Tumgik
#for now the box takes up space but ive put a blanket over it so it looks like a little chair
huebris808 · 6 months
Text
trying to break out of my shell and post madcom hc shit aka Look At My One Of Many Weirdass Hank Ramblings, Boy
hank you know them. they're six-foot-something and wanted to try volleyball. they dont get sarcasm and refer to stuff as "thingys". they're the autistic power fantasy of throwing bricks at those who view you as subhuman. their bedroom's apparently just a mirror to practice cool poses with and a blanket and their favorite drink is eggs now according to the streams. and they are your new nonbinary president
im constantly fluctuating between Animation & MPN Are Two Different Timelines/Universes or They're The Same, But He’s Testing Which "Hank" Is More Favorable/Useful To Others
wasian hank truther baby. (jp+filipino-american)
this guy would probably use わたし/私 (ive seen a lot of artists use オレ/俺 for him though but i feel like its a bit?? much)
definitely had to pick up sign-language after [Vague Gesturing] All That
has autism in the way that they have No Clue they got it. like "damn i got [Specific Autistic Issues]. sucks that im so so normal and yet i must endure The Problems everyday"
speaking of autism, enjoys confined spaces sensory-wise. vents and boxes and shit like Come On Man. Do You See The Vision.
gonna be honest like half of the shit (Understatement) i got for hank is projection but what's madcom without that in some aspect!! that's the POINT man!!! [ON KNEES WAILING] that's the POINT
working in real estate and as a mercenary since The Incident made their self-worth go to SHIT; in a world that dehumanizes you, you are quick to dehumanize yourself. this is where the power of lesbian friendship comes in
subconsciously puts doc on a pedestal over time, leading to (See Bullet 1); this dissipates after they somehow reach a conversation of Bitch We Are Both Equals And Fighting For Our Fucking Lives Out Here THEY SOLVE SHIT TOGETHER MAN!!! THEY SOLVE IT
sorry. sorry. im trying to delete it
out of nowhere maybe its the Autistic Projection maybe its cause im allergic to Sadstuck Shit i dont dig negative stuff with 2bhank it just feels Wrong :-( i wish i could word this better but like. i need these little chesspiece fucks to learn to communicate
what i will refer to as the Newspaper Era (aka the time before we got doc characterization from arena mode) caused people to make some weirdass depictions of their relationship and im glad its phasing out. The Horrors
main 4 are all butch lesbians btw. not sorry about that one
also POLYCOMBAT TRUTHER this dude would HATE how vulnerable these three would make them feel at first. they're the first to actually treat him like A Guy and that fuck him up a bit initially
i think eventually they all reach a point where they're able to do stupid shit together like fireworks or breaking chairs over each other heads. you've seen how doc is don't exclude him from doing dumbass shit
"erm… actually they wouldnt be friends or have fun or date theyre ruthless criminals and madcom is cruel :/" L + ratio + the rule of The Funniest Thing Is The Answer in madcom prevails + That's The Devil Talking, Boy
shit at technology. if they had a blog their lack of skills would loop back around to make them the most powerful shitposter on earth
there's definitely more that im missing here and takes that Don't Suck (for example people need to put out more hankford content. Cmon Man) but my brain has this shit Queued Up in a way so. Yeah
21 notes · View notes
ankhisms · 10 months
Text
Tumblr media
have surprised myself with how much ive been able to get done today altho i know ill be hit with exhuastion soon enough, rambling under the cut about things having mixed emotions but not all bad really
so my room in our house isnt really exactly my own room, its the room with the eletric box, water heater/softener closet, furnace filters, and the washer and dryer. its always been this way so im used to like not really ever having a space thats mine and mine alone but i wont get into that. anyway any time the seasons change (or often on my parents whim and never without any warning) we have to get to the water heater closet and the furnace filter so my room has to be torn apart to get to them. my bed is pushed up against the water heater closet so its like i sleep right next to a door so the bed has to be moved. anyway this is usually a very jarring and upsetting thing since it usually happens without warning or telling me and i have everything i own just moved without being told or warned. but today i decided to take agency in this and i was the one who moved the bed and moved all my things so my dad could get in and turn on the water so we can use the outside hose to water things.
ive been meaning to really deeply clean and sort like, everything i have and everything in my room for probably half a year now and to see what i might want to give away/keep and reorrange things and just like take stock of things for the HOPEFUL future where i can move out and be having my real own space yknow. i finally started this process and it felt good to get everything down and to really deeply dust, ive also been meaning to properly wash old stuffed animals of mine bc i love my stuffed animals dearly but some of the ones i had when i was younger are very clearly showing their age so i looked up tips and instructions on hand washing old stuffed animals and i tested it out on two ones that dont mean as much to me to see if it goes ok before trying to wash ones that i absolutely dont want to ruin and it went well! i definitely can feel myself starting to get tired and having more pain as i write this but im still happy with how much i cleaned and sorted along with washing my sheets/pillows/blankets
the thing that makes me have mixed emotions is that what ive also been meaning to do is.... take down and get rid of the things that were drawn by/given to me by the old long term friend who just suddenly cut me off with no warning or explanation and then only messaged me one more to weirdly say "well im hanging out with my new friends and theyre so cool and great" and not responding to me begging him to tell me what was going on or if i had done anything wrong and wanting to talk things out. we were long distance internet friends for over 10 years so i have a lot of drawings and books hed given me and i didnt really get to taking down a lot of drawings but i sorted through one book in particular, he used to do this thing where hed give me a comic book and hed put in sticky notes in a lot of pages with his thoughts on them. so i went through the pages and took out all the sticky notes one at a time since i want to give the comic book to someone i know will like it. and it was a very... weird feeling. taking them all out. i had read the notes and the book when he first gave it to me but now reading them it felt like.. more bitter than sweet but there was still sweetness there. i recognize looking back that i had rose tinted glasses on for the majority of our relationship and it was probably more toxic than i realized and i often blamed myself for harmful things he did. not at all saying hes a bad person or anything btw i just think we both were very damaged kids from abusive homes and i was probably toxic in ways i didnt realize as well im not without blame here but its weird to realize that our friendship wasnt as healthy as i thought it was. but reading those notes as i took them out it was like... he wrote these at a time where i know he loved me and considered me his close friend and i felt the same. and i still love him. the love i have for anyone, especially a close friend, does not just disappear. it stays within me and is not wasted. but it certainly feels like a weight on my chest in this moment.. i keep thinking, what happened? what changed? he didnt even give me this book that many years ago, maybe three or four at the longest. what happened to make him decide to cut me off like that? i dont know, and i know im not going to get closure. so i just have to hold the love i still have and let it ache but then i have to let go and continue trying to live
i dont know how soon im going to have the opportunity and resources to be able to leave my home situation, its become increasingly obvious to me that its not something i can achieve on my own for a multitude of reasons, i know ill need help and i try to remind myself that im not alone in it and that its not impossible for me to get to a safe environment where i dont feel scared and like a cornered animal. for now i feel good about my decision to try and make my living space feel nicer for myself, although im aware that it never really feels like my own space nor does it ever fully feel safe i still am trying to make jt more comfortable for myself while im here and i feel proud of myself for that
anyway thanks if you read this all, i hope youre doing well mwah
Tumblr media
4 notes · View notes
hunters-trashblog · 1 year
Text
*slinks on over* @humanarsonist
Part of chapter 3 I liked
Ignore the periods in-between each paragraph, my Tumblr doesn't like when I space things so
~
When he'd returned, he'd been holding what looked to be a little tank full of turtles. 5 to be exact.
.
Lou's eyes widened upon seeing them, immediately loving each and every one of them. He'd smiled when Draxum handed him two of them. A red eared slider, and an alligator snapping turtle.
.
"Aren't you cute!" He cooed to them, before continuing his sentence. " I will call you green! And green number 2!" He'd said, looking at the two in his hands.
.
The snapper stared, before biting Lou's thumb, but in a way of affection. Tears immediately sprung into the man's eyes, but he didn't move the turtle, from the slider being in his other hand. He'd bit at his lip, letting out a shaky breath when the snapper let go.
.
Draxum took the two out of the humans hands, putting them back in the tank before giving him a box turtle, a soft shell and a sea turtle.
.
Lou squee'd at the new ones he held, looking at them with so much adoration and care. He didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to protect the 5 turtles.
.
They were so little and helpless. He wasn't sure why Draxum had them, which pushed him to ask. "Draxum. Why do you have these turtles?"
.
The goat yokai pondered, staring at Lou's deep gray eyes as he thought. "Well, they're gonna need to be studied and watched. Hence, my need for you as my assistant." He said plainly.
.
"Does that mean that I'd be the one taking care of them then?" Lou asked, masking his excitement with a straight face.
.
Draxum scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I suppose so, so yes."
.
Lou turned his attention back to the three in his hands, smiling at them. He'd set the three on his lap, reaching and grabbing the first two to have them join the group. He used a finger to gently pet them on their heads.
.
The display of affection made Draxum uncomfortable, him turning his attention to the IV. He definitely would need another blood bag, he thought to himself with a nod. While Lou was distracted, he could get more blood into him without the man freaking out.
.
Lou's smile turned to that of a tired one, yawning softly. The small turtles curled up on his lap, going to sleep on him.
.
When Lou finally took his attention off of the turtles in his lap, he'd noticed the new blood bag, and Draxum washing his hands. "Hey so..when do I have to start studying them for you, by the way?" He'd asked.
.
"Tomorrow. You need to sleep, let the new blood help your body feel better. And, I'm meaning right now. I can hear you yawning over there." Draxum responded to the question, turning his head to look at him over his shoulder. "The turtles will be fine, by the way." He added as he came over, gingerly placing the 5 turtles back.
.
Lou frowned slightly when Draxum did so, watching them nervously. Draxum gave Lou some new clothes, pajamas, a pillow and a blanket. "Here. Get into something that you can actually sleep in. You're staying in here till I know you're not going to pass out again. There's water bottles in the fridge, if you get thirsty. Goodnight." He'd muttered, turning off the light when he left, the room a warm, but dim gold from the nightlight.
.
The human looked at the clothes, before he stood up, careful of the IV in his arm, taking off the cold, and damp clothes, changing into the new ones. He'd shivered a bit, not liking the feeling of the fabric. But, he'd get used to it.
.
He'd yawned again, giving the turtles gentle head pets before getting onto the Med Bay bed, getting as comfortable as he could, making sure to keep his arm with IV out. He sighed softly to himself, getting under the blanket, before he shut his eyes.
.
The only noises heard in the room were light beeping, and the sound of the turtles eating occasionally during the night. Lou found it comforting, better than the silence of his cell back at the Battle Nexus. The comfort eventually getting him to fall asleep.
.
When he woke up, it was from a pinching pain from the IV being taken out of his arm by Draxum. That of whom had cleaned the spot the needle was in, putting a bandaid over it before he left, to go back to sleep.
.
It was only 4 in the morning, Lou yawning and turning onto his other side as he went back to sleep. He didn't realize just how tired he was. How exhausted he was until then. He had started snoring lightly.
.
Draxum didn't wake the man up when he'd gotten up, figuring Lou getting better and resting was more important at that moment. He'd shrugged to himself, keeping quiet as he watched and studied the turtles himself, writing notes down for the observations.
.
How would he even get the mutagen to work? How would it actually be able to cross with human DNA, he wasn't sure of. But, it was worth a shot, he'd thought to himself.
.
Lou groaned a bit in his sleep, from putting pressure on the bruised area on his arm, where the IV had been prior. He opened his eyes, staring at the yokai writing at his little desk in the room. His vision was blurry, and he was tired.
.
He'd gone back to sleep, still exhausted from only barely getting over his blood loss.
.
Draxum smirked a bit to himself, as he wrote down notes. He was going to use some of Lou Jitsu's blood and DNA to get his experiment working. That's how he was going to get it to work, getting it directly from the source.
.
He tapped the eraser to his chin, his pink hair running loosely down and off his shoulders. This had to work. He wasn't going to deal with failure. Not again. Not again, not with Lou Jitsu holding his prior fuck up over his head.
.
Draxum had glanced up at the sleeping human, letting out a very low hum as he thought. He was going to get him to feed and take care of the turtles for a few days, then he'd strike. Then he'd get his plan going. He nodded at himself, standing up and leaving a lab coat at the foot of Lou's bed, as well as his list for the day.
.
....
.
Lou had woken up later on, sitting up with a yawn, stretching his arms and back. He'd seen the coat and list, reading it over with a hum, smiling lightly.
.
He'd gotten up, putting on the coat before checking up on the turtles. On his beloved turtles.
.
They'd been awake, eating. He beamed at seeing them, doing his first job of the day, cleaning them. He'd been as careful as he could be, getting bites from the snapper at times. Yet, he used a wet toothbrush to clean the soft shell and sea turtle, being as gentle as possible.
.
They seemed to appreciate the action.
.
He grinned to himself, before he fed them. The box turtle was the one who caught his attention this time, eating at a strawberry he held between his pointer and middle finger. It made him chuckle a bit, watching with adoration.
5 notes · View notes
Text
[START] [ABOUT AND WARNINGS] [FAQ]
Tumblr media
IRONHAWK/ Let’s find Tony’s suit
“I think we should get Tony’s suit.  Even if you can’t pilot it, you can use it to contact the others, and it’ll provide you with some protection, right?” you say.
Tony nods.  “Yeah - I agree.  I don’t like fighting our way out of here with nothing.”
“Alright,” Clint says.  “Back in the vents.”
The three of you scramble back inside the confined space and continue your journey through the building.  You don’t know how long you’re in there, but a hum returns to the building and some of the rooms you pass have low lights on.  “They must be getting the backups online,” Tony says.  “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Fuck,” you hiss.  “I made the wrong choice. We should have just tried to get out of here.”
“Hey,” Clint whispers, putting his hand on your calf as he crawls up behind you.  “It’s alright.  We’ll get out of here no matter what.  We can always alter plans if we have to.”
You nod and take a deep breath and keep crawling after Tony.  More lights come online and you start hearing a lot more commotion coming from rooms as you pass them.  Your heart is beating so hard, it feels like it’s trying to escape your chest.
Just when you start to think it’s hopeless, and there is no possible way that you’re going to escape HYDRA, Tony stops dead in front of you. “This is it.  Looks like your equipment is in there too, Cupid.”
He kicks the grate out and the three of you get out into some kind of weapons storage room.  Tony’s armor is in parts on a bench, and Clint’s bow and quiver are dumped on a box.  Clint runs over to the box and pulls the bow out.  “It’s okay.  Papa’s here.”
As Tony begins to put his suit on, you and Clint go to work barricading the door.
“FRIDAY, I missed you,” Tony says when he has his helmet on.  “I need you to pinpoint where we are, and then get the team to come find us.”
If FRIDAY responded, you didn’t hear it.  The sounds of people’s footfalls outside the door were what you focus on.  Someone tries to push the door open, but thankfully the barricade holds.
“Someone’s blocking the door.  It might be them,” someone outside yells.
“Get ready,” Clint says, pulling out an arrow from his quiver.
You check the ammunition on your handgun and hold it, not aiming yet, but ready to go, if they breach the doorway.
There’s more yelling and people start battering the door.  It creaks open for a second, and Clint looses an arrow right through the momentary gap.
“God, you really are impressive, Barton,” you say.
“I try,” he teases.
It’s now clear to HYDRA that the three of you are holed up in the room and the effort to get in heightens.  You, Clint, and Tony fight to keep them out.  Firing at them and pushing the table back every time they try and push the door open.
There’s a loud hum outside and Clint looks back at Tony.  “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Both of you, get behind me,” Tony barks.
You hurry behind Tony, and just in time, a moment later the whole wall blasts in.  Even behind Tony’s armor, some of the debris hits you, knocking you to the floor.  The whole room spins and slowly things turn black.
Tumblr media
The world comes back to you gradually.  First the smell of disinfectant, and the clean cold scent of oxygen coming through a nasal cannula.  The coolness of the room is what you notice next, and without even opening your eyes, you pull the scratchy blanket up over yourself.  It catches on your IV and you whine and open your eyes.
The room is very white and way too bright.  It takes a moment for your eyes to open.
“Hey, she’s awake.”
You turn your head to see Clint in the bed beside you.  He’s heavily bandaged but sitting up and looking happy.  Between the two of you is Tony Stark, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, the glow of his arc reactor seeping through the fabric.
“Where are we?” you ask.
“Hospital. The Royal Alfred in Melbourne to be accurate.  We’ll head back when they let us out of here,” Tony explains.  “And don’t worry.  I’m covering the costs.”
“How long was I out?” you ask.
Tony looks at his watch.  “About fourteen hours.  You got a nasty bang on the head.  But thankfully the team came in and got us out almost immediately after the door was breached.  “They brought us back here.”
“I’ve got broken ribs and a broken arm,” Clint explains.  “Using the bow didn’t help.  You just got a concussion.  They’re going to need to keep you in for observation for a bit.”
“What about you, Tony?” you ask.
“I’m fine,” he says.  “The arc was damaged, but I switched it out.  They ran some tests on my heart and took some blood.  But I feel okay.”
“You know you’re gonna have to move the Avengers out of the city, right?” you ask.
Tony nods.  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve already got a team looking for land in the country away from any towns.  We wanted to be a beacon - not a target.”
He shifts in his chair so he’s facing you more.  “So,” he says, leaning forward a little. “I promised you I’d take you out after all this.  At the party, you seemed pretty into both of us before you had a freakout.  How about we do this properly?  No one-night stands, Clint and I take you out for dinner?”
You look over at Clint.  “You want that too?”
He nods eagerly.  “I don’t care about what people say about us.  I think we work well together.”
“It’ll be messy,” you say.  “My boss won’t like it.  And the press will have a field day.”
“We can figure it out,” Tony says.  “Let your boss know so there’s no conflict of interest.  He might think there is one now after we saved you anyway.  Then we’ll keep it quiet until we know either way.”
“I didn’t think you actually dated, Tony,” you say.
“I don’t - not normally.  But you can’t say we didn’t hit it off and now - after what we just went through…” He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair.  “I don’t want to keep looking for excuses not to be happy.”
You take a deep breath and look at the two men.
It’s still a no.  Dating two men isn’t for me.
Alright let’s do it.
5 notes · View notes
boonki · 3 years
Note
“You look absolutely horrible.” For the prompts!
OKAY I KNOW YOU ASKED THIS LIKE THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO i am so sorry ive had to work a ton lately and have just been so tired, i havent written at all recently 
BUT
here you go!! some nice sleepy vibes from yours truly at 2:20 am, apologies if there are any mistakes 
_______
The only light on in their shared kitchen space is above the sink, drowning the space in a burnt orange color, like the warm glow of a fire. As he stumbles into the room, Obi-wan nearly misses Anakin sitting at the table, fiddling with droid parts, back curled over and head drooped to study a piece of machine in his hands. How he’s even able to see is far beyond Obi-wan, but he’s learned to let it go throughout the years.  
