#may or may not have been feeling the overwhelming urge to scream anytime someone is near me haha

[shhhhyoursister]

do you have anymore autistic!matteo hcs? or other headcanons in general? I just love your ideas

let me see if i can think of some rn!!!! am i projecting?? perhaps!!!

***

- when matteo got his first pair of noise cancelling headphones, he was almost a bit scared to try them out. he didnt have the money to get an expensive par and he had read the reviews and picked the best ones he could afford, and he knew that they werent going to be perfect. he tried them on the first time when he was alone in his room, and he put on his go-to calming song (just happened to be take me to church) and slid them over his ears, pressing the button to turn on the noise cancelling feature. he walked out of his room, past the kitchen where hans and vicki were loudly talking, but the sounds were muffled, and went away completely when he raised the volume up. he spent the next week walking around with them on his head, sometimes with his hands pressing them tighter onto his ears, a smile on his face and his eyes closed as he paced around the room. david would sit and watch him from wherever he decided to settle, happy to see matteo so content

- he had bad days, obviously. days where no matter who was talking to him or what they were saying, he needed them gone, even if it was david. the first time it happened matteo felt so guilty over needing to be alone, too overstimulated with david even just being in the same room as him, but too overwhelmed to say anything about it, and he could tell that he was either going to completely shut down or explode. he didnt want to explode. but it kept building, even though david wasnt saying anything or doing anything besides drawing silently at matteo’s desk because he could tell something was off, and it kept building and building until matteo felt like he was filled to the top with lava that was threatening to pour out of his mouth, his stomach actually jolting with the need to get something out to let david know that matteo needed to be alone, now, right now right now or he was going to scream. his entire body curled in on itself and he buried his head in his knees, not even realizing that he was letting out quiet whimpers with each exhale until david asked him if he was okay. matteo shook his head so fast it hurts his neck, the usually calming sound of david’s voice like sandpaper in his ears. david asked him what he needed, started listing things when he realized matteo couldnt say it himself, and got up and left once he finally settled on “do you need to be alone?” and watched matteo nod his head in tiny jerks. the second he was alone matteo relaxed just enough to realize that he had basically just kicked his boyfriend out, and texted him the word “sorry” at least ten times before pulling his headphones on and squeezing a pillow tight to his chest, panicking for a completely different reason, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to move for a while. david hugged him the next day and called him stupid for feeling bad about it.

- one day david showed him a website he found that had a bunch of different fidget and stim toys, and matteo spent a while getting lost in all the options as he opened the products in new tab after new tab. each had a detailed description and a video showing how it worked, and he got caught up watching something that was long and black that slid through the person’s fingers, a string of a bunch of interconnecting little joints that could also be snapped apart and put back together, and after watching  matteo watch the video three times over david grabbed the laptop from him. matteo protested but david handed it back quickly, showing an order confirmation screen. matteo tried to argue but david just grinned, said it was already ordered and there was nothing he could do about it. matteo just glared before tackling him in a hug. it came a couple of days later and matteo was grinning as he took it out of the packaging. he slid it around his fingers, grabbed it in one hand and wrapped it around his fingers and stretched them out so he could feel the plastic press into his skin, grabbed it in the middle and pulled until it snapped apart and then put the pieces back together. he lifted it right next to his ear and squeezed his hand around it, smiling and wiggling a bit at the weird crunching sound that came from it. he took a selfie like that, with it held close to his face, a big grin on his face, and sent it to david with a bunch of thank you’s and hearts. 

- matteo was still shocked anytime he realized that david really, actually listened to him whenever he was rambling. he knew that his tendency to infodump annoyed most people, even if theyd pretend to be listening, and he had learned over the years what that looked like, and got good at knowing when people were bored. didnt always mean he could stop, and then he would get overwhelmed with knowing that the other person was annoyed, but still needing to get the words out of his body, because people didnt understand that it wasnt just him rambling, there was a physical side to it as well, it wasnt him just trying to fill the silence, he knew that he physically needed to get the words out of his brain, but to most people that didnt seem to make sense. he had learned to be quieter over the years. until david came, and there was somebody there who not only let him go off, but cared about what he was saying. david would sit on the bed, cross-legged, as matteo paced around the room talking about memes, or the environment, or cooking, and when matteo would say something like “and you know when you crush garlic, it releases this chemical called allicin thats really good for you” david would respond, would actually respond and say “oh yeah i see you do that every time you cook”, and it was so simple but it always filled matteo with so much love and so much of that good buzzy feeling he got throughout his whole body when he was able to satisfy whatever urge his body and brain had, when he was encouraged to

#matteo florenzi #david schreibner #davenzi #davenzi fic #davenzi fanfic #autistic!matteo #i guess i had some thoughts on the subject #may or may not have just gotten noise cancelling headphones #may or may not have the exact fidget that i described in the fic #may or may not have been feeling the overwhelming urge to scream anytime someone is near me haha #MAY OR MAY NOT WANT SOMEONE TO INFODUMP TO #ALSO BONUS POINTS IF YOU CATCH THE ITS ALIVE REFERENCE #lmao #noggins #thats it for fics for tonight folks im TIRED and i wanna get into bed and watch tiktoks

[velianmagicalgirl]

A Letter to my Favorite Person

So I wrote this thing for Bono... I started working on it last night but I severely underestimated both how much I wanted to write and how long it would take me to write it so I had to finish it up today. So I guess in that I discovered that me and B have something in common. We're both writers and we both turn everything we write into novels because we are incapable of writing anything short. So here it is, I'm putting it under a cut because like I said, it's quite long (3500 words). It's also full of sappiness the likes of which you've never seen before. So just be prepared for that. You've been warned. But otherwise, enjoy :) (and Bono if you read this I'd not know whether to be super happy and amazed or to throw myself out the nearest window...)

Okay, so how do I even start something like this… Believe it or not, I’m not always the best at expressing my emotions or how I feel to other people. It’s not that I don’t know how I feel, I’m pretty good at that, but when it comes to talking about it, that’s where the words just kind of leave me. I guess I just kind of worry that if I truly express what I say, people won’t understand what I mean or something like that. And because of the fact that I tend to experience emotions very strongly, I worry that I might come off as too much to people.

But screw it, a lesson I’m in the middle of learning is that for people you care about, it’s important to communicate with them and tell them how you feel because, well, nobody’s a mind reader.

And well, I just have a lot to say and I want to say it. So here goes (prepare for ultimate sappiness the likes of which you have never seen before. You’ve been warned)

So, to my dearest Bono, the man who has changed my life, I just want to say… thank you? Wow, like you’ve never heard that before, right? But who says hearing “thank you” a lot is a bad thing? Obviously if a lot of people thank you for something, then you’ve done something right, and something right you’ve done indeed.

Obviously I’m sure that on some level you know just how much your music and you yourself have helped people, touched them, made their lives better, etc. I mean, you could see it every night when you got up on that stage in front of all those thousands of people. But those stadiums can only hold a few thousand people at a time and there are so many more people around the world that have been touched by you; your words, your songs, your activism and the fact that you actually go out there and attempt to make a positive impact on the world.

It reminds me of how in Paris in 2015 the entire audience sang the whole first verse of One without you having to do anything. The look on your face said it all about how happy you were, and how amazed you were. Or how, in Berlin in 2018 when you lost your voice during Beautiful Day, I’m sure you were terrified, but you didn’t need to be because the audience picked up the words and sang for you. You told them “thank you” afterwards, like you’re always so surprised at what people would do for you, or how much you inspire others, but you don’t need to be, because just that kind of guy.

I was originally going to write a poem or something, before I decided on writing this because I felt it was easier for me to get out everything I wanted to say like this, but one of the lines I thought of for the poem went a little something like this:

There is a man that has everything But he gives it away like nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it away for nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it to those who have nothing

I was just thinking about this the other night and it just kind of came to me that “wow, here is a man who has quite literally everything but is also incredibly humble and kind to everyone to the point where nobody that’s met him has ever had a bad thing to say about him,” and I just kind of thought to myself “wow.” I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I just wanted to point that out. I guess my point is that, you look out in the world and sometimes it’s so easy to get overwhelmed by all the darkness and the terrible things that people sometimes do, that it’s also easy to forget that there are still good people out there that are doing their best to make the world a better place for no other reason than because they want to, and because they think it’s the right thing to do. People like that are pure souls; they are rare but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And you sir, are one of those people. You may not want to be called that but it’s the truth. It kind of reminds me of the Lord of the Rings quote, “there’s still some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for,” and of course, the lyrics to Song for Someone/13 , “if there is a dark, then we shouldn’t doubt that there is a light, don’t let it go out.” Honestly, I think this may be one of the most important lyrics in any of your songs because it is just such a universally important message. Whenever you’re going through a hard time, it’s important to remember that there is a light, that you are not alone, that the darkness can be fought.

