. I’m grateful for your help yesterday but I’m okay now” You said, your voice still dry. He frowned at your answer.
“You are still obviously sick!! I need to take care of you again! Your fever is going down, don’t let yourself get worse again!”
“I will be fine, Hanako… don't worry about me” You tell him again and quickly walk away, this ghost following right behind you. You walked into your classroom, paying no mind to Hanako trying to get you to focus on your health. He sighed, knowing that he will need to force you to take care of yourself again.
A few minutes passed in class and Tsuchigomori walked into the class.
“Can y/n go to the nurses office…” He said and Hanako floated behind him with a smug look on his face. Your jaw dropped and Hanako laughed. You stood up and made your way to the nurses office, Hanako at your side.
“You didn’t have to do that…” You grumbled making the ghost chuckle.
“I didn’t? Well you weren’t taking care of yourself~”
“School is more important-!” You tried to argue but Hanako quickly shut you up.
“Your health is more important, y/n. You can always do this work later but if you are sick, you need to focus on you right away..” He says gently, entwining his hand in yours “Now, let’s go to the nurse, hm~?”
- He is very attentive so he noticed you were under the weather
- And he wanted to do something about it right away
- He will ask you if you are sick and if you say no he won’t believe you
- He will try and convince you to go home but you always refuse
- He will argue about this as long as he can
- However, he won’t force you to do anything if you don’t want too
- But he is going to make sure you are okay
- He will take you to a quiet classroom to sleep during lunch
- And if you don’t wake up to the bell who is he to wake you up for your next class-
- He will also ask to spend the rest of the day at your house
- He will make you soup and make sure you rest well
- He doesn’t mind if he gets sick, he’s taking care of you and that’s what matters
- He will get you anything you ask him too!!
- He will even do your homework for you-
- Anything you need! He is on it!
“Kou, you don’t have too-” You argued as he placed a small table on your bed.
“No, I insist!” He then placed a bowl of soup on the table. It was fresh and he just made it. You always thought he was too sweet, making sure you were okay despite this being what you thought was a small sickness.
“Say ahh” He took a spoon full of soap and put it near your mouth.
“I can feed myself, Kou” Your cheeks turned red and so did his
“A-ah! Sorry!” He was about to give you the spoon but you opened your mouth, giving him the okay to feed you as if you were a child. He placed the soup in your mouth and the warm liquid ran down your sore throat.
“It tastes really good!” You smiled and sat up, taking the spoon from him so you can feel yourself.
“I’m really glad you like it. I hope you feel better, I don’t like it when you feel sick…” He frowned which caused you to frown too.
“Don’t worry, Kou… I’ll feel better in no time with your amazing cooking!” You laughed.
“I hope so…” Kou smiled softly at your energy. Even while you were sick you could still make him smile. You soon finished the soup and he took the bowl and table.
“Now you should rest, sleep is good when you don’t feel well” He tucked you into the covers and kissed your forehead.
“Get some rest, okay love?”
Tagging~ @bladethrowsshade @hanako-san @hangingwillowtree
#tbhk#toilet bound hanako kun#tbhk x reader#jshk#tbhk anime#toilet bound x reader#hanako x reader#hanako kun#jshk x reader#jibaku shounen hanako kun#toilet bound hanako kun x reader#kou minamoto#kou x reader#minamoto kou
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Pillow Talk (for Nerds)
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: a relaxing evening in bed turns fiery when you and steve argue about star wars
words: 600
warnings: fluff, playful arguing, me projecting my desire for a bf that looks like steve who i can yell at about sw lol
a/n: while im still completely in love with eddie im rewatching s1 of stranger things and im reminded just how far steve has come. and now im soft for him again. ive also been attempting to write something where i dont ramble on for thousands of words so here we are!
“If you were a Jedi, what color would your lightsaber be?”
You pose the question to an amused Steve. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, his bare chest warm and comforting against your cheek. Steve couldn’t care less about Star Wars but he knows how obsessed you are with it, so he plays along.
“I think I’d go red.”
You shoot up, propping yourself on your elbows as you stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t have red, though! That would put you on the dark side!”
