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Of course that’s what he’s here for; she should have known. After all that time she spent posing as his neighbor, she should have known that making sure the woman who nearly killed him wasn’t blaming herself was directly up his alley. She’s not sure if that makes her want to laugh or cry, but Carter women do not cry in front of people and she’s definitely not going to let him think she’s encouraging this visit, so she abstains from both. Continuing to refrain from turning around, she shakes her head in disbelief. “I know that. Doesn’t change the fact that I did it." She can still feel where the blood dried on her hands and arms, can still taste the bits that wound up in her mouth, and works to fight the urge to throw up again. ”They need to point their finger at someone, and brainwashing isn’t the most rock-solid argument, so I’m stuck here for a while.” A short pause; is it safe to turn around? Will it ever be safe? “Besides, we don’t know what else they jammed into my head. Which is why you should be wherever the opposite of here is. It’s safer that way.”

He had been trying to get to her for god knew how long. It’s not a good idea, Steve. — Yeah, well, screw you; I’m goin’ anyways. By all accounts, he had healed. ( If there was one thing Steve Rogers seemed to be good at, it was staying alive. ) He wouldn’t scar, and he couldn’t blame her for what had happened even if he did. Despite that, he knew her scars traveled far deeper than skin, and he hung in the doorway for a moment before following her inside. “And you shouldn’t be locked up,” he returned easily. HYDRA did this; HYDRA was determined to rip them apart at the seams. “This isn’t your fault, Sharon.” 

#c: steve rogers

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It had only been weeks since they’d confined Sharon to her apartment, ( “House arrest is remarkably lenient, considering who’s blood is on your hands.” ) but it felt like eons longer. Every inch of it was clean, spare the empty vodka bottle in the sink-----she’d cleaned the place from top to bottom more than once, for no other reason than if she didn’t have something to do besides sit around and await her fate she’d probably go crazy. She was past the self-blaming stage for the most part: she’d always had a remarkable capacity for turning sadness into a driving rage. Sitting still just wasn’t in her genes. Visits did make things easier, though, and she’s grateful when she hears a knock on the door. Holding Murphy back with her foot, she unlocked the [three, high quality and relatively new] locks on her door and yanked it open. “Please tell me you brought an update.”

#c: clint barton #closed #here ya go!! sorry its so late!!! #((murphy is her golden retriever btw))

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Time is a warped concept for Sharon. How long has she been confined to her apartment? Has it really been weeks since they placed the ankle monitor on her? When was the last time her hands didn’t ache with a need to be out there, doing something to help fix what she’d done? You’ll stay here until they’re ready to go to trial. There’s a very real chance she’s going crazy. The only thing that helps her is the occasional visits from some of her former teammates: that’s who she expects at her door. Not Steve. Sharon isn’t one to be easily caught off guard, so the wide-eyed stare she gives him for a solid ten seconds is unexpected. Granted, the look is more than warranted: she can’t get over how stupid he is for coming to see her, of all people. She turns away, walking purposefully towards her kitchen but leaving the door open. There’d have been no point in slamming it: he’d come in anyway, and she owes him this, she supposes. Her hands grip the rim of the sink carefully so they won’t shake, and she refuses to look at him. ( “...there’s no way to know what else they planted in there.” ) “You shouldn’t be here.”

#c: steve rogers #sh.starter #closed #whOOps this got longer than it was supposed to #clearly she has some pent up feelings

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Emily VanCamp getting excited about the Sharon Carter action figure.

#( she's not a nurse. )

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She had this amazing capacity to turn sadness into anger and anger into action, which meant nothing ever kept her down for long.

Ransom Riggs, Library of Souls

#( a new perspective. ) #!!!!!!!!!! YELLS #i am rereading this series bc the movie comes out in the fall uwu and came across this and like...... #bless

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What the fuck happened.

Where the fuck does she start?

“I don’t know if you heard- I had them keep it quiet, I didn’t want Peggy to worry, not with everything else she has going on- HYDRA got hold of me a few weeks ago. It was- it was stupid on my part, I should have known that they---” she cuts the self-pity off abruptly, knowing she’s sidetracking and that it’s not going to earn her any brownie points. “Anyway, the point is that they did... they did something to me after they’d spent a few days softening me up with the car batteries and the waterboarding. I don’t- I don’t now what it was. Hypnotism, reprogramming, brainwashing...” Brainwashing- Jesus Christ, if this is even a fraction of what Nat grew up with... no wonder the weight she carries on her shoulders is so heavy. Not the time. Not the time. 

