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pivot( WE KEEP ALL THE HURT YOU NEVER KNOW )
Jan. 13th, 2022 07:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
difficult[ the first time geralt returns from travelling for a job, yennefer ensures to give him a wide berth at kaer morhen. she pretends that she doesn't give a shit that he's decided to return with monster guts in his hair and smeared over his face. at least roach appears to be in better and cleaner condition. she allows the witchers to fuss over him in their own ways (which doesn't seem like any of them give a fuck at all that he'd been bleeding from the hand) and does nothing to stop ciri from taking her place beside him and bullying him into cleaning himself up before he chooses to sit down and get drunk.
yennefer doesn't get involved.
it's easier to remove herself from the room whenever he's in it, especially when she's not needed. she has no place in kaer morhen other than to be by ciri's side, and once the magical lessons are over, yennefer has no place to go. she remembers the pressure of the blade at her neck. truly, she thinks it should've bitten her, but geralt's a soft heart even when he's as hard as stone and the callouses on his hands.
it's easy to avoid him when others are in the room. it's fucking awkward to ignore the gravitational pull she experiences tugging at her gut like she's some young, foolish girl head over heels in love with the dumb boy who smiles at her when she's left alone with him.
the second time geralt comes back from taking a job a good village or two away, no one is there to greet him. it's in the very early hours of the morning. the world is quiet and dark, and yennefer sits in the great hall with a tankard between her hands. the hall is still in disarray; most of the tables are no longer upturned, but the giant tree remains grounded and ugly as a feature none of them seem to have the guts to hack down.
she thinks to leave, but she doesn't stand. she's too tired, her bones feeling heavy. when sleep chooses to find her here, all it brings to her are nightmares. so, she sits in the dark when no one seems to be around. it's easier; it's become her solace.
she watches him from the corner of her eye before she remembers who she is. she's unafraid of a witcher, even if she's afraid to turn to geralt and have him see right through her. yennefer hasn't been invisible in a long, long time—and she doesn't wish to be to him, even though she knows it's what she deserves.
resting her chin on the top of her hand, she smiles, though it lacks a lot of her usual mirth. ]
You look like shit.
yennefer doesn't get involved.
it's easier to remove herself from the room whenever he's in it, especially when she's not needed. she has no place in kaer morhen other than to be by ciri's side, and once the magical lessons are over, yennefer has no place to go. she remembers the pressure of the blade at her neck. truly, she thinks it should've bitten her, but geralt's a soft heart even when he's as hard as stone and the callouses on his hands.
it's easy to avoid him when others are in the room. it's fucking awkward to ignore the gravitational pull she experiences tugging at her gut like she's some young, foolish girl head over heels in love with the dumb boy who smiles at her when she's left alone with him.
the second time geralt comes back from taking a job a good village or two away, no one is there to greet him. it's in the very early hours of the morning. the world is quiet and dark, and yennefer sits in the great hall with a tankard between her hands. the hall is still in disarray; most of the tables are no longer upturned, but the giant tree remains grounded and ugly as a feature none of them seem to have the guts to hack down.
she thinks to leave, but she doesn't stand. she's too tired, her bones feeling heavy. when sleep chooses to find her here, all it brings to her are nightmares. so, she sits in the dark when no one seems to be around. it's easier; it's become her solace.
she watches him from the corner of her eye before she remembers who she is. she's unafraid of a witcher, even if she's afraid to turn to geralt and have him see right through her. yennefer hasn't been invisible in a long, long time—and she doesn't wish to be to him, even though she knows it's what she deserves.
resting her chin on the top of her hand, she smiles, though it lacks a lot of her usual mirth. ]
You look like shit.
( THIS YEAR, TO SAVE ME FROM TEARS )
Dec. 27th, 2021 09:51 amquip[ yelena's lived in worse places. some of them had been a day-long stay, others had been months and almost years at a time. kate's apartment isn't the worst, although it's the most sad. it's in desperate need of a little christmas cheer and some sprucing.
it's in desperate need of sprucing. yelena was just trying to be nice in her assessment.
it's so dark and depressing. no wonder kate only has one fork—who would want to come back where with the scorch marks in the floor and the dilapidated rug? the dog's cute, though. she'd definitely come here for the dog.
in the aftermath of the party, yelena doesn't return to her hotel room. considering she had thought she would be on her way to her next destination (currently unclear—she doesn't want to go back to ohio during the big family season and now especially on the back of the news of natasha's truth), she doesn't have anywhere to go. she doesn't have anyone to go back to. she's grateful she still has alexei and melina, but she doesn't want to be around them right now. the gaping void of natasha's absence weighs heavily down on them, too. she doesn't think she has it in her to reveal the truth to them. it's still a heavy weight she carries; she still feels so angry, but clint barton is no longer the target of that rage.
