#because obviously my stupid mind thinks about suicide often | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literaila · 4 years

Text

hand me the heartbreak

spencer reid x reader

request: Would it be okay to request a fic where y/n works in the bau with spencer and is in love him but he's in love with maeve. Then when maeve gets kidnapped so is y/n by their greatest enemy or person who scares them and spencer and the team have to choose who to prioritize. Please make it angsty af but the ending is up to you

warnings: mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, panic attacks, mentions of drugs, shitty shitty writing, death obviously and angst.

There was a spark to Spencer's eyes.

A distinct spark.

He was smiling more often, he was more distracted, and every time the phone rang he jumped up in surprise and his eyes darted toward it.

Y/N had noticed.

She saw the far off look on his face when he didn't have anything to do, she saw how quickly he packed up his things when it was time to leave instead of staying late, she saw him checking his watch more and more and she’d noticed his more persistent declines when the team tried to invite him out.

She’d noticed the way he had been declining her calls more often, the way he wasn't constantly coming up with new things to say when they were talking about something. The way his information got shorter and shorter.

She’d noticed it all.

She didn't understand what was going on, she wondered if this was what he acted like when he was still dealing with his addiction when he was still doing drugs and the rest of the team had pretended like everything was fine. She hadn't been there the first time. She wondered if she was going to be there for the second.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him, god she did, she trusted him with her life. But she knew how cruel addiction was, and she’d seen family members struggle with it her whole life, she’d noticed the distant way they all had of acting. Y/N trusted Spencer and she would never want him to believe she didn't, but she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure if these signs, these little things she’d noticed, she wasn't sure if they were his addiction signs. And she wasn't sure whether she should talk to him about it or not.

She wouldn't blame him, wouldn't think of him any less, she wouldn't even blink an eye if she was right, but she didn't want him to feel like no one noticed- once again -like no one cared enough to notice.

She didn't want to notice and then not do anything about it. She didn't want it to be happening at all, but if it was she wanted to be there for him. Be there for him like he was there for her.

She wasn't sure what to do.

She was used to watching him, used to memorizing every step he took, used to taking in his little quirks, all the things that made Spencer… Spencer.

She wasn't used to him being so distracted.

She wasn't used to the spark in his eyes.

And so she had to go to someone, she couldn't just ignore the changes in him, so she went to his best friend.

She went to JJ.

“Is there something going on with Spencer?” she’d asked in the car, they were heading over to a victim's house, going to look at how the victim lived. It was right after she’d noticed Spencer fidgeting with something in his pocket, right after he looked far more nervous and fidgety than he ever did.

“What?” JJ asked, giving her a side glance than looking back to the road.

“Haven't you noticed the strange way he's been acting recently?” Y/N said, completely serious now.

JJ paused and thought for a moment, Y/N was turned in the passenger seat facing her, waiting for her reaction.

“Well, yeah, a little.”

Y/N felt her body relax. She hadn't been going crazy.

“Really? So what do you think is wrong, I- I hate to ask this but do you think… do you think maybe he relapsed?” She stumbled over her words, getting quieter and quieter with each letter that left her mouth.

“No,” JJ said softly. If Y/N hadn't been so lost in her thoughts of Spencer, she would’ve noticed the slight smirk on JJ’s face, she would have seen the humor in her eyes, she would have seen the secret JJ had been keeping from her.

“You don't think so?”

“He's acting a lot different than he did. More…” JJ paused and Y/N could feel the anxiety crawling up her stomach.

“More what?” she asked insistently.

“Well, Derek thinks that…” JJ smiled and paused again, teasing Y/N’s curiosity.

“JJ? What?”

“He thinks that Spence has a girlfriend.”

And there was a moment, a flicker of a moment, that was silent, a moment where Y/N wasn't thinking, breathing wasn't alive. There was a moment of complete utter silence.

It was a moment too long.

She felt JJ look over her, she could feel JJ’s curiosity at her silence, could feel the questions she wanted to ask pounding at her head.

She didn't want to tell her, she didn't want to tell anyone, she didn't even think it was true, didn't even know what she would do if it was.

She wasn't going to tell anyone.

“That's good,” she said quietly, her voice quivering over the words, her mind shaking with complete disappointment.

She ignored the way JJ kept looking over at her.

She ignored the way her heart had fallen into her stomach, being burned alive by acid.

***

Love.

Lovestruck.

That's what Spencer was.

The entire time, he’d been distracted because of a girl, he’d been spending time with his girlfriend, he’d been thinking about his girlfriend, he’d been loving her, and imagining her, and treating her, and taking care of his girlfriend.

The spark in his eyes was love.

He’d been loving his girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

He had a girlfriend.

Y/N was still trying to process it.

She was still trying to categorize his feelings in her head, trying to remember that every time he looked off, every time he was distracted, he was thinking of his girlfriend. He had a girlfriend and there wasn't anything wrong, he was in love he was in love.

There was nothing wrong with love.

At first, she’d been hesitant to believe it. She knew how much Derek teased Spencer, she knew the jokes they liked to play with each other, it wouldn't be a surprise if Derek had just been making something up, had just been wishing it was true.

So JJ telling her didn't make it true. She didn't actually know he had a girlfriend. At that point, it was just a rumor, it was just a rumor she’d heard and she didn't believe rumors, she didn't spend her days thinking about rumors.

It wasn't until,

Y/N was resting her head on Spencer's shoulder, he was flipping through a book while she sat there staring at his hands, watching him flip the pages. This was a normal activity for the two, they spent most plane rides home sitting together and relaxing, keeping their minds off of the horrors they saw every day at work.

She was breathing in and out on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his body, enjoying the pillow under her cheek. She felt so at peace, so in tune with everything, so perfect for that moment.

And then she remembered.

She had to ask Spencer about it, she had to know if she was believing something that wasn't even true, she had to know if she had to keep worrying about it, if she had to stop cuddling with him on plane rides home, if she had to back off because he was in love.

She had to know if he was happy.

She had to know if he loved her.

“Spence?” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. The rest of the team was asleep on the plane, exhausted from the case, but even with them asleep Y/N wasn't going to risk any of them hearing.

“Yes?” he said, moving his eyes from the book in front of him to Y/N’s hands fidgeting in her lap. He smiled at her and then moved his head to rest it on hers, as a sign he was listening.

Y/N wasn't sure how to start, wasn't sure how to tell him what everyone else thought they knew. She wasn't even sure if he knew Derek was sharing his secrets.

She had no idea what to say.

“I- um I have to ask you something.”

She was playing with the rings on her fingers, listening to Spencer breathe in and out, feeling the nerves in her chest and throat, telling her to stop talking.

She had to ask.

“Okay,” he said. Spencer was used to people asking him things, was used to being the person with all the answers.

A slight pause in the conversation, a slight silence where both of them were just breathing, a moment for Y/N to tell her nerves to shut up.

“Derek said… You have a girlfriend?”

Spencer's shoulder tensed underneath her head, she felt his jaw get tense. She hoped he wasn't angry.

“It's okay if you don't want to tell me, I understand I mean- I was just wondering and I-”

“Y/N.”

She stopped and moved her head from his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“You know how sometimes you have to ask me to stop rambling?” She nodded her head shyly “Well now it's my turn.”

Y/N turned away. Her nerves were back at full force, now even louder, telling her that what she said was stupid that what she thought was ridiculous that what-

“It's true.”

She looked up at him. His face was ablaze, his smirk was shy, and his eyes were lovestruck.

His eyes were lovestruck. He looked happy and excited and nervous and perfect and beautiful and he looked he looked he looked

In love.

His eyes were lovestruck.

There was a spark.

He had admitted it, he had confirmed the rumor, he had a girlfriend and it was true and everything she’d been thinking about was true, and he had a girlfriend, and Derek wasn't just kidding, he wasn't just teasing this time, and he had a girlfriend, and everything was fine, everything was perfect for Spencer he just had a girlfriend.

He really had a girlfriend.

Y/N didn't want to say anything, she didn't want to think even a word, she didn't want to even have a brain anymore, she didn't want to talk and she didn't want to think and she didn't want to be there, for the first time she didn't want to be with him she didn't think she could be sitting next to him anymore.

Her mouth betrayed her.

“Really?” she asked, and she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth, she wanted to tear her voice out and never speak to Spencer again.

How could she say that?

She hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

But when she looked up at him he was looking down at the floor and he was smiling, he was smiling down and she could see his dimples and his eyes were crinkled.

She’d never seen him smile like that before.

“Well, not really. She's not really my girlfriend.” and even with words that could’ve repaired Y/N’s heart, even with words that should’ve broken Spencers, he was still smiling, he was still smiling at the floor.

She didn't want to think anymore.

She couldn't stop herself from asking, “do you want her to be?”

And Spencer smiled more, he was smirking, and he looked like he was dreaming, and he looked up at her, his eyes much more expressive, much more different than Y/N had ever seen them before.

“Yeah,” he said.

Yeah, yes, yep, he did, he wanted her to be his girlfriend, he looked in love, he looked like a completely different person.

He looked so happy.

“What's her name?” Y/N asked, and she tried to ignore the bile in her throat that replaced the words, she tried to ignore the growing feeling in her chest that had been there all week, and she tried to ignore the smile on his face and tried to not think about that smile.

She listened.

She pretended to listen.

She pretended she still wanted to think, she still wanted to feel, she still wanted to breathe.

Maeve.

He looked so happy.

***

“She wants to meet.”

“Wait. You guys haven't ever met?”

Y/N listened quietly, confused, dreading Spencer's answer.

She assumed he shook his head because it was silent before Blake spoke again

“Aren't you curious what she looks like?”

Wasn't he? He was in love with her, and he’d never met her? He’d never seen her? Never touched her?

“I don't, it doesn't matter what she looks like, I mean, she's already the most beautiful girl in the world to me “

And Y/N stopped listening.

She shut her mind off, erased her presence, got rid of the aching in her heart, and went to go talk to someone else.

Terror.

Cold blatant terror.

Running up her spine, across her lungs, grabbing her by the throat and swinging her insides around.

It was everywhere. In her mind, in her lungs, in her veins, in her heart tearing her to pieces bit by bit.

It was making her feel like she had no idea what was going on. But she did, she knew where she was and she knew who was there, and she knew what she had done wrong, and she knew everything and she wasn't sure what to do, that was the one thing she didn't know.

God, she wished she knew.

Zugzwang.

It's a chess term.

It meant you were at a disadvantage.

It meant someone was going to die.

Being good at her job, it gave her the disadvantage in this situation, knowing every single person that had been in the room she was trapped in, it gave her the disadvantage, knowing who was waiting for something to happen in an office surrounded by people trying to figure it out, it gave her a disadvantage.

Zugzwang.

That's what he had said, that's what he had explained to all of them, explained to all of them while letting out his secrets, her secrets, their secrets.

She knew everything now.

She wished she didn't.

Disadvantage.

Zugzwang.

She looked around the room, recognized the walls, the paintings, the paintings scrawled across the floor, across the room, papers everywhere. She looked around and saw a desk, she saw an old desk, a bed-sitting right next to her, she saw a dresser on the other side of the room, she saw a closet door, one she knew was locked.

She wished she didn't know that.

Terror was running up the walls and spreading itself across the room, terror laced onto the bed, glued on there permanently, there was terror laced in the key she knew was in one of the drawers in the desk, terror hid in that key that opened the closet. There was terror laced on the chair she was tied to, the chair that was holding her down keeping her in place.

She used to sit in this chair.

Zugzwang.

There was terror in her face, in the tape that was keeping her mouth shut, the tape keeping her voice held hostage, her feelings trapped in. It was in her hair, that was in knots around her face, and in her eyes blocking some of her view.

On a normal day, she would’ve blown it out of the way.

There was terror laced in her eyes, her eyes that felt like they were being held down, held down and kept there so she couldn't open them, terror in the way she wondered who was holding them down and why they wouldn't let go. There was terror all around her, keeping her trapped in four walls, keeping her trapped in a box. A box that she really really wanted to get out of.

There was terror in the way she could barely breathe, could barely find the strength through the pain in her ribs to breathe.

There was terror in the way she couldn't remember why her ribs hurt so much, why they were stabbing her repeatedly every time she tried to just breathe in.

She didn't know what was going on.

She did know.

She did.

What was going on?

“Y/N! Come swing with me!”

“Can’t Diane. We have school.”

Diane frowned, as Y/N turned around to get her backpack, pulling her arm out of her little sister's grip and walking towards the door.

“Why won't you ever spend time with me!” Diane demanded, stomping her foot as Y/N stood there with a disinterested look on her face.

“Diane, we have to go, Mom’s going to be upset if we’re late.”

“No! I want to swing.” The little girl turned around definitely, walking outside to the old swing set that rested in their backyard.

“Diane! We have to go.”

The little girl in question turned around and stuck her tongue out at the other girl. And then she ran towards the swingset, jumping on it and starting to swing.

“Diane!” Y/N yelled, sighing, and putting down her bag to go get her. “I wish I had a new little sister,” she muttered under her breath.

Y/N thought about what had happened, thought about the last thing she remembered but her mind was blank and her memory was only coming back in bits and pieces.

Why couldn't she remember anything?

She struggled against the zip tie holding her down, she pulled and tried to kick her legs out of it, trying to find a way to cut it. She knew screaming wouldn't do her any good, they were too isolated and she would be too quiet.

She knew that eventually if she tried enough she could get out.

She’d been trained for this, she knew how to get out. She did.

“Poor big sister,” someone said, walking into the room, letting some of the terror crawl out of the crack in the door, they walked around the bed and over to the chair, where Y/N was still trying to kick her way out of, still trying to just get out. “Don't like not being in charge?” They asked, pouting their lips and smirking at Y/N.

She darted her eyes around, looking for something new, anything new, anything to hint to her how to get out, how to leave as quickly as possible.

The only thing she saw was the gun they were holding.

She felt the terror fall into her voice, felt herself try to scream, felt her body use its last method of self-defense, nothing could escape, and the terror was still trying to climb out of her mouth, still trying to leave her, to get out.

The only thing she heard was a laugh, a quiet chuckle, that was arrogant. One that Y/N thought she had heard so many times before, so many times with so many different Unsubs, unsubs that thought they were better than anyone, Unsubs that were arrogant.

She felt her eyes roll back into her head.

“Tsk, tsk, Y/N. Shouldn't an FBI agent like you have escaped by now?” the person in front of her taunted, and they were waving the gun around, pacing in front of Y/N.

She tried to stay calm, tried to not let her body react to the words.

She couldn't.

There was another laugh, another chuckle, another reminder of who was in front of her.

She wished she could speak, wished she could yell and scream and try to use her interrogation skills, and she wanted to speak, she wanted to speak more than she ever had before.

But,

There was tape in front of her mouth, keeping her emotions trapped inside her body like a prison, kept everything she felt locked deep inside of her.

It felt like she was about to explode.

“Oh,” they said, in mock surprise, only making Y/N want to scream more. “I forgot you can't speak.” they pouted, “poor baby.”

Y/N looked at them, stared right into their familiar eyes, looked right at them.

She glared, she glared for herself, she glared for the house that had been overruled by terror, she glared for the terrified people in the other room, for the people that were waiting for her.

She glared right at them.

And with that, Diane lifted her hand,

And hit Y/N’s head with the barrel of her gun.

Zugzwang.

“Our correspondence started 10 months ago.”

10 months of not knowing something was happening, 10 months of watching from the sidelines while he started getting distracted, 10 months of letters and phone calls once a week, 10 months of being in love, 10 months of watching Spencer change.

10 months of Spencer being happy.

It was alright. It was only 10 months.

“She wrote me a compliment on my "Journal of Behavioral Psych" article, and for 3 months, this is how we communicated because she was scared.”

All it took was one compliment, one letter, one tiny moment in the millions of moments Spencer spent with Y/N. It was just one thing.

And he was in love.

“Scared of what Spence?” she asked softly.

He looked panicked, his eyes were wild, and his hair was greasy, and he was pacing, he was pacing around Hotch’s office while the two of them watched, watching him deteriorate with every word.

“She didn't know, only that he was dangerous,” he said, his hands flying wildly as he explained. His voice was calm, but it was easy to tell that the stress had gotten to his brain, that anxiety was burning him from the inside out.

He went on to explain telling them about the letters, the phone calls, he explained that it didn't matter where she moved, that there was a stalker following her somewhere.

He explained how he knew she was missing.

His girlfriend was missing.

His girlfriend was missing, and he was ripping at the seams.

And Y/N was going to have to help find her. She was going to have to help Spencer find her, find the girl he barely knew, the girl he had never seen, never mentioned to any of them until recently, the girl whose last name was a mystery to all of them, the girl who he didn't have a clue about, the girl he was still in love with despite that.

Despite not knowing what she looked like, despite not knowing the little important details that made a person, despite not knowing anything about her except the small details she was willing to share with him.

The girl who Spencer loved.

Maeve.

When Y/N woke up she was in a different room.

She was sitting next to two different people.

She was sitting next to Maeve. She was sitting next to Spencer's girlfriend. She was sitting next to the person she’d been thinking about for months. She was sitting next to Spencer's girlfriend.

She was sitting next to her, she was.

She was going to meet Maeve before Spencer ever could.

She coughed and felt her throat tighten. It felt like she’d been screaming for hours, felt like someone had rubbed her insides on rough gravel.

She wouldn't be surprised if that had actually happened.

She coughed again, looking around the room, avoiding eye contact with the girl sitting next to her, she looked at the man who was sitting in a chair across from her, she took in the detail of his face, his black eye, the cut under his lip. He looked to be asleep. She had heard about him back at the office, she was glad he was alive.

She was glad Diane hadn't killed anyone yet.

She surveyed her surroundings, looked for ways to escape, but found nothing but a covered up window and three people.

She coughed again, trying to get the tickle out of her throat.

“Are you alright?” asked the girl next to her.

That voice. It was soft and sweet and caring.

That voice.

It was the one Spencer had fallen in love with.

She paused, felt her heart catch, felt her mind stop. Before this, she’d been planning to avoid ever meeting her, avoid telling anyone how she really felt, she was going to avoid the truth, and the truth involved the girl sitting next to her, so she’d been planning to avoid her.

That plan wasn't looking up.

She turned to look at her, finally turned to see the girl that had caught Spencer's attention, turned to look into the eyes of the person she’d been competing against in her mind for months.

She was beautiful.

It was that simple.

“Yes, I’m-” she paused to cough again, the words, and the person in front of her, taking her breath away. “I’m fine.”

Maeve just stared at her. She looked confused.

Y/N knew she was probably exactly like Spencer. She was probably surveying Y/N’s body language, and her symptoms, probably trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with her, how hurt she was.

Just like Spencer.

She chose to ignore the fact that she already knew everything about the girl sitting in front of her.

“You’re Maeve.”

The girl sitting next to Y/N looked shocked.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m Spencer’s friend.”

There was a noise from the corner of the room. Both of them turned to look at it, stopping their conversation immediately. It was silent for a minute, and when there was nothing else, they both turned back to each other.

“Which one?” Maeve asked.

Y/N who was staring at the zip tie around her ankles, trying to figure out if she cut and burn it off, looked up.

“What?” she asked.

“Which one of Spencer's friends?” Maeve asked again, less insistent this time.

“I’m Y/N.,” she said, looking away from Maeve over to the man sitting next to her, still asleep. She briefly wondered if maybe he wasn't actually alive, but quickly lost that thought when she saw his chest rise and fall.

“Why are you here?” Maeve asked, just for a moment, reminding Y/N of Spencer.

Always so curious. Always in the need to know.

She was about to answer when there was another bang, another bang, and then a door opening.

Both Maeve and her stared at it terrified, waiting to see who would walk through, if there would be another victim if they were going to have to meet someone else?

When just Diane walked through the door, they both sighed in relief.

Y/N watched her sister walk over to them, watched her examine the zip ties that were keeping them there, watched her smile just slightly.

She hadn't seen her in so long.

Diane looked up at her and watched her staring. Her smile only grew wider, only got more and more threatening.

Standing up she placed a finger under Y/N’s chin, lifting her head and forcing her to look at her.

“Are you ready to have some fun?” she asked.

And then they were all awake.

“Spencer!”

Y/N had watched him storm out, had seen the anger, the frustration on his face. She wasn't going to let him walk off to be killed.

He was a victim too.

He’d walked out of the building, out of the place where all of his team members were working to find his girlfriend, he’d ran out of there and came outside.

Y/N had been lucky to catch up to him.

“Spencer! Where are you going?”

Spencer stopped and turned around. His face was desperate, and his eyes were hard. He looked like a complete stranger. One Y/N had never seen before.

“I had to-” he waved his arms angrily towards the building “I had to get out.” He said, sighing and looking down at her.

She could feel the pain bouncing off from him to her, she could see the wanting, the needing in his eyes, and she had no idea what to do.

“Spence,” she said, trying to get his eyes to relax, to get him to calm down even just a little so he could help. “It's going to be alright.”

He scoffed at her, furious and disbelieving. “How can you just say that Y/N!? Maeve has been kidnapped. She's gone!”

“Spencer I know and we’re-”

“We aren't doing anything! Her life is worth more than a bunch of people sitting around a conference table and talking about her!”

He threw his hands up and turned away from her, there was heat in his tone and anger radiating through his body.

Y/N wondered what he was going through, she wondered how she would feel if he- if someone she loved had gotten kidnapped. She wondered how she would deal with her emotions, she wondered if he could really help them, or if he was too involved.

“Spencer. We are good at our jobs.” she enunciated every word, trying to get them through his head. “We know what we’re doing.”

He sighed and looked down at the ground, yelling at her had gotten some of his anger out, but he was still desperate, still so desperate to find her, to know where she was, to do something other than sitting around and just remember all the things he loved about her.

“I know Y/N. But- I just, I need her. I need to see her.”

The words ripped out the stitches in Y/N’s heart one by one, tore her apart slowly. She wondered when the anesthesia would kick in.

“I know Spencer, I get it-”

“No you don't!” he said, his anger back, hot and flashing. “You don't understand Y/N! You haven't ever loved someone like I love Maeve, no one has! You don't know you just don't!” He looked at her, he looked at her differently than he’d ever looked at her.

Like he was disappointed.

And he walked away, not wanting to hear anything else she had to say, just wanting an update, anything that would prove to him that she was okay.

And Y/N felt so crushed, felt so disappointed, but so so frustrated.

How did she prove to him, how did she show him, how did she help him.

She threw her hands up and groaned, needing a moment to feel nothing but the emotions she’d been holding in.

And then it all went black.

Bobby was dead.

Bobby was dead and Diane had killed him.

Bobby was dead and her sister had killed him.

There was nothing but terror.

Surrounded the two of them, the two of them that were left.

Diane was terror, she inhabited the emotion, she displayed the properties, she terrified them to no end.

When would it end?

When would Spencer show up, when would they finally find them, when would someone come and break them out of the prison of terror they were locked in, the prison that was keeping them hostage was keeping them stuck. Stuck in four walls, stuck next to terror herself, stuck in place not able to move.

Y/N couldn't move.

She wondered when it would be over.

She looked at Maeve, stared at her, observed her watching Bobby’s dead body. She watched her face fall and her muscles tense up and she watched as her eyes darted back and forth and looked around the room, she watched as her eyes became terrified while looking at Diane.

She knew everything now.

She knew how Spencer felt about her, she knew how Maeve felt about him, she knew about the man Maeve had abandoned and replaced with Spencer.

She wanted to hate her.

She wasn't supposed to hate her.

She couldn't hate her, couldn't hate someone that made Spencer so happy, made him happier than Y/N had ever seen, no matter how much Maeve broken Y/N to pieces, tore her apart at the mere thought, no matter how much just saying Maeve’s name hurt her, she couldn't hate her.

She wanted to.

She was trying to remove her emotions, trying not to focus on that, because it wasn't the most important thing, it wasn't important at all.

There were many more important things happening.

Her sister had just killed someone. Her sister had shot a man in the head, had stared at her while she did it. That was important. That was terrifying.

She was terrified.

“What are you doing Diane? Why are you doing this?” She asked she asked as she stared shocked at her sister, at the little girl who used to be so happy, she stared at and tried to remember the last time she had seen her smile.

She didn't like the way she was smiling now.

And then she stopped smiling.

“Why am I doing this?” she scoffed, laughing at the question. “You took something from me! You both did.” she turned to glare at Maeve. Then she turned back to Y/N and laughed again. “Aren't you just the perfect daughter? The smartest, the prettiest, an FBI agent even!” she laughed and paced around her. “You’ve always been better than me. Always one step ahead of me. And I’m not going to let you have the upper hand anymore.”

She walked to the other side of the room and Y/N looked over to see Maeve watching her, studying her.

She looked away. Terror filled her body. She had to do something.

“Diane!” she yelled, hurting her voice even more. “You don't have to kill anyone. That's not going to make you happy,” she said, softer now, talking to her just like a big sister, just like she always had.

It only made Diane even madder.

“It made Mom and Dad happy!” Y/N winced, thinking about the theories her sister had come up with after their suicide, she thought about Diane had refused to believe it, refused to believe anything but the ideas she had conjured up in her mind.

Y/N had been terrible to her then.

“I’m sick of you acting like you know better than me,” Diane said, smiling again.

And then, for the third time that day, it all went dark.

Y/N was gone.

That much was clear.

Spencer had no idea where she went, no idea what had happened after he left her outside, no clue where she could’ve gone.

He didn't know anything.

And he couldn't think, he just couldn't think enough to figure it out. He wished he knew something, wished he knew anything, wished he could just think.

There was nothing.

Just overwhelming thoughts and bile running up his throat.

It hadn't taken the rest of the team long to figure it out, hadn't taken them long to wonder where she might have gone, to wonder what had happened to her. While Spencer was dreaming of a perfect world where none of this was happening, the rest of the team were frantically trying to get a hold of Y/N.

She wouldn't have gone off by herself, she was smart enough to know that was a sure way to get someone else in trouble, and she wouldn't have taken off on a lead without telling anyone. She would’ve told someone if she was going somewhere. She just would’ve.

She was gone.

It was simple.

JJ called her, she called her cell over and over, listening to Rossi and Hotch theorize over their unsub, she called and she called.

There was no answer.

Derek tried next, he tried to ask Spencer, but came up with nothing except a broken genius who was lost in the cycle of desperation. He tried to call her, but only got her voicemail. Over and over.

She still wasn't answering.

Garcia was the last, Garcia was the last to try. She called her cell, and when Y/N didn't answer, she tried tracking it, refusing to let Y/N ignore her. She typed and she typed.

There was nothing.

It wasn't until Garcia rushed into the conference room, ran as fast as she could to her family, it wasn't until she barged in the room out of breath, it wasn't until then Spencer woke up.

