#𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three.

[nonsupe]

" they warned me not to trust you. " it takes everything in him to bite his cheek and swallow a laugh. of course they did. the caretaker isn't someone to be trusted, not with his history both with and long before the company ever discovered him. they were right to be cautious, to warn others of him when they could or felt the need to. priority or scare tactic. he's a wolf in sheep's clothing: blends in where he needs to, ready for an attack.

" did you expect anything less from them? " in a way, he likes that his presence is proceeded with a warning. they know exactly what he's capable of and now so does everyone else. but he doesn't want to give off the wrong image to @artisanals. they need each other out here, like it or not. she may be the one person he might not be able to fool. but it is still impossible to hide the smile that comes forward as he speaks his next words, " do you trust me? "

#artisanals #𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 . inbox. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #drops this carefully in your lap #i love our babies shiloh and sophie so damn much

[peacespun]

" if you've got a problem with the way i handle things, just say so. " it was easier to work his way toward forgiveness than permission, that has never changed. the company towered like an entity over his shoulder, leaving him shrouded in a darkness he has grown accustomed to. it was easier there, a certain comfort he found in it. the limitations were almost nonexistent. and of course that was part of his job: work under their noses, do the dirty work so their hands stayed clean by any means necessary. he knows this play by now, acutely aware at all times which pawns are in play and the cards he has tucked into his sleeve.

a crooked smile finds his lips as he reaches to his breast pocket, pulling a cigarette from the pack. three taps against the case before he sticks it between his teeth. " the situation is under control and being resolved, i don't see what the issue is. " / @devilsnare, for ashley

#* 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 . shiloh warren. #devilsnare #starter. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #* 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 . season three. #sorry it took me a lil bit. #let me know if you need something different or if you need to plot this out! #i apologize in advance for him lmao #i was gonna do a robb one but he's maybe one we have to plot with at some point to figure out what we can comfortably do <3

[nonsupe]

" they have you wrapped up tight, don't they? " one attack dog to another, he knows the type. wounds behind the eyes and the ready stance to strike. indira's had her hands in this one too long, pulling strings so tight they've begun to fray under the strain. there's sympathy in tone, a delicate approach when he'd come to her. given the circumstances, he would be stupid not to tread lightly.

they've met a few times in the past, but he's not too sure that she remembers exactly: the man indira whispered to in the shadows, introduced them once and only contacted him when it was necessary that he be there. a contracted cleaner, a web-spinner. but he was a different man back then, under a guise that he'd been doing the right thing. now he knows better.

@mindcaterol is just a kid. so young and already looks as if she's lived too many horrific events, those wounds behind her eyes have been carved deep into her being. what have you seen? what did she ask of you?

it never changes. they always have someone getting their hands dirty and this time they've chosen her. he won't let them destroy her as they've destroyed him. " you're safe now. everything is going to be okay. " ♡

#mindcaterol #starter. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #im crying i love it so much already #let me know if i need to change anything at all!

[nonsupe]

@v0ughtsfirst, are you trying to butter me up ?

" what? what makes you think that? " while it held, in part, some truth, shiloh still couldn't pass the opportunity to play into it a little more. its not every day that he gets to cook, much less for him. so when an opportunity arises and they both have the time, both finally away from the tower, and nobody needs them to be god knows where doing fuck all, he knows to take it and run because these moments are rare. they won't get another like this.

the table is arranged for them. dinner already set in the middle, a bottle of expensive cabernet sitting on ice between them. if he was going to treat him to dinner then he was going to do it right.

a hand falls over his heart, clutching his chest. a huff falls from him and a pout finds his lips, dark eyes filling with a playful hurt. " can't a man do something nice for the guy he's fucking? " shiloh reaches and pulls out a chair for him, motioning for him to sit. then he smiles. " or is that not allowed? "

#v0ughtsfirst #𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 . inbox. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #boops this in your direction <3