she invites herself to kate's apartment. it's easy to pick the lock (kate really needs to invest in a few more) and it's easy to go through her cupboards (there is absolutely nothing in them, it's so sad) to try and find some decorations to liven the place up. even the dog helps her, although she thinks he's more or less trying to give her some comfort when all she finds is a christmas hat and nothing more.
she gives herself a new mission: make kate less depressing and weird. suspecting she'll have time before kate comes back (assuming she does—doesn't she have a mother and her best bud clint to possibly spend the evening with?), yelena takes lucky out on a stroll and in search of christmas stores that are still open late at night. it's nice to keep her mind busy. she talks to him, asks him for his opinion. he's a good dog who's clearly desperate for a walk. she comes back an hour later with some christmas decorations in hand and a few treats for him.
she's strung them all up around kate's apartment by the time the door twists and groans on its hinges. lucky's wearing a christmas hat and chewing on a little bone happily. a small christmas tree sits in the corner with a few gifts wrapped beneath it (all for the dog) and the windows are decorated with bright lights. the apartment is still depressingly empty, but at least it's a little cheerful now.
yelena belova, the saviour of christmas. there's no need for applause.
sitting on her heels on the floor, she's still in her black widow outfit and her messy braid. she's brushing lucky's tail gently as he enjoys chewing on his early christmas toy. she doesn't look up—she doesn't need to. the heavy footsteps that enter belong to kate bishop. ]
I walked your dog for you. He likes me more than you, just so you know.
it's in desperate need of sprucing. yelena was just trying to be nice in her assessment.
it's so dark and depressing. no wonder kate only has one fork—who would want to come back where with the scorch marks in the floor and the dilapidated rug? the dog's cute, though. she'd definitely come here for the dog.
in the aftermath of the party, yelena doesn't return to her hotel room. considering she had thought she would be on her way to her next destination (currently unclear—she doesn't want to go back to ohio during the big family season and now especially on the back of the news of natasha's truth), she doesn't have anywhere to go. she doesn't have anyone to go back to. she's grateful she still has alexei and melina, but she doesn't want to be around them right now. the gaping void of natasha's absence weighs heavily down on them, too. she doesn't think she has it in her to reveal the truth to them. it's still a heavy weight she carries; she still feels so angry, but clint barton is no longer the target of that rage.
she invites herself to kate's apartment. it's easy to pick the lock (kate really needs to invest in a few more) and it's easy to go through her cupboards (there is absolutely nothing in them, it's so sad) to try and find some decorations to liven the place up. even the dog helps her, although she thinks he's more or less trying to give her some comfort when all she finds is a christmas hat and nothing more.
she gives herself a new mission: make kate less depressing and weird. suspecting she'll have time before kate comes back (assuming she does—doesn't she have a mother and her best bud clint to possibly spend the evening with?), yelena takes lucky out on a stroll and in search of christmas stores that are still open late at night. it's nice to keep her mind busy. she talks to him, asks him for his opinion. he's a good dog who's clearly desperate for a walk. she comes back an hour later with some christmas decorations in hand and a few treats for him.
she's strung them all up around kate's apartment by the time the door twists and groans on its hinges. lucky's wearing a christmas hat and chewing on a little bone happily. a small christmas tree sits in the corner with a few gifts wrapped beneath it (all for the dog) and the windows are decorated with bright lights. the apartment is still depressingly empty, but at least it's a little cheerful now.
yelena belova, the saviour of christmas. there's no need for applause.
sitting on her heels on the floor, she's still in her black widow outfit and her messy braid. she's brushing lucky's tail gently as he enjoys chewing on his early christmas toy. she doesn't look up—she doesn't need to. the heavy footsteps that enter belong to kate bishop. ]
I walked your dog for you. He likes me more than you, just so you know.
( I MADE MYSELF AT HOME )
Dec. 23rd, 2021 11:37 amexplosionWanda doesn't really blame anyone for initially believing she's the reason why funny and magical things happen in pockets of New York City. Given her history, it only makes sense.
But she's not the reason why some people have been seeing things that aren't there. While her power is vast, much of it is controlled now. Strange has advised her not to try and break the spells these people are under. She doesn't understand the magic that's causing them. She risks too much if she tries to pierce it with her fingers. While Wanda doesn't agree, she heeds his advice. Strange has been studying the Mystical Arts a lot longer than she has (even if she's now a little more advanced than he is in her tutelage) and she shouldn't interfere if he doesn't think it's the right call.
It becomes harder to resist the temptation when Sam Winchester rolls into the city.
It's been a week since he arrived asking questions for a "research paper" that have only earned a quirked eyebrow from Strange. Strange poses as a university professor teaching the occult and Wanda, well… Wanda doesn't need to pretend to be a student. She is one. Unlike Sam. She doesn't try and hint that she knows he's telling a fib. He's here for reasons that she can only glean from his questions about strange mythical creatures that she presumes aren't mythical at all.
Djinns. Genies. She can understand the allure of them all too well.
At least it's not aliens this time.