Steve may not understand the space opera but he loves how fired up it gets you. He waggles his eyebrows and stares up at you mischievously. “Maybe that’s where I belong. Me and that mouth breather, Garth- “
“Darth! Darth Vader” you interject.
Steve grins, reveling in your fieriness. “I’m just saying. Darth and I could make a kickass team. I am very bad, after all.”
That couldn’t be further from the truth. Steve had put himself in harms way countless times just to save you, Nancy, Jonathan and the gaggle of kids you were always hanging around with. He was selfless to a fault. And right now he looked like an angel splayed out underneath you, hair fanned out around his head and crooked grin on his stupidly pretty face.
You smile down at him nonchalantly, refusing to give in to his cuteness. “That’s fine, then. I’ll just have to duel you with my purple lightsaber.”
It’s Steve’s turn to be outraged. “There’s no such thing! It’s either red, blue or green.”
You settle back down into his arms, your face turned up to his. “I never said it had to be one of those three, Steve. Use your imagination.”
Steve broods for a minute, scrunching his eyebrows together in thought.
“The fact is, I wouldn’t be a Jedi.”
“Oh no?”
“Why be a space monk who can’t even get laid when I could be a bounty hunter or a pilot?”
Of course he sees himself as a dashing rogue making his way through the galaxy. He’s not wrong. You’re the Jedi type. Steve, on the other hand, is all daredevil with excess charm.
“You fancy yourself a Han Solo type, Harrington?”
He blushes slightly but nods confidently.
“If the shoe fits, baby. He’s handsome, he’s always saving the day and he’s great with the ladies.”
On that last note, Steve squeezes your ass playfully. You smack him on the chest, smiling in spite of yourself.
“Nah, I take you for more of a Wookie than anything else.” You run your fingers through the impressive patch of chest hair he’s grown in the past year. “You’ve got the hair to match.”
He feigns a hurt expression and pouts. Those puppy dog eyes of his are impossible to resist. You pull him in for a kiss as an apology. When you break away, you’re breathless and completely under his spell again.
“All right, I give in. You’re definitely Han. A secretly soft bad boy with a heart of gold.”
Steve strokes your hair, looking at you with a love clouded gaze. “Then that makes you my Leia. A badass chick who’s sweet but tough and smart as all hell. Banging body, too”
You burrow into the crook of Steve’s neck, hiding your dopey grin as he laughs. “And yes,” he adds “in this scenario Leia can have a purple lightsaber.”
Sounds perfect to you. The two of you lay in a comfortable silence for a few moments until Steve bashfully raises his voice.
“Hey baby? Wookies are the scary little teddy bears, right?”
******
taglist: @padawansubscription
#in my feels for steve tonight#i just know he'd let me talk about sw whenever i wanted#he'd be confused but just smile and nod and get excited when i got excited ya know??#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington#stranger things#allie writes
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experiencing thoughts i just need to write down
in the intro/advanced playwriting combo class today, there was a gentleman who had a short piece about a 90 year old father who was no longer safe to be at home and what i have to assume was at least a mid-fifties son who is acting as primary caretaker while not living in the house
the father has refused to move into a care home, and the core of the piece was basically an argument that the son and father are having where the father insists hes absolutely fine and safe to be trusted driving, taking his own meds (whichs hes forgotten to do three days in a row), and having nightly fires in his house's fireplace.
the son is so frustrated with his father not even trying to take care of himself ("i set alarms on your phone so you'd remember to take your meds" "i wont use a phone you young people are too addicted to them, besides im fine after three days without them, i don't need them").
its clear that if there was a semblance of a good relationship ever existing between the father and son, it died when the son's mother went to the grave before her husband.
our professor was like "you can really sympathize with both men at different points in the narrative, especially since the son is being so aggressive at moments with his father", and all the class agreed.
except me, although i didn't say SHIT in class, because i was not ready to explain my emotions and years of trauma to eleven people randomly today
CONTINUED BELOW THE READ MORE
There is one aspect I can sympathize with. The loss of autonomy is terrifying to me in old age. on that, I felt for the father. its hard to go from family breadwinner to unable to move around your own home very safely, and being encouraged to give up even more autonomy by moving into a care home.