[nonsupe]

you’re not my takeout. that was the first thing he said to him. four decades and that, of everything he thought he would have to say if -- when he saw him again, the thousand and one things he thought he would start with; hundreds of questions he thought he would have, and that was the first thing he said to him. on a dime, only a moment to react before he was finally able to process what was happening and who exactly was standing before him. humor on the spot. the thought of it now makes him cringe, nevermind that the response leon gives matches: i’m better than. never had something been truer. “ yes you are. ”

he can’t imagine what he’s been through in these four agonizing decades, but he can tell that they were exactly that: agonizing. he can see it in his eyes when he looks at him, certainly not everything but enough. enough that it casts dark shadows behind his eyes. could feel it in his shoulders too, when he impulsively went to embrace him after guiding him into his home. clear as day. forty years weren’t kind to him. they weren’t. it burns something in of him, and maybe it’s kind of pointless coming from him, that he feels a blinding rage that it happened to leon, that there was nothing he could do for him. couldn’t help him, drag him out of it. certainly not for the lack of trying but it was already too late by then.

payback came back without him, and it took everything he had to stay upright. he fell for it at first, sometimes he can’t believe that he did. but that was the thing about grief, its blinding. worse still when its the heaviest he’d felt in years. losing leon felt like someone had ripped a lung from his body and went for the heart next. it was excruciating and exhausting, and it created a hole that even now, even knowing what he does, with the man standing in front of him, ragged and dirty but alive, hasn’t healed. its raw and open still. and maybe it always will be, regardless of leon marshalls presence in the aftermath of that "loss."

sign number one that he should have taken was that payback, every one of them, returned with false sorrow and shit excuses. he just … died. we got ambushed and none of us could get to him on time. i tried … we all tried, but it wasn’t enough. “greatest company of heroes,” they claimed to be and not a single one of them was competent enough to look out for the one person that actually mattered. they came home and avoided eye contact, made various statements, wore black to a quickly arranged funeral and one of them even put on quite the performance with the tears and the wavering voice during the eulogy. but there was no mourning. no remorse. they stuck together like a pack in silence and moved on like nothing ever happened, like they weren’t missing a vital piece. sometimes it seemed like they were even happy that he was gone.

that was when he knew. at least that it wasn’t what they said it was. they had everything to do with it, which meant the company did too. edgar. all of them. they buried him somewhere, somehow, and then made a mess of the cleanup. shiloh spent months untangling the web he’d caught himself in; learning of the lies and who they paid off too keep silent. but that was as far as he got. they shut him out after that; someone probably caught him poking around and asking the right questions, limited the access he had that led back to leons disappearance. they stopped him from finding him. he fought it though, tooth and nail for as long as he could. he fought it until be barely had anything left to fight with: it was the same answer every time, the same conclusion, brought him back to the same people that hadn’t talked to him before. some of those people were dead the next time he came around.

he should have tried harder. fought longer.

he knows better than to offer, even silently, any kind of pity. knows better than to let it show on his face, biting his tongue when the other man grabs his arm to anchor perhaps both of them, when his other hand mirrors shilohs and cups his cheek. first time in forty years he’s touched him and all at once it feels like the first. warmth floods his chest, melts him through to his core, and he can almost begin to feel the weakness in his knees like some fool. he missed his touch, craved it. immediately it is everything and not enough.

i was a little tied up, he says. shiloh can’t help but realize how literal it likely was. the truth dressed in humor. but he moves on from it quickly, not a moment to allow himself to get stuck on the reality that was, instead goes on: i’m also parched. ravenous.

food. right. more than that too, he can tell. but essentials first. letting him clean up, eat, drink. then sex, and that knowing causes pools of warmth to spread through his belly. remarkable that after all this time, in face of this, leon marshall still has such a firm grasp of every fiber of his being.

“ right, of course, ” as much as he doesn’t want to step away, he must. but shiloh does grab his hand, one that rests over his cheek, and guides him to the kitchen. fills a glass with water and slides it across the counter to him. “ i can just double my order. unless you want something specific? ”

continued. @antisupe.

the way he doesn’t remember much after rounding the corner,  stereo had long since ended it’s song;   the trigger,   escape,  escape,  escape.   it’s the hair-pin trigger being yanked straight from a grenade,   in this case :  a nuclear bio-weapon capable of destroying entire structures with a simple momentary build-up—   to think what he could do if it really built-up,  if it was properly directed.   his blocked vision returns,   and the damage is done.  malachite hues frantically dart scanning for anyone that possibly could’ve survived,  upon the wreckage.   his helmeted self stood next to him,  nail file in hand,  filing them down,   “yeah,  we did that.  should’ve finished us off when they had the chance.”   his mirage stops,  turns his hand up to look at his finished handiwork.  leon waves him away and with same trembling hand he reaches down to pick up the duffel bag,  slinging it back over his shoulder.