Y/N was gone.

“Diane! They killed themselves! They couldn't deal with us, they couldn't deal with anything! Stop with your stupid fucking theories. They’re dead. It's simple. Just stop.”

She was terrified.

She was terrified as she woke up, as she groggily heard Maeve ask for it all to be over. She was terrified as she opened her eyes to look at her, to stare at the girl, to beg her to stop talking. She was terrified as she watched Diane take Maeve, as she watched her drag the girl out of the room, as she dragged her away and left Y/N all alone. She was terrified as she heard nothing, thought of nothing except for the girl that her sister had taken.

Where did they go, where did they go?

Diane wouldn't kill her. She wouldn't kill her right now. If she wanted to get Spencer's attention she would need her, Y/N thought, she thought and she rationalized with herself and tried to remember that Diane still needed Maeve.

Diane wouldn't kill anyone she wouldn't kill anyone, this wasn't her sister, she wouldn't kill anyone.

Maeve would be fine.

They would all be fine.

She was terrified.

She was terrified as she watched Diane drag Maeve back to her chair as she forced her to sit down.

She was terrified as she yelled at both of them. “What's going on? What happened?!?” when no one answered she felt her blood boil. “What's going on!?”

Neither of them said anything. Diane went to go grab something.

Y/N stared at Maeve, begged her with her eyes, and she was met with a quiet “shh” and nothing else.

She felt like a child, she felt like they were both hiding something from her, she felt like she was the dumbest person in the room.

She couldn't tell that she was having a panic attack, couldn't recognize the symptoms she had seen so many times on so many different people. She couldn't tell that she was hyperventilating, that her head was filling with air, that her body was pounding and she was shaking. She didn't realize what was happening.

She could only panic in her terror infused body.

And then Diane came back, she came back holding a phone and Y/N still had no idea what was going on, still didn't know what was happening, still didn't know why she felt like she was about to pass out, she had no idea what was wrong with her, what was wrong with her.

And then Diane went over to Maeve, she went over and held the gun to her head, and whispered something in her ear.

Maeve started to dial on the phone.

And then it was silent, it was silent for a moment, just a moment with the dial tone ringing out, the dial tone and then

“Hello?”

Spencer.

Spencer Spencer Spencer Spencer.

Y/N sobbed out his name.

What was wrong with her, what was wrong with her.

Diane looked at her angrily, motioned for her to stop crying, came over to her, and whispered that she was a child in Y/N’s ear.

And she couldn't stop crying.

What was wrong with her?

And then Diane groaned, she groaned and Y/N could feel her move from behind her, she could feel Maeve staring at her, could feel all of it, could feel all the terror rushing up to her brain, pounding in her chest.

And she still didn't know why she was acting like this.

She heard a soft voice, a quiet question

“Are you guys okay?”

She heard Spencer.

And then Diane hit her in the head again.

And it was darkness.

She woke up to Spencer's voice. She woke up to him walking in the room.

She woke up to,

“Can I take the blindfold off?”

She looked up. She opened her eyes and looked up faster than she’d ever imagined herself doing.

Spencer was here, why was Spencer here, he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be alone.

Where was his vest, where was his vest?

He didn't have his gun on him.

It took her only ten seconds to realize both of these things, it took her only ten seconds to realize he was giving himself up so that Maeve would live, that he was giving himself up.

It only took ten seconds for her heart to start racing, for her head to start burning with the pain that was knowledge.

It took him ten seconds to breathe out a quiet “Hello?”.

Maeve was the first to talk. “Hi.”

And then it was quiet.

“Y/N?” he asked, and she was listening, she was listening to him, but it didn't sound like a question. It sounded like he needed something, it sounded like the voice he always used when he wanted to tell her something away from the team.

She had no idea what it meant.

So she quietly said “I’m here.” and she watched Diane frown at her. She watched her sister glare over at her, and she didn't say anything. She took that as a warning.

She watched as Diane ran her hands over Spencer, she watched as he winced, as Maeve winced, but she was still watching.

She hated watching.

Diane was smirking, she was blissfully smirking as she ran her hands over his chest, and Y/N wasn't listening to her words, she was focused on Spencer on Maeve, she was focused on why he was alone.

She knew the rest of them were outside.

She reminded herself she’d been trained for this.

“It took me a long time. To be honest, I was distracted by your thesis.” she heard Spencer say, and she heard Maeve's breath catch.

She wondered if Maeve was feeling how she’d felt for months.

But she wasn't paying attention to that for long, because she noticed his hand moving, she noticed him moving his hand by his side, the hand that was closest to her.

She watched his hand.

She realized what was going on.

“You know sign language?” she’d asked, surprised that they shared that in common.

“When I was younger I used to read books on it. Hard to forget.” Spencer said, smiling as they both walked back to the car.

“Haha.“ she mock laughed, pushing him with her shoulder.

He just chuckled.

They both moved away from each other, opening their doors and getting into their cars.

Y/N had only been at the BAU for about six months. But she’d created a lifetime of friendships, she knew each and every one of her team members, she already felt like she’d been there for years with them.

She had a special relationship with Spencer. She admired him and looked up to him in a way.

“I guess it'll be our secret way of communication then,” she teased as they both buckled their seatbelts.

Spencer looked over to her, and he smiled, his dimples popping up on his face.

She wondered why he made her feel like this.

“I guess it will,” he said.

Years ago. Years ago they’d had a conversation about it.

He was using sign language.

He was telling her something.

She watched Diane move back surprised, her sister moved to the other side of Spencer so she could see his face. Y/N was still looking at his hands.

“You read my thesis?” Diane asked, shocked, almost proud.

“I did. You know, I think your writing puts you on the same plane as Jonas Salk. I’ve already sent it to the NIH.”

“Flattery is not going to get you out of this.”

Y/N wondered how Maeve was reacting, she wanted to check to make sure she was okay, to make sure nothing had happened to the girl that made her best friend so happy. She wanted to check and let Spencer know that she was fine, but she couldn't, she couldn't because she was still watching his hands.

Save. Save. Save.

“I’ve arranged for your freedom.” Spencer stopped moving his hands and Y/N caught back onto the conversation, she knew interrogation tactics, she knew how to get something out of someone, and she knew that what he had just said was a lie.

He would never let her just get away with what she’d done to Maeve.

His hands started moving again.

“The federal government doesn't make deals with people like me.”

“Not true. Nazi’s were recruited for the Manhatten project. Mafia bosses are regularly put into witness protection.” Spencer said, taking a deep breath. Y/N wished he could see her, wished he could see Maeve.

She hated the way his voice was shaking.

“If what you have is valuable enough, the federal government will work with you.” he continued, “And what you have is very valuable.”

Save her. Save her. Save her.

Maeve.

He was asking her to save Maeve.

“And what doctor do I have doctor?” Diane asked, and Y/N could hear the genuine curiosity in her voice, the hopeful dialect in her tone.

“You have a brain that doesn't play by normal societal rules.” Spencer swallowed. “And I know that all your life the people you care about the most keep leaving.”

People like Y/N. Y/N had left her sister, had called her crazy when she’d questioned their parent's death, had ignored her for years, had made her feel like she wasn't enough like she was crazy.

She was a terrible sister.

She was still terrified.

Save Maeve.

“There's a part of you that thinks it's because of that brain. Well, I'm here because I'm not going to leave you.I'm here because…” Spencer stopped, and Y/N could see where he was going, could feel the hinting in his voice, could feel it all. “I just... hope that I can get the chance.”

Diane gasped. Her sister gasped.

Y/N had to stop paying attention.

She had to stop listening, she couldn't bear to hear her sister so defenseless, so vulnerable, and she didn't want to hear Spencer, she didn't want to know how worried he was.

She had to figure out a way to get them out of there. She had to do what he’d asked, she had to help the person she loved the most, she had to help him save the person he loved the most.

Maeve.

She looked over to her, she saw the frown on her face, the slight jealousy in her eyes. She tried not to sigh at the way she remembered what that felt like.

She wasn't listening to them anymore.

She looked around the room, thought about where the rest of the team would be, thought about when they would decide to come in. Would it be soon, or would it be when they heard gunshots?

She’d been trained for this.

It would be when they heard gunshots. If they had trusted Spencer enough to let him go in alone, they would trust him enough to get them out safely.

There were two FBI agents in the building. They could get everyone out safely.

She’d been trained for this.

She was thinking, she was trying to figure out a way to get out of the zip ties that were holding her down, trying to figure out a way to get Maeve out of the building.

She didn't start paying attention until she saw Diane go over to Maeve.

Y/N could hear Spencer speaking but she wasn't paying attention to him, she was trying to figure out a way to get Maeve out of Diane's line of fire, trying to figure out a way to get out of the straps holding her down.

And then she did.

She dug at the zip ties, remembering all the information she’d learned about them, remembering how she’d been taught to break out of them, she looked at the wall behind her, and slowly started backing her chair towards it, not making a sound.

She was watching Diane move around, watching Spencer talk, but she was focused on the wall, she was focused on the zip tie she felt loosening around her wrist. She was focused on the feeling of her feet digging against the straps.

And she heard a gunshot.

It was a gunshot.

And she knew.

She was almost out, she was almost out, she was almost out, she was almost out. Almost almost.

Save Maeve.

Her hands were loose and Spencer was fighting Maeve for the gun.

Her hands were moving to her ankles and she heard people storming in the room.

Her hands were undoing the zip ties and she saw Spencer get shot, she felt her heart fall, her mind raced, she felt her hands shaking, her hands shaking.

She had to save both of them.

Save her, save her.

She tried to loosen the other zip tie.

She heard Spencer talking, she looked up momentarily to see he was fine, he was just fine, she saw Maeve being held by Diane, and she saw the gun pointed at her skull.

Save her, save her, save her.

She saw the terror in Spencer's eyes.

She finally understood.

She was rushing to get the other zip tie off, but it wouldn't come off, it just wouldn't come off and Spencer was still talking, he was still talking, and the zip tie was still on and she needed to save her she needed to she needed to.

Save her.

And then she heard.

“Thomas Merton.”

And she thought back, remembered the name, remembered the book Spencer had been carrying around for weeks, had been taking with him everywhere, had been re-reading over and over.

And she looked at Maeve, she looked at Spencer, she saw the fear, the terror in both of their faces, she saw it in Maeve’s body language.

No. No. No.

Maeve was giving up.

No.

Save her.

She struggled with the zip tie.

She heard Diane yell at Spencer.

Get it off. Don't give up.

Save her.

“He's the one thing you can never take from us.”

Save her.

Don't give up don't give up.

She got it off, she got it off and she struggled to stand back up, she struggled to get back up, struggled to stay on her feet.

She was too late.

She heard a distant “No.” from her sister.

She looked up.

“Wait!”

She was too late she was too late she was too late.

Save her.

A gunshot rang in the air.

She was too late.

Spencer sobbed.

Diane and Maeve laid on the ground in a pool of blood.

She was too late.

It was silent, it was silent.

Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.

She screamed.

She screamed and cried out, stumbling over to the both of them, stumbling over to Maeve, the girl who was loved and to Diane, her sister.

She was her sister.

Her sister was dead.

She was too late.

“No.” she gasped out. She gasped and she was panicking, and she looked up and Spencer was sobbing, and everyone else was staring. “No!” she screamed, because this wasn't happening, she wasn't too late, this wasn't happening this wasn't it wasn't happening.

She started hyperventilating, she started screaming, gasping out words, and looking up at everyone.

And Spencer was crying he was crying, and why why.

And he was staring at her.

“No! I’m sorry!” she screamed, her voice coming out in a distant shriek, she was gasping and she was looking at the two dead bodies on the ground she was watching them, she was waiting for them to move.

Save her.

And someone was grabbing her, and someone was grabbing Spencer, and she screamed, and she looked, and Spencer was walking away.

“No! No! No!” she screamed again, trying to shake out of the grip of whoever was holding her. “Spencer no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

And he was gone, he was gone he was gone. She was too late

She was gone.

She was.

Save her save her save her.

She was too late.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

This was all her fault.

Later at the hospital, she learned she’d been drugged.

By her sister.

She didn't need to know.

She had a concussion and a broken rib.

JJ and Garcia stayed with her. They explained to her what had happened while she was gone, explained to her how they saw Diane kidnapping her on building security cameras, explained how they’d learned about her sister, learned about her having a sister. They both said they were shocked. They explained the deal Spencer had made, explained what had happened while she was passed out.

She couldn't feel anything.

She was taking in the information, she was processing all of it.

She couldn't feel a thing.

At the crime scene, she’d been given a sedative, that she’d been having a shock attack and she wouldn't stop.

They explained to her that she could take a couple of days off of work. That she didn't have to get back immediately, that they would leave her police report for later, that none of it matters now. The only thing that mattered was her getting better.

She just stared at them.

And before they left she asked one question, “Hows Spencer?”

The looks on both of her friends' faces had been enough to answer.

She didn't say anything else.

She stopped talking for two weeks.

***

She hadn't talked to Spencer in a month.

It had been a month of solitude, a month of not talking to anybody, a month of spending every day in her house alone, a month of not talking to him.

It was her fault.

She called him every day. She called him, and she left him messages, and she talked to him and asked him how he was and called and called.

And he never answered.

She’d gone to his apartment a couple of times, just in the beginning, just to make sure he was okay. She never said anything when she went, just knocked on the door and waited for an answer, and then she slid a letter under his door and walked around all the gift baskets on his doorstep, and left.

She’d stopped doing that as soon as she’d heard he’d gone back to work.

Penelope had been texting her. Had been calling her at odd times of night, had kept her updated on everything that was happening.

She still hadn't talked to anyone.

Still hadn't said a word to anyone else.

After leaving the hospital she was drained, of energy, of hope, of motivation. She locked herself inside and she didn't talk to anyone, she didn't say a word to anyone.

Except for Spencer.

She wrote him letters and dropped them off at his door.

But she didn't talk out loud.

After two weeks she’d decided to check her text messages.

She read messages about how much everyone loved her, read messages about everything that had happened with the team while she was gone, read messages about how she didn't have to come back until she was ready, that they understood how painful it was to have a family member die.

She wished she could explain to them that that wasn't it.

She wished she could explain that she had mourned the loss of Diane a long time ago, that she hadn't had a sister since her parents had died, she wished she could explain how she’d always felt like Diane had died with her parents.

She hoped her sister was happy now. Wherever she was.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that she had failed Spencer.

The problem was that she was so in love with Spencer, that she felt like she was falling apart because she hadn't talked to him, the problem was that he didn't know, that she loved him so much it made her heart fall apart, and she hadn't been able to do the one thing he’d asked.

Save her.

The problem was that she loved him.

Save her.

So she didn't answer any of them. None of the messages, none of the calls.

She hoped every day she would get a message from him, she hoped that when he finally talked to her, when he finally said something, she would find the words that seemed to be lost in her mind.

He didn't answer.

It’d been a month.

She only talked to herself.

Only repeated the messages that her mind was sending her, only voiced the words out loud so she knew she could still talk, that she still remembered how to talk.

She listened to Penelope explain to her everything, listened, and listened.

Never said a thing.

Everyone was starting to get worried, and when they were worried about her, they asked Spencer. Spencer who didn't know a thing, Spencer who just shrugged his shoulders and got back to work.

He was working too much, Penelope said.

Hotch messaged her asking her when she was coming back to work, hoping that she would at least answer that.

She didn't.

Derek messaged her asking about a case, he figured that if that had worked with Spencer, it would work with her too.

It didn't.

Rossi sent her personalized messages. Pictures of him making pasta, pictures with the team, pictures of dogs because he knew she loved them. He always started his messages with “Kiddo,” hoping it would make her smile.

She didn't answer him either.

JJ texted her about Spencer, told her that she understood, told her that she was always there for her.

Nothing.

Blake, who she hadn't known long, she messaged her about old literature, something they had talked about before everything had happened. She never said anything about her being gone, never told her that she should come back.

Left her on read.

And Penelope called her, called her and told her everything, talked to her about grieving families, and the horoscopes in the magazine she was reading.

Y/N listened to that.

She always smiled for Penelope.

And Spencer.

Y/N was always texting Spencer, was always sending him letters through the mail, leaving her house just for him.

He didn't answer.

For a month.

And when he did, when she finally saw a voicemail from him, finally woke up to something new, finally felt her heart come alive, her brain start running, felt herself wake up for the first time in forever, when she finally saw the message he had left just for her, when she saw it, she fell apart all over again.

“Please stop calling. I don't have anything to say.”

Two sentences, not enough words, barely anything.

And she was laying on the floor, she was lying there in pieces listening to his voice over and over again, she was on the brink of falling asleep, falling asleep and never waking up, because he had answered her because she had finally felt like she dared to speak when she saw his message because they had finally made a breakthrough.

And she wasn't going to speak ever again.

The words had fallen with the pieces, and her voice had been taken by the disappointment that ran through her body, the disappointment in Spencer's voice.

She had no idea how to pick herself up.

No idea how to get up off of the floor and move, and breathe, and speak and do anything.

He didn't have anything to say to her.

She had failed him.

She had failed.

It was all her fault.

She had to leave.

Before she left.

Before she opened the door to leave it all.

Before it was all over.

She left a voicemail.

“Spencer. I know- I know you said to stop calling. And I will- and I am. I will. I promise. If that's what you want, I’ll do it. But I have to- I have to apologize. I have to leave you with a message. I’m so sorry Spencer. I know how much you loved her. I know how important she was to you. If I could do anything to take her place I would. Just to see you happy Spence. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I am. I’m um I’m leaving you with this message. And I won't bother you again- I promise you won't hear from me again. I’m leaving Spence. But I had to say that before I did. I have just one more thing, um, just uh. One more thing. I promise. I have to tell you I understand. Because I do. I understand. I know how it feels to lose someone you love- I mean I… I lost you Spence... So. I know. That's um. That’s it. I’m going. It’ll be okay…. I hope. For both of us. Bye Spencer. I love you.”

And then the dial tone.

***

Two years.

It had been two years since she’d left.

Since she’d put in her letter of resignation, since she’d transferred to the New York office.

It had been two years of keeping in touch with Penelope, two years of working with a completely new team in a completely different unit.

It was a new start.

It was good.

***

Spencer had been listening to it every day.

He had never deleted it.

He just couldn't.

He wasn't over the shock that had come with listening to it, never gotten over the exhaustion in her voice, never got over the stumbling, the nerves, never gotten over any of it.

So he didn't delete. And he told himself he wouldn't until he was over it until he could finally think of it and feel nothing.

She had said goodbye to him.

Just him.

He had asked everyone, had asked if they’d all gotten a voice mail too if she had left a message for everyone.

She hadn't.

Everyone had been shocked when they found out she was gone. With the exception of Hotch. He knew from her resignation. But nobody else.

Except for Spencer.

And he’d never gotten over that.

And he’d never deleted it.

Two years ago, his mind had been filled with grief, every day was a constant cycle of Maeve, a constant cycle of missing her, of worrying about her, of the thought that he’d never gotten the opportunity to tell her he missed her.

And a year ago, that had started to fade.

He’d come to an acceptance. He’d accepted her death, knew that she was happy, wherever she was, she was happy. He knew that his love for her would never fade, but he also knew that she knew that.

He would never forget her.

But he would stop obsessing. Stop worrying about her every day, stop blaming himself for her death. He had managed to stop it all.

And another year went by.

But he wasn't able to delete the voicemail, the one souvenir he still had from her, from her. The girl that had said goodbye to him, the girl that he had blamed for so long.

He regretted that every day. He regretted never talking to her, never saying anything but that he didn't want her messages, he didn't want her pity. He regretted the guilt that he’d heard in her voice every time he listened to her message, he regretted the fact that he had never told her that it wasn't her that, that he was an idiot, but it wasn't her fault.

He’d never gotten the opportunity to tell her that.

And the message never left his brain.

The message was always there, sitting in his inbox, a memory that he couldn't forget, a memory that he wouldn't delete from his phone.

“I know how it feels to lose someone you love- I mean I… I lost you, Spence... “

It played in his head every day, on repeat.

He analyzed it, went through every word, and figured out what it meant, what she was trying to say to him.

After two years he knew exactly how she had felt when she’d sent it to him.

He spent a year denying it, denying the message that was clear in the words she was saying, in the words that repeated in his brain, over and over, in his mind, in the “I love you” she had told him she felt.

She had loved him.

She said she felt like she had lost him.

And he’d lost her.

Physically at least.

Sometimes he still felt like she was living in his brain, living with her in his mind reminding him of how much she meant to him. Of the love he had denied until he thought it was gone.

He didn't understand why he couldn't delete the message.

All he knew was that, before everything, before Maeve, before the grief, before it all, he had loved her. He had hidden love for her. He’d kept it a secret.

All he knew was that he thought it was gone.

He didn't understand why he couldn't delete the message if that was true.

He didn't love her. He… had gotten over it.

There were too many questions, too many things that Penelope couldn't answer for him, so many things he didn't know about her anymore, so many things that he wondered every day. So many things he wanted to say to her.

So many things he had to say to her.

So he knocked on the door.

And she opened it.

And she was there.

Finding her in New York was hard.

At first, he had tried to call her, tried to call her like she had tried to call him years ago. She had changed her number.

And then he’d asked Garcia. Asked her where he could find her, where she was. Garcia said she didn't know. That Y/N had asked her to keep it strictly to email. That she wasn't allowed to track her down.

And then he’d worked alone.

He’d used his years of experience, his years of tracking people down.

And google.

He’d used google.

It had only taken one search to find her. She was one of the most esteemed members of the FBI in New York. She had hundreds of articles written about the awards she had won, about the lives she’d saved, about the incredible work she did there.

Spencer felt his heart speed up at her picture.

She was doing amazing.

And then, after one glimpse of her, one moment of looking into her eyes across a screen, after one glance.

He had to find her.

She was staring at him shocked.

It had been two years.

She’d suffered through working, and fighting her PTSD, and not blaming herself for everything she did, for every little thought she had. She’d suffered through the loss of all of her friends, of having to restart completely, all alone. She’d suffered through the grief she thought she didn't have for her sister and the memories that came with it. She’d had to deal with unreasonable amounts of pain and self-doubt. She’d suffered through it all.

It had been two years.

Spencer was standing on her doorstep.

He looked so different.

“Hi,” he said, awkwardly standing in front of her while she looked up at him, while she stared at him with wide eyes.

She let her jaw drop.

Spencer looked away from her eyes awkwardly, already overwhelmed with just her appearance.

“Who are you?” she asked, while she was still staring at him, looking him up and down. She couldn't believe it.

“Y/N. It's Spencer.”

She just shook her head.

And then she turned around to head back to the living room.

She hadn't been expecting anything like this. It was her weekend off, her weekend with no interruptions, her weekend with nothing. She was barely dressed, in just old sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt. She hadn't been expecting anything.

He was there. He was there and he looked so different, and he was there.

There had to be something wrong with her. She had fallen asleep. This was a dream. Pinch me, she thought.

Spencer took her walking away as a sign he could come in. While she walked to the living room, he stepped in and closed the door quietly. He took a moment to take off his shoes before following her.

She’d placed herself down on the couch. She sat there with her head in her hands. He stood in front of her and didn't say a word, wanting her to direct the conversation before he said anything.

She looked up.

“What are you doing, Spencer?”

He cleared his throat, surprised at her voice, “I um, I need to talk to you.”

She stared at him some more, in disbelief. What was he doing here?

“Spencer, it's been two years. I don't think there's anything left to say.” She sighed and looked away from him.

She didn't want to deal with this. It had been two years, she had picked herself up, she had started over again. She didn't need old memories, old failures to come back, she loved Spencer, she probably always would, but she didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to do any of it.

“We have to talk Y/N.” He insisted. Sitting down next to her.

She looked back at him, “Spence…”

“No. You just need to listen okay? I need to talk to you.” She was about to open her mouth and protest, tell him that he was crazy, but he looked at her, he just looked at her and she shut her mouth.

“Look, I blamed you for a long time…” she stared at him. “I did. I blamed you. But- you weren't- it wasn't your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Spencer, she died because I did get there quick enough. I think anyone would consider that my fault.”

This. This is what she didn't want to do. She didn't want to remember the death she had caused, the disappointment Spencer had felt in her, the failure she had been to him.

She had gotten the girl he loved killed.

“Y/N. No. No.” He said and he grabbed her hand.

She felt her heart skip a beat.

“You didn't do anything wrong. It was never your fault. I was stupid for blaming you, and I’m so sorry.”

“Spencer-”

“I listen to your voicemail. All the time.” He blurted out. Impatient with the situation.

“I… What?”

“Sorry. I know that was weird.” she laughed a little and he smiled. “It's just… the voicemail you left, I listen to it. So much. I can't- I can't stop thinking about it.”

She stared at him. Confused. Worried. She didn't want to think about that voicemail let alone talk about it. She didn't want to think about anything.

Why was he here?

“Did you mean it?”

She focused back on him, lost in thought. “Mean what?”

“You said you loved me.”

You said you loved me.

I love you.

I loved you.

“It was a while ago Spencer.”

He sighed and shook his head. “It was two years ago. Did you mean it?”

She looked at him shocked at how intrusive he was being. He looked the same- and so different -he sounded the same, but he was different. Spencer would’ve been too scared to ask her this two years ago. She wondered if he was scared now.

She felt her heart beating, beating at the memory of how much she loved him, of how devastated she’d been.

“Yes.” she paused, looking away from him. “I did.”

“Oh,” he replied, looking at the floor.

Spencer didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to explain to her, he didn't know how to explain to himself, this conversation had taken a turn he hadn't expected.

“It doesn't matter though.” Y/N said, breaking his train of thought.

“What?” he said looking back up at her.

She sighed. “Spencer, my sister killed the girl that you loved. I couldn't save the girl that you loved-”

“I told you that wasn't your fault-”

She continued “I couldn't do the one thing you asked me. I couldn't do it. I failed you. It doesn't matter if I loved you. It doesn't matter.”

She stood up, wiping her sweaty hands on her sweatpants and walking to the kitchen. She wanted to distract herself from the fact that the only person she had ever loved was sitting in her apartment.

“It matters to me,” Spencer said, standing up and following her to the kitchen.

“Spencer…” she said for what felt like the tenth time. She was tired of repeating it, tired of repeating the words, the truth, she had been trying to forget for so long.

“Y/N why wouldn't it matter to me? I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left. Since I heard that stupid voicemail.” he gestured with his hands, displaying the frustration he felt. “And I can't stop thinking about you.”

Two years ago, the words would’ve been perfect.

Two years ago, she would’ve swooned at the words leaving his lips, would’ve fainted that the possibility that he was thinking about her, thinking about her, and that he couldn't stop.