however, the class kept saying the son was being so aggressive and clearly something unrelated in his life was stressing him and he was taking it out on his father.
and all i could think was "none of you have incredibly emotionally abusive parents, do you?"
now, thats just an assumption im making. i don't know these people's home lives and familial relationships. but let me just say, i heard myself in that son. so loudly that i sent my sister a message we've sent each other over and over for years
"I hope dad dies before mom."
my dad's mother is still alive, and currently in a care home for the last eighteen months. she had a favorite son who could do no wrong among her five children. she also had a least favorite son who she, after the death of her husband, emotionally abused the shit out of.
that least favorite son was my dad.
my dad, even before his father's death, was emotionally abusive. and im so used to this bullshit from him that like, a part of me doesn't even consider him THAT emotionally abusive. yet this is a man who told me when i was in grade school that if i was crying about being bullied, then i deserved to be bullied. WHEN HIS FATHER WAS STILL ALIVE
so, since 2009, when my grandfather died, my father has taken out every frustration his mother shoved on him onto my sister and me. and my mother has repeatedly told us to swallow our tongues. we cant defend ourselves because "your grandma is really upsetting him, and he just needs to blow off steam"
i was repeatedly told my emotions were not as valid as his.
this was repeated when he became an alcoholic. i had a standing recommendation for therapy from the trauma he was giving me over my entire life, and mom said "you cant go to therapy until your dad gets sober". and the sad thing is, i feel like the last major lull in my dad's emotional abuse was when he WAS drinking. sometimes, i fucking miss those days, even though I had to act like a primary caretaker to him during those days.
my mother even to this day describes my father as "her cross to bear", but every occupant of this house is bearing him, and it makes me so mad because again, its saying "your emotions don't matter"
in the play scene, after the father all but forces his son to admit that taking care of him is a stressful burden by all but shoving the words into his mouth, the father openly throws in his sons face "oh, if im such a burden, why do you keep caring for me?" and the son goes "because i promised my mother i would, and YOU taught me promises meant something." and the father goes "well, clearly not. you don't give a shit about promises if you wont let me live how i want to live"
and that filled me with such deep seated rage, because my classmates kept saying how you could tell the son had something UNRELATED going on in his life to make him yell at his father the way he was, and i was internally screaming "THIS FATHER IS MY FATHER AND THE SON IS ME AND ITS NOT UNRELATED, ITS YEARS OF BUILDING RESENTMENT AS YOU'RE TREATED LIKE GARBAGE OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN"
there is so much hate and love fused together in my soul at the man i call father already. so much resentment and anger that has to live alongside the rarer and rarer moments he shows me kindness and compassion. and if he lives as long as his mother has managed, i have over 30 more years of this anger to build on.
my grandmother has never apologized to my father, and her memory's so bad now that i know she never will. and I know my father will do the same to me. he treats all the other residents of the house like hysteric harpies who should never be listened to because we're just dumb emotional women. when my grandmother dies, my father will not be able to say anything nice at her funeral. i, at age 25, already know i will not be able to say anything nice at his.
and now, im left holding the bag that this piece dredged up out of my soul. its ugly, and screaming, and i was unprepared to look at it today despite 100% knowing it was there and looking at it before. and yet, there it is. dumped back into my lap once more.
and im left with one terrible prayer, a sort of inevitable conclusion
I hope my dad dies before my mom.