“oh— come on, don’t be that way.”   helmeted self echoes in his head,  “we don’t know who they were,  statically specifically at least one of those men was beating his wife…”   as if by some miracle that made it all okay.  he ignored himself,  ignored the dark parts of his thoughts and   SOLDIERED on.   his teenage self soon appears,   “we didn’t mean to hurt them right?  just like we didn’t mean to hurt matthew?”    ghost-like, “of course we didn’t mean to hurt them.”   helmeted, “speak for your fucking self,  they might’ve deserved it.”     “  fucking STOP!  FIVE MINUTES PEACE!”     𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝚅𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃  erupts aloud,  causing if only just a minute glance in his direction from another pedestrian.

another few steps,  he scratches at his beard,    “we’re walking in circles,  don’t tell me we’ve already forgotten its a grid….”  helmeted self calls after him,  trailing,   ghost-like shoves the other,  “we have not forgotten,  this is shiloh warrens building.”   “oh….. rejection,  attachment,  weakness.”   leon stops finally,  after many circles around the building at the front of it.    an inhale that inflates his chest before releasing it out.  his mirages had found purchase expectantly sitting on the front stoop of the building and he sits in his ass right into his ghost-like self that morphs into him.   helmeted self snarls and dissipates.   both hands move to cover his face,  finger tips reaching through wild locks,  scratching lightly at his own scalp.   “we might as well, we risked being spotted. it’d be a shame to waste it if he was still here,    if he missed us.”  that is if he wasn’t involved,  “we have no where else to go.”

jaw clenches,  and his hands drop and he rises from the stoop,  if @nonsupe​ rejects me then I’ll know.    courage, dear heart, courage.   leon yanks the door open past the moment,   body passes the mailbox inside labeled    𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑅𝐸𝑁  and onto the six flights of stairs.      ６Ｆ      hand in sort of a make-shift rises,   stays a good distance from the door.  ghost-like,  bald head as he adjusts the beanie back on his head,  then gestures to the door.  helmeted now stands opposite,  arms crossed leaning against the wall, tapping his foot expectantly again.    he knocks on the door.

next:

he remembers the day he disappeared vividly.      another metal spike driven into his heart,     right through the back:   never saw it coming.     a heaviness in the air when the rest of payback returned without him,      the typical scripted bullshit they fed the public every time one of their precious heroes disappear under any circumstances or even died had been parroted by each member of that stupid team until it became repetitive.      they each played the mournful eyes,      faked their desire to want to find answers only to ultimately do nothing when they came back to the tower,      sat in their useless fucking chairs and twiddled their damn thumbs like a vital piece of them wasn’t missing;   like they hadn’t just played a whole nation   –   no,     it was worse than that,     they played the whole world into the palm of their hands,      remorse poured in from across the globe and it didn’t stop for months.

but shiloh took it the hardest of all of them.      a grief that dark hadn’t struck him for decades,      not since the passing of his mother.      and it hadn’t truly settled into his bones until it was very clear that no effort,      nothing at all,      was being taken by vought or anyone else within that cursed tower to bring him home.      it would be a suicide mission even trying,      someone said.      the best we can do is hope it was quick,     said another.     but the worst had been:   he’s gone and he’s not coming back.      and those were told directly to his face,      not even an ounce of sympathy or pain or regret.      they’d moved on while the world still held out hope,      while shiloh did.      he can’t really be gone,      they’re lying to you and you know it,      he’d attempted to convince himself;   the same night he found some liquor tucked away in the cabinets of leons suite.      he poured two glasses out of habit,      out of respect,      to mourn.      the liquid burned going down but it was his only release from that stupid bleeding heart in his chest that was still beat,      beat,      beating in his fucking chest when he didn’t even know if leon was still alive.      another glass,     then came the anger:   vision tunneling black when he knocked the second glass of expensive whiskey off the counter and sent it flying violently across the room,      shattering onto the floor.      the other is smashed down under his hand when he set it down too hard,   shards of glass stabbing into palm of his hand and drawing only the tiniest bit of crimson.      he doesn’t even feel it,      another thing they’ve stolen from him.      “   you better not be fucking gone.   ”      he muttered,      certainly before he crossed the suite and picked each of the pieces of glass from the floor and cleaned up the whiskey.      wasteful,      he could hear him say.      and it makes him smile just a little bit for only a few seconds,     then it was back to drinking.      drinking until that bottle was gone.      still two glasses poured.