Wanda had thought it'd only be natural for Sam and Strange to gravitate towards one another, but it's her and Sam that seem to be paired and working together. She thinks Strange prefers it. He's not necessarily the most social person, and given his quips and short, biting answers, he might not be the best person suited for taking Sam around town and allowing him to ask his questions.
Despite being somewhat of a sounding board for Sam, Wanda still doesn't quite know what he's looking for. She's been able to pinpoint that people have become truly lost in their own minds to something far powerful (but not as powerful as her) and that there doesn't seem to be a Mystical way to break them out of it.
Sam sits at a table that's almost as long as him with books sprawled everywhere. Each time the lamp light flickers, she subtly makes it burn a little brighter. She doesn't quite know how he can sit for long periods of time. She's up for the fifth time since sitting down to help him with his research and disappears into the book aisles to stretch her limbs and magically search for the book she's looking for.
Using her telekinesis to tug a book from a high shelf she can't reach, Wanda returns to their table and passes him the book. He'd been thinking about it a bit too loudly, and although she's doing her best not to listen to the voices, it'd been hard to ignore him in the quiet of the building. Especially now, when all of her attention is on him.
Something about him doesn't feel quite mundane as humans often feel.
He's been bent over books and scribbling notes for hours now. She's surprised that his head hasn't fallen straight off just yet.
Standing off to his side, she glances at his nose and sees nothing but lines on the paper. "You don't think you have enough research yet?"
But she's not the reason why some people have been seeing things that aren't there. While her power is vast, much of it is controlled now. Strange has advised her not to try and break the spells these people are under. She doesn't understand the magic that's causing them. She risks too much if she tries to pierce it with her fingers. While Wanda doesn't agree, she heeds his advice. Strange has been studying the Mystical Arts a lot longer than she has (even if she's now a little more advanced than he is in her tutelage) and she shouldn't interfere if he doesn't think it's the right call.
It becomes harder to resist the temptation when Sam Winchester rolls into the city.
It's been a week since he arrived asking questions for a "research paper" that have only earned a quirked eyebrow from Strange. Strange poses as a university professor teaching the occult and Wanda, well… Wanda doesn't need to pretend to be a student. She is one. Unlike Sam. She doesn't try and hint that she knows he's telling a fib. He's here for reasons that she can only glean from his questions about strange mythical creatures that she presumes aren't mythical at all.
Djinns. Genies. She can understand the allure of them all too well.
At least it's not aliens this time.
Wanda had thought it'd only be natural for Sam and Strange to gravitate towards one another, but it's her and Sam that seem to be paired and working together. She thinks Strange prefers it. He's not necessarily the most social person, and given his quips and short, biting answers, he might not be the best person suited for taking Sam around town and allowing him to ask his questions.
Despite being somewhat of a sounding board for Sam, Wanda still doesn't quite know what he's looking for. She's been able to pinpoint that people have become truly lost in their own minds to something far powerful (but not as powerful as her) and that there doesn't seem to be a Mystical way to break them out of it.
Sam sits at a table that's almost as long as him with books sprawled everywhere. Each time the lamp light flickers, she subtly makes it burn a little brighter. She doesn't quite know how he can sit for long periods of time. She's up for the fifth time since sitting down to help him with his research and disappears into the book aisles to stretch her limbs and magically search for the book she's looking for.
Using her telekinesis to tug a book from a high shelf she can't reach, Wanda returns to their table and passes him the book. He'd been thinking about it a bit too loudly, and although she's doing her best not to listen to the voices, it'd been hard to ignore him in the quiet of the building. Especially now, when all of her attention is on him.
Something about him doesn't feel quite mundane as humans often feel.
He's been bent over books and scribbling notes for hours now. She's surprised that his head hasn't fallen straight off just yet.
Standing off to his side, she glances at his nose and sees nothing but lines on the paper. "You don't think you have enough research yet?"
( I'M GOING TO EAT YOU UP )
Dec. 21st, 2021 07:32 pmdifficult[ in all honesty, yennefer has no idea what to fucking think.
she feels some hope for the future. her magic thrums through her again, feeling warm and bright and right there, but she can't quite enjoy it. no, not with what it almost cost. she ignores it, the way it completes her once more. it runs through her like fire and warms her despite the chill of the tundra. she no longer feels so alone with it now alongside her with her current company.
geralt and ciri leave her on the edge of the bridge without a look back. both of them burn with anger towards her. she deserves it, she knows. wanting to sacrifice a child, for fuck's sake, doesn't exactly endear one to other people. (it hardly endears her to herself.) it's not exactly a choice she thinks she can walk away from without a scar. she has to grow around it, live with it—and yennefer, despite all she's seen and done, isn't quite sure how to properly take a step from that.
she remains out in the cold long after she should've picked herself up and wandered back into the grand ruined hall. it's half out of self-pity—she's sure jaskier might be in the middle of writing some stupid song about the evil witch finally getting her dues—and half out of absolute exhaustion that she picks herself up. yennefer of vengerberg has never let anything get her down, but this… this is different.