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tell me the pittsburgh steelers drama pls
-🌻
ok so basically our like franchise quarterback had been BR7 (big Ben - i can't spell his last name tbh) for so long but when he retired (after a shit last 2 seasons arguably more but no one wants to talk about that) we had to get a new qb so we used our number 1 draft pick on kenny pickett instead of oh idk drafting centers or guards to fix our shit offensive line but whatever. so we got kenny and everyone was excited and he started in the 3 preseason games and everything looked good etc etc except when he started during the season he quite frankly was kind of ass it was hard to watch. so when he got hit and was on concussion protocol and couldn't play, mitch trubisky (backup qb) started and look he also did pretty bad. so when kenny was able to come back he started again but still wasn't like anything big like we were still losing and then skipping ahead a little he got an elbow injury that was going to need surgery so he was going to be out and mitch came back in. the thing about mitch is i actually don't know his story im pretty sure he was the old backup for the bears maybe idk but anyway he was starting games and he was playing so so bad like oh my god . bad . so tomlin basically benched trubisky in favor of starting mason rudolph and the thing about rudolph is that he'd been backup under ben but Ben was kind of an asshole and didn't like give rudolph any guidance at all and when ben was hurt and rudolph had to play he wasn't very good and everyone hated him this is very important. so now rudolph was starting and everyone was expecting him to do horribly and basically saying our season is over but he actually did very well and we won the game and everyone was like holy shit and then we won the next game too and everyone was like rudolph is better than pickett and trubisky and tomlin just hates him bc it's rumored that rudolph is a trumper (idk if this is true) (tomlin is black and white steelers fans are racist idiots that want him fired even tho he's one of the best coaches in the league (17 seasons straight with no losing season lfg), that's all you really need to know) and that's why he's never started etc etc which is really dumb bc . it's not that he didn't start bc tomlin hated him, he didn't start bc last season he was ass u all called him ass whenever he played remember when you boo'd whenever he took the field and were actively wanting him to fail or did we all conveniently forget that but whatever what do i know. so because rudolph is doing so well and kenny is literally coming off of surgery, it was decided that against the ravens this week (today, the game we need to win for better playoff chances) rudolph would start kenny would be backup 1 and trubisky would be backup 2! someone in the media came out with information from an inside "source" that said kenny was mad about not starting and refused to suit up to be number 2 and it was a whole thing that blew up (mark maddon when i catch u when i catch u mark maddon) and it caused a lot of fans to start calling him princess kenny and basically call him selfish and conceited and stuff. so while talking to the press kenny basically addressed those rumors (which he'd already technically and indirectly disproven in earlier interviews but whatever) and said they weren't true he never refused he's following the advice of the coaches and health staff hes going to suit up as backup in the game etc etc. and then a picture of kenny mason and mitch came out where they were all laughing and smiling and joking around and yeah that's it it's kind of awesome to me
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WORDS they never said but wanted to Or words they never meant to say.
I think both kan and Vegas are bad with words and expressions . So here is something I guess their actions said
I know kan abuses him but here he seems to taking care of his son in his own way. Whole conversation he looks him in eyes. He slaps him because of what he was going to do to pete. He asks him do you know what you are doing? But then shifts the scolding to porshe topic (and here we get a glimpse of abuse) .Take a deep breath and thinks of how to save him from main family. Also tell him to close off pete matter (kill him).
Go to the safe house. When it gets quiet, we'll decide what to do next. (It's alright. Let bygones be bygones. Take some rest and then we'll think of a solution together.)
Being with you is so darn fun. (I like it when I'm with you,the things I feel). When you suffer,you seem to be more interesting (the way you handle abuse and comes off as brave and strong, I can never and I like you and envy you for it). Yeah also he notices Pete's hidden side.
(you are mine now. I have ownership of you. So be good and listen to me and accept me as yours)
(do you think I'm letting You choose main house now.You are trapped with me and have to stay with me and accept me.)
I'm not choosing.(there is no question of choice. My loyalty always belongs to main family and I am not entertaining any of your intentions). I'm just not eating (I refuse to even look at what you have to offer)
You know what an untamed pet would get? (I'm angry why don't you look at me)
I'm gonna hurt you so you'll remember. (I'll give you scars so that only I will be on your mind And you'll forget about everyone else . Because how I remember every hurt my father gave me And so my mind is always full of his words. )
You are no fun at all. ( I don't like seeing you hurt. I don't like seeing you being scared of me. Why you are not showing strength like before. I don't understand myself.)