Two years ago was so different.

She almost wished she could go back.

She was so different.

“Spencer, that girl is gone. She's gone, her sister died, and she failed her best friend, she loved her best friend, and then he was gone too, and she left, she fell apart, she's gone.”

Spencer was silent, he was silent, and then he looked at her.

“It doesn't matter to me. When I saw your picture, when I looked at you on my computer screen, I loved her. I can't stop thinking about her. I don't care who you are, all I know is that you make my heart feel so much different than it ever has before. I can't stop thinking about you, I can't think about anything else.”

And his voice was warm, and he was desperate for her to believe the words, the words that had been running through his head since he’d first seen her. He amazed her just by being there.

Y/N didn't know what to say, she didn't know what to do, she didn't know what else she had to say, she didn't know whether to believe him or not, she didn't know what to say, didn't know what to say...

What should she say?

“Really?” she blurted out, her filter gone, her curious mind stuck on the words. The words she’d been dreaming of since she’d met him.

He always made her feel like she didn't have the words.

“Yes.” he insisted, walking towards her, and looking down. He smiled just for a second, smiled at how small he looked, smiled at the thought of all the amazing things she’d done since she’d been gone, smiled at how familiar she was to him. “I have missed you every day. Even before you left I missed you.”

And it was like two years ago. It was like she was still desperately in love with him, still stuck in his thoughts, in his voice, in the way he did everything. She felt like the younger version of herself, a completely different version, she felt like nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

“Spencer.” she choked out, the words, the feelings, getting caught in her throat. “Maeve died.”

And she felt disgusted by the sentence, she felt like she was nothing at just the two words she hadn't said to anyone but herself in two years, she was nothing, she didn't have the words, and she didn't have the strength, and maybe she hadn't picked herself up, because someone whole didn't feel like this.

And Spencer was standing there looking at her.

He frowned at the tears in her eyes.

“I know,” he said, wiping her cheeks, and moving her chin up so that she would look at him. “I’ll miss her every day too. I love her. I think I always will.” Y/N closed her eyes, closed her eyes, and waited for the nightmare to end, she wanted it to be over already. “But.” and she opened them, and she looked at him. “I love you.”

Was she awake? Was she alive. This wasn't real this, he didn't, he hadn't, he wasnt., this wasn't real. Real things didn't feel like this.

Was she still falling apart?

“Spencer,” she said, all her other words laid out on the floor, too far away for her to reach.

“Y/N. I love you, and I know it's too late, I know it's been two years but- I love you, and I don't know how else to feel.” He laughed. “I’m a genius and I still don't know.”

She giggled a little bit. Through her tears.

And then she stopped.

And she looked into his eyes seriously.

“Spencer, it's been two years. And I’m still struggling, I still can't get through a day without-” the tears were in her eyes, and the feeling was in her chest, pricking at her heart, and she still couldn't stop thinking about what she could’ve done.

“Y/N.”

Spencer was staring at her, he was staring at her, and his eyes, god his eyes, just looking at them made her feel like she could be okay.

How could she ever be okay, how could she have ever been okay without him?

He was standing next to her.

“Y/N. I can leave, I can go, if this isn't what you want, I can leave.” He looked right into her eyes, became familiar with her face once again. It was insane that he had ever been able to stay away from her. “But I want to be here, I want to be with you no matter how many things you think are wrong with you. You were there for me when I was broken. If that's what you think you are,” he moved the hair out of her eyes “I’ll be there for you just the same.” and he smiled at her again. “But I don't think you’re broken.”

He didn't think she was broken, he didn't see anything wrong with her, he was going to be there, he was going to be there, he was going to.

“Or I can leave?” he said, his brows furrowed after she hadn't answered.

And she shook her head. Immediately. Hesitation was gone.

She didn't have the words she didn't have any of them; they were sprawled across the floor, but she could still feel how he always made her feel, she could still feel his love bursting through her chest, burying everything else under the strength of it.

“I love you, Spencer.”

And he laughed.

She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him laugh.

She couldn't remember any time in the last two years she had thought about him without remembering the tears in his eyes, the pain in his body.

He was in front of her.

“I love you too,” he said.

And she had a new image. He didn't believe she had failed him, he believed he loved her. He had just said he loved her.

“I’m still in pieces Spencer,” she warned, she was going to give him one more way out, one more opportunity to leave.

She still didn't want to believe this was happening.

“Y/N. You can be in pieces and still love me,” he said softly, right in her ear.

And she was going to let herself. She was going to let herself love him, for the first time, she wasn't going to think about it, she wasn't going to think about anything except his hands on her waist, and the feeling in her chest she hadn't felt in so long.

She hadn't felt like this in so long.

And the words, the ones she’d been searching for since that night, the words she’d always imagined Spencer giving to her, those words,

They were there.

He handed them to her.

They were simple.

“I love you.”

my masterlist here

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sokkagatekeeper · 3 years

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Do you think Zuko is stupid? It's just something I've seen a lot and always wondered if people truly believe he is or whether they were just making fun and myself being horrible with social cues just truly misunderstanding what they are saying.

ok i’m actually glad we’re talking about this bc i’ve been struggling to express my thots in this matter. when we (or i, for one and at the very least) say that zuko is stupid we are mostly referring to the fact that zuko is throughoutly socially incompetent in part due to his poor socialization, yes, but in part because he’s just a teenage boy. in essence, zuko is no more stupid than aang or sokka are.

the problem is that zuko faces ableism since he’s a child. he obviously has some brand of learning disability, and he struggles with reading people/putting his readings in actual words. zuko is often rash and impulsive, because he’s been pushed to the limit his entire life where he had to run for it to survive. this drives him to desperation to actually reach the level people expect from him, often contradicting himself, failing to make himself understood, or failing to understand others, being literal to a fault. another problem is that zuko needs plain explanations, and iroh, whom zuko spends most of his time with and relies on constantly, speaks almost entirely in riddles and proverbs. zuko’s “stupidity” comes mostly from his nurture, his circumstances, and the ableism he faced as a child.

but zuko is not stupid, rather his environment was not suited for the type of intelligence zuko presents. zuko understands how azula works perfectly fine. he does say, plainly, “azula always lies” even when this isn’t true, because azula manipulates the information she has in order to achieve her goals, which sometimes involves lying but not always. as zuko cannot put these thoughts in words, he settles for azula being a liar even though he knows it goes deeper than that (the mantra is also a reminder for himself and the preservation of his self-worth, since shown during “zuko alone” he associates azula’s lies with her telling him ozai was going to kill him, but that’s for another day.) zuko is actually very intelligent, creative, perceptive, and clever. he has the mind of an artist, he’s a quick-thinker, practical, he pays attention to the details of the smaller picture that other people often miss.

a clear example of this is zuko’s firebending. throughout the show zuko struggles with his firebending in the militaristic and industrial manner he was taught he should firebend. azula is excellent at this type of firebending, and she’s considered a prodigy because of this, while zuko is clearly the underdog in this situation and a big part of the reason we can safely assume zuko struggles with learning disabilities. but the thing with kids that have learning disabilities is that in most cases what they need is but a different approach to the subject. upon meeting the firebending masters, zuko learns a different, more spiritual, more artistic and fluid discipline of firebending. his technique and strength improve significantly after he and aang meet the dragons, so much that in fact he’s almost equal on foot with azula, which he had never been before.

zuko is stupid in the way teenage boys and gay people are stupid. he’d go on a suicide-prison break for a cute boy, he doesn’t know how to talk to people his age, his attention span and his patience are significantly limited, he contradicts himself quite a lot, he’s impulsive and he follows his heart more often than not. but that zuko is kinda dumb doesn’t erase the fact that he’s also... really smart

#this is a mess but i do love zuko sm. idiot son #zuko #analysis #asks #anon #n

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starglow-xx · 3 years

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(About the brother!atsushi) aRE YOU READING MY MIND MISS?! Because that has been on my mind for MONTHS. TYSM For writing it was amazing!! If you don't mind, may I request (if requests are open) atsushi, still an older brother, but with a sister that's 10-13 yrs old? It's totally fine if you don't wanna do it. Keep up the good stories, ily mwuah!

*sobs* you’re so kind thank youu 🤧🤧

i wrote this a bit differently i hope that’s okay anon! at first i planned for this to be mainly abt atsushi and the reader, but i decided to add in relationship hcs with the agency bc i ran out of ideas

if you guys liked this don’t worry! im planning a special part two for this one so be the look out for it hehe

atsushi with a tween! sister

ft. the armed detective agency

like in my baby sister hcs, you’re still the most important thing to him period

the two of you got picked up by dazai and kunikida when he was 18 (obviously) and when you were 12

for a 12 year old, you were a bit small bc of malnourishment (which makes atsushi feel so bad) so both dazai and kunikida thought you were a bit younger than you actually were

they assumed you were about 9-10ish

you and atsushi both share a favorite food !! chazuke :)

so when kunikida treated the two of you, he made sure you got more bowls bc like i mentioned above, he feels really bad that you were malnourished and under weight

(don’t bring this up but kunikida felt bad too hehe)

when dazai went with your brother to the warehouse, you were with kunikida

imagine the surprise of the other ada members when kunikida came in with a little girl dressed in rags that popped out from behind him

kenji was the one who vocalized his thoughts

“kunikida-san you have a daughter?! wow! i didn’t know that! :D”

when you found out your brother was a tiger, you were a bit concerned but you were actually kind of excited

you were even more excited when you found out the two of you were going to be taken in by the agency

anything was better than the stupid orphanage

and besides!

you got a tiger for an older brother and a bunch of other super powered agents to take care of you! who could want anything else?

at your age, you’re very impressionable and can be influenced easily so atsushi makes sure to teach you more in depth of good morals and the importance of kindness

his heart swells with pride and relief when he catches you being kind to others

pride bc he’s proud that even after all the two of you have gone through, you still ended up being a good kid and having a bright view of the world

and relief bc he hasn’t failed as a big brother

pfftt like he could ever fail

but please, from time to time reassure him that he’s perfect and the only big brother that you’d ever want bc he rlly needs that kind of validation

with his salary and savings, he tries to buy nice things for you

what a sweetheart 🥺

he saw you eyeing that one dress at a store window? fast forward abt a week and half and it’s inside a pretty gift bag for you

you wanted to try that dessert from the nice bakery? that’s dessert after dinner at one point

but other than buying you things, he sets money aside for you

like all the time

(y/n), here have this, you might need it”

“but nii-san you just gave me—”

“take it”

#1 spoiler

also your #1 confidant and source of physical affection

you tell him anything and everything (except crushies and those kinds of things)

atsushi loves it when you talk abt your day and he can see the big smile on your face and the sparkle in your eyes

it gives him the strength to keep going 😖😖

the two of you aren’t as touch starved as you’d probably think, but that’s only bc the two of you had each other

in your opinion, no one can match the hugs of your big brother

and it got even better bc YAYY he has tiger arms now ٩(◕‿◕)۶

if you ask, he’d carry you around too hehe

you also get nightmares quite often so he’ll always be there ready to calm you down, talk if you need to, and rock you back to sleep

god i love him 🤧🤧

atsushi will do everything in his power to protect you and make sure you get to grow up happy, supported, and loved

port mafia attack? oop he’s already taking you to the nearest escape route

someone is starting to harass you? they just got suckered punched into the next week

you want to go out to have some fun? he’ll go ask the president for a day off

you’re not feeling well? he’ll take another day off and take care of you

whatever you want to do, he’ll do it with you! (as long as it’s within reason)

will always be your #1 supporter! and he’s the president of your fan club hehe

he loves you so so much and will do anything for you; your life and happiness will always be more important to him

you are his reason to keep going

agency head canons !!

atsushi is your big brother, but kunikida is most definitely some sort of father figure

everyone can see it

except kunikida of course

kunikida scolds you lightly if he thinks your manners need work or if you make a mess in the agency

you listen to him of course and in turn as some sort of a reward, he’ll give you pieces of stationary

he always gives you the nice, good quality kind and you’re over the moon

atsushi adores it when you come running to him showing your new notebook or fountain pen and blabbering what you’re going to do with it

sometimes it isn’t even as a reward for being a good child; he’ll just give it to you and he’ll say smth like “i noticed you’ve used up your last notebook quite quickly, so here’s another one” or “did you run out of ink? here have this then”

he usually has a soft spot for children in general, but he most definitely has a soft spot (or a thousand) for you

yosano is kind of like a motherly figure to you

she gives you the guidance a mother should and goes on shopping trips with you!

atsushi always gets dragged along by you, but he thinks it’s worth it seeing you look so happy

yosano being a doctor also tries to teach the things you should know, or things that would be helpful to you

she’ll teach you the basics of cooking, sewing, how to treat a cold/fever, etc

also gives you excellent advice 1000% of the time

“remember (y/n)-chan if someone hurts you come tell me and then i’ll chop them into—”

“yOSANO-SENSEI DONT TELL HER THAT—”

fukuzawa is like a father to most in the agency but you see him more as a grandfather figure

bi weekly tea and gossip sessions hehe

along with cat talk!

most of the time though, it’s just you talking and him listening to you, but the two of you enjoy it nonetheless

“and then kunikida-san ended up crashing into a pole and dazai-san started to laugh at him and i did too because it was really funny but we ended up getting scolded—”

“hmm i see...”

he’ll let you stay in his office as he fills out paperwork; you’re usually doodling or drawing in your notebooks

sometimes he’ll meditate and you’ll join him, but 4/7 times you’d fall asleep

you always wake up with a blanket over you

dazai is like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

frequently takes you out with him when he ditches work

walks in the park, eating at uzumaki so he has the excuse of treating you so he doesn’t have to pay his tab avoiding kunikida and sometimes chuuya and akutagawa, all that fun stuff

also tries to not talk abt suicide in front of you especially if it’s just the two of you alone

he knows that you mean the world to his pupil and that said pupil would probably hate him for putting suicide inside your brain

he teaches you random but useful things like how to pick a lock, how to steal kunikida’s notebook if you’re looking for some information, how to sweet talk your way out of things, etc.

is also the one to tell you that if you ever get a significant other to introduce them to the agency first

he always wants all of your gossip; some of them work pretty well for blackmail

“dazai-san! dazai-san! did you know that kunikida-san lost his glasses and he was looking for them for nearly an hour when he was just holding them the entire time??”

“woah really (y/n)-chan?! hey hey can you say it again into this recording device so kunikida-kun would believe me when i tell him—”

always ends up giving kunikida a heart attack when he says that you’ve been with him all day

ranpo is also like a cool but a highly concerning and kind of high maintenance uncle

will share some of his snacks, but don’t push it or you might not get anything at all

loves it when you compliment him

if you tagged along with him and your brother on a case, he will show off to impress you

“...and that’s how the crime happened”

“UWAHH RANPO-SAN YOU’RE SO COOL”

atsushi is lowkey and kunikida is highkey stressed that ranpo’s eating habits will rub off on you

“ne (y/n)-chan do you wanna try this highly caffeinated drink and this concerning amount of sugar filled snack?”

“can i really?!”

“rANPO-SAN NO—”

ranpo definitely does stuff like that on purpose

the tanizakis are like siblings to you!

a weird set of siblings but siblings nonetheless

the two of them adore you and think you’re precious

atsushi definitely knows how to do your hair whether it’s long or short but he got even better at it when he asked the two

hehe braid trains are definitely a thing + kyouka and kenji (and maybe even dazai)

sometimes you have sibling swap days

you’re with junichiro for most of the day and atsushi is with naomi

strange i know

each of the tanizaki siblings try to make it fun bc they know that the two of you did not at all have a happy upbringing

junichiro likes spending time with you by taking you out to different places that naomi likes to frequent

like the mall, different stores and restaurants, the park, places like those

naomi does the same thing with atsushi so if you ever bump into them, you go out and eat together :)

besides atsushi, the next one in line who spoils you the most would be junichiro (and yosano & kunikida both coming in at a close third)

he honestly can’t help it; you remind him of how naomi was when she was younger

and besides

he’s always been a sucker when it came to the happiness of a little sister

“would you really buy this for me junichiro-san?!”

“of course! don’t worry about it” :)

wanna talk abt boys/girls/celebrity crushes things like that? naomi is your girl

you feel a bit embarrassed to go talking to yosano or your brother abt that and kyouka does not know a thing abt them either

“uwahh naomi-san look at all these people in this magazine! they look so good!”

“right?! but of course onii-sama is still the best—”

you get along with kenji and kyouka quite nicely being roughly the same age as them; they’re also like siblings!

just pure, wholesome vibes from the three of you

you’re over the moon when she finds out that kyouka is staying with you and your brother

atsushi is twice as happy seeing you talk your mouth off and finally having a girl around your age to talk to

“do you think demon snow can change how she looks?”

“hmm... im not sure...”

you and kenji talk abt anything and everything

he even teaches you how to take care of plants!

sometimes the two of you are kind of in the same boat bc you don’t know much abt yokohoma being stuck in the orphanage and kenji doesn’t know much abt cities in general

“wait where are we again kenji-san?”

“ah we’re close to the ports! but im not really sure how close because i don’t know what the symbols on this sign mean”

“don’t worry! neither do i!”

bonus things!

yosano was kind of too late teaching you abt you know what

“NII-SAN IM BLEEDING IN BETWEEN MY LEGS”

you’re sobbing in the agency’s bathroom and atsushi is panicking trying to get you to open the door

“Y/N?! H-HOLD ON LET ME GET YOSANO SENSEI”

ranpo overhears and cackles making everyone around him confused

suddenly atsushi bursts in the agency basically on the verge of tears rambling incoherent sentences abt the bathroom, you, and blood

it just clicked for everybody in the room

(im going to pretend that kenji has sisters back home so that atsushi is the only one who remain oblivious here hehe)

atsushi is genuinely confused and sort of concerned that no one is freaking out with him

yosano waves her hand saying smth like that she’d take care of it and junichiro pulls atsushi to the side to talk to him

fast forward like half and hour and dazai and ranpo are cackling on the looks of both of your faces

honestly not sure who’s more traumatized, you or your brother

“why does this have to happen” :(

“ne ne (y/n)-chan!~ you’re too young but at some point you’re not going to have it!”

“uwahh really dazai-san?” :D

“yeah! but first you have to have ANFK—”

next thing you know your ears are being covered by your brother and dazai is thrown across the room by kunikida

you know

the normal

you’re twelve and have never gone to school, but the agency takes care of that

it’s too dangerous to go to school so they teach you what’s necessary and whatever else they can

kunikida takes care of math (obviously)

yosano takes care of science/biology/anatomy/health (whatever you wanna call it)

ranpo even dragged poe to help you with english

atsushi even got lucy to help you out with english too!

as tanizaki and naomi used to be students, they give you their old work books and they try to teach you all the other subjects

sometimes kyouka and kenji are there learing with you too!

sorry if there’s some errors! i’ll read through it again later :)

and as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

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beclynn-herondale · 3 years

Text

Similarities that I see between Jace and Céline

(these are just my thoughts. Press read more to see them.)

↑ this chaotic energy. You think he got it from Stephen? Nah.

Her anxiety reminds me of Jace's. And like their thought process was similar in ways.

They both struggled with belonging.

Céline corrected Robert when he said "Just like a warlock. Always for sale."

And Céline was like "Always on sale."

Again Jace energy.

Céline knew Amatis, Stephen's wife. At least, she knew enough. Amatis was sharp-tongued and stuck up. She was opinionated, argumentative, stubborn, and not even that pretty. There were also rumors that she still secretly associated with her werewolf brother. Céline didn't much care about that—she had nothing against Downworlders. But she had plenty against Amatis, who obviously didn't appreciate what she had. Stephen needed someone who would admire him, agree with him, support him. Someone like Céline. If only she could make him see that for himself.

Jace's smile was as bland as buttered toast. "Go on, go after him. Pat his head and tell him he's still your super special little guy. Isn't that what you want to do?"

But he couldn't look at Simon without wanting to kill someone.

“And even back then, in that stupid coffee shop. When I saw you sitting on the couch with Simon, even then that felt wrong to me—i should have been the one sitting with you. The one that made you laugh like that. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. That it should have been me.”

↑ Their bitterness, anger, jealousy, and envy towards the person who had the person they wanted and in general has the same energy in my opinion.

They both were angry and jealous of people who had it better or they considered to be good—Like, that was why Jace hated Simon so much at first, because Simon was everything Jace thought he'd never get to be, he just didn't realize it.—And Céline was angry of the kids in the academy who had loving parents and good childhoods, and weren't damaged like she was—they both were angry because somebody was someone or had something they thought they'd never get to be or have. (In Céline's case she never actually got it, not really.)

They both like to wander around when upset.

They both aren't too fond of the Silent Brothers. And I think that has to do with their head being full of certain things they don't want others to know, and the Silent Brothers speak in your mind, almost like they're reading your thoughts.

They're both observant, which could be from growing up in abusive and toxic environments but could also just be they're observant people.

They both can tell when someone is off. We see this when Céline sees through Valentine's mask. Jace often saw through the lies of people in TMI and still does.

And the both hate being pitied. Like it angers them when people pity them, we see that with Jace quite often in TMI, but we see it when Dominique says this: “Every Downworlder in Paris knows about poor Céline Montclaire, wandering the city like a murderous little Éponine. We all feel a little sorry for you.”

And then Céline thought this: Céline lived with a steady, secret simmer of rage, but now she felt it boiling over.

↑ Again, the above reminds me of Jace. He lived with anger that he kept under control but would boil over when triggered.

They're both sensitive. And get hurt easily.

“I wish I could be more like you,” she admitted.

In what sense?

“You know, just shut off my feelings? Feel nothing. For anybody.”

There was a long pause, and she wondered if she had offended him. Was that even possible? Finally, his cool, steady voice spoke.

This is a wish you should dispense with. Feeling is what makes us human. Even the most difficult feelings. Perhaps especially those. Love, loss, longing—this is what it means to truly be alive.

“I think—my father was sorry he had a parabatai,” he said. “Now I have to go live with a man my father was sorry about. I don't want to be weak, I don't want to be sorry. I want to be the best.”

If you pretend to feel nothing, the pretense may become true, said Jem. That would be a pity.

↑ They both wished to feel nothing, and had Jem tell them that wasn't as great as they thought. But they both still desperately wanted to not feel.

When she was a child, her parents had often refused her iratzes after training sessions, especially when her injuries were caused by her own mistakes. Let the pain remind you to do better next time, they told her. All these years later she was still making the same mistakes.

“No! it's better for your parents not to know it happened at all. It was just bad luck that one of them got me. I'm a good fighter,” Jonathan protested sharply.

“It's my fault I got hurt,” said Jonathan. “I know excuses are for incompetents. It won't happen again.”

↑ this bit on making mistakes, or when getting hurt.

Céline always carried a misericord blade.

↑ Reminds me of someone else who always carries blades.

They both were aware of the consequences of putting a rune on someone that they weren't 100% sure were Nephilim, and it was different circumstances but they did it anyway. Jace gave Clary her first rune and Céline gave Rosemary her first rune (I think).

More furious at her own instinct for mercy. After all, her parents had never shown any to her. Her parents had done their best to teach her that mercy was weakness, and cruelty was strength.

Jonathan said the word "weakness" with horror. Jem wondered what a man who had drilled a boy to fight like that might have considered weakness.

↑ Mercy, kindness, gentleness, etc. Was taught as weakness to them both growing up.

They both hate being predictable. Kinda like when Rosemary knew Céline would keep her secret. Céline hated that she knew that. Remember in CoA when everyone was guessing that Jace said no to Valentine, and he hated it.

They both never really felt like they were ever a kid. Because again, the environment they grew up in forced them to grow up faster than they should have. Which is why Jace didn't think of himself as one when he threw himself into battle.

like Jace I don't think Céline liked to upset the balance of things, meaning they don't pry and don't pressure. Which often gets them labeled as "not too bright" or "unobservant" they're both observant, they just don't say it out-loud. Jace is definitely like this, but I see Céline as this too. Stephen said she always needed to be told what to do, but I don't think it was that exactly, I think she just didn't like to upset things. Which growing up in an abusive and toxic environment does that. But I think it's also just part of who they are.

That sweet and obedient daughter of the provençal countryside. They knew how devoted she was to her parents. Such a dutiful daughter.

↑ Valentine often called Jace his obedient son. I see Jace in this part as well. Sebastian called him Valentine's "sweet boy."

She could close the door on the past, start again. She could choose a life without pain, without suffering or fear.

But who would she be without pain?

This also reminds me of Jace. Obviously he did end up choosing to walk away from Valentine. But there are times he doubted, because in reality he himself didn't know who he was without the pain he'd experienced, without his past with Valentine. And they both believed that the pain and suffering had made them stronger. Jace later knows that isn't true, but I see the similarity there.

They're both said to have vulnerability about them that made you wan to protect them. To keep them safe. Jocelyn said you couldn't really hate Céline, and I think it's kinda the same with Jace.

Both of them refused to ask for help. Thinking they could do it all on their own.

Céline could tell how much it hurt—and how determined the woman was to reveal no pain. She knelt by her side. Rosemary flinched away. “Let me see—I can help."

“Tell me what happened first.” She tried to yank her wrist back, but his grip was incredibly strong. “I can help you.” — this is in Clary's pov.

↑ Their willingness to help the pretty stranger they didn't know.

They both often felt they didn't have a choice in some things.

They both felt achingly alone at some point. And very much misunderstood.

The thought of losing the only family they ever had scared them, and they were willing to do anything to keep them. Even if in Céline's case hers wasn't that real.

They were both said to be beautiful, and breakable. Fragile almost. These were Jocelyn's words. That beautiful things were easily broken.

They both grew up denied of love and care.

Céline had low self esteem in a lot of areas. We often see Jace as the confident character who doesn't have insecurities or low self-esteem. but he does. Jace didn't like himself, his looks don't play a part here, he didn't like himself. He actually didn't feel good enough or worth much, that's why he made so many superiority jokes, because he truly didn't feel good enough but had to make everyone believe he did. Céline didn't feel good enough either, but she tried not to let it show.

Their childhood gave them bad coping mechanisms and suicidal tendencies. They both self harmed in ways, believing that pain made you stronger is one of them.

We often look over the fact that while some of Jace's mental struggles did come from the trauma of his childhood and growing up around war, that he was already at a high risk with a mother who experienced similar things. Because if you have a parent who has mental illness the offspring are at higher risk of developing one. And his childhood didn't help with that.

And we know what they both truly wanted was to be loved and safe. Really. Jace always thought he wanted to fight all the time, but by the end of tmi he realized he just truly wanted to be happy and left alone, he just wanted Clary and his family. Céline wanted that too, but she never got it.