when she wanders back in, the room's still a shit pile. everything's ruined. tables remain broken, most of the bodies have been plucked from the ground and taken somewhere more sacred for the witchers to begin preparing for a proper goodbye. the hall doesn't look so grand. it looks pathetic and hollow, much like how she feels.
yennefer's never been one for self-deprecation, but she's a little tired of trying to convince herself all of this is fucking fine.
most of the witchers are gone, thank fuck. she's not interested in making small talk with them. none of them would say what she needs, look at her the way she needs them to. she's merely a stranger—and whatever geralt's told them of—and what she needs right now is the proper derision only one person can give her.
and there he is, sitting out of place. it's comforting to know he's as much of an outsider as she is. he doesn't sit like a witcher, certainly doesn't look like one.
she approaches, uncaring if he hears her boots, and childishly flicks jaskier's ear. ] You had a piece of flesh on you. [ monster or human, she's not quite sure. doesn't really care to elaborate, knowing she may use it in the very near future (in the next few minutes, perhaps) to torture his vanity.
yennefer takes a seat beside him, brushing up against him without much of a care, and drops onto the firm wooden bench. at least this one survived the attack from the monsters. it's strange to her, sometimes, what ends up surviving and what ends up dying. a lot of the strong get fucked over by luck.
although she wants to sit up straight, she rests her elbows on the table before her and her head in her hands. jaskier's already seen her at her worst and believes it. she has nothing left to lose. her hair's a mess, her nails are chipped, and she feels as dirty as she looks.
good thing jaskier doesn't look any better. if he did, she'd really consider throwing herself off the bridge.
in her hands, voice muffled, ] Thank you for doing what I asked.
[ for having faith in a magicless mage's potion. ]
she feels some hope for the future. her magic thrums through her again, feeling warm and bright and right there, but she can't quite enjoy it. no, not with what it almost cost. she ignores it, the way it completes her once more. it runs through her like fire and warms her despite the chill of the tundra. she no longer feels so alone with it now alongside her with her current company.
geralt and ciri leave her on the edge of the bridge without a look back. both of them burn with anger towards her. she deserves it, she knows. wanting to sacrifice a child, for fuck's sake, doesn't exactly endear one to other people. (it hardly endears her to herself.) it's not exactly a choice she thinks she can walk away from without a scar. she has to grow around it, live with it—and yennefer, despite all she's seen and done, isn't quite sure how to properly take a step from that.
she remains out in the cold long after she should've picked herself up and wandered back into the grand ruined hall. it's half out of self-pity—she's sure jaskier might be in the middle of writing some stupid song about the evil witch finally getting her dues—and half out of absolute exhaustion that she picks herself up. yennefer of vengerberg has never let anything get her down, but this… this is different.
when she wanders back in, the room's still a shit pile. everything's ruined. tables remain broken, most of the bodies have been plucked from the ground and taken somewhere more sacred for the witchers to begin preparing for a proper goodbye. the hall doesn't look so grand. it looks pathetic and hollow, much like how she feels.
yennefer's never been one for self-deprecation, but she's a little tired of trying to convince herself all of this is fucking fine.
most of the witchers are gone, thank fuck. she's not interested in making small talk with them. none of them would say what she needs, look at her the way she needs them to. she's merely a stranger—and whatever geralt's told them of—and what she needs right now is the proper derision only one person can give her.
and there he is, sitting out of place. it's comforting to know he's as much of an outsider as she is. he doesn't sit like a witcher, certainly doesn't look like one.
she approaches, uncaring if he hears her boots, and childishly flicks jaskier's ear. ] You had a piece of flesh on you. [ monster or human, she's not quite sure. doesn't really care to elaborate, knowing she may use it in the very near future (in the next few minutes, perhaps) to torture his vanity.
yennefer takes a seat beside him, brushing up against him without much of a care, and drops onto the firm wooden bench. at least this one survived the attack from the monsters. it's strange to her, sometimes, what ends up surviving and what ends up dying. a lot of the strong get fucked over by luck.
although she wants to sit up straight, she rests her elbows on the table before her and her head in her hands. jaskier's already seen her at her worst and believes it. she has nothing left to lose. her hair's a mess, her nails are chipped, and she feels as dirty as she looks.
good thing jaskier doesn't look any better. if he did, she'd really consider throwing herself off the bridge.
in her hands, voice muffled, ] Thank you for doing what I asked.
[ for having faith in a magicless mage's potion. ]
( I CLOSE MY EYES AND DREAM AWAY )
Sep. 21st, 2021 08:16 pmslingerOkay, yeah, yeah. Bye!