Do you think I won't know about your stupid plan. You are good ,main family head bodyguard. So what's next? (You are stupid. Principles you hold for main family won't help you. They won't lead you nowhere.Just give up and accept me)
He can't even look at Vegas while saying this. He didn't mean any of that. You and macau aren't even worthy of being my sons. ( Truth is I feel I'm not worthy of being your father.You and macau both deserve better. You two must hate me for having a failed father.I feel ashamed of my failures. I can't meet your eyes. I'm hurt and don't know where else to go.)
don't pretend like you are asleep. Get up and laugh at me. Don't get on my nerves. (Please notice me. I'm deeply hurt. You always takes care of everyone else. Will you console me too. Talk to me Or just look at me)
Get up .pete . Get up. (I can't lose you at any cost, you can't leave me alone)
Take it. No. Your wounds are inflamed. Then just let me die. (You are the one who hurt me. You enjoy giving me pain. Now why are you showing care. Just let me die of pain).
Do you think it's poison?(you think i just want to hurt you right). And then that kiss(I'm sorry. I won't hurt you ever again. I actually like you and wants to be with you.)
Why don't you just let me die?(dont confuse me like this. What I m to you? Just discard me).
That's easy. You must suffer until Im satisfied.(I know I make everyone suffer around me. And I m hurting you. But bear with me. I never felt like this with anyone before. Let me be selfish for sometime and keep you until I ll be ready to let go of you.Killing someone is very easy for me but I can't seem to be able to do it to you)
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Might be getting too into philosophy here but love, in Christianity, is generally regarded as being inherently pure and holy. Its the greatest virtue. Typically angels are made from love, and demons are angels who have lost God's love. Going off of Paradise Lost, (which was an influence for GO) angels CAN experience love, but not quite in the same way humans do, and demons can't experience it at all. Eros is essential for humans but angels don't need it, and for demons it's twisted and corrupted into lust, a sin. That's generally the agreement. I think when Crowley thinks of love his first thought is about God. Demons have lost God's love and are unforgivable, forgiveness is an act of love, he rejects love the way he refuses to be forgiven. Romantic love might be like imagination; something he unknowingly picked up from his time among humans.
nope youre good anon, i live for philosophy!!!✨ apologies for taking so long to answer, ive been a bit ask-ed out today, until now!!!
see, im a little conflicted on this - not at all to invalidate any of what you've said, not at all - but im firmly in the camp of not devoutly referring to any texts that inspired GO to actually analyse or parse out GO themes and narratives, if that makes sense. ie, for me personally, if it's not explicit or even implicit in the GO canon, it's up to interpretation... if at all interested, might be worth checking this out which talks about inspiration for GO but not necessarily following it as the blueprint; it was worded far better than i could put it.
but you're right, paradise lost is obviously a significant inspiration for GO. now, ive only read PL once (at like 15? for school) so bear with me on this, ive had to reacquaint myself with it slightly. my recollection of the theme of love in PL is exactly as you've said; that the wider concept of love is what is experienced by angels, that it's virtuous and divine, directly gifted by god, and is embodied in the angels specifically, but also represented through the eventuality of jesus' self-sacrifice. but the element of romantic love, or at least a more human love, is explored with adam and eve. whilst milton put forward a framing of their romantic love that wasn't considered sinful because it was borne of something pure, ultimately it led to their own respective original sins in disobeying god, and facing the repercussions of knowledge.
so i don't disagree with you that crowley possibly first thinks of love as being linked to god which, as far as we know, he isn't, and lost that when he fell. the last time he would have felt anything akin to that kind of love was when he was an angel. this is what i was getting at in my last ask; that he may have once felt it in the abstract and from god, but no longer does. but we know that he must feel something somewhat like love, if not love itself or love of a different kind, in how he views and treats humanity, and aziraphale - because whilst the latter specifically may not be identified as romantic love until ep5, he has certainly cared for him beyond mere fondness for at least a couple of centuries, give or take.
so unless otherwise countered by anything directly from GO (again, happy to be corrected but i don't recall this being directly discussed in the book), my personal thought is that crowley can evidently feel love and has on average always been able to - and possibly by extension so can other demons. but, a) he doesn't inherently experience it the same way angels do (demonstrated in s1 in the Bentley with aziraphale), and b) as you say, he's had the experience of being on earth, so that love has by all accounts been 'kept alive' through them, an experience unique only to him.
