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biblioflyer · 5 months

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Rogue v Cap: Outside vs Inside Power

Its rare for any incarnation of the X-Men to not have incredibly smart things to say about bigotry, authority, organizing, and power, but X-Men '97 is killing it.

However, I think people who are too quick to get behind Rogue or are offended on Captain America's behalf are missing out on just how sophisticated '97's understanding of power and authority is.

Lets get this out of the way: I take a "yes, and" stance on power and social organizing.

I think its incredibly difficult to holistically understand movements and declare this "helped" the cause and that "hurt" the cause. It all depends on how you calibrate your rubric for success and how you understand how influential a person, group, or action really was.

What I see in the X-Men in all incarnations are some of the most iconic and thorniest debates about inside or institutional power vs outside, autonomous organizing and power, about assimilation or separatism.

Reasonable people recognize these are highly contingent arguments without clear, unambiguous or ethically pure answers.

Which is a rich meal for an ethics nerd like myself and I am having the most amazing time watching and thinking about X-Men '97 and the issues it raises.

So lets get into this!

Spoilers for X-Men '97 episode 7 "Bright Eyes"

Rogue's encounter with Captain America on the hunt for Bolivar Trask, inventor of the Sentinels, is probably the most commented on and debated scene on my social media feeds (as of this writing.)

Those who take Rogue's side in the exchange of words and that epic Frisbee hurl make very familiar and painful arguments. The system Captain America represents and Captain America himself have consistently let mutants down. Where were the Avengers when Genosha burned?

Which is a damn good question considering there are multiple Avengers and Avengers adjacent characters who are confirmed as existing in Earth 92131 who could conceivably have been able to learn about the attack in near real time and react in real time. Thor is very likely to have been tipped off by the likes of Heimdal or other mystical means and can cross continental distances in moments. Doctor Strange likewise could portal over the moment he found out about it, along with anyone else he could rustle up.

SHIELD and essentially any other entity with orbital surveillance would likely have learned about the attack the moment their satellites overflew Genosha. Given the world's jitters over Genosha, I'm having a hard time believing Genosha wasn't being monitored around the clock. However, knowledge doesn't translate into the ability to respond faster than a Quinjet can reach the island.

Now there's an unsatisfying Watsonian explanation here in the form that this is a common trope: all of the world's heroes are somehow busy or ignorant when really big stuff is going down. The Doylist lens would remind us that this is endemic to superhero stories and kind of required for suspense, except when its time to do the big team up story.

So if we want to be generous to Earth's Mightiest Heroes, "they didn't know or were busy or couldn't reach Genosha in time" is an explanation we can fall back on. Thor and Doctor Strange do have to sleep sometime and its not as if they don't have other responsibilities that take them off world or off this plane of existence. Most of the other superheroes known to exist in Earth-92131 could have an out in that they may not have had the means to become aware of the attack in real time or the means to reach Genosha before it was already over.

However, that's awful nitpicky. Rogue can be being unfair about the lack of an immediate response to Genosha while still having a valid point to make on a broader scale. Homo Sapiens Sapiens civilization more broadly would almost certainly, from Rogue's point of view, been holding the idiot ball or maliciously ignorant to miss out on a new army of Sentinels under construction including a big freaking Sentinel kaiju.

Of course we'd later find out that some handwavey deus ex may have also ensured that the world's electronic eyes were shut without any elaborate conspiracy, but Rogue doesn't know this yet when she's unloading on Cap. For all she knows, this is yet another in a long list of times where the "good" Homo Sapiens Sapiens and their champions have been unwilling or conveniently unable to intervene in personal scale tragedies like lynchings by the Friends of Humanity or population scale atrocities like permitting Genosha's former regime to run forced labor camps.

Baked into the setting assumptions of X-Men is a significant amount of systemic abuse that gets overlooked by non-mutant superheroes or that said superheroes are not powerful enough or imaginative enough to dismantle. This ends up necessitating a never ending set of excuses for how Earth's Mightiest Heroes keep winding up on the wrong side of justice yet can still claim the mantle of hero.

I'm not going to repeat ad nauseam familiar arguments about the suspension of disbelief problems created by widespread anti-mutant bigotry being a part of the same setting as a vast roster of enhanced individuals and literal gods that the general public lionizes without much hesitation. The savvy reader already knows these forwards and backwards, so I'm only going to continue to address them to the extent they're relevant here and refrain from further meta-commentary about this aspect of X-Men '97's world building.