and one could argue he never moved on.      he was always looking,      turning over the pieces he could reach his hands into,      bits of information that turned out were useless without another piece he would never find.      some things in vought he knows he will never see,      will never know of,      will remain in the dark until the very last second or until it becomes a fucking issue that he needs to suddenly contain.      that was life at vought:   half the fucking details and shit for explanations.      king takes pawn.

but it never stopped him.      never would.      he tried,      best as he could with what little he’d scrounged around for,      nevermind how little it actually meant in getting him closer to finding out the truth about leon marshall.      he did try and he’s still trying.      they’ll have to kill him to get him to stop,      and they’re not prepared to do that.      not yet.

knock at his front door is unsurprising   —   mostly because he’d ordered food a little while ago,      though its unusually fast.      shiloh rises from his seat on the couch and goes to the door,      pulls it open and then…   

him.      you.      leon.     shiloh blinks at him,     the words lost as he takes in the man standing before him:   wild and dirty.      a beard has grown in place of that familiar stubble,      long hair that touches his eyebrows,      he looks very much unlike the man he was when he left and promised to be back.          “   you’re not my takeout.   ”          really ?      thats the best you can do ?      before anything else can be said,      shiloh reaches out to him and tugs him close to embrace him.     second nature when he noses into the crook of his neck.      a long moment,      maybe a little too long,     before he releases him and instead takes his hand to guide him into the loft and closing the door behind him.      

tears have welled in his eyes in those moments,   finally he halts and he reaches to him once more,      fingertips gently caress his cheek.          “   what the fuck-   you…      you’ve been gone for so long,      i–.   ”          what does one say to a lover who has been gone for forty long years ?

next:

leon should’ve seen it, it should’ve been top on his list of things he actively paid attention to. however, his attention span with vought had been dwindling in those years;   it feels wrong of him to have assumed he’d get to RETIRE as if it was a normal nine to five job. perhaps it was the promise of that,  the hope that one day he’d be able to stop when he wanted. but he knows it wasn’t wrong of him,  it’s something frederick had advocated to him though all of it seems like such a distant memory,  a dream that lingers in the back of his mind.  did he actually mean it or had it been some other way to placate him into the falsehood of it all.   he wasn’t a superhero,  at least he didn’t feel that way.  within the war,  he did what he had to do,  what any good man would have done,   any good man did.  WAR HERO. MURDERER.  two sides of the same coin,   heads  &  tails both make up all that is 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝚅𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃. somewhere, somehow he probably deserved what happened to him. he remembers the feeling he got when he finally came to in the helicopter,  head tilted towards the open sliding door—  the rotating of the blades calming in a way he didn’t think was possible something to focus on instead of the way he couldn’t move,  couldn’t find the strength. unless the comfort of a distraction was no more until it was the cold slab of the metal table,  until the only comfort was that maybe there’d be a longer stretch where no one would touch him.

 at some point he stopped truly fighting,  stopped trying to escape and took whatever they did to him in stride.  not until a day of heightened emotions brought to light the abilities that had formed due to the radiation.  one of the men,  holding his chin rather aggressively,   assault rifle aimed once again,   jammed right into his mouth;   had become such a past time,  no doubt because it was amusing to them each and every time.  with a single tear down the side of his cheek,   he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable piercing sounds of the gun, the bullets ricocheting inside of him.  however,  that moment never comes this time, instead the rifle falls away slipping from his mouth.   hand of the other man from his chin as well,  feeling his head droop before picking itself back up and blinking up to the two men as they dry-heaved with crimson coming on the upchuck before they dropped dead.  the sight and feel of relief was enough to cause a build-up in his chest, which melted away the straps around his wrists and across the center of his torso.  the shock of it was enough to keep him from the escape that could’ve been granted to him.  it was the moment in time,  he remembers as the only time they had ever moved him while he was conscious enough to form sentences if he had chosen to speak.  memory rings of the crunch of snow beneath his bare feet,  the windchills had it not been for the compound v within him would’ve cause frost-bite to set in. a showcase of his power,  the capacity at which he could draw power before the world around him was an enclosed space.