But anyway, going back to what I first said, you may have some idea of the amount of people’s lives you changed but do you really know just how many that is? And over the course of so many years? That must be an impossibly huge number.

But anyway, after this stupidly long preamble (preramble) I guess I should finally get to the whole entire point of this letter or whatever you’d call it. But hey, I guess that’s one thing we both have in common right? Everything we write turns out to be insanely long and rambly. And tagenty. What was I saying? Oh, right.

I just wanted to say that you mean a lot to me. I am one of those uncountable people that you’ve helped in some way. In a myriad of ways actually. In so many ways.

Over the past year, my mood has gone up and down like a rollercoaster for obvious reasons. Sometimes it was so hard to be positive about anything when you looked out into the world. Sometimes I would just give into despair. What were any of us doing? What was the point of anything anymore? But other days I would feel great. I would feel like I was a better person than I was before. And I would be so happy and grateful for all the friends I’ve made that I didn’t have before. And then I would go back down again. It was a real rollercoaster, and still is.

Basically, what I’m saying is, a friend once told me not too long ago that “U2 has a habit of coming into your life right when you most need them,” and looking back on that, I can say she was right. It all happened on December 25th, 2019, you know, Christmas. I was thinking of buying myself a record player but it turns out my parents were nice enough to buy one for me. Of course they got me some records to go along with it. There were a lot of them actually, but I don’t really remember them. I just remember the one that stood out to me more than the others: The Joshua Tree by U2. I actually got really excited when I saw it because I had actually heard it before, a long time ago but I never actually got around to listening to the whole thing, so I was happy that now I had the chance. I don’t think my mom realized what she had started when she did that, and neither did I at the time. I’m not going to recount the whole entire story here because that’ll take too long (that’s another story) but basically that was the moment that U2 and you too (wink wink) entered my life. And what happened a few months later? The entire world changed.

But you know what? It was okay because I had you there. Suddenly it was like I had a new friend there with me, and anytime I wanted a reprieve from the world outside, all I had to do was ask. You could make me smile, you could make me laugh, you could make me cry, but in a good way. I immersed myself in all the stories of things you had done for people, putting your kindness on display. How you could make someone’s entire day just by smiling at them. I would read those stories and I would get this feeling like my heart would burst and I would get this huge dopey smile on my face and then I would go scream into a pillow to get out some of the emotion. And then I would feel silly because here I was, a 21 year old girl, sitting alone in my room, and the guy I was basically tripping over was 59, about to turn 60! And now he’s 60, about to turn 61! And I am still only 22. But you know what, that doesn’t matter, because sometimes people are just that good, and you’re one of those people.

I remember reading one story in particular about some kids who were sitting outside your studio. You saw them, got out of the car and went up to them and signed the albums they had. You could’ve stopped at just that, you’d already made their days, you’d already given them enough happiness to power an entire country for a year, and certainly nobody would expect you to do more. But you did. You allowed them to come into your car and you drove them around for a bit while showing them a preview of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. And I just thought to myself, “who does that? Surely this can’t be real? Surely this person can’t be real,” but you are real. And you really did do that. And for no other reason than out of the kindness of your own heart. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of that. But you did. Because you’re just that kind of guy. Later on in the story, Larry mentions to the reporter who was in the car when this happened, that “he really has this insatiable urge to be all things to all people, even when we try and stop him,” and I think that’s the perfect way to describe it. Making other people happy is genuinely something you enjoy and you will go out of your way to do it for no other reason than because you know just how happy you will make those people.

And then I’m sure my parents saw what was happening and they laughed and teased me and said “oh there she goes” and yeah, they were right, there I went. And here I am still am. I don’t even know if this is making any sense anymore but sometimes, when you’re telling someone how you feel, it doesn’t always make sense. Because emotions, these weird tricky little things of the human experience, don’t always make sense. But what I mean to say does make sense, at least in the way that these kinds of things can.

These things that I feel aren’t just surface level little crushes. I think they are more than that. Because it isn’t just about how you look or the fact that you are a singer or whatever (although those things are nice I must admit, especially the first one ;) ) but something deeper. It’s because everything you do, everything you say, comes from your heart. Everything you do oozes that sweet beautiful passion of someone who really means what they say, and lives it. You’ve said it yourself before, when you’re singing, you’re not merely just singing the songs, you are living them, you are them and I think that’s beautiful. And in an era of fake people, I think that is a big part of what drew me to you. I think I could tell by watching you and listening to you that you weren’t like the others, you were real and you lived every second of it.

And I just think it’s great to have someone to look up to that is real and undeniably himself. I could learn from that. Really, I could learn a lot of things from you. Because you are so wise and intelligent, sometimes I am just wowed by the things you manage to say. You know a lot of things about the world that I couldn’t know simply because of experience. I guess you could say that I am innocence and you are experience. It’s very interesting when innocence and experience can interact with each other. The experience sees the forgotten youth and the innocence sees the wiseness and intelligence that comes with having lived the world. And both of them can learn from each other.

And for a man that is so unapologetically, so unabashedly, so undeniably himself, I could learn a thing or two from that too. I’ve always watched you be loud and proud, say what you want, be spontaneous, and go out on a whim. Whenever there was something you wanted to do, you would just do it, (whether you should’ve or not) and sure, that’s left you in a few bad situations, but you still did something. You were never left wondering “what if?” You have always been a man of action and I admire that about you. You’ve never been one to care about what others thought of you and that is something that I admire so so much. Me, not to be dramatic, but I feel like that was stamped out of me some time ago. I find myself always caring about what people think, even if those people aren’t even around. I feel like I can hear them in my head when I’m alone, just trying to do something I enjoy. And sometimes I start to wonder if it’s really other people or if it’s really just me. But I need to learn to be unapologetically me, just like you. Because after all, I’m the only person who can, right? So maybe if you stick around for a bit longer, I can do that. But only if you stick around.

Because of all that, you really are such an inspiration to me. You’re really someone who goes after what you want instead of just sitting there wondering what other people would think. And maybe I should do that too.

You’ve shown me the power of song, the way that music can move our souls and transcend us to that other place. Music is an amazing thing I think, and I’m sure you agree. It has the unique power to transcend barriers and bring people from many different places together. And I’ve been constantly wowed by your ability to write. So much of music is empty these days it seems, but you fill that hole with your irresistible passion once again.

Everything you write comes from the heart, and where else could it come from but there? I don’t think it’s possible to write the things you do without throwing your entire soul into it, which is what you do. And when you sing those same songs, the passion is on another level. It really is infectious, contagious, irresistible and incredible, it pours out and spreads over everyone like a wave until they’re all caught up in this feeling, this high that takes you to another place, if only for a few minutes. While you’re there you can find important answers to things that you wouldn’t have found otherwise. It’s a magical place.

And I think I understand just how that feels from your perspective now. When I’m alone and there’s no one around, I like to sing too. I’m not very good, in fact, I listened to myself once and wanted to throw my entire computer out the window, and I beat myself up over it for days. I told myself “how could you possibly think you were good? You don’t even know anything” and then I started thinking “what’s the point if I’m not even good?” but then, a few days later, I realized that it doesn’t really matter whether you’re good or not, what matters is if you enjoy it, if you have fun, if, in that moment, you feel like you’re releasing something held captive in your soul, if you’re telling the world (even if that world is just your bedroom) what you have to say. What matters is if, in that moment, you go to that other place. And, if you do, then that’s really all that matters.

So, because of you, because of your passion, your refusal to be anything other than unapologetically you, I think I will try. And maybe someday, we’ll meet and sing a duet together (HA!).