Now to be fair, Captain America actually does give us an answer of sorts as to at least what he's up to and why he's not more ambitious in his pursuit of justice. He does intend to act, but not, from his perspective, impulsively. Captain America needs to obtain clearance to act across international boundaries. Captain America is in many ways governed by a sclerotic and often unjust system.

But wait! Captain America is a supersoldier, you say. Who gets to tell him "No, you don't get to pursue justice according to your conscience?" Cap should just tell his handlers to get stuffed and go settle accounts.

Notice my repetition of Steve's nom de spandex? Captain America is not a friendly neighborhood star spangled vigilante. Its unclear exactly who he is working for in this universe, but its heavily implied to be if not the United States, then perhaps SHIELD, and either way there are geopolitical considerations to Captain America showing up without phoning ahead and asking nicely if he can wander around without a minder, punching and exploding people and things on his own discretion. A whole lot of countries are justifiably sensitive about this sort of thing.

The point is that Steve Rogers is accountable to some sort of regulatory authority that is clearly meant to ensure that Captain America's activities are understood clearly and that he doesn't meet with an unfriendly reception by governmental actors that Steve would rather not be shooting at him and that Steve would prefer not to have to punch his way through on his way to his mission.

This authority likely has an additional role of at least performing for the masses and other governments that Captain America is being held to strict rules of engagement and that the bad guys he is punching are definitely villains plotting acts of violence not ideological enemies of the status quo. Because again, wanton violence for motives that are not clearly explained or are suspected of being fraudulent is a touchy subject.

Now of course, Steve Rogers could always go off the reservation. Its happened plenty of times in other continuities/universes. After all, the US government can't repo the super soldier serum.

What they can take away though is a lot of what allows Steve to be more than just a really strong guy. You know who is also a really strong guy? Bruce Banner. Also Luke Cage.

What do Bruce and Luke not have when they aren't playing on a team with some sort of direct or indirect government approval?

Extensive intelligence networks to direct them to international problems that need punching.

Supersonic jets to get them to places where there are villains who need to get decked.

People with relevant authorities who can work the phones and obtain permissions for a superhuman to engage in activities that may require a large scale disaster response operation and sending out surveyors afterwards to redraw topographical maps.

Why obtain those permissions? Because nations have armies and sometimes their own superhero teams they will send out if they get wind of a rogue superhuman showing up and doing violence without phoning ahead and clarifying their motives.

Special forces and super teams are a real inconvenience when there's wrongs to be righted on the other side of them.

So that's the bargain.

As Captain America, Steve Rogers gets an invisible army of intelligence operatives, pilots, Quinjet mechanics, and diplomats that all work together to ensure that Steve can do the maximum good when his conscience and the interests of his benefactors are aligned.

When he goes off reservation, he's just a really strong guy. Like Bruce Banner or Luke Cage. Not just a really strong guy, but probably a person of interest because authorities tend not to like their monopoly on violence being undermined by tough guys who are only accountable to the vibes of their conscience but can wreck New York's skyline if they're having a particularly bad day.

Which brings us back to Rogue and the X-Men.

The X-Men represent outside power.

Its heavily implied through any number of dialogues between the X-Men and the US President and the UN, the X-Men have some sort of understanding with legal authorities. However, its also implied that while this understanding exists, its begrudging. The X-Men have a wider latitude to act autonomously than the Avengers because they're specialists at what they do: they're intimately acquainted with some of the most dangerous, "Omega" level mutants who can be surly and embittered towards Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

Yet that latitude is both a gift and a curse.

The gift is the X-Men are essentially free to follow their consciences. Because the legal authorities have given the X-Men nothing much more than a blind eye towards their activities, the only thing the authorities can take away from the X-Men is that blind eye. The X-Men are a largely self sufficient operation, so there's no obvious card to play that is analogous to revoking Steve Rogers' legal identity as Captain America. The X-Men supply their own Blackbirds, no matter how many of them they lose, and largely generate their own sources and intelligence.

The X-Men also own their own mistakes, which is a mixed blessing. When Rogue goes on a grief fueled rampage, she's not liable to start World War 3. While she's technically an American citizen, its understood that she acts as her own agent, with no direct connections to the US government that could be interpreted as Rogue acting out the will of the US government.

Rather than retaliate, any foreign governments alarmed by Rogue's behavior are not likely to blame the US directly and are likely to lodge a complaint through official channels in the hopes that the US government will coax the X-Men into doing something about her or that Uncle Sam will try to take matters into its own hands. In other words, its understood that Rogue is America's problem but not its fault, at least not intentionally. Which is good enough to keep nuclear missiles from waving at one another as they pass one another in Earth orbit.