[ closing and locking the apartment door after them, he leans against it momentarily and heaves a big sigh.
may and happy are definitely not going to some late night "volunteer" function for may's job. peter may smile and he may nod and try and shove them out the door while giving happy a rather stern look behind may's back, but he knows better. his peter tingle knows better. that's one thing he can cross off his never-ending list of things to be unsure about.
since touching down in the states from their trip to italy, peter's been grateful that may's welcomed the idea of mj staying with them for a few nights. it'd been as obvious as day to him that mj hadn't wanted to go home, and when no one appeared at the airport to collect her, it'd only made sense that she come back with them. he had a spare bed in his bunk and, well… it's mj.
he likes mj.
and mj likes him.
and also spider-man.
spider-man also likes mj. it just made sense.
it'd taken a lot to convince ned to leave him be for the night. while he was definitely all about broing it up, he was still sporting some bruises and sore ribs after his ordeal with beck. spending the night on the floor cross-legged and trying to build a star wars ship, while definitely exciting, wasn't something he felt entirely up for.
clearing his throat, he pushes himself off the door and begins to walk into the living room. it's not the same as their old apartment, a route that he's still relearning after years of spending his life in uncle ben's old home. maybe it's a good thing that they no longer live in that apartment. some of the memories had been weighing on them a lot. it's good to feel lighter, like dust.
walking to his bedroom, he leans against the open doorframe and smiles at mj. he'd like to think she's comfortable in this apartment—or as comfortable as he is. while he doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable, this is something that's brand new to them.
and he doesn't want to mess it up. what if she decides she dislikes him because of how he positions his pillows? ]
So, uh, May and Happy are gone. [ crossing his arms against his chest, he immediately unwraps them once he realises he doesn't look cool nor does he know how to properly stand. she's in his room and, well… she's in his room. ]
Did you want anything? A drink? Maybe a snack? We could go get a taco or a hotdog… [ he twists slightly and throws his thumb over his shoulder. ] There's also a really good sandwich shop a few blocks away and a really cool cat.
[ closing and locking the apartment door after them, he leans against it momentarily and heaves a big sigh.
may and happy are definitely not going to some late night "volunteer" function for may's job. peter may smile and he may nod and try and shove them out the door while giving happy a rather stern look behind may's back, but he knows better. his peter tingle knows better. that's one thing he can cross off his never-ending list of things to be unsure about.
since touching down in the states from their trip to italy, peter's been grateful that may's welcomed the idea of mj staying with them for a few nights. it'd been as obvious as day to him that mj hadn't wanted to go home, and when no one appeared at the airport to collect her, it'd only made sense that she come back with them. he had a spare bed in his bunk and, well… it's mj.
he likes mj.
and mj likes him.
and also spider-man.
spider-man also likes mj. it just made sense.
it'd taken a lot to convince ned to leave him be for the night. while he was definitely all about broing it up, he was still sporting some bruises and sore ribs after his ordeal with beck. spending the night on the floor cross-legged and trying to build a star wars ship, while definitely exciting, wasn't something he felt entirely up for.
clearing his throat, he pushes himself off the door and begins to walk into the living room. it's not the same as their old apartment, a route that he's still relearning after years of spending his life in uncle ben's old home. maybe it's a good thing that they no longer live in that apartment. some of the memories had been weighing on them a lot. it's good to feel lighter, like dust.
walking to his bedroom, he leans against the open doorframe and smiles at mj. he'd like to think she's comfortable in this apartment—or as comfortable as he is. while he doesn't want her to feel uncomfortable, this is something that's brand new to them.
and he doesn't want to mess it up. what if she decides she dislikes him because of how he positions his pillows? ]
So, uh, May and Happy are gone. [ crossing his arms against his chest, he immediately unwraps them once he realises he doesn't look cool nor does he know how to properly stand. she's in his room and, well… she's in his room. ]
Did you want anything? A drink? Maybe a snack? We could go get a taco or a hotdog… [ he twists slightly and throws his thumb over his shoulder. ] There's also a really good sandwich shop a few blocks away and a really cool cat.
( HOW COULD I EVER LOVE SOMEONE ELSE? )
Aug. 1st, 2021 01:59 pmdisparagedBucky's been haunted by ghosts before. The majority of them tend to take up residence in his mind, refusing to give him a moment's rest. He figures it's deserved. Given that they'll never have a chance to rest again, it only makes sense that's the penance he has to pay.
But as he pulls Sam's truck to a stop and cuts the engine, he's not quite sure what—or who—he's seeing standing on the porch of the Wilson family home. He'd ensured to catalogue every little thing he could pick up belonging to those that Steve had held dear. Sam and his inability to stand still, and the way that he hid his insecurities and worries about never being good enough behind his loud voice. Sharon had reminded him so much of Peggy, but she had been a softer force in comparison to her aunt. And Natasha… always seemed so familiar despite being as slippery as a fish and a chameleon. The moment he seemed to get a good read on the red of her hair, she'd cut it short and dyed it blonde. She never seemed to stick around long enough for him to get a handle on her.
He's slow to get out of the truck and even slower to slam the door, purposefully letting it make a sound loud enough to either make her disappear because she's a figment of his imagination or inform her that someone's home. When she doesn't disappear… All he can think of is perhaps they'd gotten it wrong.