Obi-wan turns the knob on the stove and shuffles the kettle to check for water, startling Anakin out of his meditative state. 
“Oh, Obi-wan.” Anakin looks up at him and squints, exhaustion forming neat lines around the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know you were awake.” 
Before reaching up to the cabinet for a well-loved mug, Obi-wan catches how pale Anakin is, how dark purple blooms around his eyes like bruises, how he seems to shrink into himself. Obi-wan has seen Anakin look tired before, especially when he was younger and put so much pressure on himself to perfect his schoolwork, but this is on the particularly bad end of things. Anakin’s hair is greasy, the long curls pushed back and tucked behind his ears, and the small blanket draped around his shoulders does nothing to hide the fact that Anakin is still wearing the same shirt from two days ago. He looks absolutely horrible. 
“You look absolutely horrible,” Obi-wan says, the mug settling on the countertop with a clink. “Have you even tried to sleep?”
Anakin frowns. “Hey, you don’t look much better. We’re both awake at what,” his head swivels around as he looks for a clock, and finding none, guesses, “four in the morning? What’s your excuse, old man?” 
Obi-wan hums noncommittally at that, amusement assuaging the growing worry nagging at his chest. He pulls a tea bag out of the flimsy cardboard box left out on the counter, and rips the packaging open, letting the sachet dangle into the cup. He lets the silence linger. 
With a softer tone, Anakin tries again. “You can’t sleep either?” 
Obi-wan pours the boiling water into the mug, watching the color turn into a deep shade of purple, and he gently bounces the bag up and down, encouraging it to steep. “I think you’ll find, my dear padawan, that I’ve evolved past the need for sleep.” 
Anakin’s eyebrows flatten, and he snorts. “I’ll make sure to pass that along to Cody, I’m sure he’ll agree with you.” 
A smile tugs at Obi-wan’s mouth. “No, I,” he pauses, taking a breath, “I keep waking up. Figured a cup of tea would help.” 
All of the mirth vanishes from Anakin’s face, leaving only unadulterated worry. Obi-wan looks down at his tea. They both know a euphemism for nightmares when they hear one by now, considering they’ve created half of them on their own. Fighting a gruesome, bloody, and endless war will do that to a person. Fighting a gruesome, bloody, and endless war where a good portion of the deaths are on your hands, on your conscience, even more so. 
The air is still between them, but dense with emotion. Obi-wan rarely admits his nightmares to anyone, and by the myriad of expressions racing through Anakin’s features, he can tell Anakin is struggling with the right response. 
Obi-wan sips his tea. 
“Sometimes, I,” Anakin starts, clearing his throat, “I wish I knew them better, my men who died. I see them in my dreams.” He’s staring down at his hands, either as a distraction or remembering the blood he’s washed off. The droid parts sit motionlessly beneath them. 
Obi-wan leans back on the counter, holding the steaming mug up to his chin. “So do I,” he nearly whispers, grateful for Anakin’s admission, his attempt to empathize with Obi-wan. He wants to say more, wants to sit down and let out the demons haunting his dreams, but he’s afraid that they’d rip all his bandages on the way out and tear him apart completely. It’s easier, he thinks, to keep it all inside, contained, controlled. But in the dim and molten light of the kitchen, with his face hidden in the shadows, he wants to be vulnerable. He also wants Anakin to get some rest. 
“Do you want to come sleep with me?” Obi-wan asks, eyes darting up to Anakin’s face. 
Anakin’s eyes go wide, and he straightens up in his seat. “What?” 
He suddenly realizes what he’s said, and he can feel his ears burn. “No, not like that.” He dips the tea bag in and out of the mug, and Anakin relaxes a bit, though still wary, looking somehow disappointed. “When you were a youngling, you used to crawl into bed with me when you couldn’t sleep. You thought I never noticed.” 
“You remember that?” 
Obi-wan smiles to himself, gazing wistfully down into his mug. “Of course, dear one. You weren’t the only one who slept better.”
Anakin’s eyebrows are knitted together, his lips parted. “Oh.” He looks thoughtful. “Sure, then. Your room?” 
Warmth floods Obi-wan’s chest in anticipation, not at all feeling guilty about his careful manipulation. He knows Anakin could never turn down helping others, it’s in his nature. 
Anakin’s little droid project is completely forgotten as Anakin stares at him for an answer. 
“Considering I don’t quite feel like tripping over half an engine, yes, my room.” Obi-wan takes one final sip of his tea and sets it by the sink, treading over the cold floor back into his room. 
With a scoot of his chair, and loud, heavy footsteps, Anakin follows, sliding Obi-wan’s door shut behind him, leaving the pair in complete darkness. Obi-wan is still in his sleep shirt and shorts from before, so he slips into bed, pulling back the covers for Anakin to join him. He hears the soft thump of clothing dropping to the floor and then a dip in the mattress next to him. 
Obi-wan lays on his back, as he assumes does Anakin. 
Then there’s a shuffle as Anakin readjusts, and with a slight startle, Obi-wan feels a bare arm rest against his chest, a face in his neck, a leg thrown over his. It’s odd, but rather nice. Obi-wan doesn’t remember the last time he felt so safe. 
“Is this okay?” Anakin mumbles into the crook of his neck, blowing hot air over his collarbones. 
“Yes.” Obi-wan faintly wonders if Anakin can feel his heartbeat. 
“What were your nightmares about?” 
Obi-wan considers this. Blood, so much blood, headless bodies strewn over a hopeless landscape, their heads coming to life and blaming their deaths on him, his call, his decisions. Qui-gon, standing in the flames, yelling at him to be better, to have saved him, saved his men, to save Anakin. Stillness, as he stands utterly alone and deserted, everyone finalizing realizing they were better off without him, because he is worthless, unlovable, tainted- 
“The war.” Obi-wan answers, his voice cracking. “And you?” 
When no reply comes, Obi-wan wraps his arm around Anakin’s back, tracing his spine, the flesh warm and smooth underneath his fingertips. Anakin’s breaths come slow and even, and his hand twitches once. 
Already asleep, then. 
Obi-wan bites a lip to keep from chuckling. Maybe this is the trick to get him to sleep. He rests his cheek against his hair, presses a light kiss to the top of his head. 
“I dream of losing you, dear one,” he whispers out to no one, letting the honesty linger in the darkness above them. He trusts the nighttime to keep his secrets. 
When they both wake up in the morning, Obi-wan is sure there will be some level of embarrassment from cuddling, from cracking open their hard exteriors to each other. They’ll probably be sent out to the frontlines and never speak of this again. 
He feels the sturdy muscles of Anakin’s sides, the dip of his waist and rise of his hips. 
For now, Obi-wan holds him, keeps him safe from the torment of his own brain, and lets him get some much needed sleep. 
___
Light billows out from underneath the door when Obi-wan wakes, morning having come and gone long ago. 
Anakin has curled further into him, practically seeping into his bones. There’s a leg thrown over his waist, face completely smooshed in his neck, and his arm drapes over his chest, Anakin’s palm cupping the side of his face. Delicate snores come from Anakin’s nose, and Obi-wan’s neck is hot from Anakin’s breath. Obi-wan’s hand is settled in the small of Anakin’s back, the other arm thrown up above Obi-wan’s head. 
A languid grin finds its home on Obi-wan’s face, sleep tugging at his edges. He hasn’t felt so well rested in years. 
Not wanting to wake Anakin, Obi-wan flutters shut his eyes, and lets himself drift back off, soaking in the feeling of love and security that pool together in his heart. 
He can feel Anakin breathing steadily on top of him, peacefully. 
The war will have to wait. 
192 notes · View notes
songofsaraneth · 3 years
Text
an incomplete list of the Bullshit ive gone through this year (2021 only), for personal edification:
I am in grad school trying to do research as well as TA a lab class during a global pandemic
My car is broken into in late February outside of my apartment. $1700+ of my backpacking/camping gear and personal items were stolen from it. Ironically they did not find the $20 cash I had. 
Car battery begins mysterious dying if left overnight and have to call for rescue from AAA 4 separate times over the course of March. I suspect it is related to being broken into but can’t prove it without a mechanic’s diagnostics.
First mechanic I bring my car to does nothing for the entire MONTH they have it, except break my air conditioning of all things. I live in a desert. It is now 90º every day. At one point they call me to say they can’t get the back doors to open. I walk 2 miles back to them from campus and demonstrate how the automatic doors work on a 2005 minivan. I begin to have regrets about my mechanic choice but the sunk fallacy cost keeps me there for several weeks.
Mid march I also wake up one day to severe jaw pain/a weird “loose” feeling, like my mouth is slanting sideways. It is midterms and I do not have time for this, so I take a lot of ibuprofen and eat soup for a week. After 3 days I shove pillows and blankets around my face one night to keep my jaw aligned and when I wake up the next morning it is severely tight instead of loose, and I have to carefully stretch it open whenever I leave my mouth closed for more than an hour. I guess I just have TMJ now.
At this point I am walking everywhere until bike supplies arrive to fix my flat tire since the bike store is too far away to walk to; including walking back and forth to campus since I can only bring 2-4 out of 8 students into the lab spaces at a time and so effectively have to run each weekly lab 2-4 times per week; as well as going back and forth for greenhouse experiment monitoring/helping undergrads on our NASA contest project
Early April I go to the dentist for a crown on one of my back molars, which I must pay for out of pocket because my new dental insurance purchased when I moved last September has a 1-year waiting period and so will not cover it ($1200). Stretching my jaw open so far for the procedure reignites my new TMJ back to high pain levels.
While still waiting on car in mid-April I have a severe averse reaction to the second dose of the Covid19 vaccine, resulting in painful ulceration of all the soft tissues in my body (mouth, stomach, genitals). It is a very bad time for 3 days and I book an urgent care appointment for the first time ever.
Urgent Care nurse-practitioner does not believe me when I describe what’s happening, and misdiagnoses me with herpes.
I am still biking everywhere but now I’m extra mad and in pain about it so take car back from mechanic so I can get groceries etc. I make an appointment with the dealership but it will be a week until they can take it. In the meanwhile I have to drive it every 8 hours so it won’t die which means getting up at 2am to drive it for 20 minutes in the middle of the night so it will still turn on in the morning. 
I have a terrible reaction to the numbing cream given to me for the painful open sores over my body, because of a lifelong mint sensitivity, resulting in an even greater amount of pain
The dealership can fix my car over the following week but its $1800 and now insurance isn’t sure they want to cover it after all
Herpes test comes back negative and nurse apologizes profusely and recommends a non-mint OTC numbing cream alternative that works (yay) and a numbing spray that does not work because it turned out to use an alcohol based propellant which should not be combined with open wounds esp on the genitals (ouch ouch ouch). I try to tell the nurse why I was right about my diagnosis and she was wrong but she still believes it was a latent virus of some other variety and and not an immune response alone, despite the published case studies I have brought to back me up. I decide I have bigger hills I need to die on right now and stop arguing. Sores persist into May but eventually do go down and numbing cream keeps me moderately functioning.
Car is fixed and I can drive again but it takes 2 hours of crying on the phone to my insurance company for them to agree to cover the cost of repair
I make a primary care appointment for the first time in years so I can have a doctor in this state if something like this happens to me again, in June I do intake/bloodwork/set up appointments to check out some other issues ive been having
Grad school finals happen which i wont get into but Yeah. Finals stress triggers another outbreak of canker sores, but mostly clustered in my mouth and only 2 on my vulva rather than 8-12. I eat only soup for another week. 
I get a referral to the local mental health clinic and call about setting up an appointment for an ADHD evaluation. They tell me to download and send in some paperwork and they will call when they have available appointments
I am supposed to be doing all my labwork over the summer but the committee member I need escapes my clutches and we don’t manage to set up a meeting to plan it out/for him to explain the protocols until late June
Bloodwork shows I am critically low in vitamin b12 and low in D, which may explain some of why I am so tired all the time
Ultrasound shows a 1.8cm mass in the adnexa near my left ovary. There are several options for what it can be (folicular cyst, other kind of cyst, tumor, ectopic pregnancy i nearly laugh at my Dr and reassure her the last one is not possible if nothing else). It may go away on its own or it may not. Follow up scan in 2 months
I remember I was supposed to email forms to the mental health clinic and finally send those in mid July. It seems cruel to make me be the one to remember this considering I am calling about a formal ADHD diagnosis.
I also finally pin everyone relating to my labwork down and have a follow up meeting + make a list of what we need to order, but the staff who place orders are on vacation and when they get back several reagents are backordered
I have my follow-up ultrasound. The tech takes lots of photos which indicates the mass is still present, but I won’t know any details until my next PCP appointment when they send over the analysis to her in mid-August
Beginning of August the reagents I need for the first steps of the process arrive exactly 1 day before I leave town for a wedding and the lab manager is about to leave town for the entire next week
After the wedding, severe thunderstorms and tornados trap me in Chicago for 4 extra days. I spend a lot of time at the airport or on my way between the airport and my parents house. A facebook friend gets video of the funnel clouds which at least gives me something to sadly email my advisor and committee members when I have to join our planning meeting from my gate at O’Hare
I lose my drivers license at the security checkpoint on my last trip through the airport and don’t realize until I am boarding the plane because of course that is happening to me now
On the shuttle from El Paso back to Las Cruces after this ordeal the driver stops and picks up a box labeled HUMAN BLOOD and puts it in the trunk and i am too tired to care anymore
I stay up all night making the world’s most pitiful r graphs for my meeting the next morning and everyone takes pity on me and does not call out how useless they are
I spend the weekend trying to motivate myself to actually go into the lab and start my procedures, and fail to leave my apartment. This reminds me it has now been a month (Aug 15th) since I sent in my paperwork and the mental health clinic has still not called me back about up an appointment
I get overwhelmed with Everything and make this list
So that’s where I’m at at the moment. And this doesn’t even include anything from 2020 thats just been continuous like, y’know, a global pandemic and having a bad breakup of a 4 year relationship and moving to a new city where I know no one for grad school etc. I feel like I’m falling apart/unable to do all the shit I need to right now but you know what? Actually its been a really bad time and maybe falling apart a little is justified ;_; 
15 notes · View notes
albino-whumpee · 3 years
Text
Fix me
Anonymous asked:
28. for Albus
Sorry for taking this long for this one!! Hope you like it
Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @boxboysandotherwhump
CW// Institutionalized whump, pet whump, box boy universe blanket warning, heavy dehumanization, human trafficking, slavery, manipulation, brain washing, whumper as caretaker, PTSD, dissoci@tion, fucky mind space of abuse survivor and implied torture.
Harry Coleman didn´t particularly hated his job. It payed well despite the crazy long shifts and the strict protocols to go back to his apartment close to the city. He didn´t have many people outside the concrete building to care about, however. So he mostly stayed in the handler rooms the company kept around available inside the facility, mostly used by the Romantic division handlers.
Harry had been working enough years to see all types of trainees. The ones that had come banging and screaming, the ones that were so fearful that they complied and the ones that he rolled his eyes whenever they appeared. The real volunteers. The ones that looked so broken already and obeyed without really needing to be told how.
He hated the blank stares, the commands flawlessly followed. If there wasn´t a single inch of defiance for him to take out, what was the point? It made it too easy, and there was always, always, screaming.
He had been assigned to a handful of volunteers before, and hated every second of it. The ones that didn´t get an owner soon enough would stay on a limbo of the basic training until they were sold and the designation specific training started.
When he saw his new trainee get his number tattooed, red eyes lost in infinity, curling on the floor with a blanket with the lower half of his body bandaged up, he knew he was one of those.
He knew before he began screaming.
The intercommunicator on his shoulder was still buzzing after he was warned the trainee was acting up on his room again. Room… He could laugh about that. The trainee rooms were hardly bigger than a closet, really. They were always kept on the verge of claustrophobia… He brushed the thougt aside like always. Focused on his task.
Harry had been ordered to take him to the Drip again, with the reason that he might be relapsing. Memories not quite yet wiped out of him stopping the progress of his training.
Whatever trauma he´s dragging, his body remembers, even if his brain forgets. So it’s obvious everything in training is gonna trigger him, idiots. If you stopped letting whoever inside my job would be much easier! The thought came from somewhere inside his brain, yet again, putting it aside to be what they were paying him to be: the watcher keeping the product on check until shipping.
He had never had the intention of being anything else.
He stomped his way through the hall of metal doors to the seventeenth, pulled his card to the lector, hearing the wry cries of a kid terrified of another nightmare loud enough for the sound to slip through the supposedly, sound canceling walls.
The albino, with his hair clipped short now, with the shock collar wrapped around his throat, recoiled in the corner with an eerie cry when he saw him enter. His eyes jumped and trembled along his sickly thin body when Harry stepped closer.
“P-Please! Pl-ple- no! Stop, please!” the boy begged him curling tighter into himself, trying to protect himself from the steel point of the man´s boots. Or maybe something else, as he lifted his hands to cover his face as well. “Coronel please! Don´t touch her!”
The man took a deep breath and lowered himself, crouching to be on the same level. “Easy, trainee. Easy. I´m Handler Coleman. I won´t hurt you” Now at least, Harry thought to himself watching his face soaked in tears. Soothing them when necessary was just as part of his job as it was to break them “C´mon, I´m handler Harry, ´900. There´s only the two of us here. Tell me, ´900, where are you now?”
He knew the lost look on this one already. Had seen it plenty of times. Most of the them, it meant the trainee wasn´t present. Not really here. Just reliving something from his past that overlapped with the training, mixed up with whatever he had been dreaming about.
The boy´s breathing was labored and harsh. Wide, terrified eyes looked back at him weighting his words -processing them, maybe- and after a moment of hesitation he replied with a shaky voice “T-Trainee room, s-se-seventeen”
“That´s right” Harry said making a vague gesture with his hand “Do you see anybody else here with us?” the boy looked around, surprise and fear equally scattered on his face before shaking his head. “Words trainee”.
“No, sir. Only us” the boy rushed to answer. Harry took a step forward and the boy flinched away. “P-Please…”
“Relax boy, nothing has to hurt if you let me help you” the man saw him gulp as he took another step. Watched the boy shake violently trying to prevent himself from flinching away from his gloved hand. Harry retreated it to his lap, watched him for one more second.
Thin and small and battered, was what the albino trainee was. The bandages on his thighs peaked slightly from underneath his shorts, changed every day to check up the scarring. If he wasn´t bought to be a romantic then it would be no problem, he had been told.
The handler looked back up to meet the boy´s wide terrified eyes settled on him. Chest rising up and down too quickly.
“Give me your hands” the man ordered and the boy put his over the gloved hands that were never warm. He held them tight and put his best unthreatening voice “Breath boy, you´ve not earnt a punishment” he half lied watching the boy take big, desperate gasping breaths through the snot and tears. “There you go, easy. Go with me” he began to breath, and soon enough, the other joined him and relaxed, almost slouching over him from the tiredness.