The feeling he gets isn’t too foreign,   doubt,   doubt in everything he does.  It’s a self-esteem thing he thinks somewhere in his mind;  doubt that even if he knocks on this door that shiloh will no longer want him.  the passage of exact time is unknown at least clearly in his mind.   he knows it’s been decades because time marches on,  the world keeps turning—   people move on.   unrealistic to believe that shiloh hadn’t found anyone in that time,  even for a little.  though his brain also believes that even if he had,  the feelings would never be as strong unless they were for him.  it’s the doubt,   the lack of self esteem swirling with the pompous arrogance that keeps his head swimming   &   his feet itch to flee from this situation entirely.

knock on the door comes and he’s stronger than he thought he’d be in the moment, was for sure certain he wouldn’t end up standing tall and proud here in the door-way,  when it opens. shiloh looks almost exactly the same as when he’d left for the mission he hadn’t returned from.    the only unmistakable difference was the soft creases in his brow,  the developing crinkles at the corners of his eyes though he think it’s more of what he had to deal with at vought than actual age but he knows while physically the younger man hadn’t aged.  leon knows his appearance shows his own age however not in the complete traditional way. the shoes upon his feet a tad bit too big,  russian cathedral dirtily cast over the center of his torso.   his hair reaches his eyes causing him to peer through his bangs,  beard stretching down beyond the simple stubbled beard he’d had when he’d first gone.    you’re not my take-out.   the older man can’t help but let out a chuckle,   “  I’m better than. ”  which he isn’t too keen on how accurate that statement is—-    he could really go for some take-out himself,  so maybe he retracts that statement a little in his mind.

however,  no words follow as he’s very soon embraced.  his body stiffens as if adjusting to the foreign action,  something he wishes would never be foreign to him.  but it takes him a minute to allow his shoulders to relax down,  to have his arms come around,  ghosting over shilohs clinging form until they finally come around and they stand like that over the threshold for what seems like an eternity, not that leon would have any complaints but he’s pulling back not long after him settling.   with hand traveling down his arm, over the filthy sleeve of the track jacket to reach his fingertips and pull him into the loft to shut the door.  duffel is half dragged  –  half lifted,  set down with the clink of his chest piece connecting with his shield within.  leon stands,  gazing around the room at the mixture of what could be retro furniture mixed in modern day electronics and other furniture.

it’s hard to focus on shiloh crowding his space, to the tears welling in his eyes until hand is brought up to the beardless part of his cheek,  that is when his gaze is upon the younger man.  arm is brought up and he takes hold of shilohs arm, the one that leads to the fingertips upon his cheek,  brings his other hand up to cup others cheek,    “ yeah. ”    an exhale through his nose,  pressing an inhale and exhale visibly seen with his broad chest.  “  I was a little tied up.  ”  ever the humor that strikes with his deep voice,  which still sounds like mild croaks with the disuse of his voice.   “   I’m also parched,  ravenous.  ”  hopefully hint was taken,   water, food,   sex.

#antisupe #im an emotional wreck over this thread in particular #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three.

[nonsupe]

" our jobs are a far cry from being easy, aren't they? " more alike than some would give credit for, than he wanted to at first. but they go hand in hand: one of them teaching mindless wannabe's how to market favorable supes to public eye, the other cleaning up the mess their charge would leave in their wake to make sure its maintained, that vought and co. maintain good standing to the outside world. supes can do no harm, after all. right? give and take.

a cigarette is lifted to his lips and he takes a long drag, the smoke falling as he speaks, " keep them clean, keep them from burning the whole fucking city to the ground. one shit show after another. " @gadflies, ♡

#gadflies #starter. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #let me know if this doesn't work and i'll be happy to give you something else!