Another thing I love about you is your dedication to the things you love and care about. I have a feeling that anyone who knows you personally is very privileged because they get to know one of the kindest, sweetest, and most caring people there is. And of course who benefits from that the most? Of course your special woman, Ali. I used to think that such beautiful relationships like that weren’t possible in the real world, and that they only existed in fiction but it makes me happy to see that they are possible. Maybe not possible for everyone, but just the fact that they are possible at all makes me happy.

A friend told me that she met you once, in Boston in 2018. She called out your name and you looked at her, your eyes met and she forgot everything she had been meaning to say, but according to her, that was alright because your expression softened like you just knew what she wanted to say. And you know what? I believe it, because that’s just the kind of person you are. Kind, gentle, sweet, and softhearted, with eyes that can see right through us (and hopefully they’re not afraid of anything they’ve seen). I know I said at the beginning of this that it’s important to communicate because people aren’t mind readers but scratch that, maybe you are one, and I’m not writing all of this because I want you to know, but just because I wanted to be the one to tell you.

And finally, I just want to say, on a more personal note (as if this whole entire thing hasn’t been personal) I am so grateful that you came into my life. I feel like I was saved in a way. At the beginning of 2020, the world outside was good, but the world inside me wasn’t quite so. I don’t want to go into details because honestly, it’s just too embarrassing to think about and sometimes I wish I could just forget it all, but for a few years before that moment on Christmas morning, I had lost my way. I had strayed from the path and stumbled into somewhere strange where I shouldn’t have been, and I was stumbling about, constantly trying to make sense of where I was and I just kept falling. But then on that morning, and over the next few months, a light appeared. It called to me and showed me how to get out of the place I had fallen into. And when I had finally gotten out, there was a man standing there with gorgeous blue eyes and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. He reached out his hand towards me and I grabbed it.

And so, over the next few months, even as the world outside turned dark and scary, the world inside me had turned into a light. Even as the world outside turned dark and scary with so many questions, so many unknowns, it was okay, because you were there. The first new thing that I had seen from you was in March 2020 when you put out that song you called “Let Your Love Be Known” and I think that’s what I’m doing right about now. I’m letting my love be known.

I know that in reality, you probably wouldn’t want to hear all this stuff practically elevating you to God status or something, but as you’ve said before, you already have a messianic complex, so why not puff it up a bit?

But for real, thank you. Thank you for existing, thank you being a light, thank you for being there, thank you for helping me.

Just thank you.

#personal #happy birthday bono #you're so amazing #you are indeed my favorite person #long post

[imperialstark]

oh! darling

a/n: I wrote this because I was sad over stony, and if I have to be sad, so do you guys. Be aware, Steve does have panic attacks throughout this fic, so if that's something that might trigger you, please take care of yourselves. I don't want any of you to seriously hurt yourselves. That being said, I cried four times while writing this. Enjoy! Also, friendly reminder that I don't own Marvel or anything related to it. This is all just for shits and giggles.

summary: Steve Rogers was no stranger to pain. From birth, he had dealt with a whole slew of illnesses ranging from asthma to scarlet fever. Chronic colds that left him bedridden and trembling. Heart palpitations that stole the breath from his lungs...But the pain of seeing Tony slumped against a stray bit of wreckage that had once been their compound—their home—outclassed every wound Steve had ever received. No stab wound, no gunshot, no repulsor blast had brought him closer to death than this moment.

ship(s): steve rogers/tony stark

rating: teen and up

warning(s): canonical character death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, panic attacks

—————

Steve Rogers was no stranger to pain. From birth, he had dealt with a whole slew of illnesses ranging from asthma to scarlet fever. Chronic colds that left him bedridden and trembling. Heart palpitations that stole the breath from his lungs. 

One particular moment was forever ingrained in his perfect memory. The Great Depression had just kicked off. Steve had been 12 when his mother took on extra shifts at Mount Sinai, treating tuberculosis patients just to make ends meet. She had never meant to bring it home with her. 

The same disease that had taken her life six years later had first tried to take her son. 

He remembered feeling like he was in Hell as the fever and chills swept over him in excruciating waves. Each breath felt as if someone had wrapped his lungs in barbed wire. When his mother had seen the blood he had coughed into his handkerchief, her face had paled. 

One night as the fever burned its way through his body, taking what little strength he had with it, Steve finally heard her. During the few hours he was awake, Steve had only been allowed to see his mother; she had already been exposed to TB. Each hour he spent with her, not once did she fall apart. She would smooth back his sweat-soaked hair and press cold compresses to his forehead to break the fever as much as she could. She had stood tall, a pillar of strength, just for him. 

But at night, Sarah Rogers let her suffering show. 

“Not my son,” Steve had heard her say, and he could see her then, even though he barely had the strength to open his eyes.  Her frail shoulders wracked with sobs, her arms wrapped around herself as if it would keep her from crumbling. “Please, God, don’t take my son.” 

The inferno in his lungs paled in comparison to the pain that had erupted in his heart that night. 

His mother didn’t deserve to sound like that. She didn’t deserve to sound so broken. As the fever ravaged his body, Steve vowed that he would fight. He would fight this disease and anything else that tried to knock him down, to make sure his mother never sounded like that for the rest of her life.  

The serum had been his ticket to freedom. His mother may have been long gone by that point, but part of Steve hoped that when she looked down on him, she could rest in peace knowing that her son wouldn’t be on death’s door anytime soon. Steve remembered the first breath he had taken after the serum went into effect. He had reveled in the rush of air that swelled in his lungs. Gone was the tightness in his chest, the lightness in his head. He had been reborn, devoid of every scar, bruise, and ailment that had troubled him for 25 years. Not even the war and HYDRA and all of their enhanced weapons could leave a mark on him, although they did hurt like a bitch; wounds that would have killed any other man, Steve recovered from within a day. 

But the pain of seeing Tony slumped against a stray bit of wreckage that had once been their compound—their home—outclassed every wound Steve had ever received. No stab wound, no gunshot,  no repulsor blast had brought him closer to death than this moment. 

For the first time in over a hundred years, he couldn’t breathe. A long-dormant part of his brain thought “asthma attack,” but that couldn’t be possible. Why would the serum fail him now? After serving him dutifully all these years? So why couldn’t he breathe? Why, with every intake of breath, could he only taste ashes and blood and smoke? 

Tony’s dead eyes, black and unseeing, bored into him, and something inside of Steve’s chest snapped. Bile rose up, searing his throat. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. Tony wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead. Men like Tony couldn’t just die. 

“Not him,” he thought. His heart stuttered in his chest. The cut on his arm twinged as he lowered the remains of his shield. “Please, God, not him, too.”

The light in the arc reactor flickered once, twice, before fluttering out completely as if to mock him. 

“Mr. Stark?” a boy who could only be Spider-Man, given his spider-themed suit said, his voice wavering. 

“I lost the kid.” The memory slammed into him with all the force of a freight train. A half-dead Tony with his skin pale and stretched taut over his bones. They had lost that first battle and with it, Tony’s child in all but blood; it had nearly killed Tony.

The kid’s—and that’s what he was, God, how could they bring a kid into this—shoulders started to tremble. 

“Mr. Stark, please.”

It was the “please” that twisted the knife into Steve’s heart. The “please” that brought fresh tears to his eyes. After Natasha’s death, Steve thought he had cried them all away, but apparently, his body had made more. There was always more. 

Did the kid even know what he was begging for? But how could Steve judge him when he had done the same? 

Theirs was the pleading of children, scared and confused and desperate for the hurt to stop.

Pepper kneeled next to Tony, her head bowed in grief over the love of her life’s chest, and Steve remembered that this wasn’t his wound to bear. He willed himself to stop hurting, to stop feeling altogether, but he couldn’t. 

“He’s not yours,” his brain supplied as if that would help him. “He was never yours.” 

Steve’s shoulders sagged. The pain didn’t go away.

                                                       *************

Steve stood tall and rigid like a column at the funeral. Like a soldier. It had been two weeks since that final battle that had taken everything from him. He had tried to make his peace with it. He had tried to go on with his life. But that night before the funeral, he had broken, leaving his apartment a wreck. In public, Steve had always been silent in his grief. Reclusive. He hated feeling weak around others and only let go when he was by himself, raging at the cruelty and the injustice of the world with a fury that scared even him. 