“Thank you” the boy said to him in a hoarse voice. He checked below the shock collar and saw the bruise on his neck had already faded to a smear of yellow. The albino squeezed his hands before the man yanked them back. The boy quickly pulled his hands to his chest defensively. Knowing the baton on the man´s hip could swat them over if he decided he had done wrong at any moment.
“900, you know you shouldn´t scream”
“I´m sorry” the boy jumped to reply, panic taking over for a moment “I didn´t mean- I´m sorry. I know…But I-” Harry saw the trainee cast his eyes down, Looking through the bangs that fell over his face “I think I saw someone I remembered in…” he opened his mouth but never finished the thought.
“Trainees often have false memories, 900. You should know that” The man said, watching the boy hunch, sink on his narrow shoulders.
“B-but I have a feeling this one is real, Handler” he said barely above a whisper.
“How could you know?” Coleman said coldly, watching him press his lips into a tight line “Those memories don´t serve any purpose now, either. You don´t have a name any longer, 778900. Those memories don´t belong to you anymore”
“I-I know but-”
“If you know, then why are you arguing with me about it, 778900? You´re lying”
“I´m not lying!”
Coleman arched an eyebrow, “You´re talking back at me now?”
“N-No, I´m sorry, sir. I just-”
“Don´t bother apologizing” the man terminated, the boy´s jaw shut close in surrender. No fun at all, the man thought to himself. He still had to take him to the Drip as well… “There´s no need to worry, boy. Look what remembering does to you. Do you really need them?” He asked him, seeing him tense up and open his mouth. “The memories, they are terrifying aren´t they?” he interrupted him.
“Yes, sir…”
“Why would you want them, then?”
The boy stayed quiet and started rounding his thumbs before he settled his hand over them, before putting the other gloved on his cheek as he looked again with glassy eyes.
“Are you afraid of losing those memories, trainee? You came to have a better life. You chose this path for yourself. You wanted this when you signed to never again think for yourself. You chose leaving that to someone else and not having to worry about anything else″ he wiped the tears flowing down his cheek, already pink and shiny “What happened before is not important now, 900″ he said tilting his head as the boy let his hands fall to his lap. Still, like he was trained to, “We can fix you. Make it better for you. But you´ve gotta let go, yes?”
“How broken I was that now I only can hope to forget everything. Even the good.” he whispered under his breath and the boy could´ve sounded sharp and impress Coleman, but his voice was barely a murmur of something, or someone, who had that sharpness on them but at some moment, gave it up.
Harry Coleman had done nothing but to help that detachment.
“We just want the best for you” so we get payed just as well, Coleman kept to himself.
The boy looked at him through his pale, wet eyelashes with something close to hope. The naive hope of “better” the company made them aspire to within the cold walls of the facility and the exhaustion, plain to the view on his face. It was in order to make them be so grateful to whoever takes them out, they never think they could deserve something better than a mat on the floor and warm, not tasteless food, every now and then.
In Harry Coleman´s eyes there was never an inch of true mercy, of true empathy towards his trainees when he smiled.
Sooner or later, this trainee would understand that too. But for now, he bowed to him and begged.
“P-Please…” the boy said in an strangled sob “Please fix me”
The handler smiled and took the trainee to the drip. Even if he couldn´t stop shaking under his hand, his face was hopeful. The handler saw that look on him until the very moment he was restrained and the IV from the Drip was connected to the inside of his arm.
When 778900 closed his eyes, Coleman didn´t hear what he muttered. Voice too small to catch as trusted the technicians around him told him to wait outside until it was over.
The boy took a deep breath.
“Please help me forget everything” Were the words heard by no one before the Drip´s drug rushed a fire through his body. 
14 notes · View notes
cicinicole-14 · 3 years
Note
Hi for the ship thing and headcanons, please do jolex 🥰
Who is a night owl:
dont get me wrong, they both most definitely will stay up late together or both pass out before 9pm on a Friday night, but some days when the depression hits, its jsut different and Jo is definitely more of the night owl. Alex is more of a morning person and Jo would rather sleep like the dead. 
Who is a morning person:
as we’ve discovered, more so Alex esp when they have kiddos. Alex is the one to get up with them early and let Jo sleep, he makes breakfast with the kids’ help and keeps their room quiet for jo to get some extra sleep but will unleash their evil spawns when he deems she’s slept in long enough. 
Are they cuddlers:
some days, yes, mostly. jo definitely loves the affection from someone who genuinely loves and wants her back. but there are days where she literally is like “do not come near me with your (temperature) hot body Alexander Michael Karev, you are a heater and I am already too warm” 
Who is the big spoon and who is the little spoon:
Alex is def the big spoon. Jo likes cuddling into him because sh feels safe, he feels like home. but she def has big spooned him too it’s a 50/50 relationship we have equal roles people
What is their favourite sleeping position:
no lie, both spread out like starfish in their bed. 
Who steals all the blankets: 
Jo. Alex is a space heater and doesnt need blankets she freezes and likes being snuggled up and warm
What they wear to bed:
I mean some nights, nothing, but like jo def loves Alex’s old Iowa state shirts or his wrestling shirts from HS that smell like him. an old worn in t-shirt, anything with a pair of booty shorts or his boxers even. and Alex will just wear a t-shirt and boxers or flannels in the winter. 
Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt:
Alex wholeheartedly loves when jo wears his shirts unless its his favorite flannel and she steals it “come on, jo. you know that’s my favorite one. I wear it all the time.” its exactly why she takes it. 
Who falls asleep mid-conversation:
jo, unintentionally. sometimes the insomnia hits and she won’t have slept for a couple days so when life catches back up to her she will fall asleep randomly. even more so while pregnant and right after their daughter is born. she just “night night Josephine” 
Who wakes up in the middle of the night with nightmares:
they both have their fair share of horrid nightmares. Alex’s deal a lot with his trauma of growing up. his mom pulling various knives on his siblings and dad attacking them. even nightmares of jo leaving him like Izzie did and he wakes up without her. 
jo’s are terrifying as well. she dreams that Paul’s death was just an illusion and that hes still out there and he’ll still come and get her. she wakes up drenched in a cold sweat and Alex holds her and they pull up his death certificate on the gsm database to prove it. she also has nightmares about being abandoned again. dreams of herself as a baby, dreams of her mother leaving her at that firestation. horrid nightmares. and Alex just holds her. she also has many nightmares about Alex abandoning her too just like her mother abandoned her but he’s never done that he’s always there when she wakes up and everything is okay again
Who accidentally punched the other in their sleep:
jo is an absolute horrible bed partner. she does NOT sleep still. she will move around so much during sleep its dangerous. yes, Alex did wake up with a bruise across his cheek one night from an elbow to the face...
Who can’t keep their hands to themself:
both of them. theyre notorious horndogs no autocorrect they are not corndogs please stop correcting me when you’re wrong 
and just because, im throwing in the parenting meme one too bc my heart melts
packs the lunches
Alex. he gets up with the kids in the mornings and also we do not trust jo to make their children food. she’d feed them boxed Mac n cheese and take out the entirety of their lives. and while they love that and Alex wouldn’t care if it was jsut them, their kids need real food. he packs them lunchables and uncrustables but at least its a little more of a variety. 
blows raspberries while cuddling
jo, more so. they both do, but jo LOVES a good chunky baby belly she can blow raspberries onto. and yes she leaves maroon lipstick marks on chubby cheeks and bellies. 
is the tickle monster
Alex. and she runs to mommy to save her from daddy! “oh, now you want mommy, huh? as soon as daddy is the tickle monster all you want is mommy? not when I wanted cuddles, or we picked you up from daycare or I dont know, I gave birth to you and wanted snuggles you cry and want daddy but now hes the tickle monster you want me?” and jo scoops her up and tries saving her but ultimately they lose and get attacked in their very large bed by the tickle monster. 
gives life lesson speeches
they both do just depending on the situations. 
when the girls start dating, jo sits them all down separately, and explains to them a bit of her past. letting them know that no man should ever lay hands on them. she teaches them how to defend themselves and Alex ofc shows them in example how women should be treated. Alex makes it clear that if a guy or girl ever should treat his daughters or his son in any other way than he treats jo, that he needs to know and gOD forbiD one of them lay a finger on one of his children there WILL be hell to pay. jo obviously consoles him in front of her children but tells him “u already have a record. if anyone lays hands on our children I will be putting them in the ground not you”
kisses the boo-boos
Alex he is a pushover and 100% makes sure all boo-boos are kissed and even when the kids are way too old for having their boo-boos kissed, he makes sure the bandaids that are no longer avengers or dinosaur or unicorn or princess themed, have been properly kissed. even through protests of “dad, im not five anymore I dont need my bandaids kissed” “how do you expect them to heal, then, CJ? you’re my most clumsy kid, and I have had to kiss all your boo-boos and never once have I not. thats why you’re still in once piece” 
breaks the bad news
jo makes Alex do it most times. she claims she’s the fun parent and tries to stay the fun parent by making Alex break bad news like “we cannot get another dog” she blames it on Alex but then brings home a puppy the following week. 
joins the PTA
listen. LISTEN. when Greyson started big kid school, in kindergarten, they placed her in private school to give her everything they didnt have growing up. jo was determined to make sure she gave her daughter everything made sure she felt loved and was spoiled it was terrible. so jo, of course, sent her to Seattle Elementary academy and was not paying attention when she signed some forms signing up to be in the PTA. she loathed it so much and “Alex im sorry I cant do this. I know we wanted to give Gracie everything we didnt have growing up but I cant take it I cant take the private school. the volunteer hours the strict dress code violations? she is FIVE. I also have to volunteer FORTY HOURS this year alone. no! I am a surgeon, a mother of two and im pregnant! I do not have time for this! all these PTA moms are stay at home moms who have nothing better to do than gossip about their neighbors and drink wine. and I swear to god if I have to hear about Jessica’s fucking essential oils pyramid scheme one more time I will shove those oils so far up her a––” “Jo! Look, Ali, mommy’s here!” Alex interrupts her just in time. he doesnt blame her. those private school moms are quiet the handful. every time, one of them has the nerve to hit on him. “and I swear, if one more of those moms hits on you in front of me, im going to backhand her with my engagement ring on. no hate to most of them, but theyre too much” they end up ending Gracie, and Ali and the rest of the kids to public school just like they had grown up in and did just fine. 
crashes sleepovers with embarrassing stories
oh one hundred and ten percent Alexander Michael Karev. he will find any moment to break out embarrassing stories and photos. hell, even when Zola, Bailey, ellis, Sofia, Harriet, scout, any of the bunch come over he’ll embarrass them too!  
gives the crazy nicknames
not really either of them (that ive figured out in the moment) (the kkc kids do not have crazy nicknames yet) (we jsut have Gracie for Greyson, Ali for Alice, and CJ for Cristina Jo. Alexis goes by Sissy because of Alexis and Alexa and Eli usually goes by bubba seeing as how that’s what the twins have called each other growing up with Izzie and that stuck) 
thank you so much for these! I loved loved loved doing them! even threw in some KKC universe things so if yall have questions about that feel free to ask I will share! tho there is yet to have a fic out about them yet… its been a bit difficult with writers block /: 
26 notes · View notes
weclassygirl · 4 years
Text
𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟒
Tumblr media
Word count: +3k
Pairing: neil x reader (tenet)
Warnings: not much, some bullet wounds
Author’s note: welcome to the last part of the miniseries! idk why but i feel like this part is quite dull, the reason for that is cause i didn’t want to meddle much with the inversion here so that it stays somewhat logical to what i had in mind. hope you enjoy it nonetheless. take care love! <3
Previous part (x)
Gif credits (x) 
“You don’t trust them.” you say right off the bat, your future self scoffs at you and with every passing second you begin to notice how much you're different from her. She's much more serious, you can feel that something happened to her in the future. To you. 
"Of course not." she responds with a sly smirk. You tilt your head at her answer. 
"Then why do you work for them?" you hear Neil ask her from beside you. You see that he’s sceptical about her even after you told him she was telling the truth. 
"I didn't have a choice in that matter." she tells you, her voice soft and angry at the same time. She seems like she wants to say more but chooses not too. You feel that, she’s you after all. You decide to ask a question that’s been bugging you since the moment you laid your eyes on her.
“What happened?” your voice as quiet as a whisper. She knows what you mean and hangs her head down. She sighs and looks up at you, your own eyes staring back at you. 
"I got lost on a mission once, they found me, offered me a job. I was already in the business and didn’t have anywhere to go so I thought that I wouldn’t be good for anything else… but didn't know that not all of them are good." she tells you, her voice carries through the space between you. Neil listens by your side, waiting patiently for her next words. "They started looking for the algorithm a few months ago and they circled back to that site. They knew I was there, that I had it, they just needed to know where it was exactly." she finishes with a whisper. You can see that that memory doesn’t belong to any pleasant ones. She almost feels… guilty about it. As if she was the one that gave them the algorithm on the silver platter. 
"So we'll be probably expecting them there." Neil acknowledges and you briefly look in his direction.
"Yeah." she says and the tranquility fills up the air. Before any of you try to say something to fill up the silence hanging in the room you hear a knock at the door. Neil’s hand goes immediately to his gun and so does your future selves. You look towards the door and walk up to them and look through the peephole. Ives is outside. 
You turn to Neil and mouth to him that he’s standing in front of the door. He urges your other version to hide and comes up to you. Neil opens  the door and you look towards the living room, seeing that your future self is still there, out in the open. Before you get a chance to shield her from Ives’ sight he already points his gun at her. She does as well. 
You stand between them and raise your arms up. “Don’t shoot!” you tell Ives. His grip on the gun doesn’t loosen up. His eyes sharp, trained on your other self standing behind you. 
“What the hell?” he questions. Your future self tenses up at his voice, her hand gripping the gun tighter. “She’s-”
“Her. From the future.” Neil informs Ives from behind him. You step in closer and put your hand on his gun, lowering it down. He’s reluctant at first but gives in, but he does not let his guard down. You turn to your other self and nod at her to lower her gun too. She does so without questioning. 
"You better have a damn good explanation for this." you turn to Ives, anger building up in his eyes. All of you sit down and explain the situation. Your future self, Tenet, the algorithm. Ives listens carefully, side glancing your future self from time to time. As you and Neil finish explaining he leans back and sighs. He runs his hand down his face and finally turns to the other you. 
"So… you know what will happen." Ives states. Your other self stares at him, her features not changing. She still keeps that cold composure you've now used to seeing. 
"Briefly. I just hope that I can change it so that my future, the future world doesn't end up like how it did for me." she only explains. Ives only nods and stands up from his seat. 
"We'll go to the site tomorrow. Briefing at dawn, so be there." he orders and turns to leave the room. 
"What about her?" you ask. "How will we explain this situation to the rest?" he turns to you from his place in front of the door. 
"We don't. She probably already knows where the algorithm is so she'll be with you on the team." he only says. Neil shakes his head from beside you, all of you see that action.
"I don't think it's a good idea." you hear Neil say. "What if they touch by accident? We can't risk it." 
"Then what do you propose?" Ives wonders. Neil looks between you two and sets his eyes on you. 
"I'll go with (Name), you'll go with her future self. You can keep an eye on her too since you  seem that you don't trust her." Ives thinks for a moment, his eyes traveling from Neil to the both of you. He sighs in defeat.
"Fine. We won't go in separate teams so find her some blue patch so that we know it's her." he says and leaves the room, your eyes following his figure. 
"What if others question why she has a blue patch?" you ask suddenly. Neil only shrugs. 
"We can always tell that we ran out of the red ones. Don't worry, everything's gonna be alright." he reassures you, you nod at him. Your future self watches both of you intently, a small smirk appearing on her face but quickly vanishes. 
"Do you really know where it is exactly?" Neil asks her. She hums in confirmation and goes over to the couch. She spreads out on it and covers herself up with a blanket. 
"You guys should rest. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow." she only tells you before she closes her eyes, her breathing slowing down as she falls asleep. Neil and you go to your rooms and do the same, you reassure him that she won't do anything that would endanger them. You see that she really means well, you know her. She's you after all. 
Tumblr media
The next day all of you get ready to leave the hotel to go to the site. It's dawn when you arrive at the spot far away from the designated place. The algorithm was spotted at the edge of Ukraine in a small abandoned village. The whole site is covered in dust, the team is wearing the red patches on their arms and you keep a blue one in your pocket to give to your other self later. Ives goes over the briefing, telling that all of you will go as one team, already expecting the enemy on the grounds. 
After the meeting you go to the other tent where your other self is hidden. Neil gives her the blue patch you gave him, not risking accidentally touching. Ives joins you a few moments later. 
"Ready?" he asks. You look between the two and nod, all four of you put on the masks and leave the tent to join the others. All of them already try to spot the enemy but see none. They decide to move. 
After the few first steps the shots fly under your feet. All of you split into various teams and fire at the enemy.  You hide behind the wall when some bullets come in your direction, Neil hides on the other side. He looks towards the field and quickly ducks as the opponent attacks. You nod at him, silently telling that you'll cover him. He moves from behind the wall and runs through the field, you peak out from your cover and shoot at the men in white gear. When the area is cleared you run up to Neil and look around. 
You see others running and firing at the enemy. In the distance you see a small blue patch on a person's arm. Your future self runs alongside Ives through the field. They seem to be working with each other like a well oiled machine and it makes you wonder if she worked with Ives before. You hear an explosion in the background and briefly look behind you. One of the men threw a grenade at the building and some of its parts fell onto your team. You have an urge to go there and help them but know you have to follow the mission plan. Before you move from your spot you see people coming up from the fallen debris. 
Neil and you run to the clearing, far away from the battle ground. It's quiet here, no one in sight. Both of you move slowly, aiming the guns in every direction as you step closer to the hole. As you near it you feel a piercing pain in your leg and hear Neil yelling too, feeling the pain in his arm. You fall onto the ground and aim in the direction from where the bullet came but the person responsible is already next to you, punching you even further onto the ground. Neil moves to aim his gun at him but he kicks it out of his hand and punches in the face. You try to get up and see a faint figure coming up from behind the man in white. 
Your future self aiming her rifle at you. 
You stare at her with wide eyes as she stands next to the man. She looks at you, the gun pointed directly at you. The man tells her to shoot and she straightens up. You close your eyes and hear a single shot. Your body is shaking but you don't feel any pain aside from the one in your leg. You look up and see the man in white dead on the ground, a bullet hole in his mask and blood covering it from the inside. 
You gasp momentarily and try to stand up, she comes up to you to help you but steps back, remembering the unwritten rule. Neil comes up to you to help you lean on him, you do so for a moment before seeing Ives in the distance. He has an angry expression on his face, directed at your future self. 