but my thought is also that other demons, however, whatever love they can feel, can't put it anywhere like crowley can, and so it dwindles down into being dormant. that's my interpretation anyway, because lest we forget - we have seen that beelzebub was able to feel (as we understand it anyway) love come the end of ep6, and they didn't have the same experience on earth as crowley... so in eventual conclusion to that thought, i think GO demons still can love, but it doesn't have anywhere to go - until it does - and so the ability has withered away over the millennia.
not sure if that answered you or clarified anything, but i love discussing this so hop back if not!!!✨
#good omens#not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy#ask#i really went ham in gcse english lit by reading milton i still cant really remember was possessed me but#i remember we had to write a like accompanying short story in english lang and mine was a weird think piece on#the immediate thoughts before someone jumped from one of the towers on 9/11 and was contemplating on whether#theyd make it to heaven if they did#idk i was a strange teenager but it won like 2nd place in a national competition iirc so there's that i guess#anyway#crowley meta
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i've actually been trying to find your blog for weeks to not only binge atp for the millionth time but to reblog it with comments as i finally made time to do it 😅 i'm sorry for being part of the problem!
i'm a writer (yikes i know) who's dealt with a similar issue on wattpad where the only interactions i got were people adding my stories to reading lists, so likes are super rare and i literally don't know the last time i got a comment or a reply to a comment (and i doubt ny notifications go back far enough to see 🙃). it's one reason why i've kind of stopped putting stuff on there (again: yikes i know).
yet i'm terrible at commenting?? especially on here because i always want to write an essay everytime because i know how much work goes into writing something as short as a blurb so i feel bad about writing a 'i love this!' even though i personally enjoy those comments? no one will be more pissed or confused about me being affected by yet contributing to this problem more than me. again, i'm sorry. i know much a heart emoji means and how much silence hurts.
i'm so sorry that i contributed to your frustration.
i adore atp and your writing but never knew how to put it into words (ironic). i'm angry at myself for not supporting my fellow writers especially seeing how many fic writers are talking about the lack of comments are discouraging and angry for contributing to this problem. and to anyone reading this or other fic writers' vents, non-fic writers like me and published writers are having issues getting feedback. (hence why i said no one is more pissed about my lack of comments than me)
i hoped tumblr was glitching when i was having issues finding atp until i saw the asks and your answers. you have every right to be angry and upset and disappointed in readers like me. anyone who says otherwise is a dick because it's true.
i'm sorry i waited too long to try and reblog and comment. i truly am and i hope you enjoy finishing atp and any other works for yourself 💙 if you ever decide to share your writing again, i will be sure to reblog and comment with everything.
thank you for apologising lovey and i completely understand! it's not you in particular that made me leave, just a collective problem if that makes sense? i don't bear any ill feelings towards anyone in particular just more how this like-culture has formed bc of tik tok and instagram and users of tumblr not using tumblr the way they did 5 years ago when my stuff was actually reblogged
the only thing that genuinely grinds my gears (besides the like problem) is that ive received asks of anons telling me im being 'hurtful to fans' when i say that everyone who just liked and never reblogged or even send an ask yk were part of the reason i left and refuse to roll out chapter after chapter, request after request with the same people demanding more to get nothing in return. the fanfics everyone reads are already free, so are reblog, yk?
as if i want fans? i just want a community and people who support me in my writing and who i can support back in whatever they create, who chat with me not just about my fics but fandoms in general, life, etc! and thats not achievable through likes
thank you for also giving some perspective! it's good that more writers step up and talk about this and offer a different viewpoint to those who don't write bc it's impossible to know how discouraging this feels until you're in the middle of it. im sorry you feel that way too and that people interact so little with your works as well! im not sure if you're a corpse writer and i havent read corpse stuff in so long but if you are, send me some of your stuff and i'll be happy to read and comment! ❤️ (this goes for everyone btw for most fandoms)
and i completely get being horrible at commenting! i always write essays too (especially on ao3 lmao) and i understand how you wanna carve out some time to do so!
i dont know if tips will help you and i certainly dont wanna tell you what to do but maybe i can give some tips in general to fic readers reading this:
i have a fanfiction sideblog (which i will not share bc there's shit on there that's between me, the author who wrote it, and god) bc i didn't want to reblog on the account i post my own writings on, mainly bc i feel like it will annoy people if i reblog every fic i read bc... there are a lot lmao. so first tip is maybe run a sideblog where you just reblog fics you've read and loved?