He had screamed until his voice was hoarse, thrown furniture, and even tried getting drunk despite knowing it was in vain. He remembered begging at some point, just like the kid had, with bitterness in his blood and hard liquor on his breath. 

“Why did it have to be him?” he had said. No one had answered. 

By morning, Steve had been entirely devoid of all emotion, aside from shame at the state of his apartment. At least that’s what he wanted to project. Because the alternative...the alternative would have caused him more harm in the end.

So he stood there and paid his respects in a way that had suited his role in Tony’s life; an acquaintance. A stranger. 

The only one who had noticed something was amiss was Bucky, who had stared pointedly at Steve’s hands, which he had buried in his pockets. They had scabbed over in time for the funeral, but just barely. Steve had said nothing. What was there to say?

When the boat carrying Tony’s heart floated off into the distance, hugs and condolences were exchanged, and slowly, almost reluctantly, their group of mourners began to peel off one by one. Soon it was just Pepper and Steve left standing in the yard. Happy and Rhodey had left with Morgan to feed her. “Hamburgers,” Happy had said. 

Steve wasn’t sure why he had stayed. He had no business intruding on their home. But he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that little Brooklyn apartment that felt more like a tomb than home these days. Part of him feared that if he went back, it would all start to feel real; Tony was dead, and there was no bringing him back.

Pepper pulled Steve aside, taking his head in hers, sitting on the wood and rope swing affixed to her front porch. A stray breeze carried the scent of sweet-smelling violets their way.

She looked beautiful, devastatingly so, and Steve was reminded of everything that Tony had sacrificed. She leveled him with a smile, although this close, he could see that her eyes were puffy. 

His suit was too tight around his neck. Steve was hot, too hot, and the sudden urge to tug it off was overwhelming. Hadn’t there just been a breeze? Why was he hot? The damper on his emotions loosened—there was the familiar pinprick of tears welling in his eyes, the tightness in his throat—before he got a grip. 

He shouldn’t have stayed. He had no right. He had no right to Tony. He had thrown that away the day he had decided to drive his shield into Tony’s chest.

“I’m glad you came, Steve,” Pepper said. 

At first, Steve figured she was lying, just for the sake of being polite, but no, this was Pepper Potts—“Stark,” his mind hissed—if she had an issue with him, she would let him know. 

“I’m glad I was invited,” Steve said, his voice coming out steady, much to his relief. “Thank you, Pepper.” 

Pepper’s tilted her head. Her hair shifted with the movement, flashing like copper in the evening sun. “There’s no need to thank me, Steve. He would’ve wanted you here.” 

The disbelief must have shown on his face. 

“Oh,” Pepper started. “Oh, Steve.”

Why was she comforting him? When he was the one who took her husband from her? When he was the one who killed Tony Stark? The tightness in his chest was back. He wasn’t sure if it had ever truly left him. 

He tried desperately to clear his throat, to wrestle some kind of control over his emotions before they broke through his carefully constructed walls, but goddamn it, he couldn’t breathe—

“Steve, you’re okay,” Pepper said, her hands gripping his shoulders. The contact grounded him, brought him back to earth for a moment; Steve sucked in a gust of air that rattled in his chest.

“That’s it,” she said. “You’re okay. You’re home.”

No, he wasn’t. This cabin wasn’t his home, and neither was that lonely apartment in Brooklyn. Home was...home was…

“You are home,” Pepper said firmly. “You’re with family. That’s your home.” 

“I’m not—we’re not—“

“Later,” he had promised himself earlier as he had gotten ready for the day ahead of him. “You can fall apart again later.” He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, let alone Pepper.

“We’re your family. Tony was your family.” One of her hands left his shoulders to smooth his hair back, just like his mom had done when he was a child. Steve found himself leaning into her touch, letting her words soak into his skin like ink. 

“I killed him,” he said, his voice cracking. Steve was cracking. He could feel the fissures in his heart, spider-webbing their way through his chest, his arms, his legs. One more blow and he’d shatter completely. “I took him from you, and I killed him.” 

He was so selfish. Pepper was the one who’d have to go on without her husband, her soulmate. She’d have to look after Morgan all by herself, and once again, he had made it about him. 

“You didn’t take him from me,” she said. Her voice had taken on a brittle edge. “And you didn’t kill him. I let him go.”

She let him go. She made it sound like it was the most natural thing in the world. How good of a person did you have to be to release lightning after you caught it in a bottle?

“You should hate me,” Steve said. 

Pepper shook her head. “I don’t. Tony didn’t. I can’t hate what he loved. And he did love you, Steve.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

Pepper pushed on. “He loved you. Maybe it wasn’t like he loved me, or Rhodey, or Morgan. But I do know he loved you.” 

There was no way. Tony was the type who had seen what he wanted and went for it no matter what anyone else said. He would have said something... wouldn’t he? But this was Tony Stark, Steve remembered. The same man who had kept the fact that he was slowly dying a secret for nearly a year. If he did love Steve, that secret had gone to the grave with him.

There had been a time before the Accords, before Ultron, when Steve had thought...he thought there might have been something building between them. Slaps on the back that had lingered too long. Their heads bent too close together for two colleagues, pouring over a file. And those late nights…those late nights when Steve couldn’t stay warm no matter how many blankets he piled onto his bed. When Tony couldn’t close his eyes without seeing exploding stars behind them. On those nights, they had found each other. And they had talked. About anything. Everything. Just because they could. Anything to make the nightmares stop.

And then Ultron had happened. The Accords. Siberia. And here they were eight years later. One of them dead, and the other halfway there. 

“I,” Steve began, but he didn’t even know what he was going to say. “He,” he tried again. “He was mine,” he finally decided. It was the worst possible thing to say to a grieving widow, but Pepper didn’t seem to mind. She had an eerie way of understanding him. “He was mine. He was my—he was my person.” That didn’t sound any better.

“I know,” she said. Steve’s resolve turned to water. His arms left his sides and engulfed Pepper in his embrace. “He was mine,” his voice broke on the last word, and so did the tenuous control he had over his emotions. He had always been prone to silent tears followed by hiccups and raging headaches that left him bedridden. The serum had taken care of the hiccups and the headaches. All that was left for him was to cry. So he did. He held onto Pepper, buried his face into her soft, long hair, and let himself die. A wet patch grew on his shoulder; Pepper was crying too. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. He knew it was useless. It did nothing to ease the godawful ache in his chest. The serum refused to cure that. Not even time would heal it. For as long as he breathed, he would carry this with him. Maybe eventually he’d be able to grin and bear it. Smile through the pain. 

Steve Rogers was no stranger to pain.

#stony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers: endgame #marvel #mcu #my fic #imperialstark fic #stony fic #stony fanfic #stony fanfiction #my writing #imperialstark writing

[tervenish]

i am unbelievably furious at the US medical system. personal rant below the cut. the medical industry kills women and it’s killing my mother.

my mother has had yet another nightmare experience at the hospital. three days, no sleep, in horrific pain, they refused to give her anything stronger than half a milligram of Ativan. the fucking pain clinic doctor man was like “well, don’t you take baths? don’t you have someone who loves you who will give you a massage? have you tried stretching?” this shit is buried so deep and has been here for decades and they have the NERVE to tell her she should just take Advil and a hot bath. when she repeatedly comes back in and says “I’m still in nonstop crippling pain” they’re like “what do you want me to do?” she asks for solutions. they refuse them. i told her that tip to make them write it down. they didn’t.

they keep forcing her to take medications she tells them she’s allergic to. one stupid doctor a while ago screamed at her and demanded she let him give her intravenously this drug she told him she is ALLERGIC to. he says “but you take Advil and it’s the same family” and forced her to take it. she had a seizure. she was legally dead for several seconds. they treated that but basically did nothing. the doctor ignored her after that.

they constantly put her through scan after scan after scan, and invasive procedures or look-sees or whatever, and then return with “didn’t find anything. go home.” this ER nurse had the NERVE to tell her “we didn’t find anything! aren’t you glad? you should be grateful it isn’t something bad, like cancer.” GRATEFUL. GRATEFUL to be told “we don’t believe that you’re in severe pain. we don’t care enough to try to find the answer.”