“Save your breath, you can scream and try to kill me later. Let’s just get this algorithm out of here before more of them come here.” she tells all of you. Ives wants to bite back but only sighs and nods. All of you lean over the whole and start to dig from every side, after a few moments you get to the metal box. You take it out and open it to see nine metal elements connected to each other. You look at each other and all go to grab the algorithm but Ives is faster. 
As he stands up he holds the gun pointed at your future self. “I believe this is the time where I scream and try to kill you.” he tells her and you step in closer. “Don’t even think of taking another step (Name) or I’ll pull that trigger.” he warns you and you stay still. 
“What will happen now? After we hide the algorithm.” he asks her. 
She looks at him and raises her chin up. “If you give it to my past self then everything will go as it did in my future and eventually now.” she explains. She turns to you and Neil before switching her attention back to Ives. “I can’t hide the algorithm, ‘cause then they’ll know where it will be. Where it was this whole time.” 
Ives seems to be thinking it over and starts splitting up the parts of the algorithm in half. He props up one on his shoulder and gives the second half to Neil. “Hide it well or I’ll hunt you down.” he orders and Neil chuckles. Ives nods at him and starts walking away to the rest of the team, already ordering them to retreat. 
Your future self steps closer to the both of you. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“You’re leaving already?” you question her. She nods. “Where will you go?”
She shrugs and looks around. “My timeline. To see how it changed and probably fix it. Now that the algorithm is in safer hands, I’m positive it will be easier to fix it.” she informs the both of you. “And try and stop Tenet and get rid of all the people that try to change the time flow.” 
You want to come up to her and hug her goodbye, but know that it may be too dangerous. You gasp as she is the one pulling you into a hug. You freeze at first, fearing the worst but return the hug as you see that nothing wrong happens. Both of you cling to each other for a while before pulling apart. She smiles at you and laughs, you join her, a wide smile on your face. 
“Take care, alright?” she tells you, you look towards Neil and then back to her.
“I think I’ll be fine. You, well, me, seems to turn out pretty good.” 
She smiles and turns to Neil briefly. They don’t say anything but it looks as if they know what they want to say to each other. Your future self begins to walk away and you follow her figure as she disappears behind the buildings. 
You go back to Neil and look at the algorithm in his hands. “How long will you take it to hide it?”
“I don’t know. Few weeks? Months maybe?” he responds. They stand in the clearing not speaking up. Everyone already left, but you’re pretty sure that Ives will send some kind of chopper to pick you up. There’s one question that still lingers in the back of your head. 
“Why did you choose me?” he smiles at her question. Sometimes he forgets that you don't know.
“I thought you already figured it out.” he exclaims. You tilt your head at him trying to figure out what he means. You think for a moment before acknowledging it. 
“We know each other already, don’t we?” he only smiles and looks down at his feet. 
“You told me to find you. To find you at the beginning.” you look at him with wide eyes and start to laugh. Somewhere, deep inside you, you knew that this wasn’t his first meeting with you. You wonder if he was testing you on that, as if the whole meeting was a test from the start. A test set by yourself. 
“Did you know that my future version would get lost?” you question further. He seems confused and squints his eyes at the sun peaking through the clouds. 
“That scenario never happened to me. I think she was from a different timeline, one where some things looked the same as here, but actions and consequences changed.” he explains and you nod in understanding. You step closer to him, your leg still bleeding and look at the algorithm in his arms. The metal contraptions shining in the faint light of the sun.
You hear a faint sound of the engine and see a chopper coming out from behind the building. Both of you look at each other and Neil wears a sad smile on his face. 
“I need to go, Ives probably already left to hide his part of the algorithm.” he says to you. You step closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He returns the hug, clinging to you as if his life depended on it, his arm wrapped around you as the other is still bleeding. He pulls away and begins to turn into the direction of the chopper but you pull him back to you and place a soft kiss on his lips. 
The kiss is delicate, as if it’s a fleeting moment between you two that almost feels like a goodbye. You deepen the kiss lightly and Neil leans in even closer, cupping your jaw lightly. Both of you pull away and smile at each other. 
“What was that for?” he asks. 
“In case something goes wrong and I won’t be able to do that again.” you tell him, your eyes starting to gather faint tears. The thought itself that he might not return to you freightens you. Over the last few weeks you’ve gotten closer to him. You admired him and he you. For him it was like falling in love with you all over again and each moment felt more blissful than the last. 
He takes your face in his hands and this time he kisses you, but holds on a little bit longer. He pulls away and wipes a small tear that fell onto your cheek. You smile at him and let him go. He crosses the field to get to the chopper, clutching to his arm, when he enters it he gives you one last look before the door closes. Your eyes follow the chopper flying above the ground and disappearing in the distance. 
You hear a honk of a car behind you and turn to see Wheeler behind the wheels. She urges you to get in so that she can take you to the airport. You limp up into the car and for the rest of the drive a faint smile doesn’t leave your lips. You feel deep inside that this is just the beginning of your connection to this hidden reality of the world. To time inversion, to Neil. After all, you did tell him to find you in the beginning, somehow you’re really glad that your future version did. 
54 notes · View notes
lire-casander · 3 years
Text
what life’s really worth
[1,605 words] [general audiences] [beta’ed by @meloingly. any remaining mistakes are my own] [title from someday at christmas, hanson’s version]  [tk strand, carlos reyes] [fluff]
[carlos chooses new year’s eve and the ball dropping in times square as background to ask the most important question of his whole life]
what life’s really worth
< part iv
The snow is starting to fall when they reach Times Square, hours before the dropping of the ball signals the new year. Carlos walks among the snowflakes slowly but surely covering the street, the sky a soft white with a tinge of pink, just like heʼs always read what snow skies look like. Heʼs aware that heʼs sporting an astonished look in his eyes — mouth agape and eyes wide as he takes in the sheer beauty of a white blanket being draped over the city.
“Do you like it?” he hears TK asking by his side. There are fingers finding his own over gloves and layers of fabric — he might love snow but he's a Southern boy through and through, he fears he will freeze to death if he isn’t properly wrapped in clothes — and Carlos allows his grasp to hold TKʼs hand a little tighter.
“No,” he says, squeezing TK. “I love it,” he adds.
“Iʼm so glad. I wasn't sure youʼd bear it. It’s one thing to see snow on a postcard, and another to experience it.”
Carlos smiles widely at his boyfriend. “It’s perfect. White Christmas after all.”
They stroll around the place, trying to find a good spot in the already crowded space. TK complains that there are too many people and that they’re not going to get near the ball, but Carlos couldn’t care less. He’s in New York right now, enjoying the snow with his boyfriendʼs hand in his and a velvet box in his pocket. He doesn’t need anything else — just TK saying yes.
Carlos has everything planned, and not in any of his multiple ideas they are front row in Times Square. In fact, he thinks heʼd rather be in a secluded corner when the right time comes; he isn’t afraid of rejection but he knows TK is a very private person despite his outgoing personality. Carlos believes TK wasn’t always like this — Gwenyth and Owen have told him stories of their sunshine boy, the kid with the everlasting smile. Carlos has come to know that version of TK with time, as TK learned to kick down his walls and let people in.
He isn’t ready to share that TK he loves so much with the world. He isn’t sure heʼll ever be.
“There’s no way weʼre going to have a good view on the ball,” TK complains, kicking the ground with his boots like a child.
“Itʼs okay, Ty,” Carlos tries to reason. “We can find somewhere calmer, some place to lean on when you get tired of standing up.”
TK wants to protest, but Carlos cuts him off with a knowing glance. As much as he wants to ignore the fact, TK has developed chronic pain in the lower part of his back as a result of long shifts carrying heavy stuff and enduring changing weather. His bones resent his lifestyle; Carlos won't be the one to put more pressure on TK if he can avoid it.
“We can go find a café, sit down for a while, then come back and see the ball drop.”
“But that's not what I promised you!” TK whines. “I promised you the whole New York experience. We can't skip on Times Square.”
Carlos huffs. He throws an arm around TKʼs shoulders as he speaks. “I am having the New York experience, TK. This trip has been amazing, and it's going to be perfect when I get to kiss you at midnight, regardless of where we are. We will ring in the new year whether weʼre up in the crowd in Times Square or watching the ball on TV.”
“But—”
“No buts. We still have time. Let's go.”
He guides TK through the throngs of people as though he knows how to navigate the crowd, hand in hand as they walk away from the ball. Carlos finds a spot to turn around and admire the view — the lights around the ball, the giant screens showing ads over and over, the music from the speakers that precedes the live show that will take place later — and he smiles.
“This is beautiful.”
“You’re going to miss on all the fun,” TK grumbles miserably.
“Hey, look at me,” Carlos says, tugging at TKʼs hand until heʼs forced his boyfriend to look up at him. “I have all the fun I need right here, with you. So long as weʼre together, I donʼt need anything else.”
TK cracks a small smile. “Are you for real?” he wonders. “What did I do to deserve you?”
Carlos leans in and pecks him on the lips. “Now, there’s nowhere in this damned city where we can eat something?” he laughs. “Iʼm starving!”
TK turns around and points at somewhere down the street. “Another New York experience!” he cries out. “A food truck!”
“We have those in—”
“Not a churros with chocolate truck!”
Carlos frowns at TK. He loves his churros con chocolate but he hadn’t even thought he would find it in New York of all places. It’s his familyʼs tradition to have churros and chocolate on New Year morning; heʼd given up on having it this year when TK sprung this trip on him. “You’re joking.”
“Iʼm not!” TK insists, gesturing toward the truck. Carlos can see an old truck painted in yellow with a neon sign on the roof, a few fairy lights and a man inside announcing his food out of the top of his lungs. “I know it's a Reyes tradition, and this is so fitting!”
TK drags him over and orders two chocolates and so many churros that Carlos isn’t sure they will be able to finish them. They’re engulfed by what he can only describe as mirth as they walk to the side, only to discover a few tables scattered throughout the curb and some festive lights that undoubtedly belong to the food truck. Carlos follows TK and they sit at one of the tables despite the cold and the snow. They bite on their churros; Carlos laughs as TK fails to eat a churro dipped in chocolate without leaving a trail on his chin.
And it's then, surrounded by blinding lights in the outskirts of Times Square on New Yearʼs Eve and munching on the sweet and greasy treat TK had managed to find, that Carlos realizes he doesn’t want to wait any longer. If he does, there will never be a perfect moment. He will chicken out.
And he really doesn’t think it will get more perfect than this moment — together somewhere they both love, sharing a moment and being happy in a way Carlos knows he has never been before. The need to say something, anything, intensifies when he watches TK get distracted by some noise on the far end of the street; there are fireworks and people singing, and Carlos knows this is the moment.
TK has never looked more beautiful under the moonlight, even if it’s dimmed by the neon lights everywhere. Carlos has never been more in love.
He clears his throat. “TK,” he begins. When those green eyes focus on him, Carlos starts fidgeting. He places his chocolate plastic cup on top of the table, right there on the curb, he wipes his hand on a napkin theyʼve snatched from the truck barely a few feet away, and he breathes in deeply. “I—I had this whole speech and everything and—”
He fishes for the box in his pocket under TKʼs scrutinizing gaze. “What are you doing, Carlos?” he whispers. “Carlos?”
But he's too busy bending one knee on a filthy New York City street while snow falls around them. Carlos looks up at TK, holding a plastic cup in one hand and a churro in the other, blinking back at him with glistening eyes.
“I have been waiting for the perfect moment, and this is it. I love you,” Carlos starts. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't want to ring in the new year with my boyfriend. I would love to ring it with my fiancé.”
TK chokes on his own tears. There are a few people gathered around them; Carlos can see some taking out their phones and filming the whole situation.
“I look like a fool,” TK says instead of answering the unspoken question Carlos hasn't asked. “What’s in this whole eating churros and drink chocolate on the street situation that's made you think it's perfect?”
Carlos knows that's not the real question — he can read TK better than he can read himself. He knows TK is really asking if Carlos thinks he is perfect.
“You,” he answers truthfully. “I don't care where we are and what weʼre doing. I want to be with you, anywhere, anyhow. Forever. Will you marry me?”
There’s a blur of movement, and everything gets forgotten — the chocolate cups, the churros, the snow, the crowd around them and the crowd on Times Square, the ball, the lights and even their own names — as TK kneels down in front of Carlos and cradles his face in his hands.
“Yes, a thousand times yes,” he mutters, leaving flittering kisses on Carlosʼ skin. “I love you.”
Carlos takes the ring out of the box — a simple silver band with a solitary diamond — and slips it on TKʼs fingers with shaky hands. They kiss and kiss, and kiss some more among the cheering and the wolf whistles, until they don’t know where Carlos ends and TK begins.
When the ball drops, hours later, Carlos gets his wish granted.
He gets to kiss his fiancé into the new year.
11 notes · View notes
Text
Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 166
166
Waking up in the stupidly early hours of the morning, Lance crept around his house as secretly as he could. The shock of not waking up to Keith was shoved aside by the dire need to pee, then throw up. Hearing far too much, when he was far too sleepy, Lance knew he should have tried not to listen to Shiro and Keith as they bickered while painting the nursery. He couldn’t deny part of it was to distract himself from how much he hated throwing up and wanted to concentrate on something much more happier than the wet hacking noises he was making. Painting the nursery was supposed to be his and Keith’s job, yet Shiro sorely needed Keith time and Keith most definitely needed time with his brother, so he could forgive the pair of idiots for painting in the middle of the night.
Creeping along the hallway, he muffled a curse as he tripped on one of the boxes from the nursery, still his movements until he was sure neither brother had noticed. For someone who knew he really should leave the pair alone, he also totally wanted to spy on them and make sure they were doing a good job... Inch by inch the vampire made his way to the open door. Judging by the music playing, Shiro had gotten his way as the songs were all from his youth, not Keith’s.
Peaking around the corner, Lance smiled at the sight of the pair of idiots. Keith was up on Shiro’s shoulders, trying to cover up the mess they’d made of the top moulding. Shiro directed by Keith as he painted. Lance half wished they had surveillance in the nursery because the pair of them were being too damn cute. They’d painted the three walls, leaving the space Lance would have to cut out free enough that it wouldn’t look awkward when the spot was painted to hide the repair. They made such a good team. Shiro had painted down his face again, but he was smiling happily as he teased Keith over dribbling, asking if he needed a bib.
Laughing hard at his brother, Keith nearly fell off Shiro’s shoulders, Lance moving instinctively to catch him, stopping himself a couple of steps into the nursery. Fuck. He’d messed up. He was supposed to be spying, not interrupting
“Lance?”
Preoccupied with not sticking the paintbrush in Shiro’s hair, Keith dropped it as his head snapped up. His boyfriend looked very much like a deer in the headlights as he swallowed hard, before almost nervously starting
“I can explain...”
Lance held his hands up. He wasn’t trying to ruin the moment, not anymore than he had done
“Sorry, I heard the music and saw the light on”
“Oh... Me and Shiro were...”
“Painting the nursery. I noticed. Don’t stop on my account”
Keith slid himself down Shiro’s back, Lance kicking himself for acting without thinking
“I’m not... I mean...”
His boyfriend was attempting to apologise. Lance wasn’t having it
“Babe, seriously, it’s fine. I’m going to head back to bed, you two don’t let me stop you”
“I mean... are you sure?”
“You’re the one who said I was in charge of the back wall, I totally trust you guys. Plus, you haven’t done a bad job”
Shiro cleared his throat
“I didn’t mean to upset you. If you’d really rather...”
Oh Lordy, not Shiro too
“Guys, not mad at all. I was up anyway, and now I’m going to be down again. Gotta try fit in some sleep before I have to pee again. Take your time, just don’t go falling off Shiro’s shoulders. I don’t have workers comp for improvised ladders made from older brothers. Hell, I don’t have workers comp at all”
Both brothers relaxed, Lance waving them goodbye as he headed back to his room. He could hear them discussing whether to continue or not, hoping they would and that Keith would drag him off to see the job they’d done in the morning. When he’d lived alone it wasn’t unusual for him to paint or remodel in the middle of the night when the whim took him. Keith was working hard to be a good dad, but to Lance, his boyfriend already was. The vampire hoped that his boyfriend knew he appreciated everything he did for the three of them, though maybe he’d make extra sure between the sheets come morning.
*
Keith and Shiro didn’t sleep. Lance woke to find Keith’s side of their bed empty, more than once as he got up to pee then go back to bed. When it rolled around to being a semi decent time to climb up, he’d found both brothers conked out in the nursery. Keith asleep with his head on Shiro’s shoulder, paint rollers laying next to them. Carefully he lifted Shiro first, finding him much heavier than he thought he be as he carried him to his and Keith’s bed, because he knew his boyfriend would freak about him trying to carry Shiro downstairs. Coming back for Keith, he tucked both brothers in next to each other, then set the alarm on his phone for lunch time. Keith had roused a little in his arms, Lance stealing a kiss before assuring him he loved him and he needed a few hours of proper sleep.
Being the earliest riser came with one severe disadvantage. No body was awake to tell him not to go where he’d find something he really didn’t want to see. His kitchen looked as if a bomb had gone off. Blood smeared across the table and counters, his medication bottles smashed in the sink. Glasses randomly placed around the space, the window open, plates broke on the counter. The smell of so much blood sent his ego into overdrive as Lance held his stomach, gutted at the sight before him. Blue was shut in a cupboard, meowing mournfully until Lance gathered her out and into his arms. He’d checked on his way past the living room. Curtis seemed asleep, totally dead to the world and like there was no way he could have possibly been responsible for the mess. Lance couldn’t even try to blame it on raccoons, there weren’t any in the area, and Curtis’s scent hung so strongly in the air.
How was he supposed to tell Curtis? Curtis was one of his best friends. He wanted everything to appear as normal as possibly, but what he’d woken up to left him crying as Blue to tried to escape his tears. He couldn’t deal with everything and have everything appearing normal by the time the others woke. Rieva and Matt would both be mad. Rieva probably madder than he’d ever seen her before. She’d taken on her own role as his protector. Her seeing the destruction caused would send her ego into a fit of rage he honestly feared. His best boy Kosmo hadn’t come to greet him, leaving him with a terrible fear something had been done to him.
Creeping into Matt and Rieva’s room, relief flooded him when he found Kosmo sleeping on the end of the bed. His fur son thudding his tail as he whined at him. Yeah. He got it. Curtis had accidentally scared their fur babies. For now it was safer to leave Kosmo there and Blue with him, despite not wanting to let his precious princess go. Placing Blue down, she let out a “rowr” as she raced across the floor then leapt light on the bed, immediately bunting into Kosmo’s boof head, happy to be reunited with her doggo. Closing the door almost silently, Lance kept his steps light, feeling like an intruder in his own home as he headed to his office.
Krolia had left the door unlocked, making access easy. Slipping into the room, Lance didn’t want to disturb her, but right now he needed someone vaguely more adult than him. His Mami had covered up plenty of times he’d lost his temper thanks to his ego, or thrown up in fear, or had torn through his room to make sure nothing bad was hiding in the shadows. Curtis wasn’t his child, yet he knew how broken hearted he’d be. Maybe acting like nothing was wrong was the wrong move? All he wanted to do was be a good friend.