second tip is to have a queue running if you're scared it will annoy people?
i have a system where i reblog when there's a fic i see that i wanna read but i dont have the time for yet and tag it with 'to read' then i'll reblog it again with insight/comments. that way the post is in circulation and even if i dont get to it ever, i've still helped out he author?
i hope you don't feel too guilty. it's something we all have to work more on to make sure writers feel more appreciated! i genuinely dont have any vendetta or ill feelings towards you or anyone, i just choose to write for myself now <3
feel free to dm me any time if you wanna chat! im genuinely open to sharing my works with the friends ive made on here and other writers!
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in advance,,, sorry,,, thought I would write some thoughts I had about my oc and arthur out. again sorry, so cringe, so sorry, so so so sorry. IM SORRY OKAY. IM SORRY. god damn you soren for saying I should post this.
cw for implied(?) self harm, canon typical violence, murder, kinda gore, past child abuse, arthur shelby sr. is a bitch, animal death? idk, everyone is unhappy, not just my character, ptsd too? it’s not said but incredibly obvious, no beta read we die like john, also cringe :(
THIS IS SO BAD I AM SO SORRY
thinking about parker always having the feeling that arthur wasn’t built or cut out to kill. even in the war he could see how his fingers shook around the trigger of his gun, he would stay up until morning hearing him sob as quietly as possible from the cot next to him. the few times he’d try to offer comfort to him at the late hours of the night (or early hours of the morning) he’d play it off as a nightmare or something, getting out of his ‘sleepy’ state as slowly as possible to give arthur time to regain his composure. he’d play coy as he offered him a cigarette and a light. they’d talk of anything but the hell they were currently in. parker would wait arthur out some nights, as tired as he was he would will himself to stay up by occupying himself with a newspaper he’d picked up while passing through a town or burning ash into his skin as he ‘accidentally’ lost grip of his cigarette , at least until arthur finally fell back asleep.
even in birmingham when word was spread of how arthur murdered a young boxer in the ring, parker knew it wasn’t a killing of pride or ego. parker knew what had happened because whatever god who had let this happened knew that he’d done the same.
he still doesn’t know where he was, he barely knew who he was when it happened. all he knows is that he was down some dark alleyway, being followed a few paces behind by some drunken man who claimed parker had pickpocketed him. he did of course, but he wasn’t and still isn’t one to admit when he’s in the wrong. when the man caught up to him, yelling swears and insults at him, parker had remembered the distinct sound of a pistol reloading from behind him. And for the first time since the war (maybe even adolescence) he remembered what it felt like to go into a blind rage.
it was just as it sounded. he couldn’t make out much of what he was seeing at all, just some light from a nearby lamppost illuminating the alley.
as much as he didn’t remember what he saw, it only heightened every other sense. he heard every hit he landed on this random man who had the misfortune on catching him on such a night as this one. he heard the sounds only become more wet and dank the more he wailed on him. he felt his hands covered in blood, the unmistakable smell of iron burned into his nostrils.
he wasn’t sure when he pulled the pocket knife strapped to his ankle out, but he knew he was too far gone to stop.
when he looks back on it during quiet moments of the day, he knows the man didn’t want much from him other than his wallet back. but in that alleyway he knew that the man was going to kill him. so of course he had to kill him. as he lays in bed at night, especially while arthur is still out, not laying beside him, he knows killing him was an understatement. when he found his bearings after he’d tired himself out to the point he could no longer inflinct any sort of damage to the man who was no longer moving or making an sound below him, his vision returned to him. the mental image of the man’s face and neck still makes him refuse meals to this day.
that night validated that arthur wasn’t killing to kill in the ring that night. he killed out of fear for his life.
parker’s sneaking suspicion that arthur wasn’t made to kill was only confirmed by a drunken tommy at the garrison one weekend. parker wasn’t sure how they’d gotten on the topic of arthur, but tommy confided in the blinder before him. he told him of how he remembered the first time their father took arthur hunting for rabbits as a young boy. he remembered how arthur returned home. his older brothers bloodshot eyes and red nose unnoticeable by the fact he was beaten black and blue. he’d heard it from his mother before arthur could pull himself together well enough to say what happened before bursting into tears again. while on the hunting trip, arthur begged and pleaded with his father not to kill the rabbit they caught.
tommy added on that about two years back, arthur made an offhand comment that for begging his father not to put a bullet in the rabbit’s head, he was the one who had to.