the doctors kept asking her “wait, you used to take this medication. why aren’t you anymore?” and like!!!! because the all mysterious They of her medical care, they told her to stop! and the doctors are like. “Why? Why are you doing these things?” as if SHE is in control. as if SHE chose the medical decision. as if she hasn’t been ignored and abused at every turn by this stupid fucking system.

her primary doctor used to be kind. then she started whispering and writing in her chart that Mom is faking it. that she’s a drug seeker. that she’s an attention seeker. then she refuses to answer for it. once she was sent to palliative care, which was awesome! she gets there, starts something good, then goes to return and they say “we don’t have any record of you being referred here.” she asks her primary doctor where the referral went. doctor says “we never sent you there.” calling her a LIAR. the record vanished, or was never entered in the first place. she can’t go back to palliative care. she’s stalled once again.

doctors and services keep refusing to help. or she’s stopped by insurance. then she’s marked as a “doctor shopper.” so she stops for a while. tries to make it work. when it doesn’t work, they ask her “why haven’t you tried going somewhere else?” it doesn’t fucking end.

her system is completely wack and it doesn’t react the way you’d expect. of course, this just makes the doctors annoyed. so when her blood pressure drops but she says she’s in pain, they think she must be lying. every time she goes into the ER or the hospital, she’s practically starting from scratch. they don’t see her as the whole picture. they’re just treating a patient with stomach pain. not a patient with crazy unknown hormone disorders and everything else going on. she’s a symptom, not a human being, not a whole body system to them.

she cries to me, her daughter. her own wife doesn’t want to listen to her cry about the shit she’s been through, too focused on solution-based actions to care for her emotionally. this is the second, or maybe the third time my mother has admitted if it weren’t for us, her children, she may have killed herself. and i don’t blame her.

i’m so pissed. i’m so pissed. i wish i had a perfect memory so i could write everything that’s happened to her down. i get overwhelmed by this SHIT and i’m depressed and anxious already, so i try not to listen and internalize all of it. but then i get into this state where i just want to throw something and storm into the offices and demand CHANGE and RESPECT and HUMANITY.

they found birth defects for the first time at age fucking FIFTY. her entire life, her parents gaslit her. called her a liar. an attention-seeker. doctors continue the cycle. they’re going to kill her one of these days. i’m so afraid she’s going to get COVID and go into the hospital and we’re never going to see her again. people can’t have funerals. i wouldn’t get closure and i genuinely feel i would have to fight the urge to kill myself if Mom died anytime soon.

we live in a world where profit matters more than human life. i’m so angry. i’m so depressed. i love my mother so much. she deserves better.

#mypost #Suicide #death mention

[sonicrainicorn]

Made of Love, Chapter 15

<< Previous|Next >>

Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Virgil finds out some things that may help out Logan, but it seems too good to be true.

TW: Cursing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Virgil was going to punch something.

Maybe a wall, maybe someone’s face, maybe even the goddamn sun. He felt as if he had to. Logan continued to refuse to tell anyone about his problem, and at this point, Virgil was keeping it a secret just for pleasantries. But that was starting to wear thin. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to tell Patton. It was the right thing to do -- Logan was just being stubborn. And a maniac.

Honestly, he wasn’t fooling anybody. Anyone who knew him would be able to tell that something was up. It wasn’t something easy to pin down, but one could see that he wasn’t the same. Even if they weren’t that familiar with him.

And yet nothing was done about it. The three people in the whole, wide world who knew a thing about it, did absolutely nothing. Thomas and Patton continued to be out of the loop, having questions but never getting answers. It was awful. It brought Virgil closer and closer to his breaking point because this whole thing was just ridiculous.

“We have to do something.” Virgil stopped in front of Roman during a brief break in the busy demand of drinks. The bar was the one place they could talk in private. As ironic as that seemed.

Roman stopped messing with his empty shot glass to look up at Virgil. “About what?”

“About the suicidal maniac at home.”

“Oof. You still on that?” He put his head in his hand. “He’s not gonna change his mind. I think he would have to literally be dying to even consider saying anything.”

Virgil hated how right that was. “We can’t just stand back from it. He’s being a stubborn idiot. Doesn’t that frustrate you?”

“That’s always frustrated me about him. I’d say I’d know that better than anyone, but Patton’s dealt with him for over two hundred years, so.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “What are we supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“You know, you’re really hot when you’re all riled up.”

Virgil scowled. “You make me want to punch your teeth in.”

“That’s kinky.” A lazy grin slid across his face.

He resisted the overwhelming urge to break a glass over Roman’s head. “Stop trying to deflect issues by making innuendos.”

“That’s literally how I got through the entirety of my adolescence.”

The urge was strong, but he couldn’t go through with it. Not in public. “We have to come to some sort of consensus on this. A final decision or something. Literally anything. Because he obviously can’t be trusted with his own life and we’re the only other two people that know.”

Roman dropped his hand. “He’s magic-less, Virge. We can’t just fix that.”

“Then we tell Patton. Or find Altair ourselves.”

“Do you honestly think two humans would be able to find a spooky wizard man when the actual magic users can’t even do it?”

Virgil tried to hold onto that thin thread of confidence, but it fell from his grasp. He deflated with a heavy sigh. “No. But I’m just worried, and frustrated, and --” he let out an aggravated groan -- “I hate keeping secrets. Especially something that’s as big as this.”

“You’re worrying too much. It’s out of our control.”

“But it’s exactly in our control. We can tell Patton at any time.”

Roman paused as if to mull over the words. “Okay. How 'bout this -- the next time we see him glitching out, we tell Patton. We don’t promise him anything, and we don’t let him stop us. Sound good?”

That was a start.

Most of the night passed as it normally did. Roman ended up finding a pen and some napkins to play games with Virgil anytime he wasn’t busy. They played four rounds of tic-tac-toe, more rounds than necessary of dots and boxes, one round of Pictionary, and now they were on hangman. It wasn’t how they normally passed the time together, but it seemed to be waning down the intensity of their previous conversation. So that was a plus. Also, Virgil didn't have alcohol clouding his judgment so he won most of the games. That made things a lot more fun.

Two hours until closing, Jamahl came up to the bar in uncertainty. "Hey, uh, Virgil?” He drummed his fingers against the counter. “There's a guy over there that wants to see you." He motioned over to one of the booths.

Virgil frowned. "Does he have a name?" He didn't see any faces he recognized. The pens in his pockets felt a lot more prominent.

"Don't know. He didn't say anything other than needing to see you."

He shared a glance with Roman. Confusion passed between them as well as uncertainty. "I'll check it out. Thanks."

Jamahl left with a nod of his head.

“You’re not actually going over there are you?” Roman set down his pen to give Virgil his full attention. “We don’t know who he is. Or if he’s human. He could be anything.”

“Right. So you’re gonna watch my back.” He looped around from behind the bar, leaving Roman gaping in his seat. "The answer's Prince Phillip, by the way."

He couldn't hold back a smirk at Roman's astonished mumble, "Why are you so good at this?"

He walked along the booths and took note of the people still in the building. Many of them were in groups; friends having a good time out for once. Very few were drunk. He slowed to a stop at a booth with only one person. A man lazily playing with a fork and zero interest in anything around him. He didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the patrons.

Once the man noticed Virgil staring, he looked up. A slow smile stretched along his face. Not a Figment, then. "I heard you're looking for Altair."

Virgil slipped a hand in his pocket. "Says who?"

"Says a lot of people. But more specifically, you did."

Oh, shit, he did. Maybe talking out in the open about magic wasn't the smartest thing to do. Virgil wasn't the only person in the world good at eavesdropping. "Okay. So why does that matter to you?" He slid into the seat across from the man.

"It doesn't, really, but I do happen to have a conscience. And that means I can't go on unless I tell you what I know."

"How is it that you know anything?"

He set the fork down and placed his hands together. "I guess you can call me a theorist of sorts. I figure out things so other people don't have to." He winked.

Virgil didn't find it amusing. "So what does that have to do with me?" He moved the pen out onto his lap, twisting it between his fingers.

"I have things that you want -- well, one thing. Altair's location."