It's stupid and it's strange, but given the Big Three and what he's witnessed and been through over the last handful of years alone… Someone not being dead when they were thought to be is something he knows all too intimately and well. It still manages to take him by surprise.
With his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowing, he's slow to walk up the familiar dirt path to the front porch steps. Although he seems disarmed—there's no gun in sight, and all he has in his hands is a calico bag that seems to be bursting—Bucky prepares himself just in case. After Walker and Karli, he's learned he needs to be prepared for anything.
"Uh, hey." Poignant, very earth-shattering. Sam would have a better idea of what to say in this moment. He's the wordy one; Bucky's the one who stares. Sam knows what to do; Bucky follows him, always at his heels. But he can't walk backwards and drive to fetch Sam from the docks—Natasha's already seen him.
"Sam's not here," he says absently.
And that's what he does—he stares at her with a slight crinkle to his brow.
But as he pulls Sam's truck to a stop and cuts the engine, he's not quite sure what—or who—he's seeing standing on the porch of the Wilson family home. He'd ensured to catalogue every little thing he could pick up belonging to those that Steve had held dear. Sam and his inability to stand still, and the way that he hid his insecurities and worries about never being good enough behind his loud voice. Sharon had reminded him so much of Peggy, but she had been a softer force in comparison to her aunt. And Natasha… always seemed so familiar despite being as slippery as a fish and a chameleon. The moment he seemed to get a good read on the red of her hair, she'd cut it short and dyed it blonde. She never seemed to stick around long enough for him to get a handle on her.
He's slow to get out of the truck and even slower to slam the door, purposefully letting it make a sound loud enough to either make her disappear because she's a figment of his imagination or inform her that someone's home. When she doesn't disappear… All he can think of is perhaps they'd gotten it wrong.
It's stupid and it's strange, but given the Big Three and what he's witnessed and been through over the last handful of years alone… Someone not being dead when they were thought to be is something he knows all too intimately and well. It still manages to take him by surprise.
With his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowing, he's slow to walk up the familiar dirt path to the front porch steps. Although he seems disarmed—there's no gun in sight, and all he has in his hands is a calico bag that seems to be bursting—Bucky prepares himself just in case. After Walker and Karli, he's learned he needs to be prepared for anything.
"Uh, hey." Poignant, very earth-shattering. Sam would have a better idea of what to say in this moment. He's the wordy one; Bucky's the one who stares. Sam knows what to do; Bucky follows him, always at his heels. But he can't walk backwards and drive to fetch Sam from the docks—Natasha's already seen him.
"Sam's not here," he says absently.
And that's what he does—he stares at her with a slight crinkle to his brow.
( WHEN YOUR HANDS ARE IN MINE )
Jun. 16th, 2021 07:38 pmdisparaged[ truth be told, bucky's grateful when both sam and sarah invite him to stay a little longer. he knows he's overstayed his welcome by a fortnight… and overstayed that overstay by four weeks. his bags have remained packed—although, that's not uncommon for him. his apartment back in new york is sparse with only a few bits of furniture his next door neighbour had kindly bullied him to buy. it's best neither wilson knows; sam will look at him with a pathetic look of pity and sarah… he wants to avoid seeing her frown.
when sam gets a surprise call from the ominous nick fury and needs to be out for a few days without his shadow, bucky promises him he'll ensure things at the house and with the boat remain floating. it's not without a quiet little threat of "don't flirt with my sister" and "don't smile, it's creepy" that he finally allows himself to go. bucky itches to follow, but he doesn't. he's needed here to ensure aj and cass don't get caught by their mom when they decide to sneak out and touch the redwing sam's left behind or go sit by the pier when they can't sleep. he likes the fact he has good, innocent secrets with someone now. one day, he's sure they'll outweigh all the bad, bloody secrets he has.
after pulling some of aj and cass' toys out from the usual dirt pathway to the back, bucky slips off his boots and quietly steps inside of the back of the house. despite having the intention of walking back into the living room and to his designated couch, he turns on his feet and leans against the frame of the kitchen entrance, watching sarah as she does sarah things. he never wants to get in the way of her routine. she flutters around on autopilot most of the time. bucky never thought he'd find anyone who could walk circles around him, but he's found that if he stays still and in place, he won't be in the way. ]
I know I've been hogging your couch for a long time. [ despite leaning against the frame and standing on the threshold of the kitchen, he scratches the fingers of his right hand against the metallic wrist of his left. ] I can go get a hotel room. It doesn't worry me.
when sam gets a surprise call from the ominous nick fury and needs to be out for a few days without his shadow, bucky promises him he'll ensure things at the house and with the boat remain floating. it's not without a quiet little threat of "don't flirt with my sister" and "don't smile, it's creepy" that he finally allows himself to go. bucky itches to follow, but he doesn't. he's needed here to ensure aj and cass don't get caught by their mom when they decide to sneak out and touch the redwing sam's left behind or go sit by the pier when they can't sleep. he likes the fact he has good, innocent secrets with someone now. one day, he's sure they'll outweigh all the bad, bloody secrets he has.