[nonsupe]

" you don't exactly have a trust worthy face. " shiloh wants to assume that the words "not here" were omitted by accident. but in the long run, he may be right. times have changed since the cold war, people have become far more skeptical and paranoid. some people won't look at him and see a man they can entrust secrets to, regardless of how high or mediocre the stakes are. leon though ... he has a face that people trust. he's familiar. shiloh is a shadow crawler, a man that does not and cannot exist. with @antisupe people are more likely to feel at ease and to trust him with something valuable. he has some experience with that.

the smile is near impossible to fight though he does manage, barely, if only for appearance when he looks him in the eye, no emotion reflected in his own when question is asked, " are you saying that i'm scary? " could be true for many people, but ...

" i think that depends on who you are and what you're trying to hide. " and which side he leans on. in the past it was clearer. now? now he plays both just to have an upper hand in what comes next. the aftermath he'd see at the end of the day. " i knew some people that would be inclined to agree with you once... course that was after i had their state secrets. "

#antisupe #𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 . inbox. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #kisses your cheek #see i was gonna make it funny but shiloh took it the Other direction #its still a little playful though thankfully im

[nonsupe]

" there  …  there you are.   i see you now. " she says it as if she peered through a window to his soul, searched beyond what she holds between both of her hands and found what little there is after the mask, the outward shell he created many years ago to stand in place of what lies beneath. to protect or cage it, that still isn't clear.

" do you? " the smile that appears to his lips doesn't feel real, doesn't feel as genuine as he hopes it might. he asks with both curiosity and the grain of uncertainty that exists only to him: 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝙼 𝙸 ? what is he supposed to be? depending on when someone could have voiced a similar question to him, the answer would vary. a child, a soldier, a shell of a boy that had been hollowed both by grief and anger. a test subject. now? he's not sure there will ever be an answer.

but what does @firedblanks see? what lies beneath the fragments of shiloh warren now? which of those fragments exist only to him that she did not see -- cannot see as she looks at him the way she does and always has, holding pieces of him together without so much as a grimace when they might slice open a broken piece of her as she tried to fit hers with his.

" are you sure? "

#firedblanks #𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 . inbox. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #gets to this 1000 years later #hi i missed them but this broke me in ways i cannot explain

[nonsupe]

@v0ughtsfirst, i can’t find my room  &  i need a fucking cigarette .

he should have gone home. his home. where he knows the bed or at very least the couch. where he knows he can't be watched like he were a mouse playing into a trap ready to snap its prey. don't get him wrong, this place is decent enough. its outfitted to be comfortable, accommodated to his needs and requests -- or at least most of them. but still he doesn't feel any sense of ease, there is no essence of home here in this fucking tower. city lights glimmer in the distance when he looks out the window and while the view is the same as he's always had, the same he can see from his own place, it still feels different. but its easier to stay here when he's on the job, easier for him to watch out for leon if he's close by. just a couple doors down in fact, at least temporarily. until they cleaned out the suite at the top they essentially used as storage for years after him, added a few new features to it that were simply a must for leon upon his "miraculous return." if you're going to make them beg to have you back then you may as well do it right.

until then he's stuck here. they both are. the idea has crossed his mind about bringing leon into his home, where at least they could both share far more privacy than this tower has ever known. but the logistics of getting him out of this forsaken place without someone asking too many goddamn questions about where he'll go, when he'll be back, the nonsensical works that has become this company; the thought of even sneaking him out of here with as many eyes and ears on him now is laughable, even for someone like either of them with such a skillset. they are truly stuck here.

but here shiloh can offer some sense of familiarity, maybe even some sense of peace to him should he need it. and sure enough, he was right to do so because in the end he does. he lets himself in, doesn't knock -- not that he needs to. he never needs to. he knows he's more than welcome to let himself in at any hour, for any reason. i can't find my room, he'd said, and i need a fucking cigarette.

so many things have changed and he can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for him. to come back and all that you've known has completely changed...