He placed his elbow on the table top without stopping the pen from moving. “How can you know that? No one knows that.”

“Correction: no one wants you to know that. Anyone who does know is saving their own skin.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Then why would you say anything? What makes you so different than anyone else?”

He smirked a bit, but maybe that was his version of a smile. “It’s my job. If someone needs something found out, then I go through the efforts of getting all the information I can. Now, you didn’t request my services but I feel you need my help. I have a hunch that you’re on a bit of a time limit.”

“Then get on with it.” Almost as if on impulse, Virgil stopped and clicked the pen. Instead of a dagger, however, the ballpoint tip poked out like it was a normal pen.

“Don’t brandish a weapon in public,” Thomas’s voice hissed at him.

Right. That wouldn’t have been smart. The muffled sound of the voices around them was a gentle reminder that they weren’t alone for this discussion. All it would take was one glance in their direction to see a dangerous weapon out in the open. There was no way he’d be able to explain that.

The Theorist didn’t seem all that impressed. “Why don’t we put the pen down?” He pushed Virgil’s hand down to the table with a finger.

Virgil scowled, clicking the pen and putting it back in his pocket. “How am I supposed to know if I can trust you?”

“Oh, you don’t --” Virgil was about ready to leave without a second glance back -- “but is that a chance you’re willing to take? Do you honestly think Logan will last until you get a lead of your own?”

Virgil stared at him in shock. “How the hell do you know about Logan?”

He placed a finger to his smirking lips. “I have to keep some of my secrets.” He dropped the act, suddenly taking on a serious tone. “Do you want the info or not?”

Virgil pursed his lips. If this was a trick, he’d be putting everyone in danger by saying yes. If it wasn’t, he’d run the risk of killing Logan by saying no. Either decision had a dangerous consequence. “What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t one. Maybe let me know the conclusion to your story. I do appreciate a good ending.” He offered out his hand.

Fuck it. “Fine.” Virgil shook it to seal the deal. “Tell me everything you know.”

So Virgil listened. The Theorist explained how Altair nearly perfected the art of hiding away. Nearly, but not quite. He most often stuck to less populated areas. Which, as time marched on, became harder to find. He was left sticking to places that people abandoned. And that’s where he was now. In an old, run-down building off of Hazelnut and Terrace. Just right outside their little city of Balledo.

“It shouldn’t be hard to miss, but I’d watch out for anything. I hear he doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He slid out of the booth to head back over to the bar. “Thanks or whatever.”

“Charming,” the Theorist muttered. “Oh, and Virgil,” Virgil froze. He didn’t recall ever saying his name, “watch out for that little boy, would you? He seems to get into a lot of trouble.”

Virgil didn’t have a verbal response to that. He continued on his way as if he hadn’t heard it at all. But he couldn’t pretend he didn't hear it even if he wanted to. It almost sounded like a warning -- a certainty. Like he knew something Virgil didn't.

"What happened? What did he do? Are you okay?" Roman didn't wait to bombard Virgil with questions. He even stopped him before he got behind the bar.

“I’m gonna need you to tone it down real quick.” He returned Roman down into his seat. “I’m fine. We just talked -- he said he had information for me.”

“What kind of information?”

“Where Altair is.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Like actually? He knows where he is?”

“That’s what he said.” He frowned a bit. “I don’t know how reliable that is, though. Patton and Logan have been searching forever with no sign of him, but suddenly this guy knows where to look? Seems a bit suspicious.”

Roman frowned as well. “Then what are we supposed to do? This is the closest we’ve gotten yet -- are we just gonna pass it up? Logan’s not gonna last forever.”

“I know. We just -- we just need someone to know if this is true. We have to ask someone else.”

They didn’t talk about it for the rest of the night. Not even on the car ride back home. They let it hang in the air over them, constant ‘what-if’ scenarios playing out in their heads.

Once they stepped into the house, they stopped in their tracks. One light was on in the living room. Thomas sat on the floor, a canvas in front of him and a paintbrush in his hand. It looked like he was struggling to stay awake. His palette carried a mix of dark colors which translated onto the canvas as that cloaked figure in the grass as before, though this time it appeared more completed. There were five purple hyacinths -- a flower with clusters of star-shaped petals -- but the one the figure touched was starting to wilt. Its fingers transformed the deep purple of the petals into a murky brown.

"Hey, kid," Virgil said in a low voice as he took a seat on the couch. He vaguely registered Roman heading off to his room. It became a sort of unspoken agreement that Virgil would be the one to talk to Thomas whenever they found him up late. "Whatcha up to?"

Thomas blinked a few times. "Painting."

"Really? Kind of seemed like you were falling asleep."

He yawned. "No."

Virgil couldn't help the small smile that twitched at his lips. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Painting."

"I see that. But you should be in bed. It's late and you look exhausted."

Thomas waved a hand as if to dismiss such an idea. "It's only two AM. I can handle staying up later." Despite his words, he rubbed his eye, and ended up smearing black paint underneath it.

"It's almost three, kid."

"What?" He looked over to the digital clock beneath the TV. Sure enough, the time was a lot closer to three than it was to two. "Oh, man. I guess I have been up for a while."

"What's keeping you up?" Virgil let his eyes wander over the canvas. It was a rather dreary painting if he were to be honest.

Thomas shrugged. "Just needed to do something." He ran the brush up and down the palette, leaving a dark streak in its wake.

Right away Virgil could tell something was wrong. Like an innate instinct that pulled at his stomach. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I've just… I've been thinking."

"About what?"

He dropped the brush and sighed. A heavy and sad sound. "Logan's been hiding something. I know he has. But he doesn't want to tell me." He occupied himself with his hands by peeling off the dried up paint that dotted them. "And I know that you and Roman know, too," Virgil felt his stomach drop, "but I don't want to hear it from you. I want Logan to tell me."

"Why's that? You could easily ask either of us and we'd tell you."

"I know Logan almost as well as Patton. He wouldn't want you to say anything." Virgil had to agree. "And it's not the point. If he were to tell me, it would be straight from the source without any of your filters. Except he's never going to tell me no matter how many times I ask." He stopped messing with his hands. "He still thinks of me as a little kid. He treats me like I'm still five years old and I can't handle anything. I'm almost a hundred. I'm not that immature, am I?"

"Of course not. But… you are a kid, Thomas. You're his kid. He doesn't want to upset you."

"And keeping things from me is supposed to make that better?" He frowned at Virgil. His eyes were starting to water. "It's something big. It has to be. Why else would he keep it from Patton, too?"

Virgil hesitated. There was a chance it made Thomas feel better. "Maybe it won't be an issue anymore."

Thomas furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I may have found out where Altair is. And that might help his problem."

His eyes widened. "For real?"

"Maybe. I don't know if the person who told me can be trusted."

"Who told you?" Before Virgil could even open his mouth, Thomas continued, "no. Wait. Don't say anything. I know exactly who we have to ask." He paused. "Maybe when it's a normal time. I don't think they'd want to be woken up in the middle of the night."

"I guess that means you should head to bed, then."

"I am ninety-four years old. You're not the boss of me." He rubbed his eyes again. "But on an unrelated note, I will be heading up to my room after I clean up."

Virgil shook his head with a fond smile. "Don't forget to wash your face. You look like a raccoon."

The next morning, Virgil woke up at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM. That shouldn't have been a real time. He would have stayed in bed if someone didn't open up the curtains to let all the awful sun in. He let out a mixture of a groan and a whine as he tried to block it out with his blankets. It didn't work.

"Come on, Virgil." Thomas shook his shoulder. "We gotta go see Joan and Talyn so you can tell them who you saw. We'll be back before you know it."

Virgil pulled down the blanket enough to scowl, though in his groggy state it might have come across as a pout. "This is my sleeping time. I have work tonight. Which, in case you didn't notice, requires me to stay up late."

"You can sleep when we get back." He yanked off the blankets.

Virgil groaned in loud and obvious annoyance but rolled out of bed anyway. After a slight wardrobe change, they were on their way.

"Going to Joan's with Virgil, be back as soon as possible," Thomas mentioned in passing to Patton and Logan.

"Before breakfast?" Patton asked from the stove.