“Whatever it was, they used it to- they made sure I wouldn’t be able to stop myself or warn anyone about it until it was too late. I didn’t remember it until after... they set it up. They were going to have--- they had someone ask Steve to say a few words, got a sniper in a nearby building to cause a distraction.... and told me that once all hell broke lose I was going to- I was going to shoot him.” 

A minuscule pause, and then: “I shot him---” Her voice cracks, and she stops speaking alltogether. She’s not gonna cry. She’s not gonna beg. ( I tried to fight it, I tried not to let it work, I tried, I tried, I tried ) She’s stronger than that. And besides, she doesn’t need to: the remorse, the guilt is conveyed more obviously in her eyes than it could have been in any string of words. Just in case, she places a hand over her mouth to ensure it, and ohgodohfuck his blood’s in her mouth now; she can taste copper on her tongue and can feel the bile at the back of her throat that’s most definitely going to come up---

She’s keeping her goddamn dignity. There’s no way she’s puking on the goddamn floor when there’s a perfectly good sink a few feet away, even if it means Tony shoots her. Moving over to the sink with enough speed to get there quickly but not enough to alarm Tony, she braces her hands on the rim and heaves, running the water immediately to cleanse both tastes from her mouth and to scrub any traces from her face. She places her hands under the cold stream next, barely noticing the chill of the water or the way her hands shake as she scrubs the blood off.

In the safety of the penthouse of the Tower he puts her down - his home, and the face plate flips up as he backs away a few paces. Fist clenched, ready to fire but not as aggressively offensive as they had been on the street. ( It may be not the brightest idea, taking her into his living room, but there’re too many potential weapons in the workshop, even with JARVIS watching his back ). 

The seething rage bred from frustration and terror have his lip curled a moment away from a snarl, eyes dark and the line of his eyebrows stony: 

   “Now you talk. What the fuck happened.” 

Pepper’s coordinating Steve’s medical efforts; the last Tony heard the ambulance was taking him away. There’s not much he can do for Steve  the reckless, stupid idiot on the ground, but this– getting to the bottom of this; he can do that.

#hahaha this got sooooooooooooooooooooo long im so sorry #also square the length by infinity and you will get the number that the amount of pain i am in just multiplied by : ' ) #but seriously please dont feel like u have to match length i sincerely doubt i could match it like wow #c: tony stark

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For a short, terrifying moment, she’s assumes he’s shooting at her and not the weapons. It’s not until he’s flying at her, and the bullets are destroying her weapons ( she really liked that gun, but now’s not the time ) that she understands what’s about to happen. Getting rammed into by a metal suit, even if it picks you up and takes you with it, hurts. She winces hard as one hand instinctively lands on the cracked ribs that haven’t quite healed from her time with HYDRA, and the other wraps around Tony’s shoulders for support.

Yesokaypleasedon’tdropmepleasedon’tdropmepleasedon’tdropme. Her mouth is in a tight line the entire time they’re in the hair, and she makes sure to turn her head inwards so she can keep her eyes open: she’s scared, but she’s not a wimp, and she’d really rather be fully prepared in the event that Tony does decide to drop her.

Her feet find the ground the minute that they land, but she doesn’t make any drastic moves besides turning to face Tony again and re-leveling her free hand ( the other one’s still on her ribs ) with her chest.

“Okay. What now?”

Cooperation - cooperation was good. Promising. JARVIS does a scan for any hidden weapons unprompted, and it comes up clear.  (  the fuck has she gotten herself into ??  )

     “Not here.” 

Too many bystanders, too many witnesses. Too many eyes, and this feels… private. Personal. Like a familial dispute, as twisted as that was. 

Three bullets from his shoulder mounted armour-piercing projectiles destroy the weapons as he jets at her; it’s a finicky move, twisting his arms in a way to pick her up bridal style without accidentally bruising something (not that he’s too concerned, considering how fired up he still is), but he’s had lots of practise to be able to manage it. Then it’s off into the air, in what’s bound to be a paparazzi’s dream photo - ‘two superheroes in cahoots against the community?’. It’s the quickest way to the tower, and also the most secure, and he warns her: 

  “Don’t make me drop you.” 

#c: tony stark

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Sharon smiles in return as her aunt thanks her, nodding in her direction before blowing lightly on her own tea. “I try.” She jokes, and closes her eyes as she sips the tea to more fully enjoy the comfort it brings.

Even in the past few years when her mind had ailed her, Sharon had never known Peggy to beat around the bush, and she laughs when she’s asked the question she knew to expect. “No combinations yet, unfortunately. My friends are nice, though: not many of them work outside of my... field, but it’s helpful, being able to talk about why I’ve been gone for days without having to lie.”