You all realize they would understand each other, right? Like if Cassie ever did something where they somehow met, Céline would understand Jace and he would understand her.

Céline would have never raised Jace with anything but love and care. She would have made sure he never knew a childhood like hers. But he did. He ended up knowing what that was like. And it would have broken her even more to know that.

But she would probably stab Valentine in the face, which I'd like to see.

Friendly reminder that Jace looks like her around the eyes (no I won't shut up about this.)

There's probably more but until we learn more we won't know. Just remember he may be a Herondale but Céline is also there.

@khaleesiofalicante I tagged you 😎

#celine montclaire #celine herondale #jace herondale #jace lightwood herondale #tsc #the shadowhuter chronicles #tst #the secret treasons

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

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Pt.24 "Hunting for Bunnies"

CW: creepy/intimate whumper, stalking, discussion of homicide/suicide (explicit), injury mention/description, blood (explicit), strangulation mention, gun/gunshot mention, character death mention, drugs/alcohol mention, prison mention, tics/tourrettes (descriptive), ptsd/nightmares, panic attack, chloroform use, self injury, x-acto knife (brief), gag/restraints, discussion of past whump, vomit mention (brief), conditioned whumpee, stockholm syndrome-type language (let me know if I missed anything!)

Healing was a good look on Elias. As weeks went on, his smile returned to his face, his bruises slowly melted away, the numerous scars scattering his body faded into small pinkish lines. He cut his hair a little shorter, dyed a streak of blue through it. He and Tyson got matching tattoos, little rain clouds and with lightning bolts on their forearms. They were happy, very obviously so.

August wanted to kill both of them for it.

He wasn’t entirely jealous (he was, so jealous he was blood thirsty every second of the day), he was more so just frustrated that Elias thought he was able to be happy without August. He was stupid. Adorable, but stupid. He didn’t know that he needed August to survive. He didn’t know that being away from each other was killing them both. Rather, he didn’t know how much the distance was making August want to kill them both. It would have to be a grand gesture, a murder suicide so beautiful there’ll be copycats. He had to talk himself out of those violent fantasies several times a day, hold himself back from getting out of his car while he followed Elias and just grabbing him. Maybe he’d strangle him again, watch the life drain out of his face, watch him slip into the dark abyss of death. Maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he’d take him home and torture him until he was broken beyond broken and then put him out of his misery. Single shot to the face, like he’d made Elias do to Sawyer so long ago. And then...August guessed he would do himself in after that. He was tired of being in and out of prison, and if Elias didn’t exist anymore, then what would be the point in living? Maybe that was the thought that made him change his mind, when his hand was on the door handle and he was getting ready to make a huge, violent, romantic scene. Maybe the idea of a world without Elias was just too sad, and he knew he didn’t really want Elias dead. He just wanted him away from Tyson.

They were both entirely oblivious that August was even close by, let alone watching them all the time. He was renting a room at a motel a couple streets away from Tyson’s apartment, but he was hardly ever there. He spent most of his time parked near their apartment, which was conveniently on the first floor and had a large window in the living room that was facing the street. There was also a porch in front, where Elias would occasionally sit outside late at night and smoke cigarettes or blunts. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes Allen was there with him. August often thought about how hilarious it would be to walk up to both of them at times like that, just to see them both unravel with fear at the same time. A few nights, when Tyson is working and Elias is all alone, August sits out front in the grass next to a tree and just watches Elias inside. He can see him smoking in the living room, he watches him pass out on the couch, sometimes he goes into the kitchen, comes back with nothing. When he goes to bed, August watches him lock the door, and it pisses him off so badly he wants to throw a rock through the window. He doesn’t want to go inside, he’s letting Elias heal again, he’s respecting his space, for the moment. Still, knowing that Elias actively wants to keep him out stings. So, he holds off breaking in for as long as he can.

It’s just a shame his resolve isn’t so strong, not when it comes to Elias. He can’t stay away from him anymore, he knew it the second he bought a plane ticket back here to find him, despite the very real possibility of being arrested any second. On the plane, he came to the conclusion that he had absolutely no control when it came to Elias. He couldn’t stay away from him, he couldn’t restrain himself when he was hurting him. He loved Elias, loved him so much it was driving him insane. Things just didn’t make sense when they were apart, August could hardly form a coherent thought that wasn’t about Elias, or how much it hurt to only be able to look but not touch. Though, when he broke in he wasn't able to touch Elias still, but it was at least closer than being separated by a window.

Tyson and Elias left the house, August wasn't sure where or when, but when August finally left his motel and pulled up to their place, the car was gone. It would be easy enough to find them, August had Tyson's number still and could get his location in minutes, if he wanted. Instead, he tested the door handle. It was unlocked. He guessed if they weren't there it didn't matter to them whether someone broke in or not.

August didn't make it obvious he was there, not the first time. He went through some of their things, put everything back in its place. He took one of Elias's shirts, a pair of his boxers. He didn't think either of them would notice, which bummed him out because he wanted Elias to know he was close by.

The next time he snuck in, it was when Elias was there. August had held himself off for as long as he could, he'd been in LA for 28 days already and he hadn't been closer than six feet from him the entire time. So when Elias smoked a huge bowl and went to bed without locking the door, it was like he was practically inviting him in, and August just couldn't help himself. He let himself in, he smoked what was left in Elias's bong, and he walked around the house for a little bit, waiting to make sure Elias was actually asleep before he went to see him.

Something about watching Elias sleep had always made August go disgustingly mushy for him. He looked so small, so vulnerable and unaware. This time was even better, because this time Elias thought he was free, thought that life was moving on without August, and yet here he was, kneeling next to the bed and watching Elias's chest rise and fall with each deep breath. He was beautiful, August was jealous of the moonlight kissing his face and making his face glow pale blue, he was jealous of the blankets wrapped snugly around his waist, he was jealous that Tyson got the privilege of sleeping next to this - his - angel almost every night.

August didn't have the courage to touch Elias, he was afraid that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop, he didn't want to get carried away. It might start with trailing his fingertips over his face to see if he'd wake up, then if he didn't he might kiss all over his body until he opened his eyes, then he'd probably smother him with a pillow.

That time when he left, he took the blanket that Elias had been using in the living room earlier. It smelled like him. That night he slept in his car right out front, wrapped up in the same blanket that had touched Elias's skin, his clothes, his face. It was the closest he'd felt to him in months.

After that he was cocky. He found their spare key poorly hidden under a potted plant on the front porch, and he completely took advantage of it. He went in all the time when neither of them were home, cleaning up after them in small, nearly unnoticeable ways, or looking through their things, or just sitting on the bed where Elias often slept, wishing he was there at the moment. He also used it on nights when he couldn’t stand being away from Elias for a second longer, waiting until late in the night to sneak in and sit on the floor for hours to watch him sleep. Once, and he never did it again because Elias almost woke up, August reached out and gently pushed his hair away from his face, where it was tickling the tip of his nose and making his face twitch. It was a reflexive touch, August had only realized he’d done it as an afterthought, when Elias huffed softly and started to move under the blankets. August stared at his hand in disbelief, oh shit I just touched him. And then he left. But Elias still didn’t know he was there, and truthfully, August was getting bored. Bored? Try going insane. He wanted them to notice that something was off, that maybe they weren't as safe as they thought. But they just continued on with their stupid, repulsively happy lives. It was maddening, and at some point August couldn't take it anymore.

The first deliberate mistake he made to blow his cover was running into Allen at a grocery store. He wore a hat and a hoodie, and he carefully avoided him until he was near the front, in a crowd of people. August walked right into him, caught one of the many snack foods that he knocked out of Allen’s overflowing arms, and handed it back to him with a smile.

“Sorry, my bad,” he said smugly, watching Allen’s face fall from his tight frown to a blank, horrified stare. And then he just walked away.

Allen surprisingly didn’t go and tell Tyson and Elias that he saw him, at least if he did, neither of them seemed bothered in the slightest. That irritated August further. He’d been counting on Allen to run and tattle on him, rattle them up so that August could dive headfirst into chaos and whisk Elias away. Incompetent. Unreliable.

So August wrote love notes. He taped them to trees in the yard, tucked them under Tyson’s windshield wipers. They said stupid things like “you’re my favorite brand of heroin, I want to overdose on you” and “I can’t stop thinking about the heavenly way you scream my name today, you look nice by the way”. (His sister had taken a poetry class while they were in high school, he would like to think she would find this humorous. He’d tell her, if she would ever talk to him.) That shook them up a little bit. Really, he believed that Tyson was the only one finding and reading them, and he didn’t think he ever told Elias. Probably didn’t want to scare him. But he started really keeping an eye on the locked doors, as if August hadn’t already made himself at home there multiple times. Elias could sense his tension, it seemed, because he started passing out on the couch and staying there more often, waking up multiple times from nightmares. They were anxious. It wasn’t enough to have them anxious.

Again, August just couldn’t control himself.

So he paid Tyson a visit. He knew his work schedule, knew that he left a little after five in the morning, knew that on normal days he would be home and in bed with Elias by six, they would sleep until around nine. But that day, August was waiting for him, along with chloroform and some duct tape. He followed him to his car, he came up behind him and slowly lowered him to the ground as he knocked him out with the dowsed rag he was holding. He was hardly able to put up a fight. Then he dragged him to his car, and drove him to his motel room. It was easy enough to get inside unnoticed, and also easy enough to tie Tyson up in a chair and gag him before he woke up. He made sure it was all secure before he went back to their apartment.

Elias hadn’t woken up yet, so he had some time to smoke some of his weed and pour himself a glass of wine before he got started. He brought an x-acto knife from his motel, and he wandered around the apartment, slicing into his forearm and using his finger to smear his own blood into declarations of love on their perfect, off-white walls. He wished he could be there when Elias woke up. He could only imagine how his face would look as he walked around reading “I love you so much it hurts”, “you’re mine Bunny”, “we’ll be together forever”, things of that nature. He’d be mortified. Before he left, he slipped into the bedroom and left the nearly empty glass of wine, messy with his bloody handprint, on the bedside dresser so Elias would also see that upon waking up. Then, completely on impulse, he reached out and traced his fingertip over Elias’s cheek in the shape of a heart. The blood on his finger stayed behind on Elias’s pale skin, and August smiled brightly. Elias would be so scared when he got up and was all alone, he’d surely call Tyson first thing. Too bad he wouldn’t have his phone.

August left his car there, took the bus home with his hood pulled low over his face, folding his arms so no one could see the blood seeping through. His hands were buzzing with excitement, high off of the idea of being able to get Elias back.

---------------------------------------------------

Elias almost slept late into the morning, that was the first sign that something might be wrong. Tyson would usually be home when the sky outside was the washed-out blue it got before sunrise, would crawl into bed with Elias and pull him close. Then he would apologize to Elias for waking him up, and Elias would ignore his apology and ask him about his night, and then they would fall back asleep for a while. That morning, hours and hours after Tyson would usually be home, the sun was floating in through the partially opened curtains and turning the insides of Elias’s eyelids a bright red in it’s warm light. He woke up, stretched against the soft mattress, and then slid his hand over the sheets until he found Tyson, who would be in bed with him by now. Only, he was met with more blankets and an empty bed. Elias could feel the tired, confused scowl spread across his face upon realizing Tyson wasn’t right next to him, but he pushed the bitter anxiety that came with it away. Maybe he was making breakfast, maybe he was in the shower. It was just like Tyson to not wake him up when he decided to start his day, to try and let Elias sleep for as long as he could. He was sweet like that, always had been.

With a yawn, Elias tossed the blanket off of himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his tired muscles out. It was still relatively new, and a little weird, for Elias to be able to stretch and move and even breathe without the addition of earth shattering amounts of pain, but he was getting used to it slowly. It didn’t come with nearly as much strange guilt anymore, he could hardly hear that little voice in the back of his mind telling him that he wasn’t deserving of a painless life, a life of ease. Even some days, when that little cruel voice was more of a brutal yell in his ear, telling him that he wasn’t worth any part of this simple, enjoyable life, he was able to get past it now. The voice would say “this is way too nice for you, you don’t deserve any of this”, he was able to, for the most part, smile and think back, “yeah, and aren’t I lucky I get it anyway?” and most of the time, it helped. On days that it didn’t, Tyson stepped in instead, told him anything he needed to hear: “you deserve everything to be nice, you’re an angel” or “it’s a shitty apartment, not a castle, it isn’t ‘too nice’ for anyone,” or sometimes, when Elias couldn’t be convinced, “even if you don’t deserve it, I want you here with me”. It was starting to feel like today was going to be one of the days that Elias needed Tyson to be louder than that voice in his head, as he pushed himself to his feet with ease and felt bad about it. He tried to reassure himself, he told himself that Tyson was right in another room and all Elias had to do to feel better was go see him. That was easy, he could do that.

He would have done that, if right before he stepped toward the door he hadn't caught sight of a wine glass sitting on the dresser next to the bed. The glass was dirty with a rusty brown color, and Elias frowned and looked around the room before stepping closer to it. He was too afraid to pick it up (it still had some deep red wine at the bottom and Elias knew there was a chance that once it was in his hands it would end up as a stain on the floor) so instead he crouched down in front of it, inspecting the grime closely. It was hand shaped, surrounded by a couple of smudges and fingerprints here and there. It looked like blood.

“What the fuck!” Elias ticced, then, much quieter: “Ty?” As he stood straight, his stomach dropped and his head felt light and airy.

No more blood. No more blood. No more please, god, no more.

“Tyson!” He called louder this time, already feeling the familiar burning of panic clawing restlessly in his chest. There was no answer. His mouth and throat were a desert. His knees were shaking. There was blood in his room. Was he bleeding? He tried his best to keep his arms still enough for a moment to run them over his torso to look for any injuries. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t even fucking hurt. “Pathetic,” he heard himself whimper, “pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! Ty-fucking pathetic- Tyson!” He stumbled back, away from the blood covered glass. Where was Tyson? Surely, Elias was being loud enough with his irritating shouting to get his attention, he would’ve come running, by now, with a comforting hug and reassurance and promises that Elias is safe and good and not dying.

The apartment was a crime scene straight out of a psychological thriller. Every few feet there were drops of blood on the hardwood, and then when he got the courage to look, he also saw that there was more smeared across the walls. As soon as he recognized it as more drying blood, he closed his eyes tightly, breathing picking up the longer he stood there. He tried to imagine Tyson’s voice teaching him how to calm his breathing: “Inhale, Eli. Deep, deep, all the way into the bottom of your lungs. Good.”

“Good boy, letting me cut you open like this. So pretty for me, all covered in blood.”

No more blood! No more fucking blood no more no more-

“Exhale now, baby.”

No more no more no more no more-

“Elias, breathe out. Stop holding your breath now.”

“You breathe when I allow you to breathe. I don’t think you’ve been behaving well enough for air.”

Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me!

With his shoulders held high and his head dropped toward the ground so that he could open his eyes without seeing the blood, he turned on his heel and threw himself back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, letting all the air out of his lungs in ragged sobs. Even then, it was hard to catch his breath in between his unintentional cries of “What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck!”

Something deep in his gut made him swivel around and lock the door, and then he slid down it until he was on the floor. He covered his face with his hands, knees up to his chest to protect himself as much as he could. It felt like a nightmare, waking up alone in the middle of the day to find his walls covered in blood, only he just couldn't wake up. “Tyson...Ty...fuck...Tyson…” he crawled across the room, toward his phone, left on the charger next to the bed all night. His fingers were trembling as he tapped in his password, then still as he found Tyson’s contact to call him. As he waited what felt like an agonizingly long time for the ringing to stop, he tucked himself in the corner of the room behind the bed. He made himself small, “pathetic,” so that any pain would be limited to his arms and his legs, and he wouldn’t be hurt so badly, at least.

He couldn’t wait for Tyson to start speaking once he answered the phone, only able to wait with bated breath until the long pause after the last ring.

Click.

“Tyson!” He sobbed, clutching the phone tighter to him like a lifeline. He felt like throwing up. “Ty-Tyson I need you to come ho-fuck-home, I need you to come home right fucking now! P-please-fucking shit- come home.” There was a soft, muffled, sigh on the other line, Elias let out another hoarse sob. “Where the fu-fuck are you?! I...I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry. Tyson please, please co-come home, something’s wrong-”

“Calm down, Bunny.”

No.

No no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO!

“You’re freaking yourself out way too much. You have a tendency to do that. It’s adorable, really.” August laughed, Elias almost threw his phone, barely stopping himself. “But not very helpful.”

“No…” Elias squeaked out. He craned his neck to look over the bed at the wine glass. August was here. Is he still here? Elias folded in on himself smaller, safer, more pathetic, “fucking pathetic!” He ticced. August laughed again. “N-no, please, August. Please don’t...don’t…”

August made a soft shushing sound, slightly softened by the static of the phone. Elias’s head always gets messed up when August acts like that, makes it feel like cotton candy and causes his chest to flutter in an agonizingly confusing way.

Sometimes he’s so nice to me I think, since I have no other choice, I’ll force myself to love him. Just so that my love doesn’t go unused. That way I’m not a waste of life completely.

“Stop working yourself up, sweetheart. Seriously, I want to have a conversation with you, you always do this.” He sighed, gruffly, with an air of boredom. “Pretty fucking annoying honestly.”

Sometimes I want to give him a bunch of his own stupid drugs and drag his ass down the stairs and chain him up and bleed him dry-

No more blood! No more blood!

Elias gritted his teeth, he tried to feel the scar on the back of his tongue, he tried to keep his mouth shut. “Where’s...Tyson?” He grumbled.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up!” August shouted.

Elias flinched, pulling the phone away from his face. He didn’t think he heard an echo of his yell in the house. He listened, close, and could hear August’s voice distantly on the phone, but not out in the hall. Not distantly, in the living room or kitchen. He relaxed a little, straightened out his spine as he pulled his phone back to his ear.

“I was about to tell you all of that. I had a whole speech...Impatient little thing.”

Elias forced himself to his feet, took a few shaking steps for the door. He didn’t turn the lock, not right away, shaking hand hesitating over the brass knob. “If y-you hurt him I’ll-”

Again, August chuckled cynically at Elias’s stammering, his false braveness, his beginning to an empty threat. Elias cringed hard. He wanted to hang up the phone and crawl back into bed, fall asleep, and then wake up from this nightmare to find Tyson next to him. But he wasn’t in a nightmare, and his apartment was covered in blood, and Tyson was gone.

“This would be so much easier for all three of us if you just listened, Bunny. Can you be a good boy and listen closely for a second?”

Embarrassingly, Elias felt his knees buckle at the words, and he reflexively nodded at August’s voice.

I’ll do anything you ask, just call me good, just stop hurting me, I’ll do whatever you want.

When August spoke again, Elias could hear the smile to his voice without even seeing him. “Perfect, sweetheart. Now, I need you to do everything I say, ok? Tyson will be just fine if you just do exactly what I tell you.”

“Oh, f-fuck,” Elias whimpered, pressing his forehead against the door to try and steady himself, “God fucking d-dammit-”

“Shh, Bunny. Take a deep breath.” Somehow, August had added some sort of softness to his words, making himself sound caring and gentle and human, and it made Elias even angrier.

Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar!

He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, just because he was told to, just because it was August’s voice telling him what to do, and it was easier to just listen to whatever he was told the first time rather than face the ugly alternative.

“I left my car keys on your kitchen counter, my car is right out front. Full tank of gas, it drives beautifully, by the way. Can I trust you to take care of it when you drive it over here?”

Elias unlocked the door with his breath still held, shuffling out into the hallway. He couldn’t help but glance at the blood on the wall, and his stomach churns terribly. Before he could even process it, his shoulder hit the wall as he stumbled to the side.

I love you so much it hurts.

Elias would prefer the freezing blanket of death over the paralyzing fear he felt reading that.

We’ll be together forever.

He could never get away. No matter where he went or what he did, August would find him, August would destroy him. Maybe it would be easier to just hand himself over to the wolves instead of trying to outrun them.

You’re mine, Bunny.

There were scars everywhere on Elias’s body that validated that, there was a switch in his brain that flipped every time someone sounded too much like August that also proved it, Elias belonged to him now, even when he was far away from him.

“I asked you a question, baby. Will you take care of my car?”

“You’re fucking c...crazy.” Elias cast his eyes back to the ground, pushing himself off of the wall and stumbling out to the kitchen. He found the keys August was talking about. Thinking about August in the apartment, helping himself to a glass of wine, tossing his keys onto the counter, made Elias sway where he stood.

There was a groan on the other line. August was annoyed, Elias would have to pay for that. “I know that, idiot. You don’t think I fucking know that?” A sigh, a soft thud in the back, a small laugh. “Just get here, ok? The address is written on a paper in my car. You might want to hurry, Tyson’s waking up and he’ll be wondering where you are. And if you take too long...he’ll be wondering why you didn’t come rescue him.”

He laughs.

Elias wants to kill him.

Click.

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missvifdor · 3 years

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Alright, I share a quick thought like this, but imagine Bucky having the DID (be careful, I want to make it clear that I'm not an expert and any mistakes on my part are unintentional and I'm sorry for being so stupid The DID is not a joke, it is a real trouble and I would never allow myself to laugh or joke about it).

So I was saying, Bucky having DID:

Thinking back to all the traumatic moments in his life, it would be easy enough to think that he could have had it. Imagine that at one point his brain and mind say "STOP" and no longer able to cope with all these events, decide that in order to survive, he must create a "shield" (I don't know if I am speaking correctly, sorry if that doesn't make sense).

Because if I'm not saying bullshit, that's what the host's DID is for, to protect it and that's where the Alters come in. The basis of the DID is that the host not supposed to know he has it.

But all the time, there will be signs: amnesia, dissociative disorder, depersonalization, derealization,. Imagine, one day, everything is going well, you get ready to go to sleep and then when you wake up, the date, the time have completely changed, you are now dressed and you have no memory of having lived this. that happened after you last remembered.

Now imagine Bucky going through the same thing, he'd be pretty scared I think.

Bucky would have these symptoms, but not just that. For example, he might feel like he has feelings, thoughts, moods, or anything else that is not ... his but belongs to someone else. Or he would hear voices talking to him (Wait, this has nothing to do with schizophrenia, the voices heard cannot be suppressed with medication and to the host this is really heard as a person's voice real voice or an interlocutor. These are real voices).

You know when we think and hear a voice but it is that of our subconscious, and well that is still different.

(I won't procrastinate any longer, but if you are interested, I advise you to inform yourself to find out more. For example, there is a youtube channel that talks about it because the designer has DID, she and other affected people talk about it here: https://youtu.be/ek7JK6pattE ).

Back to our Super Soldier:

Bucky, like anyone with DID will have both good and bad triggers.

The good ones would be: Music from the 40s, his favorite food, something that reminds him of his sister or mother, etc.

The bad ones: Something or someone who could bring back bad memories, maybe the language Russian, the pain linked to his metal arm, the situations where he cannot feel comfortable or very anxious, a dangerous mission that has gone off the rails a bit.

Let's talk about his Alters: The Winter Soldier will have taken a big place in his life and I think he probably never left him because he is part of him.

So I would lean towards the fact that Winter (let's call him that) has become one of his Alters. It would have become this:

Alter Trauma Holder and Persecutor: some of his tasks are to hold traumatic memories ... especially so that other Alters are not not disturbed by these memories and that the system works more or less. And often, well, trauma holders do not voluntarily choose this role, they are there because the brain did it like that and it can seem very unfair!

It is common that in addition to h: And, even when they do, sometimes they just aren't able to pass it on to the rest of the system and, unfortunately, to the outside either. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example.

Trauma holders are also It called “Secret Keepers / Secret Holders”.

Her Part Persecutor: To put it mildly, the "Persecutor" is an alter who is hostile to the system or the outside world . Well, obviously, it’s nowhere near that simple.

In general, persecutors are alters who have internalized hatred or rejection, either towards themselves, towards other members of the system, or towards the outside world. It is a traumatic response that follows physical abuse, toxic relationships and assaults experienced by the system. Like the protectors, the persecutors seek to prevent further attacks, attack in defense or suffer for the rest of the system. But they ... don't always do it the right way.

There are different kinds of persecutors, some tend to reject any outside person, others may have internal words and feelings of worthlessness, still others may sabotage a possible therapy for fear of the medical profession, then of others can re-experience their traumas, injure themselves, etc… They are very often hyperviligant and easily activated.

They are sometimes very withdrawn and influenced by feelings causing for example a strong anxiety or suicidal thoughts. But they can also be authoritarian and seek to impose behavior on the rest of the system, considering that the others are incapable of protecting themselves and are responsible for the abuses suffered. Finally, some persecutors are a representation of aggressors and persecute the system like these. The persecutors are above all persecuted by trauma and in particular they need to be secure. It is very common that, once appeased, they become essential protectors of the system.

Here's another Alter, James: It would be quite similar to the Bucky of the 40s but different at the same time.

He would be an Alter Internal Self Helper: The "Internal Self Helper" is an alter that helps the system internally. It is not uncommon for ISHs to serve as some sort of mediator to the rest of the system, as if they were "the voice of reason."

They often have a good knowledge of Alters and how the system works (but this does not mean that they easily share this information). They are also often discreet, facing little or not at all or only side by side with another alter.

Internal self helpers are often associated with the creation and management of the innerworld, especially when it was conceived unconsciously.

ISH is a frequent supporting role among gatekeepers, protectors and sometimes among trauma holders.

And Bucky would be the host: Host "refers to the alter who fronts most of the time ... when all is well. And this nuance is important!

Indeed, the “Host” is a bit like the basic Alter, the one who is there when there is no need for any other Alter, no triggers, and no Alter is needed wanted to face. In principle, he manages the day-to-day life, so you would think that it is indeed the alter that uses the body most often, yes. But no.

A system is frequently affected by all the little things in life, whether or not it requires the presence of another Alter at the front. And, especially when it is not conscious, it can be common for another alter (social or protective, for example) to be more present than the host. It all depends on the environment of the system and the awareness of its multiplicity as well as the choices and possibilities of each of its members.

For this reason, there are systems without a host (or with a sleeping host) as well as systems with multiple hosts (which are then called co-hosts), which handle different aspects of the day-to-day. good. Of course, the hosts can also have another role, such as caretaker or alter social.e for example. It may also happen that a new host appears and the system changes hosts.

The host is a role that can be difficult to take in at times, as it is often the first alter to become consciously aware (yes, consciously aware) of his multiplicity. And it's already not easy to realize that we "are not alone in your head", but it is also difficult to realize that you have shared your whole life with "these others people in his head ”. It is very common for the host to doubt his legitimacy, to be afraid of lying, etc. They are often influenced by the feelings, thoughts and feelings of other Alters.