The mention of food made Virgil's mouth water despite rarely ever eating breakfast in his life.

"Save us some," was Thomas's response.

"Don't tell Roman I'm taking his car," Virgil called back as he grabbed the keys. "I don't want to deal with his whining when I'm sleeping later." Then they left.

They hopped up the front steps to a familiar little house in a sleepy neighborhood. Virgil still felt like staying in bed was a better option. He didn’t know how Thomas could be so awake. He didn’t know how anyone could be so awake. It was exhausting to think about.

That thought only tripled in his mind upon seeing Joan having no trouble at such an early hour in the morning. Well, early to Virgil at least. Far too early.

“So what’s up?” Joan asked as they all sat down in the living room. Talyn was already there with a little dog in their lap. Sephone wasn’t anywhere to be seen, which made Virgil on edge.

“We need you to fact check some things,” Thomas explained. "Virgil met someone who thinks they know where Altair is."

"Who was it?"

Virgil snapped out of his nervous scanning of the room to process the words that were spoken to him. "Uh, I never figured out his name. He referred to himself as a theorist, I think."

"Wait -- a theorist? Or the Theorist?" Talyn questioned.

"Um. I don't really know." He pulled his hoodie sleeves down to cover part of his palms. "He said he figured things out so people don't have to if that helps."

Talyn thought for a moment. "Sounds like him."

"Who's him?" Thomas looked at them in confusion.

"I would also like to know about this mysterious guy you know so much about," Joan added.

Talyn ignored the obvious teasing in favor of laying down some exposition. "They call him the Theorist, but that's all anyone really knows about him. He's like an urban legend, really. Just a name whispered around when you need to know something you probably shouldn't. He's a Seer, I think."

"What's a Seer?" Virgil asked.

"Someone who can see the future," Thomas explained. "But, like, they can just do it themselves. They don't need a spell or mystic object or anything. They can also look into the past if they want. Logan's sister was a Seer, actually --"

"We don't need a history lesson at this exact second, Thomas," Joan said.

Virgil felt as if he needed one. How long has Logan had a sister?

"Right. Uh, so does that mean we can trust what he says?"

Talyn pondered the question for a moment. "From what I've heard, he usually gives out genuine information. Sometimes what he says isn't always true, but that's a rare circumstance. I think I've only met one person who's complained about him. He's a pretty chill guy."

"What are the chances he's given us the right information?" Virgil grimaced. He jumped at the feeling of something in his lap. One of Sephone's heads looked up at him with puppy eyes. For a big dog, she was rather sneaky.

"Nine out of ten?" Talyn shrugged. "I've only ever heard stories, but he never tries to trick anyone. He genuinely likes helping people."

"That sounds like a good sign." Thomas grinned.

Maybe it did. But Virgil couldn't find anything to celebrate about. The Theorist could see into the future -- he had a natural ability to do so -- which meant that the warning he gave Virgil shouldn’t be taken lightly. He knew more than he was saying. And Virgil didn’t want to experience it first hand.

(Next)

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #joan #talyn #logicality #platonic prinxiety #coinverse

[justanotherwinchester69]

Love, Castiel

Request: Nada. I stayed up until midnight writing an outline of this story so I wouldn’t forget it.

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 3021

Warnings: Language, thoughts/attempted attempt of suicide

A/N: Lemme just say, I hope you like this and I’m sorry it’s been so looooooong since I wrote!

  “Hey Y/N. I’m going out to the store. Want me to pick anything up for you?” Cas said, popping into your shared bedroom.

“Well, maybe those mini Cadbury eggs. The ones I always get around Easter!” You replied, smiling, and completely unsuspecting.

“Alright. I’ll see you in a few. Have Sam and Dean called yet? They were on their way back a few hours ago.”

“No, but I’ll tell you if they do. See you later!” You waved, going back to your book. If only you had known then.

Now, Cas was stumbling into the bunker, trying to avoid you at all costs. Of course, a wounded angel isn’t that hard to see, nor hard to hear. You come running out of the bedroom and over to Cas. “What happened?” You ask, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. Truthfully, there wasn’t that much, but anytime someone other than you got hurt, the amount of blood multiplied by twelve.

“I’m fine, Y/N, really. I just need to clean them up.”

“Cas, they aren’t healing, meaning these had to have been made by an angel blade. What happened?”

“Demons,” He groaned out, you putting some peroxide on a particularly nasty cut.

“You can’t even go to the store without getting attacked,” You curse.

“About that-“ Cas began, but was interrupted.

“Hey Y/N! Cas, looks like those demons really got you!” Dean exclaims. “Maybe you and Y/N need us to come on hunts with you after all!”

“A hunt?” You ask, suddenly extremely angry.

“Y/N, I-“

“You didn’t take Y/N on the hunt?” Sam asks, setting down a bag.

“Take me on it? He didn’t even tell me about it, instead blatantly lying about it,” You growl.

Sam and Dean look at each other before leaving you two alone in the library.

“Y/N, I’m so-“

“What? You’re sorry? You lied to me about this!” You yell, throwing your hands in the air.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so reckless!” He spits back, glaring.

“You didn’t even tell me you were going on a hunt! You lied and said you were heading out to the store! The store!”

“You would’ve insisted on coming with had I had told you!”

“Obviously you needed it!” You gesture towards his cuts.

“What, so I bring you along to take the hits instead? Because that’s real smart,” He snarls.

“And going alone was?” You growl, flaring your nostrils.

“Well, it’s better than bringing you along just so you can jump right in the way of a knife or a bullet!”

“Fuck you, Cas!” You yell, causing his eyes to widen in surprise, but then narrow in anger. “I can’t even trust you right now! You lied to me about a hunt! What else are you lying about?”

“Like you haven’t lied about where you’ve went,” He spits.

“No, I haven’t. Not to you, Cas. If I said I was going to the store, I went to the god damn store!”

“Yeah, and when you go on a hunt you’re bound to get hurt!”

“I can make my own decisions, Castiel. It’s my fucking life and if I want to go on a hunt, that’s my choice!” You snarl.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m trying to protect you,” He shouts, kicking a chair.

“Protect me? You lied to me! What if you were to have died? Your lie almost cost you your life Castiel. I’m sorry if I’m reckless, but going on that hunt alone was as well, so stop being a hypocritical ass!”

“Hypocritical? You want to talk about hypocritical? Lies you’ve told Sam and Dean have almost cost you your life!” He growls, shoving his finger in your chest.

“Oh! So we’re going there! That was my fucking choice and you know it! So how about you go to fucking Hell!” You scream, storming off to the bedroom.

“Oh I did, honey! I dragged your ass out of there!” He yells after you. You kick the door, yelling in frustration at the memory of your time in Hell with Dean. And then, that night comes to you. You sit down on your bed, tears flooding your eyes. You see Cas’s trench coat and you grab it, curling up with it as the floodgates open.

“Hey guys! I’m going out. Do you need anything?” You asked, keeping your emotions under control.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, turning to look at you. You quickly came up with a lie.

“Um, I have a date!” You smiled weakly.

“A date? I thought you were-“ Sam started, but you cut him off.

“I am, but I need to get over him Sammy,” You whispered, more towards yourself than to them.

“Well, have fun on your date!” Dean said, waving. “Should we expect you back tonight?” He asked with a wink.

“If things go right, then no,” You winked back. They had no idea of the meaning behind those words.

You left, walking for miles, until you found it. You sat down, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, fits clenching and unclenching in your lap. You tossed a rock over the edge and counted how long it took. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, splash! Seven seconds. It really was a long way down. You think back to everything you’ve been feeling. The anger, the sadness, and the overwhelming surge of feeling like a mistake.

You thought back to your last hunt when you had been the cause of the witch’s escape. You thought back to the time before that when you accidently shot Dean in the shoulder. And the time before that when Sam had to carry you out of the warehouse because you got knocked out trying to stop a demon from hurting Castiel. You thought back to every hunt and all you saw was you messing up and letting the people you cared about get hurt. You let the tears stream down your face as the thoughts to jump off urged you to stand up and just… go.

You went to scoot of the edge when you heard his voice. “I knew I could find you hear.”

You turned around, looking at the angel you loved so much. “Cas,” You whispered.