“Bless,”  Peggy mutters by  way of thanks; boiling hot water, and she  gives a cursory blow before taking a sip - the water is scalding, still, and delightfully right.  “Oh, dear child- blissful.”

      “Absolutely everything,” she confirms. “I was aware you’d joined SHIELD -  but what of your friends?  Hobbies?  Extra- curricular activities?   Any… combination, of the two?” She raises a perfectly poised eyebrow, undoubtably insinuative, followed by an innocent sip of steaming, steeping tea. 

#c: peggy carter

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ツ, ✆, ✎

ツ- Can your muse speak any other language other than their main one?

Answered here!

✆- What your muse’s phone gallery is filled with?

Bad selfies, bad selfies with Murphy, dumb pictures of Murphy, selfies with the team and candids of the team that no one will ever, ever get to know about.

✎- Can your muse draw? How well/How Bad?

Answered here!

#( a new perspective. ) #( answered. ) #( anonymous. )

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❣ ✍ ☹

❣- What calms your muse down?

Murphy and tea are the best ways to calm her down.

✍- Can your muse write? How well/How bad?

She’s not amazing at writing, but she’s certainly better at that than she is at drawing.

☹- Something that makes your muse sad/upset

Worrying about Peggy usually does the trick: thinking about what consequences being aged back might have brought about is a surefire way to upset her.

#( answered. ) #( anonymous. ) #( a new perspective. )

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✎- Can your muse draw? How well/How Bad?☁- What kind of weather does your muse consider the best oneツ- Can your muse speak any other language other than their main one?

✎- Can your muse draw? How well/How Bad?

Her drawing skills pretty much begin and end with the drawings she gave to Peggy when she was five.

☁- What kind of weather does your muse consider the best one

She loves the sun, especially when it’s warm: she’s not really a fan of snow at all.

ツ- Can your muse speak any other language other than their main one?

Sharon has a fluent understanding of English, Spanish, Latin, and Arabic, as well as a basic grasp on French, Russian, Portuguese, Mandarin, and Hindi.

#( answered. ) #( a new perspective. ) #( notadamscl. )

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As he raises his hand, pointing his repulser at her, she moves her hands so that they’re in front of her chest, as a placating gesture as opposed to just hanging in the air. “I swear,” she pleads, “I swear, it wasn’t- not the way it looked. Just hear me out. Please.”

The breath she didn’t realize she was holding escapes her, shoulders falling as she exhales a short sigh of relief. She’s not out of the woods yet ( Is he dead? Please, god, please don’t let him be dead ) but at least now she has a chance, to explain, to defend herself.

“Okay. Okay.” One hand still up, she pulls her backup piece from her ankle holster and the two knives from their sheaths on her belt and tosses them to the ground. She’d had another gun, of course, but that was lying on the ground back at the ruined press conference.  “That’s all I’ve got.”

Tony levels his repulser, aimed for the shoulder - to incapacitate, not to kill, because she’s literally dripping with Steve’s blood and yet he’s so desperate for this to have been… something else. An accident. Unintentional. But she’d looked him straight in the eye and– 

“Not what I think - Carter– .” He’s going to go on but the words choke up in his throat, threatening to suffocate him  ( god damnnit Steve. )  

At least she’s not playing stupid and running or trying to attack him. It’s the saving grace of it all, but his weapons stay raised, his resolve stony. Sharon wouldn’t - Sharon wouldn’t in a million years. So why did she? Some sort of bargain, a threat? 

        “Here’s how it’s gonna go - you’re gonna drop whatever weapons you have. You’re not going to do anything stupid, and I’m going to take you to the Tower.” 

Truth be told, she shot Captain America, there’s police and SHIELD and FBI and who the fuck knew who else. But if this was going to lead to vengeance, it was sure as hell going to be on his terms. 

#ignore the hand on the forehead pls #c: tony stark #( queue who hesitates is toast. )

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She visibly brightens when he agrees, eager for the challenge. “We’ll see about that.” She goads with a slight tilt of her head, beginning to step towards the ring. Admittedly, she’s not positive that she wants to win, but there’s no way she’s not giving this her best effort: being able to say she’s beaten Steve Rogers in a fight sounds like an excellent conversation starter. “Ready when you are, Rogers.”

He couldn’t help it: he chuckled at the challenge, finally nodding his head in agreement. There was at least a fifty-fifty chance he would get his ass handed to him on a silver platter, but he had never been one to say no to a fight. “I hope you’ve got a nice pen to sign those resignation papers for the CIA then.” And he had never been one to go quiet during one either. “Let’s settle it in the ring.” 