On the other hand, the host can usually be an alter who allows for better communication, as he or she serves as a bit of a mediator, conciliatory and benevolent towards the system and the outside world, while being held to it 'deviation from the consequences (emotional for example) of traumas. A stable host is an important basis for functional multiplicity.

Be careful, it must be said: the host is not the original! Many systems don't have an original, and while you might think the host is some kind of original, it isn't. Of course, if there is an original in the system, it can be a host. But, whether host and / or original, all Alters should be considered equally. (Really, for this to work, it's important to understand this)

Otherwise, a person with DID may have other Alters, the number can vary and they are all different!

Now, how would it be if Bucky had a Y / N ? Would other people in the system agree with that? Would Y / N manage and understand this situation? That is the whole question.

But let's imagine that in the best-case scenario, Winter and James are ok with this relationship and even have feelings for Y / N, it will still be a job all the time.

The best would be someone who can differentiate the three and act with the three as if they were three different individuals (Who they are and this is very important because each Alter deserves to be recognized).

Being in a relationship with Bucky is a bit like being with a big teddy bear who could easily shoot you in the head with near-deadly precision. And a gentleman under all circumstances, of course.

Being with Winter is complicated enough, but not impossible. You just have to know how to do it and above all succeed in interpreting his looks, his silences. The man is not the biggest talker but know that he would be ready to kill for you and protect you.

As for James his Fronts are very rare but when he will be there, believe me when I tell you that he will not leave you alone with his affections! He is surely the one who is the most sociable of the three and who will take the greatest pleasure in teasing you or improvising a dance with you in the middle of your living room.

Well I have finished! Do not hesitate to tell me what you think of it in the comments, or if you want a part two to find out more in general or to know more about the romantic relationship side + ... SNFW.

#bucky barnes preferences #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #alters #did you know #system #bucky imagine #bucky headcanon #bucky hcs #Tw

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

Rx Queen

Pairing: criminal!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: obsession, stalking, non-con, breeding, minor depiction of violence.

Words: 2567.

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes was the most difficult patient you had ever treated as a criminal psychiatrist. His release from prison doesn’t make things easier for you.

_____________________________________

You turned off the phone and threw it on a chair, clenching your teeth. Whatever Dr. Strange wanted you to do, you wouldn’t stay another day in this goddamn place, waiting to be abducted or even murdered. It was too much. Today you found the new bottle of your favourite perfume on your nightstand. It wasn’t there before you went to bed last night. In fact, you could hardly remember the last time you bought yourself a perfume.

It all started two months ago when James Buchanan Barnes, the patient you had been working with during those seven long years, was finally released from State prison after serving 15 years of life sentence. The Soldier, as prisoners called him, once gone mad and murdered his commander. Bucky – that’s how he asked you to call him during your first seance – had PTSD, antisocial personality disorder, and severe depression. You could say he became better after all those years of treatment, including insane doses of antidepressants and mood stabilizers, but it was not enough to set him free. He was dangerous, psychotic even, yet devilishly clever: he knew how to portray a man who had reconsidered his life choices and deeply regretted taking someone’s life.

You knew he had never truly cared. Patients like him did not have capacity for remorse.

You started treating him once you became a criminal psychiatrist; Bucky was among your very first patients. Now when you thought of it, you could hardly believe Dr. Strange just transferred a patient like him to you, a young girl with too little experience to handle an unpredictable psychopath hiding behind a façade of a victim. Of course, you made many mistakes, starting from telling Bucky about your own past and some mental issues. That time you believed you can gain trust of your patients by being more open about yourself. You were a complete idiot.

Now there was not much to do once his time in prison was up. You didn’t have true evidence to make him stay. A part of you wasn’t even sure you wanted it – when a riot had started in the prison three years ago, it was Bucky who shielded you with his own body from Brock Rumlow, a serial killer and your second most dangerous patient. Bucky was the only reason you were still alive.

But he was also the reason why you were leaving in haste, packing only necessities.

It all started quite innocently with him sending you flowers and thanking for everything you had done for him. It didn’t alert you that he knew what your favourite flowers were. You thought it was just a coincidence since bouquets like these were sold in any flower shop in the city.

Then you stumbled upon him in a café where you often had your breakfast on weekends. It could alert you, but Bucky was sitting with a charming red-haired woman, her manicured hand resting on his thigh. She didn’t quite strike you as his sister, especially since you knew he had no relatives left after his violent father died in a car accident. Seeing such a beautiful woman with him just two weeks after Bucky was released from a prison was surprising, but you knew how seductively charming Barnes could be. Besides, he looked really good in his biker jacket, his tight black jeans showing his strong muscular legs.

In the end, you just talked to both of them a little and gave your advice on which dishes to choose. You walked away, praying you were wrong about Bucky and hoping he could settle peacefully like some of your former patients. Actually, even though many of them were imprisoned again, others were able to return to normal life. Some even had families now – from time to time you received thank-you notes with nice photos and many heartwarming words. It was probably one of the few things that made you keep your job.

It was over now. You were not going to stay in a place Bucky break into multiple times. Maybe you were not sure before, but the bottle of perfume was an obvious sign. It also meant that when a week ago you woke up and smell a man’s scent on your sheets you were not delirious. Bucky was there. He was laying beside you on your fucking bed.

How did it happen? Why didn’t you see his obsession growing with each day? You were his psychiatrist; you knew him better than anyone. How could he hide his infatuation with you for so long? Of course, you knew he had some feelings for you, but it was never that bad. You thought he would forget about you once he would be released. In the end, now you were not the only woman he saw around.

You kept stumbling upon his beefy figure more and more often. You realized Bucky was stalking you when after a month of his release you saw him watching your house from the forest. He was hiding behind the trees and bushes. It was a miracle you managed to see him at all – after 15 years he was still the Soldier, his skills remaining keen.

You tried talking to Dr. Strange. It wasn’t your first time being followed by your former patient, and police had always assisted you. But Barnes wasn’t like any of those stupid psychos who left tons of evidence behind them. Police had nothing to work with.

Well, you weren’t going to sit there and wait for Barnes to come and get you. You had no idea what was going on in his unstable mind, and you weren’t ready to take risks. You had already booked a flight to Austria tonight.

It was scary, thinking about wandering around a city you had never been, in a foreign country where you had neither relatives nor friends. But Barnes would have a hard time following you there, and that’s what mattered.

You threw a pack of salted cashew in the bag and returned to the bedroom to grab your phone from the chair. It wasn’t there. Although you dropped it just five minutes ago, your phone simply wasn’t there.

You were so fucked.

Next minute you were in the kitchen grabbing a knife, but a strong muscular arm knocked it out of your hand, and you felt Bucky’s musky scent. He stood behind your back, caging you with his bulky arms. You froze and held your breath. You knew you better obeyed the man instead of provoking him to become violent.

“And where were you going, honey?” His husky voice was enough to make you tremble. “It’s not nice to leave without saying goodbye, is it?”

“Please, Bucky.” You did your best to hide how frightened you were. “Stop.”

“No, honey.”

He leaned closer to you and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling its smell. His rough hands were already caressing your body through the clothes.

“You’re free to start a new life. You can find a good woman, have a family if you’d like.” Panic was rising in your chest.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, Bucky, it’s not.” You said in a calm voice. “It will only get you back behind the bars. Don’t throw away your life, please.”

“What life?” He growled, turning you around harshly, and you almost fell on his chest, his arms holding you still. “I have no life. I should have never left my cell, you know this better than anyone else. I’m rotten. Damaged goods. I will never have the life I’ve always wanted. Do you know I have nightmares every fucking night again?”

“It’s because you don’t take your pills.” You carefully put your hands against Bucky’s chest. He tried manipulating you, you knew that. “When was the last time you had thioridazine?”

“Stay with me, and I’ll take whatever pills you want me to.” He grinned suddenly, cupping your face.

Bucky’s strong athletic body emanated heat, and you were already sweating from both his closeness to you and an extreme agitation. Why did it take you so long to leave? You should have done it the first thing in the morning, just grab your documents and money and run to the car. Maybe then you had a chance. Unless Bucky had already been hiding inside your house…

“Why do you want to make a wrong choice again?” You felt his heart beating loudly with your palm against his chest. “You are given a chance to start over. If you want me to consult you still, I can figure something out. I can continue helping you, but you need to find your way. Don’t you think it’s good to meet new people, have friends, find a job, date a girl?”

“Who wants to deal with a psychopath like me?” He let out a chuckle, his expression darkening. “No one can handle me, doc. No one but you. Do you know I wanted to commit suicide before you showed up seven years ago? If not you, they’d already buried me.”

Before you opened your mouth to protest, he turned you around again and gently nudged you towards your bedroom. You broke out in cold sweat. If Bucky was able to outpower Rumlow, that beast of a man, he would have no problems forcing you to do whatever he pleased. It took three strong prison guards to bring someone like Bucky down. You were helpless.

“No one out there is good enough.” His breath was tickling your ear. “You’re the only one, can’t you see? Maybe I’m rotten to the core, but you still helped me. You made me better.”

You stopped in front of your bed, the white cotton sheets and blue blanket crumpled. You stormed off early in the morning once you saw a bottle of perfume on the nightstand and didn’t care to make your bed.

You needed to keep calm. As far as you could see, Bucky didn’t plan to murder you, not when you would accept him, that is. He obviously had a nice plan how to make you stay with him without police knowing, but as long as he kept you alive you still had a chance. You needed to play along.

“On the bed.” He let out a low growl, and you felt the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass.

Shivering, you took off your slippers and sat on the bed facing him. His erection was obvious; Bucky was breathing heavily, his pupils dilated. The next second he was pulling his black t-shirt over his head, and you saw his shredded body littered with scars. You saw one particularly long one on the side close to his waistline: this was the one Rumlow gave him when Bucky was protecting you during the riot. The man let out a quiet laugh when he saw your eyes focused on a nasty pink line.

“Why are you frightened, honey? I know you want a family too. You good-for-nothing ex wasn’t able to give it to you, but I can.” His hands landed on your bared shoulders, and you flinched a little. “Let’s get married, and I swear I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

“Bucky, relationships don’t work like this.” You whispered, withholding a cry when his hand pushed you down on the bed.

“Don’t they?” The man smiled and cocked his head to the side, removing his black leather belt. “You do something for me, I do something for you. That’s what I learnt in prison.”

You dragged yourself back as quickly as you could, but your back was pressed into the wall once Bucky put his knee on your bed. There was nowhere to run.

“Don’t be scared, honey.” His sweet voice broke the silence, and he crawled to you, slowly caging you with his bodyweight. “Let’s make a deal. You marry me, you bear my child, and I will return to prison. I don’t care if they’ll give me twice more pills or make me a lethal injection as far as you take care of my kid. You’ll love my kid, won’t you? You’ll take care of them. You’ll make them a better person than I am.”

The more he spoke, the more feverishly he touched you, his left hand pinning your palms above your head. He traced his arm along your breast, ripping your shirt with so much force that its green buttons ended on the floor. You realized your cheeks were wet with tears when Bucky kissed you on the forehead and wiped your face with his other hand.

He wanted to have kids with you. Why? Why you? Why did he consider you a perfect mother? Why did he consider returning to prison? Why was he ready to trade his goddamn life for a chance of having a child? Why couldn’t he have a child with someone else and just keep living?

Oh, of course he couldn’t. Bucky loathed himself. It wasn’t uncommon for the patients with Cluster B personality disorders, and it was probably true he wanted to end his life since you saw his self-destructing behavior. In the end, even his effort to save your life back than in the prison might be some kind of a suicide attempt.

And the reason he wanted you and no one else… Well, you were the one who had been taking care of him all these years. The only one to navigate him through his nightmares when everyone else gave up on him. He saw good in you. He wanted it for himself. He wanted to make sure his child would never be treated the way he was.

You cried out when Bucky suddenly forced his cock into you. It felt like he was ripping you apart – he was huge. Your eyes flooded with tears again, and he cooed at you softly, pressing his chapped lips to your burning face. You couldn’t even remember when was the last time you had sex since you broke up with your ex a year ago. Thankfully, Bucky gave you time to adjust. He kept whispering filth into your ears and stroking your naked thighs. When did he take off your jeans?..

He kissed the top of your head, playing with your hair, and moved his hips slightly. You hissed in pain, but then realized it was a bit better – the pleasure started building up slowly, and you squeezed your eyes shut. No, no, you were not disgusting, your body tried to cope the best way it could, nothing else, it was a perfectly normal reaction, you knew that. Then you felt Bucky licking up the shell of your ear and whined desperately.

“It’ll be ok.” He whispered and kissed your temple. “I’ll take you to a nice place, and we’ll be there all alone. Once I make sure you’re pregnant I’ll return to prison, I give you my word.”

You bit down on your lip to muffle the noise coming out of your mouth.

“If they keep me alive, I might become your patient again.” He sounded almost ecstatic, rutting deep into you. “I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll stuff my mouth with your pills. Please, just stay with me.”

Staring at the white ceiling, you bit your tongue so hard your mouth filled with blood. You’d survive this. You’d get him behind the bars again.

You wouldn’t stay.

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier #bucky barnes

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violetfaust · 3 years

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I'm interested in hearing more about why you think Margot should've been Rumbelle's daughter. Sounds interesting, but what would that mean for her enchanted forest life? I think her being Robin Hood's daughter would've been fine if not for Zelena

Okay, Nonny, since you sent this a few days before Mother's Day, I'm gonna finally take the opportunity to try to sum up and speed-run the Belle's Daughter Margot feelings that have haunted me for THREE YEARS. Buckle in; this will be more than you or anyone asked for.

Disclaimer 1: It's been, well, three years, so my memory of Curious Archer and their story is not perfect; could be off on some details here. And Disclaimer 2: I really loved Tiera Skovbye as Robin/Margot; she did a lot with not much screen time, and she and Rose had fabulous chemistry. So although she was well cast as Robin Sr.'s kid, Tiera would be perfectly believable as a Rumbelle daughter, too--maybe give her some low-lights and call it a day. We keep Tiera as Margot in this rewrite. Okay: onward.

(Since one of the few things that would have to change about Robin if she were Rumbelle’s daughter is her name, I’ll just mostly use her Hyperion Heights name “Margot” throughout this post for simplicity.)

First and foremost, the foundation of everything: Margot is so like Belle! She is so like her. They have the same love of adventure, a similar sense of humor. She took Alice on a date to a bookstore. Most of all, she has Belle’s ability to see past “the mask of the monster” to a person’s heart. There was a great scene where Tilly explained that she didn’t want Margot to see her “bad days” because she thought it would be “too much,” and Margot said words to the effect that she was there for the bad as well as the good.

Obviously, people don't have to grow up to be exactly like their parents (Belle and Rumple sure didn't)...BUT. In fiction, one of the fun parts of next-gen stories is for the audience to see how their favorites' personalities are passed down. It's just more fun to see a Henry who has parts of Regina/Emma/Neal than one who doesn't; it's fun to see Lucy resemble little Henry. And it would be fun to see Margot be like her parents (she is very like Robin Sr; not so much Zee). Seeing a character who has so many of Belle's traits becomes just more...fun...when she learned them FROM Belle.

The family feud Rumple/Hook angle turns Alice and Margot’s relationship up another roman tic notch. A classic trope! It’s about reconciliation and love remaking and erasing those old grudges. Which is even more important when we’re supposed to believe that the evidence of Rumple’s final redemption is his saving Rook.

On a more macro level: the entire claim that OUAT is "a show about hope" COLLAPSES because it ends with the annihilation of the Stiltskin family. Rumple, Belle, and Neal are all dead; Henry doesn’t acknowledge them as his family; and Gideon is a friendless and forgotten orphan in another world. I did my rants about this three years ago, but long story short: the show’s not about hope unless it’s hopeful for EVERYONE. And having at least one of Rumbelle’s children alive and happy at the end (with her True Love and friends and acknowledged as part of the family) would fix that. My objection has never been that Rumple (and even Belle) die, but the way it happened.

And of course, Rumbelle needed to have at least one other child because Kitsowitz managed to deny them even one single shared happy moment surrounding Belle’s pregnancy with Gideon and his birth. Even if the audience didn’t get to see it (and we could have gotten a glimpse in Beauty), we deserved to know it happened.

Finally: Zelena did not belong in S7, period. I know it was fun for her fans! (Although apparently there weren't enough of them to positively affect the ratings, meow.) I do know! But it was bad storytelling. She served no point in the larger season arc, and the serial witch killer plot that was invented to serve her was one of the worst and most stupid things Kitsowitz came up with in seven years, and ate up time that could/should have gone to develop other characters. (Driz and Ana come immediately to mind, instead of having them shunted off to another universe, but also Henry/Cinda/Lucy and of course Rumple since his plot was coming to a close.) Zelena didn’t even get any significant growth herself, or develop her relationships with Regina or Robin. She still didn’t express regret for the horrible things she did to characters we love (Rumple, Neal, and Robin Sr.); the only result of all that screentime was to give an unrepentant rapist a love story with a person--we barely see and have zero investment in. And even that was ultimately negated at the end of the season, because in the finale Zee’s back in Storybrooke sans Boo Bear.

So, all that said: what would have to change about Margot’s, and Curious Archer’s, FTL storyline to give us Margot Gold?

Her name—but actually very little else. (And frankly it would have been more respectful to have Belle name her daughter after Robin Sr., who was actually her friend, than for Zee to name her kid after the man she raped, manipulated, and ultimately got killed—but that ship had sailed.)

Belle and Rumple could have given their daughter any number of fairytale names after people they know, aka fresh take on a Disney character. My favorite possibilities are Aurora (and then Curious Archer could have been Curious Beauty, and done a riff on the Sleeping Beauty story as part of their FTL backstory, with a built-in TLK) and Merlin (very pretty for a girl, I’ve always thought).

But the character herself would have been very much the same: she could be Rumbelle’s jock daughter, trained in archery and swordsmanship by family friends (Merida/Mulan/Charming), but always feeling out of place in her family of scholars/sorcerers/nerds.

I am SO sorry for the length of this--there's even more under this cut!

Robin/Margot felt insecure about trying to live up to her father’s name; Rory/Merlin/Margot could have similar anxieties trying to live down her father’s Dark One rep. There could even be a similar story where she was born with magic (like Robin was) but loses it or chooses to give it up—something that would estrange her further from her family. Or, if she was Merlin, she could keep her magic but be reluctant to use it, and part of Curious Archer’s Hyperion Heights arc would be both Margot and Tilly discovering and accepting their magic. (Sapphic sorceresses for the win.)

Now, one of the cutest things about Alice/Robin’s FTL dynamic was Robin being a girl from the Land Without Magic finding her feet in an enchanted forest, with Alice’s help. But it would only take a little finessing of S7 Rumbelle’s story to get that for Rory as well. (Of course, any decent story would have a LOT of finessing of Rumbelle’s plot so that Belle didn’t die and put Rumple on a suicide mission, but again—assuming the ship has sailed…)

Say that Rory is five to six years younger than Gideon. The Rumbelle family spend a dozen years or so traveling the realms, but then Rumbelle decide that they want Gideon and Rory to be comfortable in the LWoM with their extended Charming family, so they settle back into the Pink Palace so the kids can get a LWoM education. They still take occasional journeys, often Rumbelle going to save some hapless souls, but Rory grows up primarily in SB with very few, vague memories of all the fascinating places they visited when she was a small child. This feeds her hunger for adventure along with some envy of Gideon for having so many more fairytale experiences—another thing that makes her feel like a misfit in her family. So, presto, when she moves to FTL she and Alice have pretty much the same meeting/adventures.

One of the key notes of Rumple and Alice/Tilly's relationship, showing his growth and making it so special, was how he chose to set her free of being the Guardian or whatever, allowing her to be free and get what he never had, the chance to grow old with the woman she loves. And that would be weakened if Rumple knew that by choosing Alice's happiness over his own, he was also choosing his own daughter's happiness (because we know Rumple picks his kids over himself ever time). But--he doesn't have to know WHO Alice's True Love is when he makes that choice. He could just know that there is someone, or simply realize that Alice deserves her freedom for her own sake. (Rumple's daughter also getting happiness would be a side benefit that he didn't learn about till later, and have the added perk of Rumple actually getting a narrative reward for doing something good. Which almost NEVER happened! Bonus.)

Finally: I do understand that Robin's presence on the canvas was important to fans of Robin Sr.--getting to know he's remembered and having someone carry on his legacy. Of course I get it--Rumbelle and their family not having that is my biggest complaint (of so so many).

But we don't need a grown-up Robin Jr. to be Robin's legacy. Let her stay a cute background kid with perennially baby Prince Neal. There's already a character, one we're invested in, to carry on for the Hoods: Roland. And again, it would be satisfying for the audience to learn that a five-year-old orphan wasn't shunted off from what family he had left (Regina and Henry) into another universe and never heard from again. If Kitsowitz didn't waste time with Zelena, they wouldn't have needed the idiotic Jack-is-Hansel-the-serial-killer twist, and we could have have had Roland filling the role of Henry's best friend/little brother (and therefore Lucy's fake HH dad--God, that plot was bad all the way back in season 1; why Kitsowitz why?). We'd see Roland onscreen, part of the family, at the end of the show, perhaps with his own True Love (Drizella, maybe, or better yet Gideon) and happy future.

So, that's it: the combination of Margot Stiltskin-Gold and Roland Hood tightens and heightens the storytelling throughout S7, closes some plot holes, and actually fulfills some of the show's stated themes. Who knew!

Anyone else want three years of OUAT theory vomit? 😋 Shoot me an ask!

(I actually have another one, god help us all, but I might save it till Father's Day...)

#rumbelle #ouat of all things #curious archer sort of #rumbelle family #belle french #deserved a daughter damnit #roland hood #anti-kitsowitz as all things should be #long post guys sorry #op #UN!proofread!

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fairycosmos · 3 years

Note

i'm so fucking depressed and suicidal over bill c*sby's release. this is why we never say shit about being sexually abused. there is no justice and after going through the trauma of speaking out and being attacked and called a liar they still defend your abuser and they always win in the end. speaking out it's not worth it. look at this shit. this is so retraumatizing i'm so tired it's especially awful when on top og being a sa victim you're also a csa victima because who's going to believe me at all when it's been so long? i'm just fucking ruined i want to die

so so sorry to hear this - i didn't realize he was getting let out but i just looked it up and i'm in shock, too. can not imagine how this feels as a survivor and honesty i know there's no words for it, no justification. i have no idea why it is so hard to just believe ppl who work up the courage to speak out, especially women. it is so fucking rare for anyone to lie about it especially in a legal court. i don't know why there's even a debate around it, it is so so fucking stupid and often times nothing more than misogyny at its finest. like how many people have to speak up about that man before he's fucking condemned in a way that matters, what are we waiting for? the public is not stupid and we all know at least on some level what he is. let's just skip the bullshit, for fuck sake, we always pretend to be purposefully obtuse for these rich and famous predators, and i can't figure out why. i guess its just money and power. but even just for men in general - the amount of times i was brushed off as a kid is insane, and i know i'm not the only one. anyway, my thoughts are with you and his victims, right now and always. i completely get why seeing this is the most discouraging thing in the world and i don't blame you at all for just wanting to stop trying. it must be so so exhausting, down to the very core. this is your personal journey and everything you are feeling during it is 100% understandable. i know it is really easy for me to say anything even vaguely hopeful or encouraging regarding this, as someone speaking as an outsider looking in. and if you're not in a place to hear it rn i get that. but at the same time i will always believe there is power in speaking out and i will always believe you deserve justice and peace and resolution and healing. you are not ruined, you deserve to be believed. these are undeniable truths no matter how hard they are for your brain to accept in its current state. whether it happened five minutes or fifteen years ago, it doesn't change the fact that it happened and that you deserve to be listened to. obviously it is COMPLETELY up to you how you cope with this and where you go from here, and there's no wrong answer. but i hope you can really internalize the validity of your experiences and your pain some day. sincerely. and please, if you feel like you are at risk of harming yourself right now, please call a loved one or a hotline asap. even if you have to do it on autopilot and disregard what your mind is telling you, just get on the phone. i don't want to undermine what you've been through by acting like it is something that somebody can just simply overcome, but i do genuinely think you are going to have a whole life beyond this hurt and it really isn't impossible to think that eventually you will see that too. esp if you're able to seek therapy or if you're able to do be open with someone, even just yourself in a journal to begin with, some time soon. it's ok if you need to speak about the trauma, and the retraumatization, for the rest of your life to feel like you can cope with it. it's ok if you need time alone to process. whatever you need, it's okay. again, i am so so sorry. people like bill cosby deserve to rot and there are so many people who can relate to where you're at rn, who have survived it too. if you ever need a friend or someone to talk to please let me know. i am sending you so much love, i am so sorry. there are so many of us who do believe you.

http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

#tw csa #tw seuxal abuse #tw suicide #anon #talking

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iekxow · 3 years

Text

Reposted from my Wattpad

Xiao x electro yaksha reader

Requested by @yoruna_tokito (on Wattpad)

Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide, blood, and death.

Aqua water, golden leaves, and fresh air. A break from your everlasting duty to protect Liyue and its citizens. You sat upon a ledge of a mountain as you took in the beauty of Luhua Pool. The clear and unpolluted waters of Liyue were always fascinating to see, and the trees surrounding Luhua Pool never got old to watch. They aged slowly, turning from the little saplings from thousand years ago to the majestic, large trees that would forever accompany Liyue.

You had lived thousands of years, most of those going towards working under Rex Lapis, who was now known as Zhongli to the residents of Liyue Harbor. The Archon of Geo had rescued you and Alatus, better known as Xiao, from the evil god who had gotten hold of both Xiao's and your weakness, who then made the both of you commit horrible crimes that could never be repented for.

Xiao had been tasked with eating the dreams of his victims, while you had been, against your will, sucking the hopes out of those who opposed your old ruler. It wasn't at all pleasant, to say the least, but to say that the hopes of others didn't taste good would be a plain out lie. Especially back then, when both immortals and mortals who weren't being controlled by a master could freely wish to do anything they liked. You and Xiao both had that right taken away from you.

Before the control of that god, you and Alatus had lived as friends. Quite good friends, who would often visit each other every day. For some reason, Alatus had stopped talking to you after meeting the god who you grew to resent.

You were both later saved by Rex Lapis, who then offered you a job as one of the Yakshas. After serving your duties in the Archon War, three of the Yakshas turned against each other, successfully destroying each other. A fourth had disappeared. He likely caused his own end because of the unbearable pain from karmic debt. This left you and Xiao, the two surviving Yakshas.