Shaking Krolia’s shoulder, Krolia roused easily. Lance jumping back as the woman clutched at her chest
“Holy fuck! Jesus, Lance... you scared the shit out of me”
“I’m sorry... Krolia, I need your help... I think I fucked up”
For a woman who’d just been shaken away and given a miniature heart attack as she was, Krolia was a zillion times better at waking up than Keith was. Instantly alert, she pushed back the blankets
“Lance, are you okay?”
There didn’t seem to be the right word to describe how unokay he felt. Her asking served to make him cry harder. The majority of his medication was ruined. He only had what was upstairs now, or what he’d left in his office.
Moving from the single bed, Krolia wrapped her arm around him
“Whoa. You need to calm down... Whatever happened to make you so upset? Here, sit down and tell me”
Lance shook his head. If he sat he’d only risk the chance of Curtis getting up for a glass of water and seeing the carnage
“Can you come with me?”
“Ive got to be honest, I’d rather you sit. You’re kind of scaring me”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know who to ask and I need help right now”
“Is it the twins? Are you in pain?”
“It’s not... it’s easier to show you”
“Okay, lead the way”
Returning to the kitchen, Krolia stalled in the doorway as Lance walked back into his messed up kitchen. Having been in there before, he didn’t think to check the floor, discovering the hard way that there were shattered bottles on the floor too. Whimpering at the unexpected pain, Krolia was by his side in a moment, pulling out the closest chair to force him to sit. Dropping a kiss on the top of his head, for a moment it felt like his Mami was the one there coming to his rescue
“Stay here and don’t move. I’ll get my boots. Here, put this against your foot to stem the bleeding. Can you feel if there’s any glass still in there?”
“I think it is”
Taking the tea towel from Krolia, Lance was thankful that he remained pretty flexible despite the lack of yoga he’d done of late. Pulling out the base of a broken vial from his foot, he threw it into the sink to join the rest before holding the tea towel over the wound. He’d have to tell Shiro about this. Shiro would be devastated too. Matt and Rieva must have had their noise cancelling headphones on and missed the sounds. He had no excuse. There’d been a time when the smallest sound would have woken him. Sleeping in a bed filled with Keith’s scent calmed his ego too much, now this was the price of it. To tell Shiro felt likes betrayal. He felt like that kid running to a teacher to dob in another kid over something that had happened some time ago.
When Krolia came back, she draped one of the blankets from his bed over his shaking shoulders. The tears wouldn’t stop. His foot seemed a far cry pain wise when it came to the emotional pain he felt. His house was his haven. His safe place. A place he filled with love. Three times in the last 24 hours had that been disturbed, all by Curtis who couldn’t even help it. Things well and truly sucked. He needed to get up and help Krolia, but all he wanted to do was cry over the unfairness of the situation
“I’ll start by sweeping the floor. Can I get you anything?”
“I should help”
“I’m not letting you help when you’re in no condition. I know you’ve had complications. For now you should work on settling your emotions”
Krolia was right. He knew his fangs were poking out and his nails clawed. She was right in all the ways he needed right now
“Can... would you maybe please make me a cup of tea?”
Krolia’s skills in the kitchen didn’t exist. He knew that, yet it wasn’t like she could go wrong. Mami always settled him down with a cup of tea. The liquid itself coming second to its scent, a scent he’d always associate with Coran and his mother
“I can do that. You’ll have to tell me how you like it”
“White, one sugar, please”
“Okay”
There was more to that reply that went unsaid. Krolia would call Coran once the evidence was dealt with. He’d need to ask for more medication. Lance knew he was leaking pheromones all over the place, that the stress was bad for the pregnancy, yet Krolia didn’t seem to scent him. Keith would have been able to tell in an instant something was wrong from his scent alone. His body felt slightly flushed, but the deep heavy depressed feeling of the situation seemed the be currently squashing down those particular needs for now. Maybe he should be the one to call Coran? To explain things from his point of view so Coran wouldn’t be too harsh on Curtis. No. Coran wouldn’t be too hard on Curtis. Coran had probably seen so much worse in his long, long, life. His life and the life’s of their friends was probably just a drop in the ocean compared to everything Coran had done in his time.
“Here’s your tea. I’m starting to feel like a real mum. First Keith, and now you”
Krolia seemed pleased as she passed Lance his tea, he’d been so in his head he’d barely noticed her make it
“You talked to Keith?”
“A bit. He was angsting over how to wake Shiro to talk to him”
Lance stared down at his tea. Krolia had put the milk straight in so the colour was a sad off white. Still, he appreciated it as he breathed in deeply trying to focus on the scent of the tea instead of the blood
“Oh. Yeah. He does that. He still says he’s bad with words... he’s really not. He’s just carrying the trauma still of when people dismissed him without listening. Sometimes he doesn’t know just how much he says with the things he doesn’t say”
“He told me I wasn’t making sense”
Lance could imagine. By default Krolia was quite brash, though she did have her secretive ways about her
“I’m sorry for waking you up. I didn’t... I mean, I could have cleaned this place up, but... Did I do the right thing? Not making a fuss? Or did I hurt Curtis more by downplaying it”
Krolia hummed as she looked around at the mess
“You were trying to help a friend”
“I know. He did so much for me. He’s done so much for me. He tried to stand up protect me... I hate that he... that he probably hates himself so much right now. I know what it’s like to lose control of your body, but my pain isn’t his and I can’t understand his pain. It’s funny. I spent years alone. In the past this wouldn’t have bothered me. I would have cleaned it up and not said anything to anyone. I don’t know how to explain to Keith that I’m nearly out of medication again”
“He’ll understand. He’s very understanding when it comes to you”
“I know. I know I burden him by being like this”
“Keith would be sad to hear that”
“I know that too. I mean, I know being a carer is hard. Watching the person you care for change more and more each day”
“Things well get better. I remember how hormonal I felt when pregnant with Keith. The worries of bring him into this world. The worries over my limitation of what I could do to protect him. His father was a mess. The slightest pain or discomfort and he panicked”
Lance snorted with a shake of his head. Like father like son. He loved Keith beyond measurable amounts and words. A single touch could settle his thoughts. A single smile left him all goopy inside. Absolutely anything Keith wanted, Lance wanted to be the one to give it to him. He wanted to continue to grow beside Keith. To nurture their relationship and grow with him. To face all the good and bad times together. He was now hiding one of those bad times from him. Keith needed rest, obviously. Falling asleep with Shiro beside him, the two must have had a good talk. If he told Keith later, he’d be upset he didn’t come to him right away, like how he hadn’t called when his sisters came to see him. The movies never showed how hard being with someone and planning to be with them forever was. Keith would get all moody when Lance pointed out that he needed the rest.
“Krolia, I’ll be back in a minute”
He couldn’t hide this from Keith. Keith needed to know that Lance knew he could turn to him, no matter the situation. Shiro really needed Keith’s support right now, and it’d be better for Keith to know the truth before they told Shiro
“Okay, but before you go, where’s the broom?”
“In the laundry. The dust pan is there too”
“Alrighty. You leave this to me. Wow, I even sound like a proper mother”
Krolia was a proper mother in her own way. She was certainly filling in the gaps of longing for maternal comfort after Mami passed in her own special Krolia way
“You are a proper mother. I won’t be too long”
Trudging up the stairs, Lance cursed them mentally. Today there seemed to be twice as many as there actually were, his back complaining as he straightened up, before promptly half slouching, trying to find that sweet spot where his muscles didn’t want to spasm. Yeah, he was round for his weekage. He felt he seemed rounder than Google showed he should be, but as long as that wasn’t hurting the twins he’d have to bare with it. Shuffling to his room, he found Keith and Shiro where he’d left them. Anxiety over what to say bubbled up, but now he’d made his mind up to tell Keith, he couldn’t turn and head back down those damn stairs empty handed.
Opting to sit on the bed next to his boyfriend, Lance stole a kiss. Keith looked so peaceful, adding to the guilt he already felt about waking him. Opting against shaking him awake and making him panic, Lance nuzzled into Keith’s cheek, pressing kisses to the soft skin brushing against his lips
“Babe, babe, I need you to wake up for me”
Keith was horrible at waking up, unless he either woke up naturally or he woke up with Lance straddling his lap for morning kisses and something more if they were in the mood
“Babe, please. I need you to wake up now”
Nosing a little harder, his boyfriend groaned at him sleepily
“Keith, I need you to wake up for me”
“Sleeeping”
“I know. I know but I need you to get up like right now”
The next groan Keith gave had no English translation
“I know. I need your help”
That seemed to work. Confused purple eyes squinting at him as Lance pulled back enough that Keith could see his face
“Babe?”
“Something happened. I need you to come with me”
“Wha... babies?”
Right. Keith had no clue why his precious sleep was being disturbed
“No. No, I’m okay. I just... I really need you to come with me right now”
“Whaaa... Shiro?”
Lance had the unfair advantage of knowing about the shit storm in his kitchen, that and being more awake than asleep
“He’s right here in bed, but... he can’t see this”
“Your scent... somethings...”
Yeah. His scent was doing its own thing, his eyes were filled with tears and the position hurt his back. Lance already knew he was far from fighting form
“I’ll explain, but... it’s easier to show you... I... I need you to come with me”
Getting Keith moving, his boyfriend was more of a hazard than the damn stairs. His boyfriend tripping on his own feet, leading Lance to catch him as he half leapt down, whimpering as his feet his the floor. With the shock shooting straight up his back, and his healing foot that he’d kind of half forgotten from his back pain, the landing was about as rad as the mess waiting. Yeah. Have a baby they said. It’ll all work out, they said. They didn’t warn him about all the hard work in the middle of it all
“Babe?”
Lance was holding Keith to hold himself up far more than Keith was holding him for the same reason
“I’m okay... my back’s sore, but I need to show you”
“You’re making me worried”
For Keith to have such a grasp on the English language his boyfriend must be internally freaking. Lance hadn’t exactly eased any of his worries
“I’m okay... physically, I’m okay. It’s Krolia... something happened. Not to her, but she’s helping and I... I need you right now”
Straightening himself, Keith moved from his side to standing in front of him. Moving to cup Lance’s cheek, it was more like a light slap as Keith sleepily tried to coordinate himself
“Babe, you’re worrying me. Just... tell me what happened”
“Curtis... he... well, it’s easier if I show you. It’s in the kitchen. Everyone’s alright, but... I’m... kind of... right now I need you to help me out because I’m out of my depth”
Keith’s “galaxy eyes” softened, nodding immediately
“Okay. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay”
“I really hope so... try not to freak out too much. The others are sleeping”
Keith went in front of him, Lance bumping into him when his boyfriend suddenly stopped
“What the fuck?!”
Lance flinched. Yeah. This wasn’t good. Not only was Keith blinded by the kitchen lights, he was forced to see pretty much the same things Lance had... other than the floor. Krolia hadn’t done a bad job of sweeping up the worst of it. Taking a deep breath, all his words came out like word vomit, seeking reassurance that he’d done the right thing by waking Keith and Krolia for help
“I woke up and the kitchen was like this. I didn’t want to wake you up but I didn’t want to hide this from you and I didn’t want you to feel like I was hiding things. I know you barely slept, and I know I woke mum up first, but I... This is my fault and I... I kind of really need you to help because I’m too freaked to adult right now”
“Keith! We meet again. Make yourself useful and get Lance sitting down again. Then you can start on the table while I start on sink”
Right. Blood on his table... Krolia seemed happy to have a helper that wasn’t him. It seemed his boyfriend had bonded more with Krolia during whatever talk they’d had. Lance had his own questions for Krolia, namely did she know about the ring box Keith kept in his drawer and what the fuck it meant for their relationship. Lance thought they’d agreed to wait, now had this additional little voice in his head telling him he should snoop and find out more. Having his boyfriend in the same space calmed his ego, letting him refocus on what needed to happen next
“You need to be careful getting blood out of wood. It would have already stained. Grab some paper towels to mop it up, then we’ll need to clean up what’s left as carefully as possible. We can cover the stain with a table cloth”
“Oh, great thinking! You really did snag a great man. Lance, I want you to sit back down again and finish that cup of tea. You’re still in shock”
He had to admit that he most certainly was still in shock. Keith sighing heavily as he looked to the floor
“Am I going to get glass in my feet?”
“Like Lance did? He really should be off his feet right now”
As Keith turned to him, Lance raised his hands in surrender
“I know. I’ll sit. I got the glass out and tossed it in the sink...”
“Why was there glass on the floor to begin with?”
Moving his left hand to the back of his head, he scratched his hair nervously
“Uh, well, you know...”
“Curtis smashed his medication”
“He did what?!”
Dobbed in by Krolia, Keith was instantly furious at the news. Lance had been trying to figure the right way to ease into the conversation, this was not it
“I have a few vials... you should probably leave the ones in the sink. My blood’s in there and we can’t risk infection”
“Right now I don’t give a fuck. Go back to bed, babe. We’ll fucking deal with this”
“But you’ve been up all night painting”
“And we’ll deal with this right now. Go lay down”
Lance was kind of unimpressed
“I can help”
“Babe, seriously, I’m about to lose my temper. You need that medication and he fucking knows if”
Bursting into tears again, Lance wept for his friend
“He can’t help it. You’ve seen what happens when I act out of ego. Hating him for this is as good as hating me”
Keith sighed, Lance drawn against him as his boyfriend kissed his hair, before relying
“I don’t hate him. I’m mad at the situation. This isn’t what I wanted to wake up to, but I’m glad you came and got me”
“I wanted you to know I rely on you. That I know I can rely on you”
“I know, babe. Can you please let me and mum handle this?”
“I can help. This is my house”
“I know it is, but this isn’t our first time cleaning up blood. You resting right now, is going to help me concentrate on getting this cleaned up”
“I don’t want to be a burden”
“Babe, you’re not a burden. I don’t want to lash out and I don’t want to say something to hurt you. Why don’t you wait in the office until we’re done? I promise I’ll come get you when this is cleaned up”
“But...”
“Babe, please?”
Lance couldn’t say no to Keith asking. He felt completely useless. He wanted Curtis to be happy. He wanted Keith to understand. He knew how Keith got when he was cranky, that meant he wanted to be there for him to help him through those feelings. But, if he was in the way...
“Okay. I trust you”
“And I love you”
“I love you, too. I’ll be in the office. I’m not up for the stairs right now”
In the office he could listen to what was happening. He’d have to content himself with that
“Okay. This shouldn’t take long. Then I’ll come cuddle the fuck out of you”
“You do give the best cuddles”
“I thought Hunk did?”
“Mmm... but you’re cuddles are different. I feel bad I woke you”
“You did the right thing. Now go rest, and don’t think I haven’t forgotten about your foot. I want to take a look at that too”
“Okay... Thank you”
“You’re welcome”
Closing the door to the office, Lance locked it behind him. Should Curtis wake up and attempt something, he didn’t know how he’d handle the idea of having to fight his friend. His instincts were such a mess that instead of standing up for himself, his body was telling him to put as much space between him and his friend as he could do nothing could happen to the twins. Sitting on the bed seemed to have an immediate effect. Lance moving to curl up under the covers. He missed his bed with all the blankets and the sense of security they brought, for now though, this was all he could do to feel safe.
7 notes · View notes
moonstruckbucky · 4 years
Text
Come Over (3/7)
Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.
Tumblr media
Warnings for Series: Fluff, angst, pining, the ush! Also, swearing, because nobody ever washed my mouth out with soap.
Notes: So I’ve daydreamed about a neighbor AU for an embarrassing amount of time, and I need something to get my creative juices flowing again. So, ta-da.
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Tumblr media
A month into your new life in New York, you feel more settled in. Your apartment doesn’t look like a warehouse piled high with boxes, and you’ve even spent some of your signing bonus on artwork to hang on the walls and a few plants to bring some life to the space. You’re even considering getting a cat.
At work, you frequently eat your lunch with not only Wanda and Vis, but the three other women on your floor. Maria, Charlotte, and Sarah are all mothers, so they don’t usually attend the girls’ night out you and Wanda plan every week, but they’re still pleasant to sit and chat with regardless. It’s made you feel even more at home at Stark Industries.
Speaking of, Tony is a riot, you’ve learned. You’ve come out of your shell a little more with each day you work for him, and it’s mostly in thanks to Tony’s easy-going personality. Though he’s clearly a workaholic on top of being addicted to caffeine (for anyone else this might’ve been a destructive combination but Tony seems to wield both extremely well), he feels more like a weird brother/father figure than a boss. He keeps most projects secret from you, but occasionally he’ll show you a new update or ask for your opinion as a consumer. You’re honest with him without kissing his ass too much about it.
Since he lives closer, Sam comes over a couple times a week to hang out with you and catch up on your favorite shows. He tries to bring Clint with him most times, but being neck-deep in a new case makes it hard for him to get away to visit. You settle for FaceTiming him during the week even though it isn’t the same.
It’s one of your weekly nights with Sam, who reclines in your new armchair with his feet up and an open beer in his fist. You’re catching up on Mindhunter with him, relaxed on the couch under a big fluffy blanket with your own beer. In between episodes Sam has been telling you all about the girl he’s been seeing, to which you demand you meet her for approval.
He rolls his eyes and asks, “Isn’t that my job?”
You scoff. “You’re my best friend, Sam, and as my best friend, I’ve got to make you’re taken care of just as much as you’re taking care of her.”
He grumbles under his breath but you can see a slight pinkness to his dark skin that makes you smirk in victory. A few moments of silence and then:
“So what about you and Neighbor Boy then? What’s going on there?” While your smirk drops, his widens. You take a long pull from your beer.
“Absolutely nothing, Sam.”
He snorts and gestures with his beer. “You have coffee dates almost every week!”
“He helps me put furniture together! There’s absolutely nothing but friendship there, I assure you.”
A doubtful look characterized by lowering of his eyebrows and pursed lips. A responding eye roll and scrunched up face, a silent don’t give me that look.
“Want another?” you ask, needing to busy yourself in order to keep your unusually attractive neighbor out of your head. Throwing the blanket off your lap, you stand up and accept the empty bottle Sam holds out to you.
If he notices that you take a little longer to fetch two more beers, he doesn’t say anything when you get back to the couch. He presses ‘play’ on the remote and the topic of your neighbor is dropped.
For an hour.
“So, you’re coming next Sunday for our football party right?” Sam asks.
Once a month during football season, Sam and Clint co-host a party at your brother’s apartment. You make your five-layer chip dip and Sam brings a massive amount of wings while Clint provides endless beer and a giant wrap-around couch that seats eight. (You’re still not sure how he fit the damn thing in his apartment.) To antagonize Clint and to make the day a little more fun, you and Sam always show up in your matching Patriots jerseys representing the McCourty twins.