#loud wails sound from the distance #IM SOS AD #c: steve rogers #( queue who hesitates is toast. )

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“That sounds fantastic. Especially the covering part: they’re depressingly strict here.” She can’t help but chuckle, gratefully handing Wanda one of the bags she’s holding. This frees up one of her hands, and she rests it gently on her ribs, which have been aching since she pulled herself out of the hospital bed earlier that morning. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Both her parents and Peggy had impressed politeness on her the moment she could talk, but the thank you felt as though it ran deeper than just standard gratitude. “I hope you don’t mind filling me in on things as well- anything major happen while I was on bed rest?”

“I got suckered into buying a French press the other day — I have no clue how to work it. We can try it out.“ She gestures towards the door, smile still resting at her lips. “We can head out now. I’ll cover for you if anyone catches us.” She winks before extending an open hand. “Let me help you.” Though she was directly talking about the bags Sharon cradled, it could be taken figuratively as well. Tsk, Wanda. You lighten no one’s load — you only further bear down on it. She ignores the voice, smiling once again. “I know you’re capable, but you’ve been fighting for your life. I don’t mind carrying a bag.”

#c: wanda maximoff #( queue who hesitates is toast. )

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“I should hope not.” Sharon teases in return, her smile much more genuine than usual. There’s a few moments of comfortable silence, broken periodically by Murphy scrabbling between the two women to see how much attention he can get, before the kettle begins to whistle. Sharon pours the boiling water into the mugs, watching the tea stain the water as she carries both mugs back to the couch. After handing Peggy one of the mugs she brings her legs up onto the furniture as she sits, shifting so that she’s criss-cross and facing her aunt. “So, you wanted to hear everything. Where should I start?”

The sounds of tea-making  are  comforting, and Peggy leans back against  the couch. Familiar, throughout every stage of her life - was there nothing a nice cuppa couldn’t ease?  “Not long,” she answers absently,  though she does wonder as to the  origin  of the question.  “I’ll be back before you  know it.”  And likely ( hopefully ), not worse  for wear.   It’s an inevitability she has to prepare for, but as she hasn’t gotten use to the reality quite yet… 

          “You won’t be  getting  rid of me that  easily,” she teases. 

#c: peggy carter #( queue who hesitates is toast. )

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“Kudos to her.” She echoes, all the sternness gone from her voice as she continues to sip at the vodka. She’s probably had enough for one night, and she knows it, but this particular topic of conversation is still so mind-boggling that it feels necessary.

“Yeah?” She looks over at him, curious. “I don’t actually get that a lot. Reminding people of her, I get that all the time, but not that I look like her.”

“Yeah, she has. Kudos to her,” he brushes off - if he’s not going to be the shithead, who is? He trusts Natasha with his life, isn’t that enough? Seriously, people. But she has a point, and he collapses onto the chair once they’ve shared their drink. 

“Sometimes you look like her,” he sniffs, smiling at himself and his own little segue. 

#c: tony stark #( queue who hesitates is toast. )

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“Ah. That makes sense.” More than likely there’s a story behind it, but given the circumstances Sharon refrains from delving deeper into it, at least for now. When he questions her choice of furniture for him to lie down on, she pauses in her hunt for medical supplies ( and in the case of some items, simply improvised medical supplies ) and raises an eyebrow. “Considering I make a conscious effort not to get blood and guts on my sectional, yeah. Kitchen table it is. That’s what the sheet’s for, anyway.” Realizing that probably sounds odd, she elaborates. “This isn’t the first time this has happened. Now lay down before you keel over.” Her tone of voice is stern and matter-of-fact, but she is genuinely worried about the possibility of him ending up on her floor as opposed to the table. “We’ll save the next level for another time, yeah? I don’t have much in the way of anesthesia,” she explains as she unscrews the cap of a bottle of vodka, “so this’ll have to do.”

“He was a boxer.” Matt felt fairly certain it was enough of an explanation. ‘Yes’ would have been simpler but explanations were almost always sought after, even if it most likely wasn’t the case given the seriousness of the current situation. He waits silently, focus intent upon keeping himself upright, and slightly more importantly awake. His body is all but ablaze, and if he were anyone else chances are he might say that there was no way pain from a needle could make a mark against all of this. As good as enhanced senses are, they do have their downsides; he can feel, and hear every ache, fracture, cut in his body and boy, does it hurt. “You want me to lay down on your kitchen table?” The vigilante wasn’t entirely sure why he was questioning that when it was always better to get things over with as quickly as possible, but he can’t help it. Talking keeps him awake, too. “I might be in agreement with you there; I’ve sat through it but I’m not too sure I’m ready for the next level just yet.”

#tbh i have no clue what this gif is #its just rly cute #c: matt murdock