Back at the present, you hummed a tune, which you probably heard a few hundred years back, and fiddled with your purple mask while quickly walking away from someone who had just been approaching. Adepti have no need to meddle in human affairs, you thought while giggling to yourself, sounds like something Xiao would say.

For the thousands of years you have been an Adeptus, there was not a human who was as bold and fearless as the one who had just called out to you, telling, almost demanding, you to come closer so that he could sketch you.

"Me? You do realize that my presence alone could destroy you, right?" You were just as confused as you were annoyed. Does he not understand that the Adepti already spend most of their time protecting Liyue and its people? We don't need humans intruding on the days we have to ourselves.

"Huh? I'm the famous painter, Vermeer. You must have heard of me somewhere."

A painter named Vermeer? Didn't ring much of a bell to you. "Painter? I know what a painter is, but I've never heard of any 'Vermeer's in the thousands of years I've been in Liyue."

"Ah. You're one of the th— two surviving Yakshas, am I correct? I expect that someone so old would like my paintings. Many of the elderly people of Liyue enjoy my paintings. Don't you?"

Elderly... old... just who exactly do you think the Adepti are?!? Have you no respect for the very people who protect you? You obviously didn't like to be called old. Indeed, being called old is almost always hated by people, but to you, it felt more like mocking. Something along the lines of 'Haha, you won't ever be able to age and live a normal life.'

"Look, I'll stop bothering you if you let me sketch the basic lines of you. I just need a model and you're the only person who's here right now."

You cave in, agreeing to let Vermeer draw you as long as he stopped bothering you afterward. "Fine. I'll stay for a few minutes. I don't care if you can't finish within that time. I have more important issues I have to attend to."

Vermeer held up his end of the deal, not speaking even once while working on his painting.

"Hey, are you done yet? I'll get going soon. Wrap up your sketch." You didn't exactly know why you wanted to leave, but the man was acting quite weird. He kept checking his watch and looking behind you.

"Uhhh... uuuhhhh... just a bit longer, please."

Please? What a change of attitude from before— Wait. Behind me?!? Who's behind me?

"Well, well, well. Long time no see, (Y/N). If it isn't the other Electro Yaksha. You took my rightful place as the Electro Yaksha."

"Hey, wait up. No one ever took your place. There weren't and aren't a limited amount of spots for the Yakshas. And why are you so upset about the fact that we're both wielders of electro? Above all that, where the Archons did you disappear off to?"

"You've gotten weak. I've been training all this time for this. Hahahaha! I'll finally be the Electro Yaksha!"

"Get that stupid idea of yours out of your head, dummy. I wanted to get along. Didn't you see? None of us ever thought of you of anything less than us five. Why don't you open your eyes and get that thought out of your head?!?"

He goes in for an attack. You dodge. Ten entire minutes into the fight, there still wasn't a clear victor.

"Ah. I'm done warming up. Time for the real fight. Try to keep. You'll probably lose anyways."

You silently curse. That was his definition of a warm up? Last time I checked, he wasn't half as strong as this—

"Ah!" A scream tore itself from your lips. First try, and he already landed a hit on you. Your left shin had been scraped by the long blade of the other Electro Yaksha. You immediately whipped out your weapon, (Y/W). Looks like talking won't be an option.

"Haha, like I said, little (Y/N). Those years you spent lazing around have weakened you quite a bit."

Where did he get so strong? Was he somehow trained by the Tsaritsa? By the Abyss? You tried attacking, but those attacks seem to not take any effect on him. Blood slowly but steadily seeped out of the wound on your left leg, dragging your speed down by a whole lot.

Another cut. This time, he aimed for your dominant hand, and you screamed once again, your panicking voice not at all matching the peaceful scenery of Liyue. Wait, where did that Vermeer go?

Your question was answered by a hand holding on to each of your arms. Vermeer was working with him... for what reason? You kick and trash, but your wounds weren't exactly helping, and you didn't have much energy left.

The other Electro Yaksha had a wicked grin on his face. "Hah, I defeated you before you even had the chance to use your mask."

Tears stream down your normally peaceful face. You cry, wishing that Xiao could help you.

"Don't worry, I'm here now. You can relax." Xiao's soothing voice seemed like a light in the void of darkness you had been swallowed in.

First, he took care of Vermeer. Just a few strikes, and he was unconscious. You stood for a few seconds before your left foot decided to give up on standing. Your body collapsed, and possibly because of the loss of blood. The last thing your eyes saw before blacking out was Xiao's spear colliding with his weapon. Thank you, Xiao.

Your eyes slowly blinked a few times, then opened completely. "Xiao?" You said the first thing on your mind.

A soft voice spoke from your left."That was dangerous. Don't go anywhere without me knowing, please. I can't lose you too."

"I'm sorry, Xiao. I'll train harder. I guess he was right. I got weak."

"He's wrong. You're not weak. I-if you ever wanna train, I, uh, could help you."

"Aww, is little Xiao embarrassed? Anyways, sure. Who else would I train with? You're my favorite person, and you're strong."

"I— thank you."

You threw your arms around Xiao. "I miss being like this. Why did you even stop talking to me? Is it because of the 'sins' you've committed? Have you forgotten that I've done the exact same thing as you? We've both done terrible things, but everything's going to be fine now, Xiao."

Xiao looked down, and, surprisingly, returned the gesture, wrapping his arms tightly around you. "If... if you don't mind... I..."

"Eh? What are you trying to say?"

"I would uh, kinda like to try out a thing called dating...", he finished with a tint of pink on his cheeks.

"Ehhh? Really? I almost thought you hated me."

"Uh— uhh—"

"Are you kidding me? Of course the answer's yes. I've liked you for so long, you idiot."

Xiao blinked, trying to take this new information in. "You have?"

"Yeah. But don't worry, we can take things slow. We have eternity, after all. I suppose that's one good thing about not being able to age. No matter what happens in the future, we'll protect each other. I promise you that everything will be fine, Xiao."

Hope you enjoyed it! Requests for any of the characters are open! (not counting Klee, Diona, and Qiqi, unless it’s sibling!reader)

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin xiao #xiao #genshin x reader #liyue #xiao x reader #yaksha #fanfic #genshin fanfic #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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thewickeddevil · 3 years

Text

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

#Jean Moreau #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #Jeremy Knox #Kevin Day #USC Trojans #Healing #i love him too much for my own good #this man deserves the whole world and i'll stand for that #Kerejean #Jerejean #Kevjean

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andersunmenschlich · 3 years

Text

"Was I Abused" game

Copied and pasted from this post by @furiousgoldfish (to save space since you can't reformat anything in posts you reblog).

Is it accurate? Who knows! My memories of childhood are incomplete! Besides, a lot of these things seem frankly normal to me and not abusive at all... which, if they are abusive, is probably an especially bad sign. Hm. Anyway, on to the game!

Reblog and bold the things your parents have done to you! Italicize if you're not sure. (copy paste it all and then bold)

Physical abuse

parent slapped me to prove their point / teach me a lesson (I don't remember. It would have been loss of temper anyhow, not point-proving or lesson-teaching.)

parent spanked me as a “punishment” saying it was for my own good (Hey, I was raised full-on Michael Pearl TTUAC-style. This is foundational.)

parent pulled on my hair to force me to move

parent threw things at me while angry, things heavy enough to hurt me (Kind of? She and my sister were on my bed, top bunk. I was cowering on the floor. But I dunno if she was angry.)

parent trapped me in a room/corner so I couldn’t escape them (I don't remember. But I do know, in my very bones, that there was no escape from them. You couldn't run. You couldn't hide. And trying would only make things worse.)

parent hit me when I wouldn’t obey them / tried to confront them (To Train Up A Child, people.)

parent used a twig / stick / belt to lash at my body (Again—this is the Pearl technique. My parents broke a lot of wooden paint mixing sticks on me before discovering this whippy plastic rod about the thickness of a pencil! You could sharpen the end in a pencil sharpener, too. They had a ton of those, it seemed like. And a short one for trips outside the house; it fit in Mom's purse.)

parent grabbed me to force me to pay attention to them

parent pinned me down and physically prevented me from escaping (...Yeah. Again, this is the Pearl technique.)

parent brought me into situations where I feared for my life (I—look, it's not like the fears were rational or anything. It's just that the world is terrifying when you're autistic and so much hurts. And have been taught your whole life that "the world" is a terrible, dangerous place that can kill you both physically and spiritually. Yeah.)

parent made it painfully obvious for me that I’ll obey them or suffer injuries (I mean. TTUAC.)

parent threatened to beat me if I wouldn’t do as they say (This was the most basic part of my childhood. Like air. Under what circumstances would this not be the case? Unimaginable.)

parent forcefully fed me something I refused to eat (Does not letting you eat between meals, and putting the same food in front of you at each meal—over and over again until you either eat it or it grows mold—count?)

parent made an attempt at strangling / drowning / burning me

parent banged my head / body into the wall / furniture (To be fair, I hit him first. And it's not like I broke the table when his punch sent me across the room: I didn't hit it that hard. Just busted open the back of my head a bit.)

parent forced me into sexual activities

Emotional abuse

parent called me derogatory names and slurs more than once (Frankly, I'm still reasonably convinced that I am a monster. And evil. And I am definitely a fool, at least biblically speaking. "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no god,'" indeed.)

parent said my name mostly with hatred and scorn in their voice (To be fair, it was my name.)

parent degraded and humiliated me in front of others for fun

parent insulted and devalued something really important to me (I mean, in retrospect, it was dumb. Just a worthless paper model of a house, that's all. It wasn't even that great. I was a little kid, after all. So what if I'd spent all day on it? It was still garbage, really.)

parent deprived me of something that meant the world to me (I don't remember. I genuinely don't remember, but I still have trouble admitting that I care about anything because part of me is terrified that if anyone knows I like a thing they'll have a way to hurt me, and that fear has to have come from somewhere, right?)

parent yelled and swore at me in anger more than once

parent blamed me for things that were out of my control/not my fault (And they do feel bad about this now.)

parent shamed me for my physical appearance

parent guilt-tripped me for not pleasing them well enough (I mean, they tried. But good luck; I have no idea what guilt feels like. I bought a book about it because I was curious.)

parent regarded me as a burden, and shamed me for needing them at all (Hmm. I don't really do shame either. I was a burden, though.)

parent insisted I couldn’t take a joke after I was hurt by their insults

parent never comforted me / got angry if I reached for comfort (Again, to be fair: I'm autistic. I'm pretty sure they were just having trouble with my body language and facial expressions. Why else would they punish me for bad attitude when all I wanted was to be cooed at and fluttered over with the same concern they showed my siblings when they cried about their wounded knees?)

parent punished me for crying / showing fear / showing trauma symptoms

parent humiliated me for showing excitement and happiness

parent subtly let me know that my feelings and my problems don’t matter (They, uh. They don't. My feelings and problems are mine. Why should anyone else care? It's genuinely not their problem.)

parent got angry at me for feeling depressed / angry / tired / suicidal

parent blamed me for feeling depressed / angry / tired / suicidal (Who else's fault would it be? They're my feelings, produced by my body and brain, experienced only by me, in my own head. Dang if I see how anybody else could be to blame.)

parent compared me to cousins / other children to prove how I’m the worst (Dang you, Perfect Second Child. ... Although... in retrospect... that set-up wasn't great for you either, was it. Hm.)

parent decided for me how I feel when it was convenient for them

parent told me that I was crazy / delusional / need to be locked away (I don't remember. It sounds familiar. But I don't. I don't remember.)

parent threatened me with kicking me out / sending me away if I don’t change (Kind of? Does it count if you overhear your parents talking about it in their locked bedroom? Not their fault I was listening at the door, surely. They were genuinely considering it. I can't blame them. I was a terrible child.)

parent refused to accept my sexuality gender / tried to force it to change

parent required me to act normal to protect family’s reputation

parent isolated me from family activities they all enjoy (Nooo, haha, I did that all on my own.)

parent assured me that nobody will ever want me (I mean... "only a mother could love" is a saying for a reason. And if even my own mother couldn't love me, well! I don't remember whether anyone told me this outright. It just seemed... obvious.)

parent insisted that I was lucky and that I could have had it much worse (I could have!)

parent made me responsible for their well-being and made me the caretaker

parent insisted that their harmful acts were all done “out of love” (The subject of love was confusing. "I don't love you," "I hate you," "I have to love you because you're my child, so I love you—but I don't have to like you, and I don't, I don't like you at all" ...it was all very confusing.)

parent demanded I be available for their requests at any time (Well, yes, obviously. To Train Up A Child was very clear about this.)

parent punished me for trying to establish boundaries (Boundaries, boundaries. Hmm. Interesting concept....)

parent destroyed my belongings as a form of revenge (Revenge? I don't know. Consequences, I think it was. For keeping all my favorite toys on my bed, and nesting in them. So obviously they had to be thrown onto the floor. And at my head. Ahaha.)

parent made inappropriate sex jokes and comments in my presence

parent denied doing any of this and insists that all the blame is on me (I'm not sure they aren't right, honestly. As previously noted, I am a horrible person, and I was even more horrible as a child.)

Psychological Abuse

parent kept pointing out my flaws as proofs that I won't achieve anything (Mmm... was it them, or was it me doing this? Seems like they were always telling me how intelligent I was, how talented, how much promise I had. The voices asking why wasn't I doing anything, why couldn't I use the gifts God had given me correctly, why was I wasting it all, I'm the stupidest smart person ever, garbage, can't do anything right, etc., seem to have always come from my own mind.)

parent called me stupid, incompetent, ignorant, while withholding information that I needed to know in order to complete tasks

parent would change their side of the agreement at a crucial moment and then pretend it was obvious from the start

parent stalked me / distrusted me without any reason / invaded my privacy (I'm really not sure. What privacy? A four-bedroom house with twelve people in it has very little room for privacy. And if you have nothing to hide....)

parent attacked my insecurities and vulnerabilities in any argument (Dad's always been very good at this. It's his emotional intelligence, I think. Never been much of a cryer, but he can do it to me every time!)

parent forced me into degrading actions while they watched

parent threatened to leave me

parent regularly accused me of behaving the way they did

parent never acknowledged, praised or approved of my actions

parent always demanded they be acknowledged as right without any proof / explanation (Sort of? They had explanations. It's just that those explanations were often terrible. Not that my parents were aware of that.)

parent insisted that they’re a great parent using financial support as proof

parent insisted that I should be grateful for how good they are to me (Keeping me safe from the world! The evil, dirty, disgusting world, full of immoral monsters! Oh, the horrible things that could happen to me without their protection! ...Which is not entirely untrue, I guess. But... I dunno....)

parent gaslit me and tried to make me believe my memories weren’t real if I confronted them with what they did

Neglect

parent didn’t notice I haven’t been eating properly (Frankly, I preferred that. I never much cared for being forced to eat things that made me feel sick.)

parent didn’t notice I was sick / didn’t care for me while I was sick

parent didn’t notice I was injured (Eh. After the first few years of my life, that suited me just fine.)

parent didn’t notice I didn’t have clothes / shoes I needed for school (I didn't go to school.)

parent didn’t notice I suffered from trauma (Look, it's—it's the autism again, okay? Living in a world that hurts you horribly at unpredictable moments is traumatic. I didn't know it was trauma. I just thought it was life. So how could they have known?)

parent didn’t notice I was anxious and stressed (Oh, they noticed that.)

parent didn’t notice I was depressed (Once again—I didn't realize. So how could they? I'm really not sure this counts.)

parent didn’t notice I was cutting myself (Whipping myself, actually. With tree branches. Until the skin broke. Hmm, that was when I was in my early teens, though—as a kid I used to turn a little wooden rocking chair upside down and throw myself into the sharp ends of the rockers. To be fair, they might have noticed. Just... who really cares? I was a rough and tumble kid. Scrapes and bruises and cuts and what-have-you were to be expected. Anyway, there was no cutting; I never cut myself.)

parent didn’t notice I was suicidal (I wasn't. I'm not. I won't be. Mind over matter. Ha.)

parent didn’t notice I was being sexually abused

parent didn’t notice I was being bullied

parent failed to get me medical attention when it was needed

parent failed to teach me the very basics of self care

parent didn’t seem to notice any of my needs and feelings except the absolute minimum I required to survive (Uh. Anything more than the absolute minimum you require to survive isn't a need. You need to survive. Do you really need anything else? I mean, it's nice, a definite plus, but....)

when I notified them of these things, they denied it, accused me of lying, decided it wasn’t happening and/or blamed me for it

Financial Abuse

parent made me feel ashamed for needing money

parent made me feel like I was a financial burden to them (But I was. Come on, now. There's no way honesty counts as abuse. ...Is there?)

parent only gave me minimal money to survive (I don't—there were kids out there getting money from their parents? I mean, they're giving you clothes, food, and shelter already. What for would you need money? I must be missing something.)

parent made sure I never have a decent amount of money on me (Again—I never had that much money. Quarters from the Tooth Fairy: that was it. Money from birthday cards or whatever went in the college fund under their bed. "For your future." And I raided that stash later to buy books anyhow.)

parent took the money I earned from me

parent used the money to blackmail me (if you continue this way let’s see who will pay for your bus ticket!)

parent insisted since they “pay for my stuff” they have the right to control my behaviour and actions (and attitudes. Is this, um. Is this not true?)

parent had enough money for luxury but kept me without anything

parent refused to get my medicine / get me medical attention because it’s too expensive while they got everything for themselves (Nah, they didn't visit the doctor either.)

parent would keep me anxious over if they would pay my expenses or not

parent would make me do as much work for them as possible before they would pay for a necessity

parent kept me in the dark over family finances even when I was of age (Was that them, though? Or was that me? It's difficult to know what's going on with your money when you can't go outside during the day—so no bank visits—and you don't have the password to your bank account because you never asked for it, so you can't do anything online. Which was just as well, because my laptop was... not great. Almost certainly terribly insecure.)

parent would make sure I never have enough money to escape them

If you bold more than 5 things, you have been through abuse. For some particular ones, even one true thing on this list means you’ve been badly harmed by your parents. Also this list is not complete, there are many more abusive behaviours not listed here, feel free to add!

#furiousgoldfish #'Was I Abused' game #child abuse #?#memories #Isaiah muses

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3pirouette · 3 years

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Fic: A Tiny Infinity (1/1)

Title: A Tiny Infinity By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: CA:TFA Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 13278 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Steggy Bingo Bash Prompt “Soulmate AU” Peggy’s only ever met one other person, in her very long life, with a soul mark.

A/N: Set during and post CA:TFA, obviously goes AU from there.

TW for minor alcohol abuse and brief mention of a suicide attempt.

~*~ May 2011

“Auntie Peggy?”

Peggy turned from her computer to see Morgan standing in the doorway. She smiled indulgently at the girl, turning away from her work. “Morgan, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

The little girl stepped further into the study, clutching her stuffed pig. “I couldn’t sleep and Hammy and I need a story.”

Peggy laughed to herself, saving the file she was working on before shutting her laptop and turning back to the girl. “Is that so?”

Morgan Stark nodded very seriously. She lifted her stuffed animal to her ear, then looked back up at Peggy as she moved to her. “Hammy also says we need a snack.”

Peggy lifted the little girl into her arms, looking at her very seriously. “I do believe your Mum and Dad said no sweets tonight, but a story, I can do.”

Peggy walked the girl through her apartment in Stark Tower and back to the guest bedroom Morgan was currently occupying. She didn’t mind babysitting duty at all, and was glad to give Tony and Pepper a night out. Morgan pulled at the strands of hair that were falling from Peggy’s bun and tucked them behind her ear, mimicking the way Peggy and Pepper often tried to keep the little whirlwind of a girl looking presentable. “Auntie Peggy?”

“Yes, my love?” Peggy gently set her on the bed and pulled the stool from the vanity over to sit next to her.

Morgan tried to snuggle herself under her comforter. “Is it true you knew my Daddy when he was my age?”

“Yes, my love. He always wanted sweets at bedtime, too.” Peggy tickled Morgan, laughing with her as she shifted her in bed and untangled the mess of the blankets the girl had made.

Morgan rubbed her face, a sure sign she was tired, but her eyes were fighting to stay open. “Auntie Peggy?”

“He always had as many questions as you do, too!” Peggy let her finger bounce off of Morgan’s nose sweetly before moving to tuck the small stuffed pig in.

Morgan reached up, playing with one of Peggy’s fallen curls again. “Tell me about soulmates. I want that to be my story tonight.”

Peggy was slightly taken aback, but knew the question would come from the girl sooner or later. Though the phenomenon was rare, it seemed every week there was a new documentary on some streaming platform about another pair found somewhere in the world. “Yes, very well, then.” Peggy tucked Morgan in tighter and leaned forward on the bed, resting her head on her hands as she spoke. “Soul bonds are very uncommon, indeed, and even the smartest people in the world—”

Morgan smiled, bouncing a bit. “Like Daddy?”

Peggy smiled, “Yes, like your Daddy, don’t know how or why they exist. But they do.” Peggy smiled, fingers itching at her watch band. “When two people who are soul bonded fall in love and they touch, they get a mark on the arm they touched that other person with. Sometimes it is a dot, like a little birthmark,” Peggy poked a tiny spot on Morgan’s arm, “and sometimes it is a great big design like a tattoo.” Peggy tickled up her entire arm, making the girl giggle.

Morgan shifted to her side, hugging her pig tight. “Do they get to pick it?”

Peggy shook her head. “No. Whatever design they get represents something important about their love, but no one really knows for sure. They only get it once they know they’re in love and they’re ready to be with that person for the rest of their life.” Peggy sighed. “Sometimes the people get special things from their soulmate. They can feel their feelings or they get healthier or even, sometimes, they can read their partner’s mind.”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “For real?”

Peggy smiled and nodded. “For real.”

“Will I get a mark if I touch someone?” Morgan asked, looking at her hands.

Peggy shook her head, smiling. “No, my dear. It only works if both people have decided to love one another like a mommy and daddy do forever and ever. And it’s rare. It’s so very rare. So even people who love each other very much, like your Mommy and Daddy, don’t have them.”

Morgan yawned. “Do you know anyone with a soul bond Auntie Peggy?”

“I’ve only ever met one person in my whole, very long life.” Peggy looked up across the room, meeting her reflection in the mirror there. She smiled sadly down at the girl before she leaned over, kissing her on the forehead. “Now, get some sleep.”

~*~ March 1945

Steve sat across from her in the bombed-out husk of the bar, tears pooling in his eyes. “I just can’t help but think- if I’d have been just a little faster- a little stronger…”

Peggy reached out, letting her hand cover his.

Instead of being comforting, it felt like lightning.

The shock ran up their arms and they grabbed one another’s hands tight as the sensation ran through them both.

The tears that had been welling in Steve’s eyes fell down his cheeks, his face full of shock. He didn’t let her hand go as he stammered, “Wh- What was that?”

Peggy shook as she took a slow, deep breath. She looked down at their hands and slowly let go, even though Steve seemed intent on holding on. When she flipped her hand over the mark was on the inside of her wrist, like a burn. The angry, red flesh was raising up like a welt: a thin, interconnected line that formed an infinity symbol. She looked up at Steve’s wrist which was showing the same welt rising from his skin, larger and thicker, right where her fingers had just brushed his flesh.

The pain surprised her as it settled flat, the redness fading, the sightly darker, raised skin now a permanent fixture. Her eyes flitted between their hands as she watched the colors slowly darken, the welts looking more and more like perfect, delicate tattoos with each second that passed.

“Peg…” Steve’s voice was horse, his own surprise plain and warring on his face with panic. “I didn’t mean to… I was…”

Peggy grabbed the bottle in front of Steve and took a long swig. “Don’t you dare try to weasel your way out of this, Rogers.” She coughed, the whisky stronger than she expected.

His panicked look shifted a bit, a small smile on the corner of his mouth as he wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “I- I was thinking that if you came here, maybe… maybe you care about me like I care about you, and that after what happened today maybe I should stop being stupid about it and just tell you that I think I love you.”

Peggy’s smile bloomed, she tried to hide it behind another swig of whisky from the bottle. She coughed less this time, and slid the bottle back across the table. “I was thinking very nearly the same thing.”

Instead of taking the bottle, he reached his hand out for hers. Peggy laid her wrist out next to his and they examined the delicate, raised lines. “I thought these weren’t real,” Steve whispered out.

“My Mum said my Nan had one. She and my Pop died before I was born so I never saw it myself, but…” Carefully, Peggy let her hand touch Steve’s, waiting for the shock that never came. “I’ve never met anyone else with one.”

Steve squeezed her hand tight, tears welling up again. The words fell from his lips, the delight tinged with deep sadness. “If you came to distract me, it’s working!” He used his other hand to wipe harshly at his face again as new tears surfaced. “Bucky used to tell me all the time that he thought I’d have a soulmate. That out of everyone he’d ever met in his life, he thought I’d manage to be the one that had one and I’d end up with some crazy looking tattoo mark on my face.”

Peggy reached her other hand out, rubbing it up and down his forearm. “He was a good friend.”

Steve laughed through his tears. “Yeah, and I owe him five bucks.”

Peggy tilted her head, her smile both amused and somewhat sad, “You bet him that you wouldn’t find love?”

“Soulmate. Different.” He swallowed hard and laid his free hand on top of their entwined hands, his face serious. “This… this doesn’t have to change anything, Peg. We’ve just been…”

She licked her lips and smiled at him. “Dancing around it?”

His head fell as he smiled. “I deserve that.”

“We don’t have to do anything about this right now,” she supplied, taking his other hand in hers so they were holding both tight. “Which seems silly because the exact reason they’ve popped up tonight is because we had decided to actually do something.”

Steve gave a small tug with his hands and Peggy stood, rounding the table and sinking into his lap. She settled as he wrapped his arms around her, their faces close enough she could feel his breath on her cheek. She let one hand rest on his shoulder as the other slowly started combing through his hair, smoothing it and pulling out bits of ash as she let her fingernails massage across his scalp.

His eyes fluttered closed under her ministrations, his breaths coming harder and more stilted. His head fell to her shoulder as his arms tightened around her, his words muffled against her coat. “I lost my best friend today, Peggy. He was the only family I had left.”

She could feel his tears against her neck as she wrapped her arms tight around him, rocking gently. She kissed his temple. “You’re not alone, Steve. I’ll never let you be alone, I promise you that.”

~*~ May 2011

Peggy passed her office and moved to the bathroom. She fully expected Morgan to be up in five more minutes, asking for another story. The girl rarely made it to bed without at least two, even when she was dreadfully tired.

Just like her father before her.

Peggy looked in the mirror, pulled at the corners of her eyes and smiled and frowned. She hadn’t aged at all since the day the Valkyrie was lost. Her hair was still thick and vibrant without a single grey in sight. No crow’s feet. No laugh lines.