after pulling some of aj and cass' toys out from the usual dirt pathway to the back, bucky slips off his boots and quietly steps inside of the back of the house. despite having the intention of walking back into the living room and to his designated couch, he turns on his feet and leans against the frame of the kitchen entrance, watching sarah as she does sarah things. he never wants to get in the way of her routine. she flutters around on autopilot most of the time. bucky never thought he'd find anyone who could walk circles around him, but he's found that if he stays still and in place, he won't be in the way. ]
I know I've been hogging your couch for a long time. [ despite leaning against the frame and standing on the threshold of the kitchen, he scratches the fingers of his right hand against the metallic wrist of his left. ] I can go get a hotel room. It doesn't worry me.
( CAN'T SEE MY HEART IN THE BLENDER )
May. 22nd, 2021 08:21 pmexplosion[ it was only a matter of time before wanda invites herself into the fight. surely, sam continuously blowing up her phone with "hello", "how are you?", "please let me know you're alive" was her invitation?
although she had been tucked away in her little hideaway in sokovia, she had begrudgingly kept up with the news. at the mere mention of a new captain america, she couldn't quite help but feel as though the world was moving on and replacing yet another person that she knew. all she wanted to do was turn off the radio and television and not keep up with the news reports via her phone, but somewhere, billy had kept them front and centre of her mind. all she could do was think about sam and bucky—and how steve's legacy was being erased, just like vision.
eventually, wanda hauls ass to the united states. it's easy to track them down—all she has to do is focus on them. even though the two of them are more foreign to her than friends, she remembers how they had both felt when she stood beside them at tony's funeral.
it takes a few days for her to be able to find them. they move around a lot—almost as quickly as birds taking flight—but it seems as though her timing, for once, is impeccable.
there's commotion inside the warehouse. wanda doesn't blast her way in. slipping through the closest door, she hides behind a shelf before she understands the scene playing out in front of her: captain america's attacking the falcon and bucky, and the emotions he feels—grief, sadness, rage—call out to her own that remain purposefully flattened and dormant.
with sam knocked unconscious on the warehouse floor, she steps out from where she's tucked herself away, running as quickly as she can as captain america bleeds guilt and anger and resentment towards bucky. the rage in his eyes is familiar; wanda feels as though she's looking in the mirror as she watches him lift the shield—strangely bloodied and now heavy—as if he's about to attack bucky whose trying to pull himself together and up off the floor.
it's with a wave of her hands that john walker stops, frozen mid-launch towards bucky. his eyes glow a bright red as he remains still.
with long strides, she comes to stand over bucky. he looks beaten up—bloodied in a way she's never seen him before and a little tired—and she knows with a glance over her shoulder that sam doesn't look any better. she holds out her hand to him. ]
I thought Captain America was meant to be your friend.
[ hey, bucky. how ya doing? ]
although she had been tucked away in her little hideaway in sokovia, she had begrudgingly kept up with the news. at the mere mention of a new captain america, she couldn't quite help but feel as though the world was moving on and replacing yet another person that she knew. all she wanted to do was turn off the radio and television and not keep up with the news reports via her phone, but somewhere, billy had kept them front and centre of her mind. all she could do was think about sam and bucky—and how steve's legacy was being erased, just like vision.
eventually, wanda hauls ass to the united states. it's easy to track them down—all she has to do is focus on them. even though the two of them are more foreign to her than friends, she remembers how they had both felt when she stood beside them at tony's funeral.
it takes a few days for her to be able to find them. they move around a lot—almost as quickly as birds taking flight—but it seems as though her timing, for once, is impeccable.
there's commotion inside the warehouse. wanda doesn't blast her way in. slipping through the closest door, she hides behind a shelf before she understands the scene playing out in front of her: captain america's attacking the falcon and bucky, and the emotions he feels—grief, sadness, rage—call out to her own that remain purposefully flattened and dormant.
with sam knocked unconscious on the warehouse floor, she steps out from where she's tucked herself away, running as quickly as she can as captain america bleeds guilt and anger and resentment towards bucky. the rage in his eyes is familiar; wanda feels as though she's looking in the mirror as she watches him lift the shield—strangely bloodied and now heavy—as if he's about to attack bucky whose trying to pull himself together and up off the floor.
it's with a wave of her hands that john walker stops, frozen mid-launch towards bucky. his eyes glow a bright red as he remains still.
with long strides, she comes to stand over bucky. he looks beaten up—bloodied in a way she's never seen him before and a little tired—and she knows with a glance over her shoulder that sam doesn't look any better. she holds out her hand to him. ]
I thought Captain America was meant to be your friend.