“Of course I’ll be there! I never miss it!” you reply with an incredulous look. Sam holds up his hands.
“Hey, just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any new furniture that needed assembling that day.” He chortles when you chuck the throw pillow under your hip at him and nail him in the chest. “I’m kidding. Mostly. But, uh, I was gonna say, if you wanted to invite him, you could. Not as a date, don’t you throw that bottle! Jesus. Crazy. Just, Clint and I think he’s cool and it’d be cool to have another dude around.”
You watch him for a few moments, see no trace of his earlier teasing, and sigh and relax back into the couch. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“All I ask.”
Sam, bless him, leaves you be about Bucky for the remainder of your evening together. When he’s gone, your mind can’t rest just yet, so you open up a new beer and put on a rerun of CSI. You’ll regret staying up so late in the morning, but for now, you let your mind get sucked into the emotional episode of Warrick’s funeral.
Regret is a bitter bitch, and the next morning it comes in the form of a prominent headache paired with under-eye bags your makeup barely hides. A three-hour binge of CSI definitely wasn’t your smartest move considering you’ve a fairly important meeting with Tony in about two hours. Hair tied back in a ponytail and makeup...done but slightly unsatisfactory, you slip into a black pencil skirt with a mustard blouse tucked in. Your feet slide into a pair of black pumps and you throw on a jacket to combat the cool October morning.
You know your face shows your exhaustion as you give yourself a final once over, but there’s not much you can do short of downing copious amounts of coffee. Tote bag slung over your shoulder, you head out of your apartment with a sigh. As you’re locking your door, the one next to yours opens, and Bucky steps out looking ten kinds of delicious in his running gear, tattoos on full display thanks to his tight tank top.
You grunt when he tells you good morning, chuckles good-naturedly until he sees your eyes. Then he’s frowning in concern and you’re almost desperate to do anything to wipe it off. Such a man should not be frowning.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asks, falling into step with you towards the elevator. You resist the urge to rub your eyes in order to preserve your makeup.
“Not really. Sam stayed till about ten and then I stayed up a little while longer. Guess I just couldn’t fall asleep.” To punctuate your sentence, a long yawn escapes. Bucky stands next to you in the elevator, close enough you can feel the heat radiating from him and it’s wholly distracting. “And I have a meeting in a couple hours and I’m not really sure how I’m going to get through it without dozing a few hundred times. Know anyone who can hook me up with a caffeine IV?”
He laughs, the sound echoing in the small space, and despite the warmth and your jacket you still suppress a shiver.
“I’m afraid not. Hey, do you have a few minutes? We can go get a cup now, if you want,” he offers, blue eyes boring into yours, and you nod before you can really think about it. His smile brightens up the entire elevator, and then he’s leading you with a hand on your back out into the lobby and finally out onto the street.
He takes you to a place between your apartment building and the subway, stands with his hands in his pockets as you both wait in line. Sam’s invite bounces around in your head, your nerves expressing themselves in the form of tapping your fingers on your arms, which are crossed over your chest.
Bucky and you order your respective drinks and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Your hand on his arm stops him, has him looking down at you with those depthless blue eyes.
“I’ve got it,” you say softly with a small smile. He opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but you merely hand over some cash to the cashier. “You’ve helped me a ton this past month. Let me at least start paying you back with coffee.”
The blush that overtakes his face has your insides fluttering with giddiness. You have to bite your lip to keep back your grin, your entire body warming over the fact you’ve made this beautiful giant of a man blush. As the two of you stand off to the side and wait for your orders, you feel a small boost in confidence.
“Hey Bucky, I was wondering—” You’re cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone. He sighs and pulls the device from his pocket, and if you hadn’t been eyeing him so closely, you’d miss the slight downward twitch of his mouth.
“Excuse me just one sec okay?” he says apologetically. When he looks up at you, you know he means it and you nod. He smiles tightly and walks off down the small hallway that leads to the bathrooms, accepting the call with a hushed “Hi”.
You wait patiently until the barista calls your name and Bucky’s, and you grab both cups and sip lightly from yours while Bucky’s on his call. You can see him in the hall, shoulders hunched and free hand swinging about as he gestures. That pinched look is on his face again and you feel a faint tug in your gut that has you wondering if you’re close enough friends to ask.
Before you can decide one way or another, he’s pulling his phone from his ear and shoving it back in his pocket.
“Sorry about that,” he sighs, accepting the coffee you hand to him with a close-lipped smile. He takes a long drink from it, wincing a little at the burn, and licks his top lip. It’s horribly distracting for a minute. “What were you going to ask me?”
“Oh, um, I was just wondering if you maybe—oh shit.” A quick glance down at your watch shows you’re going to be late if you wait any longer. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going otherwise Tony’s going to kill me with his newest project. Um, I’ll see you later?”
Bucky’s blue eyes are slightly widened in surprise at your sudden departure. “Y-Yeah, definitely. Maybe you can tell me about this new project.” It’s said with a wink that tickles your insides.
“Maybe. If I’m not sworn to secrecy. Bye, Bucky!”
“Have a good day at work. And thanks for the coffee!” he calls out as you fly out of the cafe.
Your exhaustion only worsens as the day goes on. The meeting you’d sat in on was nothing short of boring—even Tony dozed off a few times, but only you’d taken notice because you were seated beside him and heard the tiny little snores. Your planner had been filled with new doodles of suns, clouds, flowers, and a tiny little witch in the margins. You’re still unsure why you’d been required to attend this meeting; you have a pile of things on your desk that could have been done in the two hours you sat uncomfortably in your chair, listening to the other tech geniuses go back and forth on new design ideas.
By the time it’s time for you to leave, you feel dead on your feet, which are cramping in your shoes. Your neck, shoulders, and back are also killing you due to sitting in your chair and hunching over the screen built into your desk. The subway ride home has you almost falling asleep, lulled by the gentle swaying of the car and the four hours’ sleep you got the night before.
It’s a slow climb to your apartment, and as you pass Bucky’s door you hesitate. You never did get to ask him this morning and so, because you’re too damn tired to be shy, you turn and knock three times on his door. From behind the wood you can make out a scuffle, and then the door is yanked open and your mouth runs dry.
Bucky stands before you, shirtless and gleaming with sweat. He’s breathless, that broad chest heaving up and down. There’s a smattering of dark hair across his chest and beneath his navel that disappears into the band of his shorts. The hair on his head is mussed, as if he’d been sleeping or hand run his hands through it.
“Y/N,” he gasps. Crimson creeps up his neck and across his chest, stains his cheeks as well as he avoids looking at your eyes. He glances over his shoulder briefly before turning back to you, eyes cast down at the neckline of your blouse. “Wha-What are you, um, doing here?”
“I, uh, wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to my brother’s with me for the football game on Sunday?” you ask in an equally breathless rush.
Bucky seems surprised by the question and is about to answer when a second, female voice calls from behind him, “James?”
A blonde head appears over his shoulder and the slender woman tucks herself under Bucky’s arm, looking equally as disheveled. You feel the color drain from your face even though it warms under the implication that you've...interrupted. There’s no question of what they’d been, or had about to have been, doing because the blonde’s hair is ruffled just like Bucky’s, her full lips red and kiss-bitten. Her blouse is untucked and unbuttoned.
You can’t take your eyes off her, nor she you as she lays a manicured hand on Bucky’s chest, a universal female power move that says he’s mine.
Bucky looks as awkward as you feel, shifting from bare foot to bare foot even as his hand rests on the woman’s shoulder. He clears his throat and gestures with his free hand to the woman, whose eyes have not left your form and are currently on their third sweep of your entire figure.
“Uh, Y/N, this is Sharon.”
“His girlfriend,” Sharon interjects. A sideways tilt of her lips that you know means no good. She reaches out with that manicured hand for yours and you shake it quickly, dropping it as if it’s burned you.
In a way, it has. It’s burned you so badly on the inside that you want nothing more than to duck into your apartment with your tail between your legs. You can feel the flames licking at your gut, sliding up your esophagus to singe your throat. It’s bitter, the burn, and it puts a pressure in your throat and behind your eyes.
“Sharon, this is Y/N, our new neighbor I was telling you about.” He won’t look at you, focusing instead on the blank wall just over your shoulder.
His sudden refusal to look at you pairs badly with your embarrassment, from both interrupting and for ever thinking you might have a chance, and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
Tumblr media
Chapter Four
889 notes · View notes
squishneedsahero · 3 years
Text
Unknowns
Lost to Time | Part 3
Word Count: 2106
Summary:
The story of an original character, Allison Bennett. Growing up black in the short period between the world wars wasn't easy but Allison had friends who stuck with her no matter what. She was ambitious and had a million things she wanted to achieve in her lifetime and would try only to be told by the world that due to who she was it wasn't possible and she'd never live up to her dreams.
The last thing Allison remembered was a bright flash of white light. She can feel herself lying on a bed, the sheets were soft and there was a blanket lying on top of her. Her body ached and she couldn't convince herself to open her eyes.
She doesn't know how long she lies there somewhere between waking and sleep. But she stays there as her body aches, she hurt all over, inside and out. Her skin felt as though it was on fire and her bones felt too big for the space they had. It was the oddest feeling she had ever felt but she slowly grew used to it, well either that or the pain slowly subsided.
Eventually she moves enough to open her eyes. She found herself staring at a white ceiling in a well lit room. The room was pristine and Allison could see nothing out of place as she began to move her head about to look around.
As she looked around she came to realize she was in a hospital room. It was different from other hospital rooms which she had been in but it definitely was a hospital. It's as she begins to sit herself up that she realizes she has an IV in her arm and has a few other tubes attached to her body. She looks at them but doesn't remove them, despite not being sure what they were for.
She hears some voices outside her room when she has sat up but she ignores them to look around a bit more. She finds her notebook on the bedside table and reaches over to pick it up. She moves it to her lap and opens up its tattered pages, as she does this a woman enters the room.
"Hello, ma'am it is good to see you awake."
Allison pauses a moment before opening her mouth, "Hello... what hospital am I in?"
"You're in the Brooklyn hospital center," the woman pauses for a beat. "May I ask you a few questions as we have not been able to identify who you are or find any relatives of yours."
Allison's mind is groggy so she takes a moment to respond but eventually she nods, "yes, I'm Allison Bennett, I don't have any relatives they all passed during the war."
"Excuse me, war ma'am? Which war did they pass during?" The nurse asks the two questions, clearly confused and her confusion does nothing but confuse Allison further.
Allison pauses a moment trying to figure out how to explain the war to someone who was so confused, how long had she been asleep for? Had the world so quickly forgotten the war against the Axis powers? "The war, the one that ended a few years back, against the Germans and Japanese?"
The look of confusion on the woman's face slowly turns to realization then shock. "Alright ma'am I will go see if I can find you in our records," and with that she quickly left the room.
Allison didn't protest, allowing the woman to leave, though she slowly began to inspect the various tubes going off of her body. She begins to identify what they are and what it each one's purpose is. During this inspection the pain in her body subsides and she begins to feel back to her normal self.
It's another hour after that when the woman comes back to see Allison once again. The first thing out of her mouth is, "is this you? Allison Everly Bennett, born October 28th 1918?"
Allison doesn't understand why the woman is so confused about this but she nods, "yes that is me," once she has an answer the woman immediately leaves once again. When the woman closes the door behind her Allison can hear voices, more voices than before begin to speak in the hallway outside of her room.
It isn't long before a man in uniform enters Allison's room. He closes the door behind him and is silent for a moment. It's when this happens that it finally clicks for Allison that there is something more going on than what it is they have told her. Sure she's smart but with a groggy mind after her last experiment sent her to the hospital, she's a bit slow to put things together.
"What's going on?" Allison asks before she has time to think about who she is talking too or even if she should be speaking.
The man clears his throat, "ma'am- Ms.Bennett I have news which I need to inform you of," if anything the man in front of her seems nervous, "according to the police a missing persons report was filed for you back in 1949."
Allison nods slowly, yes that was when she had been doing research, why is that such a big deal?
The man takes a breath before continuing, "it is August 2015 ma'am. You've been missing for 66 years."
In the moment what he is saying passes over her head. It wasn't until he said how long that she had been missing that things began making sense. She sits straight up in bed, staring at the man in shock. "It's 2015? How?- How long have I been asleep for?"
"Ms.Bennett, please stay calm we are working on figuring this out. You were found unconscious in the lobby of a building a week ago and they brought you here. Nobody knows where you were before that. You've only been in this hospital for a week."
It's another few moments before Allison responds, "alright, thank you for letting me know... may I speak with a doctor about getting these things off of me so I can get out of bed?"
The man seems surprised by how calm Allison is, in reality Allison is freaking out but she keeps it all in. That was all she had been able to do with her emotions the last four years of her life as she'd been alone. Getting upset in front of strangers wasn't something she could afford to do. The man nods and steps back out of the room, the door shutting for a moment before the nurse enters once again.
"Let me just check your vitals once more before we detach all these from you and get you out of this room."
Allison nods, staying silent as she is unsure what would leave her mouth if she were to open it. It isn't long before she is out of bed and given some shoes to wear. She picks up her notebook and takes a breath before carefully leaving the room behind the nurse.
Outside her room there's a group of both doctors and officers in uniform. The one who seems to be in charge steps forward, "hello Ms.Bennett, my name is Agent Everett Ross and I'm going to help you figure some things out."
Allison once again simply nods in response as she is lead down a few flights of stairs and is put into the back of a car with Mr.Ross. Once they are in the car the man faces her, "may I?" He asks and gestures towards the notebook she clutched in her hands.
She hands it over, "yes, just be careful with it as it is always trying to fall apart."
He nods, "of course." He takes the book carefully and begins to look through it. Wanting more personal information about the woman beside him, other that the little bit of official information they had gained from government records and police reports.
As he looks through her nots Allison finds herself staring out the window in awe of the city. She knew these streets, she had been raised running around on them. They were all so familiar, and yet nothing was the same as she remembered. There were new buildings in place of some of the ones which had been old during her lifetime. There were other buildings she remembered being under construction that were now finished and looked ancient compared to the newer ones.
Eventually Everett draws her attention back from the buildings to himself. He has the book opened up to the pages where she had pasted in the condolence letters, he reads them then looks at her. "How did you come across these two letters of condolence for one Steve Rogers and one James Barnes?"
Allison pauses, once again reminded how she had been removed from the narrative. History didn't want to remember that Steve had had a girl as one of his closest friends, let alone the fact that she was a black woman. "I grew up with them, the stories seemed to forget about me but I was there," she admits quietly.
Agent Ross nods and goes back to looking through her notes and she goes back to looking out the window. He had asked his questions, giving no indication as to whether or not he believed her. The next time she looks over to him he is pulling out a small box like device and begins tapping on one of its faces.
"You say you grew up with Steve Rogers?" He asks again in confirmation.
Allison nods once again, and Everett sets the device down after he finishes up with it. "Yes, I grew up with him. We met when we were 6, and we attended the same school. He saved me from some bullies and we got close after that," she goes on for a bit, feeling for the first time in forever peace as she relived the memories of her childhood.
After a bit the device agent Ross had tucked back in a pocket made a noise and he pulled it out, putting it to his ear like a phone. He then begins talking, "yes. Yes I'm positive. We have a few other things we would like to ask her but yes. You can come meet us and take her once we are finished."
Allison looks it him, knowing he had been speaking of her.
Agent Ross puts the device away and looks back at the woman, "that was just a friend. We want to do a few tests and figure out how you got here but as soon as we are done you'll be able to go and stay with them."
Allison finds this odd but agrees to follow through with his plan. What else would she do? She barely knew where she was and would hardly be able to run off if she tried too. It would be easiest to just let them run their tests and go with whoever they were going to send her with. If she needed to get away she could wait and figure things out first.
They soon arrive to a nice government building and go inside. They seem to trust Allison as there isn't any guards immediately around them, though there are guards scattered throughout the building, in their presumably normal places. She follows agent Ross through the halls and around different corners until they finally come to stop in a room which appeared to be a lab.
There were a few other people around and Allison simply clutched her notebook as they took some blood from her and did a few other tests. They performed a full physical on her, both eye and hearing tests and a few other things to determine the state of her health.
Allison was surprised that by the end of all of this she was hardly tired. Sure she was almost always on her feet, running about to take care of her job at the diner, but that wasn't the same as the many stretches they had her do. In fact despite having spent a week in the hospital lying about and doing nothing she probably felt the best she had in years. Though it could be the fact she hadn't gotten enough sleep in years and now she was finally fully rested even if she was in the year 2015.
When they are fully finished agent Ross and the few doctors request her to stay in the room and they will send in someone to meet her in a moment who would be taking her to where she would be staying. She sits quietly, running a hand over the pages of her notebook, looking through her most recent notes. Allison's mind was already working towards figuring out how this had happened, how she had ended up in 2015.
It's as she is sitting quietly that she hears the door open and someone step inside. She looks up to see a broad shouldered man with blond hair and blue eyes entering the room.
5 notes · View notes
Text
♥️ Red Heart, White Box ⬜️ ll
A collab between myself and @questionablewritings xx
Mafia AU, boss Tony, pet/plaything +18 Peter, bodyguard Steve, bodyguard Bucky, underground doctor Stephen, gun violence, shootings, GSW, injury, surgery, whump, comfort, body modification, non-con organ donation, 2.6k
Or Tony gets to see Peter when he wakes up after surgery and Bucky discovers something in the underground clinic.
part one - part three - part four
Part ll - The White Box With The Red Handle
Tumblr media
Tony, Bucky and Steve were all waiting in the ward-like room in the underground clinic. The walls were not as damp here, but still Tony could hear water dripping somewhere. The sound was borderline annoying and hypnotising. The three gang members had barely spoken, since what was there to be said anyway? They had already thanked the doctor for saving Peter, so all that remained was to wait.
Peter woke up groggy as all get out. He felt loopy, and unconnected to reality as his eyelashes flutter open. It felt like no time has passed since the moment he passed out in the back of the car. But, Peter could tell by the heavy patch against his shoulder and the intense medicine working its way through his system that something had happened. A soft groan fell past his lips as he forced himself more awake, alerting those around that he was conscious. His fingers travelled down his body, feeling the bandage from the bullet wound. But, also another one much lower and on his side. Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, glancing down and removing the covers around him to get a better look. 
“Tony?” Peter called out in weak voice, sounding more scared than he intended. When Peter finally stirred, Tony was up in an instant and pushed Peter to lay back down. 
“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here.” He said soothingly, leaning down so that his forehead was pressed against Peter’s. He kissed the boy hungrily, taking his breath away for a second. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” He repeated, more to himself than for Peter.
Peter’s panic settled the instant Tony came to his side. He fell back against the makeshift hospital bed, blinking over towards Steve and Bucky. How long had he been out? He was relieved to find out he had lived, but how long would his recovery be? It was Steve who registered the confusion on Peter’s face. The man stood, straightening out his shirt and clearing his throat. 