She hadn’t even had so much as a sniffle in all that time.

Peggy pulled off her watch and ran her fingers over the infinity symbol, still slightly raised, still as artful and as delicate as the day it was burned into her skin forever.

If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the static as Steve’s voice cut out on her, could feel Phillips hovering, waiting for her to collapse. Legend, lore, myth, or truth… just like everyone knew soulmates were for forever, they also knew that when one died, the other was not long for this world. Peggy waited at that console for what felt like hours for her heart to stop in her chest as the SSR took control of the base.

The fact that she hadn’t died had been painful to her at first. She thought it meant he was still alive somewhere, suffering.

After a few days, her own beating heart was the only thing that gave her hope.

Peggy set her watch back on her wrist, covering up the lines. Only a handful of people knew of the mark, and she liked to keep it that way. Less questions, less concerned gazes. She sighed, turning the tap onto hot and splashing the water over her face.

She never used cold. She hated the cold.

Since the day he went down she felt like she was always cold, like her spine was made of ice. She’d gotten used to it after decades of layering her clothes and keeping her home unnaturally warm.

She looked at herself in the mirror again as she toweled the water away. It had been years since she’d taken the time to think, truly think, about being soul bonded.

She avoided it with all her might. It only led to heartache and tears, brooding over a lost lifetime of love and the mysteries of her unchanging body.

~*~ July 1945

Peggy huddled in the cabin of the ship, two jackets and a mound of blankets wrapped around her. “Howard, this is beastly.”

Howard shook his head, pouring over navigation charts as they made their way through the chilled northern seas. “Peg, you shouldn’t be this cold. I’m telling you; this is a clue.”

She pulled her collar up higher. “And I’m telling you, it’s not. We’ve been out here for two months, don’t you think we’d have found something by now?”

Howard moved over to her, pulling her arm from her swaddle and pushed up the sleeve to her jacket, pointing to her mark. “That’s not nothing, Peg. You should be dead.” He moved the sleeve down and tucked her back up tight in the cabin’s bed. “You’re not dead, so neither is he.”

Peggy tugged her arms from the nest of blankets and grabbed him as he started to turn back to the charts. “Howard, I’m begging you, take me home.”

“Peg—”

“Don’t you think I want to find him?” She cried out. “Of course, I do! But it’s been months, Howard, months! And not a single sign of him. Not one!” She shook her head, tears collecting in her lashes. “Two days was all we had, Howard. Those couples you keep talking about- they were bonded for years, decades even. Two days, Howard.” She swallowed hard, eyes pressed closed tight. “What if it wasn’t complete? What if we didn’t bond all the way before he was killed?”

Howard looked at her, his heart breaking. “I want to find him for ya, Peg. We just gotta.”

Peggy shook her head, unable to look at her friend as her voice cracked. “And I need to find a way to let him go.”

~*~ May 2011

Peggy watched Morgan from the door of the guest bedroom. The Stark Tower was quiet these days, and she liked it that way. It was easier to confer with DC and Fury from the tower, but she missed her little house in southern California where she always managed to feel generally warm enough.

Long ago she’d categorized the cold as the ever-present emptiness of her heart without Steve in it. It had become a part of her, and she embraced it with fluffy sweaters that she could wrap tight around herself and pretend it was his arms trying to banish the chill.

A few times she’d tried to date, but it never stuck.

They were never Steve, and any time she saw the mark on her wrist she was reminded that she had true and tangible confirmation that Steve had been the perfect man for her.

Instead, she sank herself into her work and the lives of her friends.

She’d babysat Tony often enough when he was a child to see how much of him was in Morgan, and she’d lived long enough to mourn Howard and Maria and Jarvis and Ana and all of the Commandos when each had passed on.

It had been hard to watch them age past her while not a single thing about her changed.

Howard had tried, many times, to convince her to start looking for him again.

A few times he had. They’d commissioned ships and sonar and even submarines. Every time there was a new development in science it seemed Howard was adapting it and chartering a boat or a plane.

Every time she only ended up cold and depressed, worse off than when she’d left. The last expedition had been in 1990. The repurposed naval vessel had technology she could barely understand on it, monitors and computers pouring out data she couldn’t read, data that left Howard jumping back and forth, excited and with a renewed purpose.

They’d come back to re-stock and refuel, to let Howard spend some time with his family before they went back out. Howard was so sure of himself that time. She’d almost, almost started to feel hopeful they could find his body and put him to rest.

Then suddenly she was without Howard, and the losses were far too many and far too heavy for her to hope anymore.

Morgan sniffled softly in her sleep and rolled over, flinging her arm over the edge of her bed. The one bright spot had been Tony. For all his faults, all his frustrating traits and the way he and his father butted heads, he’d been a joy for her. Being able to focus on him after Howard and Maria’s death, having someone who needed her and kept her grounded, was the lifeline she needed.

Tony’s two am calls because he couldn’t sleep kept her from curling in on herself. Keeping SHIELD up and running gave her a purpose.

It didn’t make the nights any less lonely or the days any less long, but it was enough for a while. Purpose became routine became some semblance of a life that she actually found herself caring about.

Just like she cared about the little girl in the bed, slumbering away, unaware of the threats Peggy helped monitor and mitigate day after day, unaware that her simple question about the world had sent her honorary Great Aunt into a spiral of doubt and loneliness.

Peggy closed the door, stepping away. Morgan was asleep for the night, and probably wouldn’t wake up again, leaving it safe for Peggy to indulge a bit. “Jarvis?” she called, the pang of pain at the AI’s name just a little sharper tonight.

“Yes, Miss Carter?”

She moved slowly through the hallway, stopping at the small storage closet. “I’d very much like to not be disturbed under any circumstances.”

“Yes, Miss Carter.”

She rested her hand on the wooden door, tapping her perfectly red, perfectly manicured nails on the surface. She listened to the sound they made in the quiet apartment, echoing through the floor of the tower as she tried to make up her mind.

Before she could stop herself, she turned the handle and opened the closet.

The dry-cleaning bags rustled like ghosts, the memories they protected hidden and hung in the closet until she was ready to wallow in them. She ran her hand along the row of plastic covered cloth, eyes closed, knowing by memory the order of each thing in here. His dress uniform, hers, the red dress she’d worn that one day, his USO costume… Her hand stopped on her favorite: she lifted out the leather jacket, the bag crinkling under her hand.

It had lost the spicy scent of his skin decades ago, but that didn’t stop her from pulling it out when she was feeling her worst, when she needed to remember Steve over Captain America, when she needed the man and not the legend. She pulled the brown leather from the plastic, letting the metal hanger clamor to the floor as she slipped it on, hugging it close around her body.

She breathed in, and even though she knew it wasn’t there, she could remember how he’d smelled, could remember the warm scent of him fresh from the showers, the tang of the army soap on his skin. Her senses assaulted her with more detail than she’d remembered in decades: the flash of his blue eyes when he smiled, the way the stubble would grow in when they were out in the field too long, how his hand felt when he’d reach out to help her over rough terrain… Peggy took a shuddering breath as she reached for the box on the top shelf.

Tonight, it seemed, was going to be more painful than most.

~*~

Tony waited until he was on the elevator, Pepper leaning dreamily into his side, to speak. “Update, Jarvis?”

“Quiet evening, sir. Nothing requiring immediate attention.”

Tony smiled, wrapping his arm tighter around Pepper. “And the girls?”

“Miss Morgan is sound asleep in Miss Carter’s guest room.”

Tony waited, but more was not forthcoming. “And Aunt Peggy?”

The AI hesitated. “She’s having a…bad night.”

Tony sighed, rubbing Pepper’s shoulder. “You should…” she started, but she didn’t have to finish.

He nodded, stepping away from her. “You put Morgan to bed, I’ll put Aunt Peg to bed.”

~*~

She knew he was standing in the doorway, but she couldn’t find the energy to seem to mind. Instead, she snuggled deeper into the armchair, taking a swig of the whisky she’d only been sipping up until now. If Tony was home that meant she was off babysitting duty.

“What did it this time?” he asked casually, leaning against the doorjamb.

She didn’t speak at first, not sure she trusted her voice. She turned the page of the scrapbook in her lap, running her fingers over yellowed newspaper clippings touting another win by Captain America. She took another deep swig and spoke, her voice hoarse from the tears. “Morgan asked me about soulmates.”

“Shit,” Tony mumbled, hanging his head. “I’m—”

Peggy cut him off, shaking her head vigorously. “She didn’t know- didn’t mean to—” her voice caught and she swallowed the sob, sitting taller. “Haven’t had a good wallow in a while, figured it was time.”

Tony stepped forward, sitting himself on the edge of the ottoman at her feet. “Last time I saw you in his jacket was…” He shrugged, reaching out and putting a hand on her leg. “Years ago, Aunt Peg.”

“Happens,” she muttered, offering him her tumbler.

He shook his head, watching as she took another deep pull of the amber liquid. He sighed, then asked the question he’d been meaning to ask for years. “You can’t get drunk, can you?”

Her eyes shifted to him, trying to decide how much she wanted to say, but quickly shifted back as she took another long drink. “No.” The word was stilted, harsh. “I don’t think my metabolism runs quite as fast as his, but I can’t get much more than a good buzz going no matter how hard I try.”

“You know, Thor has this stuff…”

“Unless you can get your hands on it tonight, I have no interest.” She sat up, slamming the book in her lap shut. “I’m giving myself one good pity party and tomorrow morning it’s back to life as usual.”

He frowned, letting his elbows rest on his knees. “What? Work all day and night? We’ve had this conversation before.” He shook his head and looked down at his hands, turning his wedding band. “That’s not a life.”

“And since we’ve had this conversation before,” she started, taking a deep breath and throwing her head back on the cushion, “you’ll know exactly how I feel about it. Life does not begin and end with romantic relationships. I have my work, I have my family…”

“And what do you do on the weekends, hum?” He rubbed his hands together, eyes finding her. “What about friends? What about going out to a movie or playing pinochle or shopping?”

“I’ve been hiding for nearly fifty years, Tony. I don’t want to share my life with the world, don’t want to be the subject of the next big soulmate documentary on Netflix, thankyouverymuch. And the only way to do that? Stay inside. Run SHIELD from the shadows through Fury. Stay fucking hidden.” She popped her head up, looking him dead in the eyes, a fierce fire permeating her whole body. “I haven’t changed a day since 1945. I haven’t gotten a cold, haven’t gotten a wrinkle… not even so much as a scar or a grey hair. I haven’t even had to cut my hair.” The tears she’d been holding back finally came, flowing down her cheeks without fanfare as she began to get more intense. “I’ve watched everyone I love grow old and die without me, Tony.” Her breath caught and he tried to reach out, but she batted his hand away. “I’ve watched you grow from an infant until you look older than I am though I’m twice your age, and one day I will have to sit by your bedside and watch you leave this world without me, too.” Her intensity grew, the words coming faster and harsher as she stood, the photo album tumbling to the floor, her whisky glass waving frantically in her hand. “So, I stay home and I pretend and I try to forget. I try to forget that one day, everyone I love in the world will be gone and I will be left here, alone, with only newspaper clippings and old photographs to show for it. So, forgive me if I get a little maudlin once every decade or so.”

She moved past him in a huff, leaning heavily on the hutch where the bottle of whisky was waiting for her. Tony watched as she composed herself, pouring another drink.

He licked his lips and stood, voice soft. “I know that I will never, ever understand what you’ve gone through—”

“Damn right,” she mumbled, hands flat on the table.

“But I am still your family, like it or not.” Tony moved towards her, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Even if Dad hadn’t asked me to watch out for you, I’d still be here. I’d still want you here. I’d still want you with us, for as long as you can be.”

Peggy reached up, laying her hand on his, but still not looking at him. “Thank you,” she said softly, “It’s hard to remember these things some times.”

~*~ March 1945 The Next Day

He cradled her between his legs, arms wrapped around her, chin on her shoulder. He could feel her heartbeat reverberating through her back and his chest, spooned together as they were on the ground behind the mess, leaning against an ancient pine tree. It wasn’t a large space to hide in, but the constant noise of the mess covered their talking, and Steve was fairly certain no one else knew the little nook existed.

He held his arm out next to hers, both pairs of eyes examining the marks they’d managed to keep hidden for the past day. “What do you think it means?” he asked softly.

“Infinity?” She thought out loud, turning her hand to run her fingertips over the lines on his wrist. “Always?”

He flexed his fingers, her touch just a little too light so that it tickled. He laced his fingers in hers, wrapping their arms around her. “I don’t… I can’t remember if it’s supposed to be literal.”

She shrugged in his arms, laying back into his embrace. “My Nan and Pop’s was an apple. They had their first kiss under an apple tree, or so my Mother said.” She turned her head, warming her chilled nose against his neck. “I’ve always remembered thinking that it had to have something to do with the people.”

He shifted gently, cautiously kissing her temple. He felt her smile against his neck. “Do you feel any different?” He felt her shake her head against him, her negative hum reverberating through both of their chests. He sighed. “Can’t lie. If you got some of my enhancements… if I knew you would be a little safer out there…” He sighed, only a little disappointed. “Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” she murmured, leaning away so she could look at him. She smiled slowly, leaning in to kiss him. “Something nice, though,” she murmured against his lips, “about knowing that this is more than just war and fear and hormones.”

He nodded, kissing her again, his lips soft and chaste on her own. “Love,” he pulled her tight to him again. “I think I’ve always loved you, Peggy Carter.”

Her smile grew slowly until it nearly blinded him. “And I quite love you, Steve Rogers.” They sat in silence, enjoying the comfort of the embrace and letting their breaths sync softly.

“You know,” Peggy started, her voice soft and full of mirth, “One of the requirements to be picked for Project Rebirth was that you had no significant other and absolutely no soul mark. Phillips is going to have a shit fit when he finds out.”

“Language,” he teased, squeezing her tight.

Peggy laughed fully at that, turning and kissing his cheek. “Captain, even if you were scandalized at my language, which I know you’re not, it’s too late now.” She moved her hand, letting her fingers wrap possessively around his wrist. “You’re stuck with me.”

“No place I’d rather be.”

~*~ May 2011 The Next Day

She didn’t have a hangover, though she should have.

What Peggy did have was the sadness and regret in the knowledge that she’d managed to drink the very end of the last bottle of whisky Dugan had ever given her.

One more “last” to add to the list. One more relic to add to the closet.

Tony had stayed for a while, tried to talk her out of her stupor, but after she saw Pepper pass by with a bundled Morgan in her arms, Peggy had physically pushed him into the elevator, arguing that she needed to be alone.

It had probably been the last thing she needed, and they both knew that, but he indulged her.

She’d woken up on the floor of the study, wrapped in Steve’s jacket and eyes puffy from crying herself to sleep, at 3AM. Instead of trying to get back to sleep, she started cleaning up, reverently placing each item back in its place in her shrine of a closet, locking away the memories until the day would come where they broke through again like water breaking a dam.

By mid-morning, Peggy was refocused and deep into SHIELD intelligence. She paced her office while talking to Fury, had a holographic meeting with Coulson, and sent Hill a scathing e-mail once she’d gotten her hands on the latest mission reports.

Not too bad for a woman most people assumed dead. It had worked to her advantage that after a certain amount of time, spies tended to just disappear. There had been questions at first, but Fury was a convincing man when he wanted someone to believe something, and he’d made the world believe that Peggy Carter was dead.

She hadn’t been lying to Tony last night: she had no desire to be in the public eye, to answer more questions than those she already had about her appearance, to be the lonely widow of a war hero who should have died with him the day he sacrificed his life.

Hiding was simply easier.

What she hadn’t said out loud, hadn’t told Tony or Fury or even Howard once upon a time, was that on her lowest night somewhere around 1952, she’d taken an entire bottle of painkillers chased with vodka and waited to fall into the oblivion.

The oblivion never came.

Neither did sleep or even inebriation.

She laid there for hours, nursing a headache and a slight buzz, and cried. The universe was cruel, and gave her no recourse.

After that, she’d slowly, carefully, started to test her limits. They were higher than she’d ever imagined. Higher than she ever let on to anyone else. Howard had often suspected, and Tony flat out asked occasionally, but she’d never said out loud that she’d slowly, over time, gained a level of strength and agility only ever seen in one person.

She hoped, somewhere, he was happy knowing she was somehow safer.

She hoped, one day, she’d be allowed the sweet repose he’d been given.

Peggy sat at her desk, head in her hands. The memories crashed over her like waves, thoughts of love and loss and a lifetime of missing him hit her in a way it hadn’t last night. The frailty of the illusion she ran… the dependency she had on other people to keep her secret... The loss of friendship that she tried so often to ignore… it was suddenly too heavy for her to carry on her own, and she had no one she’d even consider sharing the burden with.

She felt the abyss pulling, an old familiar friend that she’d managed to fend off for years.

Peggy texted her team then shut off all of her electronics. She needed to be alone.

~*~

She’d lived so long she’d stopped feeling bad about days spent solely in bed decades ago. Sometimes she needed that break from people and duty and modernity. Sometimes she just wanted to be alone with a blanket and a book and not have to think about the fate of the world.

She layered up in soft flannel and buried herself under her blankets, a nap the first thing she hoped to achieve.

~*~

She wasn’t sure when, or how, she’d managed it, but when she woke up her pants were on the floor next to her bed. She moved her legs, content that she felt warm enough under the layers of blankets, and rolled over, reaching for the book on her bedside table.

~*~

Peggy had dozed off again, the book barely in her hand. Half awake, she shoved the book next to her and she kicked off the blankets by instinct, curling onto her side. It took a moment before she turned and looked down at her bare legs, down at the blanket she’d kicked off her bed, before she realized something very, very strange.

She felt warm.

Inside and out.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laid with her legs bare for any period of time, the last time she’d felt warm enough to go anywhere without layers upon layers over her skin.

“Jarvis,” she called, knowing the AI always listened for his name, no matter what privacy settings she had on, “Please get Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Stark is currently in a meeting, Miss Carter,” The AI informed her as her breathing started to quicken. She could feel the warmth through her fingers and toes, a sensation that was so foreign it was almost painful. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Please interrupt him,” she ordered calmly as she stripped her top layer of shirts from her body, sweat starting to gather at the back of her neck, “I think I’m dying.”

~*~

Tony sat at his desk, Banner across from him, with the holo-screen between them showing the faces of three other scientists on the conference call. “You’re telling me you think that’ll work?”

Doctor Helen Cho smiled over the connection. “I do, there’s no reason to believe there’s been any damage based on the scans they’ve sent over.”

Tony leaned on his elbows, looking through the holograph. “Bruce?”

Doctor Banner shrugged, leaning back. “She’s right, I don’t see why—”

The projection was paused and they were interrupted by Jarvis. “Sir—”

“Jarvis! I told you—”

“Miss Carter insisted. She seems to think she’s dying.”

Tony stared at Bruce for just the barest of moments before he was on his feet. “Jarvis, give my regards and end the call. Banner!”

Bruce was positively flummoxed as he stood and followed Tony through the office, out to the elevator, and barely waited for him to step in before he was rambling. “Jesus, if she’s dying now- now! Of all times! Dammed inconvenient.” Tony looked up at the ceiling. “Jarvis, get Doctor Cho on stand-by. No, warm up the ‘copter.” He turned back to Bruce, eyes wide. “We’ll have to monitor her vitals, get her to the med bay on level 15. Maybe even take her to Cho. Can you tell if someone’s dying?”

“Tony, Tony Tony…” Bruce grabbed at his shoulder, trying to slow him down. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

Tony moved them both out of the elevator as the doors opened, trotting through Peggy’s apartment towards her bedroom door. “Actually- you’re the perfect guy for this.” He stopped at the door, knocking even though it was partially open. “Aunt Peggy?”

He could hear her labored breathing. “Something’s wrong, I think I’m dying.”

“But are you decent? I brought a friend.” Tony looked at Banner, jaw tight.

She grumbled, her irritation loud enough to hear through the door. “Near enough,” Peggy barked out, and that was adequate for Tony to barge in.

She was laying in the dark, in the center of the bed, sweat pooling on her forehead, and one hand taking the pulse at her other wrist. “Aunt Peg?”

Banner looked away initially, hands wringing in front of him. She was wearing only a camisole and underwear, the rest of her clothes littered the floor around the bed along with the blankets she’d kicked off. “That’s your aunt?”

“Looks good for ninety-one, doesn’t she?” He asked, sliding to her side and taking her hand. “Jarvis? Run what you can from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Banner stepped up to the bed, stuttering as he tried to keep his eyes on Tony. “Nin- Ninety-one?”

Her eyes squeezed shut tight. “I’m feeling every bit of it now.”

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, holding her hand tight.

“Heart is pounding. And I’m hot,” she whispered, blinking her eyes open at him. “I’m so hot.”

Tony rolled his eyes, trying to hide his fear with humor. “I mean, you’re pretty good looking for a nonagenarian, but I don’t know if—” Though it was weak, her hand hit him firmly on the cheek, stopping his teasing. “Right. Deserved that.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, you did.”

“Sir?” Jarvis broke in.

“Hit me,” Tony said, looking over at Bruce.

“Miss Carter is displaying an elevated heart rate, increased blood pressure, a normal blood oxygen level, and a body temperature of 98.7.”

“98.7? That’s correct Jarvis?” Tony’s eyes widened.

“Yes, sir.”

“Compare that to Dad’s notes?” Tony asked, turning back. “Aunt Peg, you’re not dying.” He smiled until it nearly split his face. “Shit, this is amazing.”

“I feel like I’m dying,” she moaned, rolling towards him and pressing her head into the pillow.

Tony turned to the man who was still attempting to avoid looking at Peggy as she writhed in the bed. “Banner, grab her other hand and get me an actual pulse, will you?”

Bruce side-eyed him, but moved anyway. “Tony, I already told you—”

“You know how to take a pulse, right?” Tony looked at him, waiting. “It’s important.”

“Sir?” Jarvis’ calm voice once again broke in.

Tony smiled at Peggy. “Body temp, Jarvis?”

“Miss Carter’s body temperature over several decades, according to Howard Stark’s notes, averaged 96.5 degrees.”

Bruce stopped counting and looked up. “That can’t be right- she’d be borderline hypothermic.”

“Your damn father,” Peggy cursed, still breathing heavy. “Monitoring me without my consent.”

“Yup. You can yell at him when you see him, which, apparently, won’t be for a while.” He looked back at Banner. “Pulse?”

Bruce shook his head, trying to keep Peggy’s slick hand in his. “About 112, give or take. It’s a little erratic.”

Tony couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Jarvis, what was Aunt Peg’s average heart rate?”

“If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him,” Peggy murmured.

“Miss Carter has never reached a heart rate higher than sixty-eight beats per minute, even when exercising, since 1945.”

Tony laughed out loud. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe she can feel it. Ha!” He looked back down at Peggy, her expression tight with pain but still trained on him, concerned at his reaction.

Peggy fought to control her breathing. “Feel what, Tony?”

“Your hands are warm, Aunt Peg,” he whispered in wonderment, holding her hand in both of his. “Ever since I was little, I just remember you always had the coldest hands. They were always like ice. And now they’re warm.”

Tony looked back up at Bruce, his mania taking over again. “Remember, like fifteen minutes ago, when I said there was an extenuating circumstance?”

“Yeah,” Bruce started, weary and unsure how the two situations were related. “But you wouldn’t say what it was.”

Tony nodded. “Didn’t want to tip my hand. Aunt Peg likes to play this close to the vest.” Tony narrowed his eyes at him. “You have to promise that you’re in this, now. You’re part of the secret. You don’t tell unless she says you can tell.”

“Tell what?” Bruce asked, slightly paranoid and frustrated. “The key to the fountain of youth?”

Tony, for once, wasn’t in the mood for joking. “Promise first, or I’m kicking you out and you’re off of all of it.” He looked at him sternly, “ALL of it.”

Bruce threw up his hands. “Fine. I’m in. You wanted me on this, I’m in.”

Tony held up Peggy’s hand, slowly unwrapping his fingers from her wrist, face deathly serious.

Bruce shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “She’s got a tattoo. You trying to tell me tattooing the infinity symbol on you will keep you looking young?”

Tony smiled slowly. “Not a tattoo.”

Peggy caught on before Bruce did, pushing herself to sitting, holding Tony’s hand tight. “What’s happened?”

He chuckled, truly happy. “They’ve found him. In the ice. Dad was right. Off by about a hundred miles, but right.”

Peggy’s face morphed quickly from disbelief and happiness to abject horror as she started to cry.

“Peg? Peg!” Tony pulled her into his arms, sitting on the bed, hands a little unsure of what to do as she wept into his chest. “What…?”

She caught her breath, looking up at him. “I am going to die!”

“No, no!” He caught her as she collapsed into him again. “Aunt Peg, no, you’re not going to die!”

Bruce leaned over, trying to help his friend who was completely inept with the hysterical woman. “Tony, you can’t promise her that, we don’t know what’s wrong with her yet.”

Tony shook his head at the man, concerned that someone so smart could be so thick. “I can. I can because you just told me, and Doctor Cho just told me, that you’re not going to have any problems defrosting him.”

“Tony that…” Bruce stopped, eyes wide. “That’s not a tattoo, is it?” Tony shook his head, still holding Peggy as she cried. “That’s a soul mark?” Bruce asked, incredulous. Tony nodded. “That’s a soul mark!”

Bruce started pacing, hand at his forehead. “Wait- you’re telling me that Steve Rogers- Captain Freaking America- had- has- a soul mark and no one knew?” Bruce stopped and then threw up his hands. “No, wait- forget that. You’re telling me that she- Aunt Peggy here- is his soul mate and what? Hasn’t changed in almost seventy years?” Bruce laughed. “This is- this is…”

“You promised!” Tony nearly yelled, Peggy still on his shoulder. “You promised. Until she tells you, you say nothing.”

Bruce waved his hands and held them up. “Scout’s honor.” He slowly lowered them, smiling a little. “What do we do now?”

Tony slowly grinned and leaned back, waiting for Peggy to look at him, her hands wiping at her eyes. “Want to go see him?”

She nodded, sniffling. “How fast can we be there?”

~*~

Every once in a while, Tony would lean over and take her wrist in his, taking her pulse and feeling her forehead and overall making a nuisance of himself despite the fact she had a shiny gold bracelet of nanotech that he’d slapped on her wrist before they’d left the tower that was monitoring her vitals much more accurately.

Every inch of her felt like it was on fire. She’d put on her lightest pair of linen pants and a tank top she’d usually layer under sweaters. On her way out she’d grabbed a shawl, throwing it over her shoulders. Despite the sweat pouring down between her shoulder blades, she felt like she was naked. Peggy pulled the light shawl closer around her shoulders as she slapped Tony’s hand away again. “Hands to yourself, please.”