[ hey, bucky. how ya doing? ]
( DON'T BLAME ME, LOVE MADE ME CRAZY )
Mar. 29th, 2021 08:11 pmdifficult[ yennefer has every intention of finally escaping geralt. she storms away from the roadside, uncaring if it means she now has to navigate the terrain alone until she stumbles upon a tavern and finds herself in the company of irritating people. she'll do it to spite him. yennefer's done plenty in her life to spite those around her, and she's won each and every time.
but after a good ten to twenty minutes, she slows her angry stomping. the earth doesn't quite shake beneath her feet as it did when she had spun away from him and flitted away from the roadside like the tornado he claims her to be. she begins to settle down, losing her wind. hardly regretting a moment of her own anger towards him, yennefer finds herself regretting much more.
telling geralt about her wish to be important to someone had cracked her open like the earth beneath the foot of an invisible giant. even as she tries to patch that gap so it no longer exists, a hairline fracture remains in its wake. she hates him for what he's taken from her. free will, her desire to belong—she doesn't want to be trapped in anyone's orbit but her own.
she takes a seat along thick round logs, back to the main road as she peers over the cliffside. all she sees is endless and unconquered terrain. it's looking out at the heads of trees that she decides her next plan of action. if she wants to spite geralt, she knows it's best to do it in front of his face.
she waits patiently for him to eventually arrive. she has no doubt that he won't. after all, didn't he wish for her? he's bound to find her once again.
the quiet's disrupted by the familiar clopping of roach's hooves. she listens carefully as he comes within earshot, his footfalls familiar and strong. she doesn't hear the sliding feet of jaskier trailing behind him pathetically. yennefer doesn't allow herself to feel pity for him losing jaskier. he deserved it.
she refuses to look at him, keeping her gaze straight ahead. she knows he'll stop. geralt is nothing if not inescapable. ] Did you piss off Jaskier, too? [ she scoffs, shaking her head. ] What a day you're having, Witcher.
but after a good ten to twenty minutes, she slows her angry stomping. the earth doesn't quite shake beneath her feet as it did when she had spun away from him and flitted away from the roadside like the tornado he claims her to be. she begins to settle down, losing her wind. hardly regretting a moment of her own anger towards him, yennefer finds herself regretting much more.
telling geralt about her wish to be important to someone had cracked her open like the earth beneath the foot of an invisible giant. even as she tries to patch that gap so it no longer exists, a hairline fracture remains in its wake. she hates him for what he's taken from her. free will, her desire to belong—she doesn't want to be trapped in anyone's orbit but her own.
she takes a seat along thick round logs, back to the main road as she peers over the cliffside. all she sees is endless and unconquered terrain. it's looking out at the heads of trees that she decides her next plan of action. if she wants to spite geralt, she knows it's best to do it in front of his face.
she waits patiently for him to eventually arrive. she has no doubt that he won't. after all, didn't he wish for her? he's bound to find her once again.
the quiet's disrupted by the familiar clopping of roach's hooves. she listens carefully as he comes within earshot, his footfalls familiar and strong. she doesn't hear the sliding feet of jaskier trailing behind him pathetically. yennefer doesn't allow herself to feel pity for him losing jaskier. he deserved it.
she refuses to look at him, keeping her gaze straight ahead. she knows he'll stop. geralt is nothing if not inescapable. ] Did you piss off Jaskier, too? [ she scoffs, shaking her head. ] What a day you're having, Witcher.
specialise( set pre-s5, 1 year into the ring. )
[ if raven had the opportunity to make a list of all the people who she'd allow onto the ring, john murphy would most definitely not be one of them. when things are out of her control, they tend to spiral in the most disastrous ways — mom, finn, sinclair, her damn leg. maybe that's why control had been taken out of her hands when it came to the survivors on the ring.
emori sticks to her like a leech, which is both enjoyable and aggravating at the same time. it's nice to have a shadow, someone to admire her and remind her that she's still got it, that she's valuable. after murphy and emori appear to split (the walls have stopped talking, thank god), life on the ring has become an unfun game of cat and mouse — the cat and the mouse seem to try and push the raven in between them.
although she thinks she has an idea of who the cat is, it's the mouse who's beginning to become a shadow with his "quick" remarks and his unspoken offer of assistance. the easiest way to get rid of her emori-shaped shadow is to have a murphy-shaped shadow, although she's still trying to figure out how to get rid of that one.
sometimes a raven just wants space to spread her wings and feel like she's flying again, all alone with her old friend, space. it's why she has a very elaborate plan of stealthily leaving the ring and wandering into its very familiar arms.
well, stealthy's the loose operative term.
sneaking out of the mess hall, raven walks to her quarters to grab her gear for her spacewalk. she's not as quick as she'd like to be, but she gets there — sort of. it's kind of hard to enter her room when someone's leaning right against the door.
she regards murphy with a roll of her eyes. slowing to a halt, she shifts her weight to her good leg. sighing, she dryly says, ] Emori's leaving for some weird grounder training with Echo in five. Monty saved you some algae. You're welcome.
[ another thing out of her control: her empathy for murphy's unfortunate friendless and now girlfriendless plight. ]