“Should we get the doctor in here to explain things or? Peter might take the news better if it came from you, sir.” Steve suggested, motioning to the patch on Peter’s side. Peter frowned, once again looking down to inspect the random wound. 
“What happened to my side, Daddy?” Peter asked quietly, sounding so small and fragile with a hint of fear.
“Yeah, get Strange. He wanted to see how Peter’s doing as soon as he woke up.” Tony said, craning his neck to face the bodyguard, but kept his hand in Peter’s curls. Bucky volunteered to go and once he left, Tony looked at Peter and sighed a little. “You started bleeding internally, so the doctor had to stop it, baby. He’ll explain more, but he said you’re okay now. You’re okay, baby.” Tony tried to explain, but his voice was starting to break, so he could not talk much without sounding as pathetic as ever. The boss still had an image to keep up when Steve was still in the room.
Peter frowned, too drugged up to fully understand what Tony was explaining. All he knew was, his lover was close to tears. It broke Peter’s heart. He reached up, arm restricted just slightly by the IV stuck deep in the crook of his inner elbow. 
“I’m okay.” Peter repeated, his tone more solid than Tony’s. “Though, I don’t think I’ll be much use as a distraction anymore.” Peter added with a laugh. He turned towards the door, weary of this doctor that they had been talking about. Steve was pretending to be busy with standing by the door, sturdy and protective while also giving the boss his space. He knew Tony did not like to show a weakness to anyone besides his baby boy.
“Hey!” Tony chuckled tearily, pushing Peter down to lay down, but leaned down himself so that they were still close. “This is just an excuse for me to see you naked all the time. Cause I’ll take care of you, baby, I promise that.” He promised, taking one of the boy’s hands in his and kissing his knuckles sweetly. 
Peter, through the medicines haze, cracked a smile at Tony’s little joke. He shook his head, but felt nothing but happiness upon being affectionate with his boyfriend. A few moments later, Bucky returned with Stephen in tow and the doctor smiled at seeing his patient conscious. The doctor was still in his scrubs from earlier when Peter and the rest had first arrived, but he now also wore a zip up hoodie on top. The underground clinic was not exactly the warmest place, nor very welcoming. But, Stephen does not make money on bedside manners anyway. 
“So, you’re finally up. I’ve heard a lot about you, Peter, although we have never formally met. I’m Stephen Strange.” The doctor introduced himself, but he did not force Peter to shake hands with him. 
“He was the one who saved you, baby.” Tony smiled a little sadly, still kissing at Peter’s hand.
When the doctor came through the door, Pete turned his eyes onto him, shocked. The man was gorgeous, and looked nothing like what Pete expected an underground clinician to look like. The doctor stood tall, with broad shoulders and a focused gaze. He looked like someone who valued efficiency and productivity above all else. In some ways, Tony was the same, just in another field of work. 
“Thank you, sir.” Peter automatically stated, licking at his lips. He squeezed Tony’s hand for comfort and then once again found himself motioning towards his side. “I’m sorry that I caused you guys so much stress.” He added, talking to both Stephen and his medical team, as well as his own mafia family.
“Oh, baby, don’t say such things. It’s our fault we didn’t realise what was going on soon enough. I’m a fucking idiot.” Tony apologised, which he never did. Except for Peter. 
“Okay, I think we should let Peter rest now.” Stephen decided, seeing how emotional the situation was getting and how it was making Peter’s heart rate and blood pressure increase. “Would you guys mind leaving us for a while? I’ll just check how the stitches are holding up.”
Peter wanted to disagree, to correct Tony and let him know that none of this was his fault. It had been Peter who had begged to be brought along. He was tired of waiting back at the warehouse while his Daddy went off and did business. Instead though, Peter only had enough time to brush Tony’s knuckles along his lips and gave him a reassuring smile. 
“Go get me some food?” Peter asked, knowing Tony could use a distraction. “Something with lots of chocolate.” He added, playfully smirking. When asked to leave, Bucky and Steve were quick to pay their respects. They both quietly exited the room, and waited outside the door for their boss to follow.
“So, how you feeling?” Stephen asked once he was alone with Peter and checked the monitors. “You lost quite a lot of blood, so if you feel terrible, that’s why.” The doctor chuckled a little.
Peter grimaced now that his loved ones were out of the room. He felt horrible, but at least he had some pain meds to get him through. Pete tried to sit himself up, groaning in the process. 
“I’ve felt better.” Peter responded truthfully. His side hurt quite a lot, as did his shoulder. “I bled internally?” He then asked, sounding extremely concerned. For a moment, he was finding it hard to remember what could have caused that, but then again, everything after getting shot was rather hazy.
“Yeah, your BP dropped and we found a bleed in your abdomen on the ultrasound. You must have fallen when you first got shot.” Stephen explained, pulling the blankets down to see the bandage on Peter’s left side. He was pleased to still find it white and clean and then looked up to meet the boy’s tired eyes. “So, I went in and stopped the bleed and you should make a full recovery. But, you might want to ask Stark to get you a physical therapist for the shoulder.”
“No, I’ll be all right…” Peter replied automatically, not wanting to cause Tony even more trouble and strain. Getting himself shot was enough. Besides, did not most adults complain of shoulder pain anyway, Peter thought to himself. Straightening up, Stephen raised one brow at his latest patient and watched as he struggled to put up a convincing argument. “That’s- that’s not necessary.”
“If you say so.” Stephen muttered and moved on. “How’s the pain? I can increase your morphine.” 
Once again, Peter argued that he was just fine, but the doctor was not fooled in the slightest. So, he increased the flow of the IV drip regardless, and Peter quickly fell more still. His breathing evened out, indicating relief as the pain eased off, which sent him off into unconsciousness again. With Peter knocked out again and resting, Stephen left the makeshift ward with his hands in his pockets. However, the doctor barely had time to round the corner before he was stopped by someone clearing their throat, a clear indication to halt. 
“Just one question, doc.” Bucky started, and straightened up from where he had been leaning against the wall right outside of the ward. Stephen kept his back turned to the bodyguard, but he did halt and tilt his head slightly to show that he was listening. Further down one of the tunnels in the underground system, some water dripped down to the floor. The sound echoed off the walls in a way that made it hard to pinpoint where the noise actually came from. “Just how does one start bleeding internally from falling?” 
“If you fall hard enough-“ 
“Bull.” Bucky shot back. 
“Look.” Stephen started and turned his head more to see Bucky out of the corner of his eye, but his back was turned still. “You brought the kid in, I saved him. I’m giving him the best morphine I have to keep him comfortable, and I’ll admit I don’t do that with everyone who stumbles in here.” 
“I know you did something.” Bucky accused, but Stephen just scoffed in return and started walking again. 
“Yeah, I saved the kid’s life.” The doctor called out, making his voice echo off of the bare and damp tile walls of the underground clinic. The sound could be intimating to some, along with the rest of the eerie sounds coming from underground, but not to Bucky, and he watched with keen eyes as the doctor walked off. 
An hour later, when Tony and Steve returned with food, Bucky was still stood outside of the ward on patrol like a guard dog. In one hand, Tony had a plastic bag with what looked like one of the Chinese takeaway places in town that Peter likes. From the top of the bag, Bucky could also see a Ben and Jerry’s brownie ice cream pint peaking through. In his other hand, Tony had his own suit jacket, which still had some blood stains on it. Peter’s blood. The sight made Bucky take a leap and get Tony’s attention. He had to say something about Strange. 
“Boss, I don’t think-“ 
“Buck.” It was Steve who stopped him, while Tony breezed past them and onto the ward to see Peter, as if nothing mattered but his boy. And in many ways that was the truth. “He’s not like himself.” Steve whispered to Bucky, glancing over at their boss. But, Bucky would not back down, not when his gut was telling him something was seriously wrong. 
“We have to get out of here.” 
“What-“
“It’s Strange. I don’t trust him.” 
“Well, neither do I, but all that matters is that he takes care of Peter till he is back on his feet.” Steve argued back, keeping his voice down to prevent Tony, and Peter for that matter, from hearing their conversation. 
“Steve, I think he did something. To Peter.” Bucky specified, but at the same time left it hanging. After all, he was not sure what exactly the doctor had done, but it was something. Sure, this place was eerie, but the most concerning was the doctor, But, Steve did not seem to agree. 
“Yeah, he saved Peter’s life. He needs to stay here. We can’t take him to the hospital, but he can’t go home yet either. Just a few days, all right?” Steve reasoned, and gave Bucky that smile that could put anyone at ease. Usually, it worked on Bucky, but not this time. While Steve left to follow Tony into the ward, the dark haired bodyguard was left with his gut feeling and overwhelming urge to do something despite Steve telling him to not go after it. However, it was implicit, and not an order from the boss himself, so technically there was nothing stopping Bucky from doing something. 
But, what to do? The underground clinic seemed to be an abandoned tube station. The clinic itself was luke warm and clean, but now and then one could feel a cold breeze coming from one of the darker tunnels. The room that the mafia family of four had arrived in the night before was to the left of the ward where Bucky still was. That was where the makeshift OR was as well, hidden and protected by plastic. The plastic covers were not transparent, but one could make out silhouettes from behind it. To the right of the ward was what Bucky guessed to be a supply closet. If he recalled correctly, it was where the two other medical professionals had come from to assist Stephen for Peter’s surgery. 
A doorknob creaked and Bucky averted his eyes to see a man exit the supply closet. The man, who he guessed to be Mordo, spared him a quick glance before looking at his phone and hurried to the main room of the clinic where Stephen had gone earlier. At the realisation of an excellent opportunity, Bucky crossed the hallway to the supply closet and cracked the door open. Checking that no one was inside, the bodyguard slipped inside. 
At first glance, Bucky realised that the room was not just a supply closet, but also some sort of lab. There were two fridges in the far corner of the room, and to the left there was one freezer. Up against the wall on the right, there were tall and warehouse-like shelves for what looked like sterile packages. Masks, gowns, gloves, caps and loads more that Bucky could not identify. Was it even possible to get so much stuff on the black market? Surely hospitals kept strict record of supplies, which would make stealing nearly impossible, at least in such big quantities. 
On the adjacent wall to the supplies, there was a long table with vials of what Bucky guessed was blood. At closer inspection, Bucky actually found a vial with Peter’s blood. The date on the label also matched when they had arrived the night before. Moving on from the lab stuff, Bucky’s eyes shifted to the fridges and freezer. Perhaps there was more there. Opening the first fridge, Bucky found a large variety of medication in clear bottles. Looking at the labels, the bodyguard found five bottles of morphine, and he scoffed as he remembered how the doctor had said how sparsely he uses the pain reliving drug. 
When Bucky moved onto the second fridge, he expected more medication, but paused as his eyes fell upon six white boxes on two different shelves in the fridge. Each box had a red handle at the top and a label on the side. Bucky tasted bile in his mouth when he realised what the boxes where. Organ transport boxes. 
Tag list: @buckettbarnes​ @prettyboy-parker​ @starkerplusstrange​ @sugar-and-spice-parker​ @xsmallplum​ @starkerdreams​ @mynerdrage​ @kyattogaaru​ @im-a-slut-for-alucards-belt​ @sxdnxy-jxhnsxn @suddenlyhotimsuddenlycool @everyonelovespetey​ @ironspiidey​ @gipumar    
84 notes · View notes
crimeronan · 4 years
Note
ik youre not a therapist and i dont want like therapy or anything but im 17 and ive known i was bipolar for 3 years now and i dont know how im supposed to live the rest of my life like this. im so fucking tired. how do you stay alive
you sent this a couple days ago & i’m posting at a weird time so i’m not sure if you’ll see it but.  
i’ve been looking at this message trying to decide how to respond
because i don’t know your situation, your symptoms, how you’re feeling, whether you’ve had positive or negative experiences with medication, psychiatrists, therapists, hospitals, all that related shit
the bipolar life advice i give to people is vastly different depending on the individual. it’s not a one size fits all thing.  and there’s never even a guarantee that my advice will be the right choice
so since i don’t know about your situation or experiences or what you want, i’m not gonna tell you what to do.  i’m gonna focus on the “how do you stay alive” question and try to pen down some personal feelings. and if they help then great, and if they don’t then... this is the most honest i can be
(you can always ask another question to get a better answer. my inbox is a coin slot and i am a vending machine of varied-degrees-of-helpfulness replies offered at varied-inconvenient-too-long-intervals)
-
how do i stay alive
it’s a 2-parter, actually.  i pondered how to condense my thoughts/feelings, and it came down to these two things
1. love 2. spite
-
1. love
the spite is easier to write about than the love.  love is hard to reach when i feel like shit.
spite is where i go when i want to die.  love is where i go when i want to want to live.
maybe i don’t want to be alive.  but maybe i wish i did.  spite doesn’t help me much there.  spite keeps me afloat, but it doesn’t make the floating pleasurable.  there’s more to life than outlasting everything that ever hurt me.  i need a reason to continue when there’s no enemy to fight
so. love
i almost wrote about the spite alone because that’s rawer, realer, more visceral.  that’s the shit that CONNECTS when everything feels hopeless.  but it would be a lie of omission.  spite is only one of the major food groups, you’ll waste away from malnutrition if you eat it for every meal. or at least, i will.
“so you’ve got a bunch of people you love,” you say, “and you stick around for them.  cry on them.  support each other.  like each other.  fine.”  you’ve heard this story before
nah.
i mean - yes.  i have people i love.  i live with two partners, i’ve got a third girlfriend, i’ve got a long-distance platonic life partner.  i have a support net, i have a family i’ve forged, i have confidence that i’m not alone.  i have, in a bare-bones checklist sort of way, fulfilled my physiological human need for connection
but i could live without every single one of them.  i’m not dependent upon any of them for my survival.  i’m not dependent upon them for love, given or received.  (this isn’t a callous cruelty, it won’t hurt them if/when they read this.  i’ve told them all this, they know.  they’re glad of it.)
so.  what the fuck does “love” mean, then?
the short explanation is that it’s my love of life, of things in the world.  it’s all the little connections i’ve made.  every time i love something, a hook tethers to the universe.  hook enough tethers, and i no longer feel the need to float away.  no dissolution of self today, sir
the rest of this section is some of the things i love. partially it’s to show how i connect to little things and ascribe magic to the mundane.  partially it’s because i like thinking about things i love, i like typing them out, and i like that i could keep going for thousands and thousands of words.
i am laying in bed at 7:30 AM with the lights off and the shades drawn.  blue  light comes through the slats because it’s the better time of year, the one where i finally get vitamin D, the one where the birds chirp at 4AM, the one where the sky isn’t impenetrably black til 10PM.
there’s a weighted blanket tucked around my legs.  my partner rafi bought it for us to share because it’s soothing and heavy and comforting and helps with my physical pain.  right now it’s soft on my skin and if i get too emotional as i write, i can pull it over me like a cloak until i’m settled.
the apartment’s walls are blank because we’ve spent eight months intending to put art up and keep forgetting.  but there’s a newly-unearthed dining area in the kitchen because i finally shifted around the unpacked boxes that were dominating the space.  it’s new and it surprises me every time i walk out there.  it’s open and inviting and bright and it’s a sign that we’re making this place home.
we’ll put a cheap IKEA table by the window and we’ll probably never eat family dinners there - why would we sit in hard chairs and make stiff conversation when we could all cuddle on the couch - but my partner dev will create a place to do their art and the surface will be constantly littered with drying watercolor experiments.
we’ll hang our art one of these days, too, when our collective adhd offers a miraculous combo of remembering + having time + having motivation + having inspiration.  rafi has the most art because they’ve been collecting it for years.  i have to start smaller.  i’m not used to keeping physical objects.  dev has a few pieces thrifted or bought at local artist events or painted themselves
so we’ll put art up in the living room, my single “you are magic” flower print alongside a naked monster lady that dev fell in love with when we browsed art at a yuletide event months ago, alongside rafi’s monster girls and comic characters and book characters and literature art and quotes and abstract pieces and whatever else they have hiding in boxes.
my head protests that naked monster ladies do not belong in the living room, although the picture isn’t overtly sexual.  but then i remember that they do, actually, because it’s our space and we can do whatever we want with it as long as the lease isn’t broken.  there isn’t anyone in the local social circles who’d be perturbed by the decor, as far as i know.  i don’t have to hide anything from my parents because i live 3600 miles from them, and even though i miss my mom, the distance is good for me
there are two exquisite chairs on the porch.  they fold and recline from thrones to nearly-horizontal beds.  there are pillows and cupholders and trays and specific spaces for both a book and a phone.  i can sit there while the morning sun rises and read or play word games or browse tumblr, cup of coffee beside me, trees shielding my eyes from stabby sunbeams
there are remnants of the last tenant’s garden in one corner of the yard.  we’ve done fuckall for yardwork but plants struggle through anyway.  some seem to have sprouted by accident.  mushroom clusters populate the edges of the fence.  the apartment squirrel (there are probably several, but i like to think it’s a single energetic creature) runs back and forth along the fence & i always lose my train of thought & then laugh my ASS off at the “SQUIRREL! XD” adhd moment.  birds kick up leaf litter and play on the ground looking for insects to eat, they wiggle their tail feathers and flap their wings and sometimes they disappear and then return with friends
a little more than eleven months ago, i packed all of dev’s and my shit into a uhaul and drove and drove and drove to get to this city i’d never been in before to live with a partner i’d never cohabitated with.  we were homeless for more than a month, we weathered some financial disasters, we met some great people and some shitty ones
on the drive i fell in love with the sky.  i didn’t know how big it can get - actually, that’s a lie.  i’d FORGOTTEN how big it can get.  i’ve loved the sky thirty miles out to sea, no land in sight in any direction, just blue water and blue space above.  i’ve loved the vastness and the yawning beneath me and the knowledge that everything is BIGGER than i can fathom.  the depth of the sea doesn’t frighten me, it’s home. i don’t want to die, but if i had to, the ocean makes a soothing grave
in north dakota i discovered that i’ve been partially blind my whole life, which is a different tale that showed me i’ll never stop learning myself.  in montana we struggled up thousands of feet of mountains with the car huffing and puffing at the trailer’s weight, and when we finally coasted downward, it felt like sudden freefall.  we ended up in the pitch darkness of night on sheer winding interstates with midnight construction projects forcing detours.  the mountains felt hungry, they had teeth.  mountain cliffs are much scarier to me than the ocean depths
i bought a red bull and poured a little out the driver’s side door as an offering to hermes, because i’m not particularly religious but i’ll take help where i can get it.  slammed that back in a few gulps and shook to bright-eyed alertness and ended up behind a slow-driving red pickup truck that guided us over about a hundred miles of mountain terrain
i thought, that’s just some construction worker driving between sites.  the roads are empty at this time of night, but it’s an interstate.  of course we’d end up behind someone.  this isn’t divine intervention.  this isn’t the benevolence of a god
i thought, but it can be a little magic.  if i want it to be.  
and it was.  it stays with me.
god help me but i’ve been writing this stream of consciousness for more than 30 minutes and i’ve said nothing.  i haven’t talked about the city, the parks, the people, the conversations, the books, the tv shows, the movies, the communities, the library, the animals, writing, reading, singing, acting, swimming, analyzing, creating, supporting, building.  and i can keep going.  i can come up with hundreds and hundreds of things i love and i can write paragraphs about all of them
so i’ll stop here.  you get the picture.  love is the life i’ve made for myself, the surroundings i’ve built, the quiet moments i can capture, the inspiration i pin, the magic i commit to memory.
i had to work so damn hard for every single bit of this.
i’ll be fucking damned if i let it go because my brain tried to trick me into thinking death is better.