He laughed lightly, sitting back in the plush chair of the private jet. “You haven’t scolded me like that—”

“Since yesterday,” she interrupted.

He rolled his eyes. “Since I was a kid.”

Peggy swiped at the sweat on her forehead, sighing heavily. “How long until I don’t feel like I’m jumping out of my skin?”

Bruce looked between them and then back down at the tablet he held that was supplying him with her biometric data. “How long did it take for the cold feeling to feel normal?”

“Back in ’45?” Peggy asked, shaking her head. “I was so numb already I couldn’t tell you. Months… years, maybe before I really got used to it.”

“We’ll invest in Ladies Speed Stick,” Tony attempted to joke, but it fell flat at her tight look. “Look- this is all an unknown.”

“You don’t even know if you can—” she stopped speaking abruptly, her voice choking off at the idea of them not being able to bring Steve back.

“No, we do know,” Tony assured. “They’re at Thule right now with the best scientists in the world either there, headed there, or videoconferencing in.” Peggy looked between Tony and Bruce, both men looking at her seriously. “There are… potential problems. Complications. And we’ll talk about them as they come up. But right now? Every. Single. One. Says things are looking good, alright?”

Peggy nodded, looking down at her hands. She didn’t know how to say out loud everything that she felt, and instead tried to focus on her pounding heart, quicker and more vibrant in her chest than she’d felt in a lifetime.

~*~

They wouldn’t let her in. She could see, through the glass of the observation room, just the faintest outline of his face past the layers of doctors.

They’d let Mr. Banner in… Doctor Banner, she corrected her thoughts, and tried to read their lips. The sound was muffled, tinny, and the tears in her eyes blurred everything.

Tony was behind her somewhere, talking as fast as she’d ever heard him speak with another of the doctors, talking about things she didn’t understand and at the moment didn’t care to.

All she cared about was that she could see his face. She pressed her hand against the glass, eyes tight, seeking out his face every time a doctor moved or shifted. Even if it was just the barest hint of profile over the edge of the bed and around all of the people and the monitoring equipment, she could see his face, and for the first time in sixty-odd years, she felt something akin to hope.

~*~

Tony was pacing across from her. They’d moved on to another naval hospital, their helicopter flight while they transported him the longest she’d been out of sight of his body for hours. They were somewhere closer to the states, something with a name she couldn’t remember. She didn’t care to remember it, didn’t care for much at the moment except finishing the food in front of her so Tony would let her go back to his bedside.

“It’s absolutely astounding!” He was bouncing around the room, going on about the same hour-long cat nap as she was that they both caught when they transferred hospitals. “His heart rate is slowly syncing to yours. And it’s been increasing exponentially since you arrived.”

She chewed, not tasting the dry turkey in the sandwich, not caring that there was a mayo packet right next to her that she could use, not caring that the bottle of iced tea he brought her tasted like plastic and was sickly sweet. She shoved the last of the sandwich in her mouth and stood, eyebrows up as she chewed.

Tony just sighed. “Jesus Christ, will you at least swallow, woman?” He shook his head and tilted it towards the door, signaling that he’d finally take her back to Steve. “It’d be such a damn shame if you choked, you two manage to survive almost seventy years on ice only to have your cause of death be a pre-packaged sandwich.”

~*~

She sniffed as the door closed, trying to hold back the flood of emotion that welled in her throat. He was in his own room, now, and they were monitoring him from next door. They were alone, as alone as they’d been in a lifetime.

Peggy stepped closer, slowly, afraid to break the spell. It all still seemed unreal, and the heavy thudding of her heart in her chest made her anxious.

She hadn’t realized how alone, how lost she’d felt for so long, until he was right there in front of her. It felt like a drug pumping through her veins.

Her soul mark itched. She wondered if it was just her own mind making her feel something or if it was truly something in their bond. She scratched at it, but gave up when there was no relief from the sensation.

She stopped moving once she was at his bedside, fingers drifting down to run over the linens next to his hand while her fist clutched tightly at the shawl around her shoulders. They were slowly warming him, something they’d tried to explain to her more than once, but she couldn’t focus on the science, couldn’t focus on anything except that he was here and everything, everything, was going to change for her.

She gently slid her fingers over the back of his hand. “You’re cold,” she whispered, slightly amazed. “I can’t remember the last time someone felt cold to me.” She laughed a little, the sound manic and haunting, her hope and sanity balanced on a thin edge.

She let them move up to his wrist, then back down over the chilled skin. It felt so foreign yet so familiar. She pulled her hand to a fist and stepped back, afraid she’d be tempted to do something that might hurt his chances of recovery.

“I wish I could say you looked good…” she shook her head, wondering if he could hear her. The doctors said she needed to be very careful, things were still too cold, too rigid, to consider him out of the woods or even safe to move all that much. His skin had a blue tinge to its pallor, sullen and sunken in a way that made her have to close her eyes to shut out the image of him sinking in the ocean, cold and afraid and alone. They hadn’t taken him out of his suit: it clung to him on the bed like a second skin in a way it had never looked on him in her memory.

She smiled, sniffing again and wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “Who am I kidding? You’re the best thing I’ve seen in almost seventy years.”

She dragged the plastic chair over to his bedside, sitting slowly. She couldn’t see a rise or fall in his chest, but the monitors at his bedside assured her his heart was beating, albeit far too slowly, and he was, somehow, managing to breathe on his own.

“There’s so much to tell you,” she whispered, clutching at the shawl around her shoulders. She needed to do something with her hands, they itched to touch his skin again. “I don’t even know where to start. I suppose I should start right when… right…” Her voice stumbled over the words, heavy with emotion until she couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears came, hot as they fell down her cheeks. She fought the sobs that wanted to break loose, knowing they were being watched.

She hated showing other people her weaknesses, and this had been her only soft spot for so, so long.

~*~

Peggy awoke with a start to Tony tapping her on the shoulder. “Aunt Peg?”

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, but nearly fell from the small plastic chair as she woke up. She’d slid down into it, her leg wedged against Steve’s hospital bed the only thing keeping her from sliding to the ground.

“Upsey daisy,” Tony sang as he helped her stumble to her feet. He gestured to the door where there was an orderly standing by a plush chair. “Got you something a little more comfortable. Figured you wouldn’t be that keen on going anywhere just yet.”

She watched numbly as Tony moved the plastic chair out of the way and helped the orderly move what almost looked like a cushioned armchair next to the bed. He stared at her expectantly as the orderly left with the plastic chair. He swept his arm out towards it when she didn’t move. “You, uh, wanna try it out?”

Peggy scrubbed at her face and forced a smile, sitting down into it. “It’s an improvement. Thank you, Tony.”

He chewed on his lip, watching her readjust her shawl. “I was, uh… I was going to go back to New York, check on the girls, maybe get some clothes.”

Peggy nodded, humming in agreement.

He watched her for a long moment before he knelt at the side of her chair. “Ok, I’m not even going to bother asking if you’re alright, because I know you’re not.” He took her hand in both of his, waiting until her eyes were on him and somewhat clear. “I’ve seen just about every side of you, Aunt Peggy, but I’ve never seen you so quiet. So… lost. How worried do I need to be?”

Peggy took a deep breath, settling her free hand on her honorary nephew’s shoulder. “Go home to Pepper. To Morgan.” She squeezed gently. “I suppose…” she shook her head, a small smile coming over her face, “I suppose you don’t need to worry about me any more than you do any other day.”

Tony smiled, a small smirk that grew the more he thought about her words. He stood with a groan, humor in his voice. “You know, that’s not really all that reassuring.” He took a few steps and turned back. “I’ll have Pepper pack you a bag, too.” He started to leave then stopped once again, stepping back to put his hand on her shoulder. “Just a few hours, ok? Don’t… Don’t go anywhere.”

~*~

The chair was infinitely more comfortable, and much easier to sleep in. The hours passed, blending into and passing through one another into days and weeks. The lights in the room stayed on, food was put in front of her, doctors and nurses came and went, and slowly the blue tinge warmed to white, then pink.

She changed clothes in the tiny bathroom when they came to run tests, but her shawl was ever present in her hands, something to keep them busy from reaching out. She clutched at it when they came to change the bedsheets, carefully rolling him side to side, moving the cotton drenched with the melting ice that kept his suit plastered to his skin away and replacing it with fresh, dry linen.

They could have changed it once a day or once an hour. Time had held little power over her since the day the infinity symbol appeared on her wrist, and since the moment she laid eyes on Steve, his body real and in front of her once again, the ticking of the clock had ceased to have any meaning.

She said little, sitting at his side as he slowly warmed, the ice dripping puddles from the fabric of his uniform, his hair dampening then drying as they slowly raised the temperature in the room over the days that she sat there.

She grew bold, holding his hand. Time was counted by how his hand warmed against hers, how it softened and molded in her grip.

She brushed his hair back from his forehead, finally dry, soft and flowing under her fingers. His forehead still cool, but warming under her touch. She whispered to him, soft enough she pretended no one could hear, recalling in vivid detail every last memory she had of him.

Hours started to pass by the tiny puffs of breath that escaped from his lips; slow, shallow, but enough to start to move his chest under the red, white, and blue there. She shifted her chair closer, laying her head on the pillow next to his, holding his hand tight and watching for the movement of each breath.

Her days passed, both longer and shorter than they’d ever felt, in a blur of whispered memories as she sat watch, falling in and out of dreamless sleep.

~*~

“She hasn’t left his bedside in almost two weeks…” Tony mumbled, sitting across the desk from Banner.

The scientist didn’t even look up, just kept typing away. “You’re worrying too much.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“It’s been seventy years.” Banner finally looked up and pulled off his glasses. “And based on the biometric data, they’re both perfectly healthy.”

Tony stared at his friend, unhappy. “Physically.”

“What?” Banner leaned back, running his hand over his head nervously. “You think anyone in their position is going to be healthy mentally?” He laughed heartily and sat back up. “Tony- he’s gonna wake up and find out the world moved on without him. She lived her life without him. And for Peggy… all of a sudden after being alone for so long she’s got a built-in boyfriend who is going to have to depend on her for everything.” He shook his head sadly. “They’re going to be a mess.”

Tony picked up a pen from the desk and fidgeted, looking down. “Not everything,” he mumbled. “Pep and I are already ready to move him in. Round the clock care as long as he needs it. I’m already interviewing tutors to help him keep up with the Kardashians.”

“Tony.” Bruce’s voice didn’t phase the man, and he didn’t look up. He called his name again, and then finally reached over the desk and pulled the pen out of his hands. “Tony. You can’t just—”

“Just what?” Tony accused, standing and pacing.

Bruce stood, stopping his friend. “You can’t just pretend that you haven’t lived in this man’s shadow your whole life. That picking up the mantle looking for him wasn’t a huge psychological mind-fuck you inherited from your Dad.” Bruce sighed, hands thrown wide. “You can’t pretend this isn’t effecting you.”

“I’m not,” he answered too quickly. “I’m not. But however much it’s affecting me, it’s hitting her worse. Far worse.” His eyes went wide and he started to open his mouth to ramble, but stopped himself, deflating. “She was a second mother to me, Bruce.” His lips cracked a smile for just a second. “When we didn’t have anything else, we had each other. She watched Dad and Mom and me get everything she ever wanted, and as happy as she always was for me, there’s just always this sadness in her eyes- it was always there, Bruce. No matter what.”

“And this isn’t going to magically change anything.” Bruce shook his head, reaching out to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Him waking up like Sleeping Beauty doesn’t change the trauma that she went through. That you went through.”

Tony let his head hang. When he looked back up at Bruce, there were tears in his eyes. “I just want to see her smile again. I feel like I haven’t seen her smile in years.”

~*~

Peggy shooed the nurse away, knowing she was being irrational, knowing the tantrum hadn’t helped how those around her were viewing her mental health.

She’d had very little sanity left when she’d arrived, she supposed whatever thread she was hanging on to was more than justified at this point.

She waited until the door clicked closed behind the nurse and pushed the cart towards the bed.

He’d been bone dry for days now, and they’d decided his internal temperature was high enough to move him and finally strip him of his uniform.

She’d let that nurse do it over her dead body.

With a deep breath she sat on the bed and ran a hand carefully down his chest. It rose and fell steadily, now, if not still a little slow.

She knew exactly where the buttons and zippers were hidden, and slid her hand along the first seam until she found the snap and the zip. She’d had to help him out of this damn outfit in the field more than once to tend to a would or a broken rib. Her mind called up his dirty, sweaty face, bright with excitement and exhaustion, breathing heavy as she tried to help him shimmy out of the top with a single useful arm.

She couldn’t wait to see his smile again. Couldn’t wait to see those eyes flicker to life. She was tired of looking at pictures and trying to recall the life inside him that the camera never seemed to capture.

Peggy tossed the shawl from her shoulders on her chair and moved forward with purpose. It was a struggle, getting the thick material from his body. Peeling it away where the seawater and sweat had suctioned it to his skin.

He was dead weight in her arms as she moved him around, pulling, pushing, and shifting to pull the jacket, then the pants from his body. Once the heavy woven fatigues were gone, she stepped back, breathless, surveying the work she’d done and what was still left.

The damp and clinging army issue boxers and undershirt he wore, combined with the wrinkled stark white of the skin that had been hidden from the world under his suit for so long, made him somehow look smaller. The bulk of his suit had always complimented his size. But now, in the bed, without it, he was more the man she’d met long before the needles and experiments. Soft. Helpless. Pale.

She’d asked Tony why he hadn’t started growing a beard or gone to the bathroom. He’d made an off-color joke and then said they’d assumed because he was still healing his body wasn’t focusing on things like growing hair and processing waste. It was too occupied trying to keep itself alive.

She ran her fingers down his cheek, soft and smooth, and then over his chest, where the skin was tight and chilled, gooseflesh starting to bubble up all over him. They might have thought him dry, but the suit had been holding water against his skin.

She let her hand move over his arm. His skin had wrinkled under the fabric like a child’s skin after they’d been in the water all day. It was rubbery and thick along his arms, unlike his hands that were soft and dry.

She flipped his wrist over, tracking the black infinity she hadn’t seen in decades. She forgot how his was the same yet slightly different. Bigger. More defined.

She moved her wrist next to his, lining the lines up. Seeing them together after so long sparked a wave of emotion from deep inside her that she couldn’t stop. The sob burst from her lips before she even knew it was happening.

She couldn’t help herself. It was more like an automatic movement: she couldn’t remember making the decision to do it and couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to. As the tears came, Peggy did the only thing she could think to do, the only thing that she thought would bring her any kind of comfort: she crawled into bed with him, and hung on for dear life to his clammy skin as the emotion poured out of her.

~*~

“I’d hate to step on your—"

An explosion like a bomb and then

…floating and falling all at the same time...

He remembered cold.

Wet

…then…

Sadness

Grief

Overwhelming grief like a wave crashing over him, chilling him to the bone.

And then just cold.

Coldness.

Shivering.

Never ending numbness.

Always and never at the same time.

An Infinity.

Infinity.

It felt like moments and years all at once. Pain. Fear. Happiness. Exhaustion. Dizziness.

Cold.

So Cold.

And then

…Then

Then…

~*~

She woke to the sound of Tony clearing his throat. He smiled at her when she blinked up at him. “I know you’re excited he’s back, but let’s at least wait until he’s conscious jump his bones, ok?”

Peggy looked down, realizing that in her grief and exhaustion she’d managed to wrap herself in and around Steve, even pulling him to his side to cradle her better. He was still gone, still limp in her embrace, his shallow breaths ghosting over his skin only ever so often. Carefully she extracted herself, righting Steve then pulling her shawl over her shoulders as she tried to straighten out her hair.

Tony moved over to the bed, rearranging Steve’s arm and pulling a cotton blanket from the cart the nurse had left, laying it over his scantily clad body. “Guess dad was right: he was quite the specimen.”

Peggy’s face soured. “He was a good—"

“I know, I know.” Tony batted her comment away. “Right now, it’s more his physical resilience that’s keeping him alive, so no matter how good this guy was, you both need to be damn glad that either that serum or that soul bond is doing its job.”

Tony rounded the bed and held out his arm. “Come on. Let’s take a walk. Maybe get a coffee. They’re going to take him for a new CAT scan, and I don’t think you’ve seen the sun in a while.”

Peggy smiled softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before she tucked her hand in the crook of Tony’s arm, the orderlies waiting outside the door to move Steve. “A coffee sounds lovely.”

Peggy pulled him to a stop right outside the door, waiting until Steve was out of sight and through the double doors at the end of the hall before she let Tony start moving again.

Tony couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice. “I’m going to have to call him Uncle Steve, aren’t I?”

Peggy’s smack across his bicep lacked any real force, but he flinched anyway.

~*~

Cold.

Cold and wet and cold and wet and cold and cold and cold and wet

Loud.

So loud.

The sounds of the universe louder in his skull than he’d ever heard them

…Then

Then…

Calm.

Her.

Safe.

~*~

Doctor Cho was a lovely woman who had infuriatingly little to tell her. Peggy sat on the bed by his hip, one hand holding his, the other combing through his messy hair.

The CAT scan had shown almost no abnormalities. His breathing was getting better. His heart rate was up. Doctor Cho had come and gone with the update long since, a whirlwind of nurses right after, and they were back to being alone, left with only each other and the quiet of the room.

They’d inserted an IV and a catheter because he was starting to show regular kidney function, and there was serious discussion as to how they should go about feeding him at this point.

But they didn’t know why he wasn’t conscious. Why he had yet to move on his own. Why he didn’t roll or groan our toss and turn in the bed.

She kept brushing her fingers through his hair, the other hand playing over the mark on his wrist. It was the only explanation for any of it, and though she hadn’t voiced any of it yet, her mind had turned to darker answers for his lack of liveliness.

She was worried he’d come back only in body, but never in mind. Worried there had been more damage than the serum or the mysterious bond of the soul mark could fix. Worried they’d spend the rest of their days in this little hospital, waiting for him to wake up.

Peggy shook the thoughts away. It was hard to keep them at bay sometimes. But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t leaving. Not when she’d found him again. Tony had slowly been moving her in to the small room, she now had her own cot and a desk, a laptop and tablet to get back to work at saving the world.

She’d been by his side and absent from the world for almost a whole month. She did still have some responsibilities to tend to, and the monotony of waiting had long since ceased being a novelty.

If she could run SHIELD from the shadows for all those years, this would be no different.

She wasn’t leaving until he got up and walked out with her.

“You’re safe, my darling,” she whispered to him, kissing his cheek softly. “Come back to me when you’re ready.”

~*~

Safe.

Calm.

Warm.

Safe. Safe. Safe safe safesafesafesafe…

A flickering

Warmth

Feeling.

A twitch…

Her voice… like a wave a summer enveloping him.

He felt his heart pound in his chest.

Her breath on his cheek.

“Steve?”

~*~

“Steve?”

His finger twitched.

She’d been holding his hand for so long she’d gotten used to the feeling of his still flesh, pulse beating lightly against her own, without any other movement in the limp muscles.

It had been just the softest tremor of his pointer finger, right over her own, and for a moment she thought she imagined it, even though it had forced his name from her lips and her attention from the report on the tablet in her other hand.

Until it moved again.

Peggy scrambled from her spot on the chair, sitting next to him and pulling his hand to her lap, holding it tight with both hands. “Steve? Can you hear me?”

She tried to pretend her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest, ignored the doctors she could hear gathering at the door behind her. He was breathing harder, with more purpose. It wasn’t the soft breathing of sleep but the breaths of a man just woken from a slumber. His pulse bounced under her fingers as she cupped his cheek, her thumb smoothing away wrinkles as his face started to move, the eyebrows pulling together in the first expression she’d seen on his face since the hallway in the Hydra base.

“Darling?” she whispered, trying to keep the fear and hope out of her voice, trying to keep it steady for him. “Steve?”

He tried to say something, but his mouth was dry and only the faintest croak came from his lips. Peggy bit her lip, trying to hold herself together as his eyes fluttered open.

“Toes…” he croaked out, confused and lost.

Peggy stroked his cheek softly, smiling as her eyes filled with tears. “Toes?”

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, licking his lips and trying to get the cotton feeling out of his mouth before he looked at her again, still lost and so very, very disoriented. “Don’t wanna… step… on your toes.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. It was a bright, happy sound as she fell to him, holding him tight. He’d finished the very last sentence he’d said to her so many, many years ago.

She could feel his arms trying to wrap around her. The muscles, not quite used to moving, were clumsy as they tried to hold her, slipping and uncoordinated and tangling the IV line so that she had to pull away and lay his arm flat and untangle the line before he hurt himself.

“Peg…” She couldn’t tear her eyes from him: the little lines in his forehead as his eyebrows creased together, the life behind his blue eyes, the way his tongue kept flicking over his dry lips. He reached up, his hand still slightly clumsy as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “What…?”

She couldn’t keep the smile off her lips as she took his hand and kissed the palm, then dropped a kiss down at the curve of the infinity on his wrist before she held his hand tight against her chest. “It’s been so long…”

“Can’t have been that long,” he managed to rasp out, smiling up at her. The arm with the IV in it flopped on the bed for a second before landing on her knee, holding tight. “We can keep our date.”

She wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a sob that burst from her lips, but it reignited the tears. “Oh, darling, you’re so very, very late.”

His smile faltered, more from his fatigue than anything. His eyes were already starting to close again. “Peg…”

She almost jumped when the hand touched her shoulder. She turned, startled to find Tony there. “The doctors need to see him,” he whispered. “I tried to convince them to let you stay, but…”

Peggy looked between the two men for a moment, unwilling to leave him.

“I’ll be fine, Peg,” Steve mumbled, eyes fluttering open and closed. “Go with Howard.”

Tony’s eyebrows leapt in surprise, but he didn’t say anything to the man. “Bruce will be here the whole time. Half hour, tops.”

She forced a smile on her face and leaned over, kissing his cheek. “Won’t be but a tic, yeah?”

Steve’s hand fell from hers gently, the muscles already tired from their minor use. He tried to say something, but it fell as a soft puff of breath from his lips, sleep taking him yet again.

Tony guided Peggy out of the room, her eyes on Steve’s form the whole time.

He’d come back to her.

~*~

He held her hand tightly, staring blankly at the wall. “And… you said how long?”

He’d gone in and out of sleep for about a day, managing only a few words at a time, but he was awake now, sitting up and getting stronger by the minute. Peggy found she couldn’t hold off this conversation any longer.

He’d asked about how long it had been three times, still trying to wrap his head around the basics after the story had poured out of her. “About 66 years, give or take a few months.” She didn’t shy away from the answer, even though he didn’t look at her. “I used to be able to say down to the minute how long you’d been gone, but…”

When he turned back to her, there were tears in his eyes. “And that’s not Howard.”

“No. It’s his son, Tony.” She squeezed his hand and shifted from the chair to the edge of the bed, her hand on his thigh. “No one expects you to be able to process this.” She licked her lips and shook her head. “You ask as many questions as you need, and I’ll do my best to get you all caught up.”

Her bravado was forced, and Steve could see right through it. He tipped his head and waited her out, knowing what she wanted to say was close to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted softly.

“For what?”

She looked anywhere but him. “Howard was the one who wanted to look for you. He spent years and years just searching and I…” She swallowed, hard, and looked Steve right in the eyes. “I was the one who made him stop. Who told him to stop looking for you.” She shook her head madly. “I had all the evidence, right there on my wrist and in my own body, telling us you were alive and yet I still…” She turned away from him, quiet and sullen. “How can you even look at me?”

Steve reached out his hand and pushed the hair back from her face. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen, Peg.”

“I left you,” she barked out at him. “I left you there, in the ice, alone and freezing for decades!”

Steve didn’t know what to say, he didn’t have an answer that changed what she did, or that could make her feel better. “And I left you, by crashing that plane. I was so sure that—” He stopped, emotion welling up in his own chest. “I was just so sure about it. I didn’t stop to think that I could have… that it meant.” He sighed and sat up further, pulling her to him. “I could have killed you, too. I could have… I never…”

His words devolved to mumbles of little meaning as he held her, and she held on just as tight for a long time. Finally, she pulled back, setting her hands on his cheeks. “Now, you listen to me. You did what you had to do. I’ve had a lot longer to think about it than you have, and there was no other good choice. You made the decision to save thousands, if not millions of lives. We knew that was potentially the cost of everything we did. We knew it could have been our lives that we paid with—”

“But I shouldn’t—”

She stopped him with her lips, kissing his softly. “You had no other choice.”

He let the sentence sit in the air around them for a moment before he replied. “And neither did you.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, but I never would have wanted you to just… I’m glad. I’m glad you moved on.”

“I tried,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I tried but…”

Steve pulled back, lifting her arm and pressing his lips to the infinity symbol on the inside of her wrist. “It all feels like it was yesterday to me,” he said softly, laying back and tugging her to join him.

Peggy slipped into the bed, pressing herself to his side. “Sometimes I feel that way, too.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, just content to be holding one another. He can’t hold back the whisper. “I’m sorry I missed so much.”

Peggy made the conscious choice to avoid the minefield of emotions in that statement. “Well, you’ve quite a bit to catch up on. History. Books. Politics. Music. Technology.” She squeezed him tight for a moment. “We’ll start with technology, otherwise you’ll barely be able to get around the house.”

Steve smirked, “Howard’s ‘House of the Future’?”

“Something like that,” Peggy kissed his cheek.

“Doctor Cho said they’re setting up some kind of room for me at Tony’s…” he didn’t quite ask the question he wanted, but instead let it hang in the air.

Peggy nodded against him. “His home is quite… large. I live on one of the floors.” She sighed. “I think they’re setting up a medical suite for you on the one below it, just to get you out of here.”

“I’m doing better,” he argued lightly.

“I know, they’re just being cautious.” She cleared her throat. “Mostly because I threatened them.”

“Ah,” he chuckled, kissing her forehead. “No wonder.”

“I want you out of this beastly place as quickly as we can.”

Steve tipped his head up, looking at her. “And?”

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling just a little. “And then we go home. To New York. Get you back in top shape.”

He smiled down at her. “Then what?”

She reached up and kissed him softly. “Then infinity begins, my darling.”

~*~

A/N: I'm fairly sure that's all there is to this little universe, though I don't ever completely discount the possibility of revisiting it. I hope you enjoyed.

Peggy and Steve’s Soulmarks are actually based on a tattoo idea my friend has- she has the world “Always” in her husband’s handwriting on the inside of her wrist and she’s going to incorporate an infinity symbol for their song (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire (“Just a great, figure eight, a tiny infinity”) Edge of Desire is a GREAT Steggy Song.

#Steggy bingo Bash #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #Soulmate AU

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