“I remember you telling me how much you loved the place,” He said, sitting down next to you. You watched in silence as he grabbed your hand in his, and looked up. “You said how relaxing it was, especially during the night, when you could see all the stars. You then went on to tell me how much the stars meant to you.” He looked at you, and wiped the tears off your cheeks. “Have I ever told you about the creation of the creation of the stars?”

“No,” You whispered, looking up to the sky, upset that you let him see you cry.

“Gabriel and I made them. I felt really special, you know? My big brother and I doing something so important. He told me that he chose me to help him because I was different, my point of view was. He told me that our Father recommended my help, because the stars would mean something more to me one day, something more than just stars. I didn’t know what he meant, until not too long ago.”

“Why do they mean so much to you now?” You asked, smiling softly at his recollection.

“Because they mean something to someone very important to me,” He whispered, wrapping his free arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. “I love you, Y/N. I know I haven’t showed it, but I’m scared of my emotions. As an angel, they hit me hard, and my fear of losing you hit harder.”

More tears began to fall, and he pulled you tighter to him. “How’d you know?” You asked, voice breaking. He held up the note you sat on your bed, knowing the boys would check there in the morning. “Oh,” You whispered, looking down.

“I went to tell you everything and instead of seeing you on your bed, I saw this. I asked the boys where you went and when they said you went on a date…” He trailed off. “Please come back with me. You may not think so, but we would miss you, I would miss you, more than words can express.” You looked up, seeing tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You cried, looking down. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I just-. I can barely even wake up in the morning, Cas. I don’t feel like I can do anything anymore. What if I mess up again and it costs someone their life? I just couldn’t live with that. I can’t live with that.”

“You won’t have to, not alone at least. Please just come back. Please?” He begged. “I’m not sure I could live with myself if you didn’t.” He lifted your chin and looked into your eyes. “Please, Y/N?”

“Okay,” You whispered. He pulled you into a hug, and for once, you felt everything go away. All the pain, all the hurt. Everything.

You wouldn’t tell him, but the only thing you want at the moment is him to be there, not his coat. You look over at the alarm clock. 5:32 pm. You sigh, realizing you have been crying for over an hour. You sit up when you hear paper rustling from by the door. Looking over, you saw a folded note sticking out from underneath the door. You walk over and pick it up, sitting on your bed to read it.

My dearest Y/N,

You probably want to be left alone, so I won’t go in there. I asked Dean and Sam how to apologize and Sam came up with the idea to write these letters to you. I don’t know if you’ll like them, but I wanted to do something. I hate it when you’re upset, and I hate it even more when I’m the cause.

I am so very sorry, Y/N. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you nor yelled at you like I did. You have every right to be upset, but I wish you weren’t and I wish I could take it all back. You mean the world to me. I shouldn’t have said the things I did, nor brought up the things in the past. It was so very wrong of me. Please forgive me. I love you Y/N.

Love,

               Castiel.

You sit there, tears welling up in your eyes. You smile, sadly, loving his handwriting. You want so badly to forgive him but you couldn’t let it go, no matter how bad you wanted him to be right next to you. Instead of running to find him, you lay back down, curling up with his trench coat. About twenty minutes later, you hear the same rustling sound, and turn to see another letter. You go grab it and sit down to read it.

My Dearest Y/N,

I wanted to let you know that I made dinner. I don’t know if it tastes good or not, all I can taste are the molecules, but if it doesn’t I can make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I remember those as highly satisfactory. We are the only ones in the bunker. You don’t have to come get anything if you don’t want to, but it’s there if you want. Now, for the more important part.

Y/N, I love you so much. You might not believe me currently, but I do. The way your h/l, h/c hair flows so perfectly, and even after you wake up. I love the way your eyes light up when you see a child, and the way those children love you. Your smile when around them is beautiful. I love the way you sing in the shower when you think nobody is there.

I love how your e/c eyes sparkle when Sam and Dean make up from a fight. I love how you help them make up. I love how you seem to lighten up any room you are in. I love how you try your hardest in everything you do. I love how you try to atone for your mistakes. I love how you admit when you’re wrong. I love how you’ll stand up for yourself. I love how stubborn you are, even if it’s against me.

I love how you care about everyone close to you. I love how you go out of your way to make someone’s day, even if that means you skip your turn on movie night. I love the way your eyes and nose crinkle when you laugh. I love the blush that colors your cheeks when I complement you, like they probably are now.

I love you.

Love,

               Castiel.

You sat there, blush still coloring your cheeks, which only caused you to blush more, knowing that Castiel knew you so well. You felt like you should go to the kitchen, go hug Cas, tell him you were sorry for everything, that you overreacted, and so much more. Maybe it was sheer stubbornness, or maybe it was trepidation, but you just curl back into a ball and cry some more.

You pull out your phone, trying to sooth yourself with some music. Hoping Dean isn’t around, you play your recording of him singing Lynard Skynard’s “Simple Man”. You smile, remembering how long it took you to convince him to teach you how to play it on guitar, especially hearing him play it. He’s the one playing on the recording, but at the time, you were watching, learning.

You almost jump when you hear another letter come through. You smile to yourself, realizing how much you wanted another letter. You stand up, wiping a stray tear, and pick up the letter. Sitting down on the bed, you begin to read the letter, tears continuing to fall. Is it even humanly possible to cry this much?

My dearest Y/N,

I don’t know if you’ve read the first or second letter I wrote, and if you didn’t, this one won’t be read either. If you are reading this, I want to continue saying how sorry I am. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you and I am so sorry. I just love you so much.

If you’re cuddling my trench coat, like you usually do when I forget my coat in there, then look in my pocket. The first two things should be pictures I had Sam print for me. There should be the one of us by the lake we went to on the anniversary of our first year of dating. The other is a picture I took when you weren’t paying attention. You were so beautiful that I couldn’t resist.

The third thing should be my cell phone. If you turn it on, the first thing you should be is my background. It’s the picture you sent me when I told you how much I wished I could be there to kiss you goodnight and hold you all night long. I keep it there for whenever I’m away.

Y/N, I love you more than any words could ever express. I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I know I was being hypocritical, but I just can’t bare seeing you in danger. Yes, I know being a Hunter means you’ll always be in danger, but sometimes the dangers you are in are unnecessary. I love you too much to lose you, Y/N.

Love,

               Castiel

You sit there, stunned. You look at the pictures again, smiling at the one of you two by the lake. You can almost hear the laughter from Cas as you jumped off the dock, dragging him with you. You can almost feel him dragging you under the water as payback for splashing water in his face. You can almost see the smile on his face when you laid on his chest, staring at the stars. You jump up, running to the door. You’re shocked to see Cas standing there, fist raised to knock on the door.

“Cas, I’m sorry!” You blurt out, wrapping you’re arms around him. You smile, feeling his arms wrap around you too.

“Why would you be sorry?”

“I’m sorry that I put myself in danger that you deem unnecessary. But to me? It’s more than necessary. Cas, it’s vital!” He goes to interrupt you, but you put your hand up. “Let me finish. You can ask the boys. I’m not always so reckless. Most of the time I have to stitch them up. But when you come around? I lose every thought. When you hunt with us, I have to protect you Cas.

“And I know. I know you can protect yourself, but every time I see a blade come towards you, instinct kicks in. I have to stop that blade, even if it means I get hurt. I can’t let something hurt you, I just can’t. I can’t lose you Cas,” You whisper. “If I did, I don’t know what I would do.

“I would be nothing without you Cas. Sure, the boys are always there for me, but you were the one who found me, teetering on the edge of an abyss, my demons trying to lure me over the edge. You were the one thing that gave me light. Gave me hope and the will to live. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let something take that –you- away from me, even if it costs me my whole life, because Cas? You are my whole life,” You finish, finally letting the tears stream down.

“Why do you think I hate you throwing yourself into danger?” Cas whispers, kissing your head.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper again.

“It’s okay Y/N, its okay,” He smiles, hugging you tighter.

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, my little human,” Cas smirks. You both burst out laughing, remembering the first time you called him angel, and Cas, unversed in the art of pet-names, called you human in confusion.

And every once in a while, Cas would write you another letter.

#Love Castiel #Castiel x Reader #Supernatural x Reader