" well, you've found mine, " and before another word is said, he's reaching to grab the pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, pulling two from the box and a lighter, gifting him one cigarette. " and you can join me for a smoke. "

#v0ughtsfirst #𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 . inbox. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #AHH #there we go

[nonsupe]

it was one disaster after another,      bad news piling on by the second.      first it was this job:   neither of them wanted to do it.     some asshole politician in need of a rescue after getting his hands too dirty and reaching too far into a damning abyss,    suddenly needing help from the very people he actively worked against in his every day job,      the very people he despised.     certainly kept no secrets with his distrust and disdain for supes,     even now when they come to his aid in the middle of this godforsaken jungle in the middle of the night.      shiloh could hear some of the bullshit he spews from the open channel they've used to keep in a constant communication   (   at least that was the idea.      there were times that maintaining it was a struggle,      and it certainly doesn’t help that leon is still new to the tech   ),     their less than pleasant company going on and on.      he’s sure he caught something about how supes were the things wrong in this world,     that they’re freaks and falsehoods to evolution;    maybe even used the word abomination a few times.     shiloh is miles away from leon and still somehow he could feel his blood boiling, and his own begins to simmer under his skin,      feeds the temptation to speak his own choice words to their ungrateful rescue.    and while its not an easy restraint, already felt teeth biting into his tongue, shiloh knows he must maintain a certain sense of professionalism regardless of personal feelings.      leon is a big boy,      he’ll handle himself.

then, to make matters worse,      there was a change in plans to their method of extraction.      was supposed to be a helicopter drop,      twenty seconds max to get them on board and the hell out of dodge,      but there was too much ground fire that interfered with that plan,      so much that it took their bird out of the sky completely;   fiery explosion seen over the tall mountaintops.      which meant leon had to suffer on foot with their less than fortunate friend and shiloh simply had to hope that he made it through the thick jungle alive with the fucking mouth he had.     this is why supes never fucking work.     you’re all walking targets.     civilians or our military personnel get anywhere fucking near you and they drop dead from a bullet meant for you people.      and on and on and on ....

“   get a load of this guy...   ”     one of the other men said from behind shiloh and he doesn’t have to look back at him to know that he’s shaking his head,      his own disdain in his voice.      “   son’uva bitch should be grateful he’s even out there for ‘im.      he knows who he’s bitchin’ to right ?   ”      an open question and shiloh simply sighs,      adjusting the gear over his shoulders as he rests against the hood of their armored car.          “   he knows.   ”      too well.

minutes turned to hours,  beginnings of twilight as the suns rays reach over the horizon.     he knows they’re close now,     and that patience and calm is running incredibly thin;   leon keeping their position updated from time to time:   eta on the minute mark.      and when they did finally come through the thick trees and into sight,      it was another relief to see that he hadn’t yet lost his cool in spite of how relentless the other had been and continues to be even as he’s finally in the safety of one of the most important supes and another powered individual.      running his mouth as they both kept moving forward,     but the last thing he says,     shiloh isn’t quite sure what it was   --   busy giving updates on extraction to command,      but suddenly the calm and patience was gone and it all erupts in an instant.

the moments blur together from when leon nearly grappled the other man,      an indistinct shouting of a thousand and one things that he had wanted to say to the other but were bitten back the entire time,      followed by more shouting from the others that accompanied them.      a few of them put their might into pulling their priority one rescue away from leons hands, and shiloh had put himself in the middle of it all.     immediately in front of @antisupe​,     almost like he read his mind,      like he saw the snap before it happened and was prepared,     shoving with all his might the stronger man backwards.     and when that wasn’t enough,      he used all of him instead,      wrapping his arms around him and pulling him further away.

“   hey !      he’s not worth it      ...      he’s not worth it,      marshall.   ”          he manages to get between the others words.          “   let it go.      its done,      he’s done.      let it go.   ”

#antisupe #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #repost.

[nonsupe]

god save me this was the worst part.

#𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 . they call him the caretaker. #𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 . mouth full of lies. #𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 . inbox. #𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 . memes. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . the deeper you dig‚ the darker it gets‚ cold war. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you stay quiet while a war happens within you‚ pre series. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . control is an illusion‚ season one. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . and what of the beast inside you? season two. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . you've become familiar with destruction‚ season three. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . the gentle art of making enemies‚ season four. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . find peace to settle the storm in your heart‚ post series. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . the product of bad fortune‚ marvel. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . what we did in the dark‚ normal. #𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 . dirty deeds done for cheap‚ call of duty. #𝘰𝘶𝘵 . shiloh warren apologist. #𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 . show them love! #𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 . this is my world‚ every dark and dirty corner of it. #𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘵 . my touch is lethal. i am their weapon. #𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦 . death is not a lover. oh yes he is. #𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦 . you. it will always be you. #𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 . i'd give up forever to touch you.