-
2. spite
there are people who want me to die.
i don’t mean that i have a giant entourage of personalized enemies who curse my name and plan my individual demise.  although there have been plenty of people who have not liked me much.  probably some of them would enjoy my death.  i don’t give a shit about that
there are people who want me dead because i am a dot on a grid they dislike.  a faceless anonymous enemy who meets too many bad criteria with numbers and percentages and shrinking majorities and shifting public opinion
because i’m gay.  because i’m bipolar.  because i’m autistic.  because i’m a dropout.  because i grew up poor.  because my spine curves and my shoulders ache.  because i squandered my potential, because i didn’t have enough potential, because i didn’t love god enough, because i love the wrong gods, because i don’t worship, because i worship wrong, because i didn’t seek a husband, because i never wanted one, because i talk too much, because i can’t be controlled, because i chose to leave the fold when i realized it was suffocating me, because i’m ugly, because i’m gorgeous, because my body belongs to me
pick your poison.
this bothered me growing up, a lot. i knew i did not deserve to die. but if enough people tell you that you should, a little part of you will wonder if they’re right.  that little part might become bigger the closer they get and the louder they shout and the longer they wear you down
we know the rough shape of this story, i don’t need to tell it.  mine was messy and not triumphant and i survived more by chance than premeditation.
i’m older now.  by and large i’m still young as shit - i’m 24 - but GOD i am LEAGUES away from 15, 16, 17. i know who i am. i know what i want. i know how to get it. and when i don’t know that, i find out. i tell the truth.  i ask for what i want.  i use my time how i want.  i do what i want.
there are days that i can’t access the “love” side of the equation.  no finding poetry in birdsong or sugared coffee for me, thank you, i feel like shit and the world is awful and everything is too big and fast and cruel and everything wants me to die and it wants everything i love to die, too.  everyone i love.  it’s all garbage. the good doesn’t touch me
trauma is difficult to describe.  the difficulty is compounded by the fact that my trauma is influenced by my various neurodivergences, bipolar included.  i never know if i’m feeling what other people do.  i don’t know if i’m voicing unpalatable feelings others are afraid to express - or if i’m just othering myself, admitting i’m not as human as everyone else.
there is something malevolent and monstrous inside me.  i don’t touch it all the time.  but i don’t pretend it isn’t there.  it sits in my chest and molders or radiates or oozes.  it presses at my throat.  it curdles in my stomach.  it hurts what it touches, whether that’s me or someone i love or someone i hate.  it sets things aflame with no regard for the precious or the fragile.  it tears down walls and razes shelters and begs for apocalyptic rain.
i can give this thing names, clinical descriptors.  i know what it is on a diagnostic chart, in a ponderous article, in an academic debate, in a fiction novel, in a war movie, in a memoir.  there are a thousand ways to describe this thing.  the descriptors aren’t important.  what is important is this - i have learned that most people do not walk side-by-side with a tornado-hurricane-hellfire-weaponized-open-nuclear-reactor.  this is not a “normal” expression of human emotion, this is not me trying to ascribe power to “bad bipolar feelings.”  this thing lives in me and i know why it’s there and it is not designed to be held/silenced/muzzled/controlled by my body.
it does not help to pretend this thing does not exist.  it does not help to try to reason it away or ignore it or tell it to stop.  it wants what it wants, it does what it does.  possibly if i was better at therapy or stubbornness then i wouldn’t resign myself to that
but it is fucking EXHAUSTING to try to fight something that’s part of me.  to try to reshape it, rename it, pare it down, make it consumable for the masses.  it’s a war i have never won and it’s a war that i will lose if i keep fighting it.  i cannot fight with myself.  i cannot beat my monster into submission.  if we’re gonna battle like that, head to head, me trying to cut it down, me trying to be the hero, it rearing back like a fire-breathing dragon,
then it’s stronger.  it’s always stronger.
so i surrender.
but that’s not where i stop.
can’t fight it.  can’t kill it.  can’t muzzle it.  can’t reshape it, can’t disarm it, can’t contain it.  
alright.  
so what now.
if the surrender was a full giving-up, this is where i’d passively accept that i’m doomed to hurt and destroy everything precious to me.  can’t fix it.  will lose everything, will never experience or deserve happiness, will make the world worse simply by existing.
that sure does sound like impending-doom rhetoric.  hop skip and a jump from some dire-ass conclusions.  
so fuck that, i say. 
here’s a better question.
if it has to get out, then what happens if i control where it goes?
here’s the thing.
the monster doesn’t care what it kills or destroys or hurts.  
“have a conscience, care about things, remember love, stop yourself, don’t do this don’t do this don’t do this.” 
 losing battle.  lost war.
 it’s not the monster’s fault.  the monster doesn’t have complex motivations or hates or fears.  it exists to protect me through scorched earth.  a remnant of a chemical imbalance, maladaptive coping mechanism, bipolar crazy, traumatized injury.  it doesn’t know that its job is obsolete.
i can’t change the monster.
but my mind is a separate thing.  my mind knows what matters, what my priorities are, what i find precious, what i want to protect.  my mind remembers all the things the monster doesn’t.  
my mind has learned things the monster can’t.
when i fight it head-on, the malevolence is stronger than me.  but as i am, walking with it, sitting in my bed writing this while examining the void and the consciousness, describing it, quantifying it,
that’s when i’m stronger.
and with my mind as the stronger force, i can decide where the monster goes.  what it touches.  what it destroys.  what it burns.  where the ashes land.
i do not want to be a destructive person.  i want to be someone who builds, repairs, changes.  i want to make the world better for kids like me.  i want to stop pouring more gasoline onto a fire that’s been burning since long before i was born.  i want to believe - i do believe - that positive change is better than negative.  i do my best to plant good things and enact that positive change instead of becoming a beacon of wrath.
but there are a lot of kids surrounded by people who want them to die, and not all of them have a protective monster.
so it’s good.
when i’m depressed, my mind loses its battles.  my cognizance slips.  i forget why i care.  i forget what i want.  i forget how happiness feels, how to find pleasure in quiet moments.  
i don’t get depressed as often as i used to since my meds are adjusted correctly now.  but it still happens.  it will keep happening for the rest of my life.
my mind weakens and curls up and stops fighting, and the monster is always there.
it’s a very powerful thing when it wants to be.
it wants to survive.
the thing is, it knows there are people that want me/us/whatever dead.  it’s been fighting them forever.  die like they want?  my mind says, sure, what does it matter.
the monster says, nah.  our work isn’t done.  and fuck them, anyway.
so we get up.
-
so that’s how i stay alive.
i typed this for 90 minutes and after editing i’d spent two hours on this post.  i don’t know if anyone will read it all.  i don’t know if it’ll mean anything.  i don’t know if these thoughts even make sense, much less if i’ve conveyed the feelings i have.
i love being alive.  and when i don’t, i love being a monster.  it’s good.  all of it is good.  i’ve reconciled my uglier pieces.  it’s not one or the other, love or spite.  it’s symbiosis.  i need both, i love both.
no guarantees that this is helpful, but based purely on my own life experience, these are my tips for survival:
you’ll have to find your own roots.  i can’t give them to you.  
but it’s possible to dig them in and spread them far enough that one uprooted peg doesn’t shift your whole equilibrium.  
and when you’re tired, rest, and let yourself be tired, and find the reason why you’re staying in the world. 
 i’m positive there’s at least one.
figure out why you’re losing your battles and then change the game.
if you can’t win one setup, don’t try to beat the system.  adjust your strategy.
you’ll be surprised by what you can love when you stop fighting the disparate pieces of you, and instead figure out how to use them.
37 notes · View notes
biillyhargroves · 4 years
Note
Billy not wanting Steve to see him without his shirt on because if the scars and Steve shows him how much he loves him, scars and all. Maybe some happy crying :)
leave those scars at home(fic requests temporarily closed)
Steve has not been alone with Billy in months.  
In the hospital, there were always nurses flitting about. They would pop in to check Billy’s vitals, to replace his IV bags; they would usher Steve away when it came time to treat Billy’s wounds. Sometimes, the doctor would come by to assess him, or Billy’s father would be pacing outside the door or shouting at someone over the nurse’s station telephone. 
At home, Max is always in the next room. Steve can hear her moving about the house. She sometimes even comes into the room, often bearing Oxycontin or bottles of water. More than once she has come in with rubbing alcohol and a handful of gauze, and on those occasions Billy told Steve to leave the room. “I’ll be quick,” Max would say. When she left and Steve was allowed back inside, Billy was always quieter. He would adjust his shirt, or move his blankets until he was sure he was covered, until he was sure no single centimeter of scar tissue could be seen. He wouldn’t let Steve touch him near those scars. He angled his body in ways that shielded them. He wears heavy sweatshirts that Steve can’t feel through. He makes sure that they are never alone - that there is always someone else to help him, someone else to urge Steve out of the room when his scars might be exposed. 
It is September now. The day before school starts, Max arrives at the video store. She beelines for the counter, where Steve is carefully arranging boxes of candy. “I need a favor,” she says by way of greeting. Steve startles, drops a box of Twizzlers that knocks over a container of Milk Duds that sends bags of Pop Rocks crashing to the floor.
“Uh,” he stammers. “Okay?”
“I need you to check on Billy,” she says.
“To check on-”
“Neil works, like, crazy hours,” she says. “And my mom’s working now, too. He’s going to be alone when I’m at school. Neil says he’ll be fine, that it’s been long enough, but he still needs help doing, like, everything. I just...I really need you to check on him. Okay?”
“Uh,” Steve says again, and then he says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
“There’s a spare key under the mat,” Max says. 
“I know where it is,” Steve says.
And so, on Monday morning, Steve waits until the last yellow school bus rolls past his house. He waits until the shouts of school children preparing for a new year simmer down and vanish into the vast wells of the school buildings. He circles Cherry Lane three times to be sure that there are no cars left in the driveway, save for the sad looking broken down Camaro perched in its cinderblocks. He parks at the curb. He digs the key out from beneath the welcome mat and he lets himself inside.
“Billy?” he calls. There is no answer. Steve steps further into the house. He peers down the hallway. Billy’s bedroom door is open, but the room is dark. The bathroom door is also open and yellow light spills from it into the hall. Steve’s tone becomes more concerned than inquisitive when he repeats, “Billy?” 
Steve can hear someone moving inside the bathroom. He hears the toilet flush. He sees a shadow rise up along the wall, stretched by the morning light that spills in from the high windows. He sees it sway, and then he hears a loud thud and Billy swearing. Steve rushes into the room to find Billy sprawled on the floor. He landed on his tailbone, his back against the bathtub, his weight pulling so hard against the shower curtain that Steve thinks it might rip right off. 
“Jesus Christ,” he sighs. 
“Fuck off,” Billy grumbles.
“What the hell are you doing?” Steve asks.
“I said fuck off,” Billy growls.
“Not a chance,” Steve says. When he steps into the room, Billy curls away. He is wearing basketball shorts and a think white shirt. He curls inward, wincing as he does, and he tries to angle himself away when Steve reaches out a hand. “Come on,” Steve says, already reaching for him, but Billy slaps him away.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks. 
“I’m trying to help you, you asshole,” says Steve.
“I don’t need help,” Billy insists.
“Fine,” Steve says. He holds up his hands. “Get up, then.”
Billy looks at him beneath the fringe of his hair. He huffs loudly. One hand gropes behind him until he finds the lip of he tub. He grabs it and he braces his other hand against the floor. Slowly, painstakingly, he begins to push himself up. He makes it his knees before Steve can’t take it anymore.
“This is pathetic,” Steve says. He grabs Billy’s arm before Billy can protest. He feels Billy’s whole body go rigid in his grasp. He jerks- actually jerks -like he is startled or afraid, and he tries to yank his arm away when Steve says, “Just let me help.”
“Get off of me,” Billy says.
“You wanna say on the fucking floor all day?” 
“Seriously,” Billy says. “Why are you here?” 
“Max didn’t think you should be alone,” Steve says. “I think she’s got a point.”
“I’m fine,” Billy insists. 
“Mhm,” Steve says. He moves to touch Billy’s back. Billy tries to angle himself away and, in the process, loses his balance and falls once again. “What are you doing?” Steve says, exasperated.
“Don’t touch me,” Billy snaps. 
“Billy,” Steve says. His tone softens. He gently lights on a hand on Billy’s shoulder- a safe spot, clear of scars. Billy keeps his head down. He is breathing heavily now, a combination of frustration and exertion putting a strain on his lungs. “Hey,” Steve says quietly. Billy still will not look at him, but he does life his head ever so slightly. “What’s the matter?” Steve asks.
“Just go home,” Billy grumbles. 
“I’m not leaving you here,” Steve says.
“I’m fine,” Billy says.
“Bullshit,” Steve says flatly. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Billy does not. He does not tell him anything. He lowers his head again, his hair falling to obscure his face. When he is quiet for too long, Steve asks, “Is it the scars?”
“Get the fuck out, Harrington,” Billy says. He does not sound angry. Steve doesn’t think he has the energy to portray anger, not in the true Billy Hargrove sense of the word. Instead, he sounds exhausted. 
“Hey,” Steve says. He lowers himself to Billy’s level, crochet down on the floor beside him. Billy tries to move away, but with the tub behind him he finds himself cornered. He settles for rounding his shoulders against Steve. He tries to turn his back, but Steve’s grip on his holds him steadily in place. Steve moves his hand to the back of Billy’s neck. He feels a shiver roll down Billy’s spine. “You think I don’t know?” Steve asks. “You think I don’t know that you’re trying to hide them? You’ve barely let me touch you in months. I know I’m not the brightest guy in town, but I know when something’s up.”
“Just go away,” Billy sighs. He sounds like a child, desperate and tired. 
“At least let me get you back to bed,” Steve says. 
“I got it,” Billy says. He begins to right himself again and, with Steve hovering over him, he makes a second attempt to get to his feet. He makes it, but at the top he stumbles, and he lands against Steve.
“I got you,” Steve murmurs. “I got you.”
“I’m fine,” Billy grumbles. He pushes off of Steve and reaches for the sink, grabbing it to steady himself before opening the medicine cabinet. He roots around until he finds a small white tube - Steve recognizes it as the gel Max brings with her when she treats Billy’s wounds. It made its first appearance after his stitches came out, a new addition to the routine. When Billy unscrews the top, having his hands busied, he has to lean his hips against the sink to keep himself upright. 
“Sit down,” Steve tells him. “Let me do that.”
“Why are you still here?” Billy says. 
“Because I care about you, dickhead,” Steve says. “Sit.” 
“I got this,” Billy says.
Steve says, “Sit.” He takes the little white tube of cepalin from Billy’s hands. “You can sit here I can help you to the bedroom,” Steve offers. He stands behind Billy and meets his eyes in the mirror. Billy sighs heavily.
“You’re annoying as fuck,” Billy says. “You know that?”
“Glad to hear it,” Steve says. “What’ll it be?”
Billy stares at him hard for a good thirty seconds before he pushes off the sink. He rests a hand against the wall to guide himself down the hallway. Steve follows close behind, giving him as much space as feels safe, but staying close enough to catch him should he fall. When they make it to bedroom, Billy falls heavily onto the bed. He still for a moment. Steve stands over him, patient, waiting. When Billy looks up at him, there is something in his eyes that tugs at Steve’s heart- a begging, please don’t make do this -perhaps even shame, I don’t want you to see me. Steve gently tucks Billy’s hair behind his ear. His thumb brushes Billy’s temple. Billy looks him in the eye and all the anger that was there before is gone. 
“You really can go,” Billy says. “I’ve got it from here.”
“I know,” Steve concedes. “I don’t want to.” 
“Seriously, Steve-” Billy starts, but Steve cuts him off with a kiss that startles Billy. When they part, Billy opens his mouth to say something more, but he seems to have forgotten what, exactly, that something was. Steve takes advantage of this. He kisses Billy’s forehead and then he sits beside Billy. 
“I’m going to see eventually,” Steve says, nodding toward Billy’s body- his chest, his stomach, his sides, all the pieces of him carved up by the Mind Flayer. Billy looks down. He frowns, and Steve rests a hand on Billy’s knee and squeezes. “It’s okay,” he says. 
“They’re fucking gross,” Billy warns. 
“I’ll brace myself,” Steve says. “Come on. It’s just me.” 
Billy is still and silent for one minute, and then two, and then he breathes a heavy sigh. He takes the hem of his shirt and, with some difficulty, he peels it off. He tosses it to the floor and he holds his breath. The scars are large and thick, each of them red and angry. The ones from the Mind Flayer are wide, irregular, shaped like stars and spiderwebs. There are surgical scars, too, cleaner and smaller and thinner. Steve does not know where to look, does not know where to start, and Billy keeps his eyes downturned. His skin is red and hot, flushed with embarrassment. When Steve takes too long to respond, he reaches for the tube.
“Just fucking go,” he murmurs, but Steve swipes the tube away. “Steve,” Billy says. Once again, Steve cuts him off with a kiss. He keeps kissing him this time, trailing Billy’s jaw and down his neck. He very gently lights his fingers over the largest scar, the one centered on his chest, and Billy sucks in his breath, “Steve,” he says softly, voice small. 
“Shh,” Steve whispers, and he kisses that tip of that scar. Billy’s skin jumps. He tenses, but he doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t squirm, he doesn’t tell Steve to stop. Steve kisses down the length of Billy’s scar, gentle as can be, careful not to hurt him, and then he lifts his head and kisses Billy’s lips again. They part, and Billy looks at Steve like he’s seeing him for the first time. “It’s okay,” Steve tells him. 
“It’s not-” Billy starts, but Steve shakes his head.
“Stop,” he tells him. “I love you,” he says. “Okay?” 
Billy closes his eyes, and Steve does not know if it is exhaustion or frustration or relief or some combination of the three but a single tear slips down his cheek. Steve brushes it away, and he kisses the spot where it fell. Billy leans toward him, rests his forehead against Steve’s, and Steve gently holds the back of his neck. “I love you,” he repeats. “Do you believe that?”
Billy gives the smallest, slightest nod of his head. He says, “Yeah.” 
“Good,” Steve says softly. “Good.” 
205 notes · View notes