////////////
ITS BAD IM SORRY.
also sorry arthur......
not putting tags, don’t want anyone to know this exists.
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Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon
! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!
that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh
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master list / ao3 chapter link
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warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion
song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰
its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰
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October 3rd, 2015
Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through.
Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.
It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.
There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.
Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.
It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.
The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.
“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.
“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.
“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”
Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we’re going to—”
“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.
Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—
Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”
“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”
Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”
Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”
“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”
Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”
He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”
“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.
There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.
“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”
“James.”
Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.
“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”
“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”
Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”
“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.
—
Bucky’s up at 0500.
He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower.
It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.
So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.
His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.
While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually.
Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.
He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.
That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.
He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.
With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.
It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance.
He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it.
The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.
Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later.
The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now.
There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid.
He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself.
Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse.
The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea.
Almost.
There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.
This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him.
Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her.
She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then.
He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”
“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”
“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”
“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”
Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”
This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human.
He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running.
By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down.
“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start.
Thank god. “Play it.”
“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”
His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”
“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”
“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box.
“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”
“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it.
“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”
“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing.
The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking.
He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff.
Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t.
He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can.
That’s what Ma would have wanted.
—
Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30.
This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him.
“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—”
She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her.
“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone.
She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”
“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”
Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”
“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures.
“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”
Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”
“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”
“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”
“Mhmm.”
“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”
“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”
“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”
Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”
“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”
Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”
“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”
“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”
“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”
Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”
“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.
She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.
“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”
“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”
“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”
“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”
The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”
“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”
“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”
“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”
“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.
“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”
“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.
His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”
“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”
“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”
“I know, that’s the problem.”
“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”
“Does gross puss leak out of it?”
She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”
“And is it attached to your brain?”
“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.
She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”
His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”
“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”
“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”
“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”
He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”
Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”
“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”
It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”
Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”
“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”
Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”
Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”
“That’s all I can think of,” he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording.
“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”
It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”
“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”
—
She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things.
It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.
It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.
So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.
There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.
Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.
May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.
It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.
She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious.
He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.
Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”
The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”
“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.
He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.
“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.
Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—
He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.
At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.
Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps.
His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.
Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.
Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.
Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.
He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.
None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.
He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers.
“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”
The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”
“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”
“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”
“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”
“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”
Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—
His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.
That’s just how their brand of family works.
“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”
—
“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”
It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”
Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”
“How bad are we talking?”
“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”
She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”
“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”
“And he made it your problem?”
“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”
“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.
“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”
“Report his ass.”
Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”
Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”
“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”
“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”
“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”
The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”
Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”
“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”
She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”
Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”
“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”
The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”
Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”
“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”
“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”
Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”
“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.
“The blush or the huffing?”
“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”
“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”
“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”
“Take-out picnic, got it.”
“And Italian donuts.”
“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”
“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”
The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself.
“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”
Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”
“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”
“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”
“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”
“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.
In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station.
Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person.
“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.
“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”
“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”
“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”
“He’s admirin’ the—”
“He’s working up the nerve—”
“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”
“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”
Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”
“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”
“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava.
Some.
“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”
Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”
“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”
His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”
Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”
“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”
“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.
Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”
“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.
“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.
Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.
After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”
Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”
“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench.
The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige’s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”
“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it.
Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.”
“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.
“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range.
“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”
“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.
There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”
It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.
“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”
“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”
“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully.
“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily.
Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”
“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”
Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.
—
September 20th, 2015
Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.
The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.
Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.
Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.
Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished.
Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”
Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”
One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.”
It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk.
“Do I strike you as an invalid?”
“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”
“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.
Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”
Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”
“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.”
Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”
“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.
“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”
—author end notes—
idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?
im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe
and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰
#chapter update#if you ever get confused by these descriptions just remember that i yoink them straight from ao3#i dont do shit for tumblr lmao#good space
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