And that's essentially the contours of what the X-Men's outside power looks like.

The X-Men have incredible resources at their disposal by virtue of Xavier's seed money, the genius of Hank McCoy and others, and the allies they've cultivated like the Shi'ar, but everything they've built up they've had to bootstrap. They're free to follow their consciences but they're also at risk of running off the cliff and getting disavowed if they chase their consciences too far, too fast, too hard for the liking of the world's nations.

The Avengers, especially Steve Rogers, subordinate their consciences to higher authorities to a greater degree, but the trade is that when they do act, they can act with the knowledge that they're not going to have to deal with blue on blue conflict from confused and scared locals and with largely infinite resources. There is almost assuredly a limited supply of Blackbirds. There is a limited supply of Blackbirds right? The number of Quinjets available to the Avengers is only limited by the budget afforded to them by SHIELD or Tony Stark.

Speaking of Tony Stark, depending on which universe and what time period we're talking about, he is not necessarily a backup plan for an Avengers team that finds its consciences misaligned with the interests of SHIELD. Not just because he might not feel like being their sugar daddy, but also because Tony Stark is ultimately a businessman. Ironman may be challenging for the world's authorities to reign in if he's in a bad mood, but Tony Stark has financial assets that can be frozen and capital assets that can be seized.

Let's not forget that when Steve Rogers decided he was done asking for permission to do what he felt was right in the MCU, he was only able to continue superheroing at the same level he had previously because a secretive nation with a friendly monarch was willing to provide him with a jet and supplies so long as they approved of his goals and methods.

Thus the X-Men enjoy greater freedom of conscience but its much more precarious than Captain America's compromised freedom.

This is not a value judgment, just an observation.

And if I made the case for Captain America playing by the rules a little too well, then its probably because Earth 92131 Steve Rogers doesn't seem to have been gaslit into being the hatchetman for corrupt ends.

Yet.

One could also imagine that SHIELD or USGOV have also failed to tip Cap off about mutant related this, that, or the other that Steve might have OPINIONS about and feel strongly that some Homo Sapiens Sapiens supremacists are need of punching in a time and place that is super inconvenient for the authorities.

Because sometimes injustice isn't about what authority does, its about what it doesn't do: malign neglect and so forth.

#x men 97 #x men the animated series #rogue #captain america #steve rogers #the avengers #tony stark #iron man #SHIELD #X Men 97 spoilers #genosha #inside power #outside power #superhero ethics #political organizing

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sgiandubh · 1 year

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Arguments

Hey Mordor,

Spare the 'shippers are stupid', the Our Lady of the Rings tango (two steps forward, three behind and there we go again), 'S is gay', 'you lie' (we don't: we are vetting everything we go public with to death, whenever possible) and the 'GRO, GRO, GRO' mantra you chant like Hare Krishna, do you have any more solid arguments for your theory to hold?

No critical thinking.

Tunnel vision.

The attention span of a midget porcupine.

Zero curiosity to even check for context and connect the dots.

And last - but not least - seemingly no knowledge of the ways and means of a global, sophisticated world.

You're not even fanning them. Or the books. Or the series. You just hang in here because you need to be collectively right and yet you somehow fail, even with the Narrative making it so easy for you. After all, surface 'facts' are validating. Until they aren't, because this is what they are: surface. Superficial and calibrated on purpose for an undiscerning, docile audience.

Also, it's never really been about Her, right? It's been about Him, all the way. And when They failed to deliver on your fantasy, you went berserk: the replacement Tait story is frustrating AF and I understand the anger - again, you cannot properly worship something that has the appeal of a wet mop.

Yeah. Good morning. It's Saturday and you're still the same old bunch of sad fascists. See, I can play the same idiotic game as you, too. Except I don't do it every single day: it's tedious and if anything, it spells despair. In full letters.

Cheers. I'm off to my hairdresser's. Finally. And sorry for the delay, my lovelies. I unexpectedly fell down a rabbit hole again and didn't want to deliver a half-baked job.

#fandom

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runariya · 2 months

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Drive to Survive (JJK POV) • Chapter 2

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: slight cursing, anger issues, Jungkook doesn't know how to act, self hatred, bad decisions, he's still a simp tho, babe, lmk if I forgot something word count: ~2.370

a/n: Are you concerned that I'm avoiding writing the main plot or HR? Because I am :)

a/n 2: Please make sure to read the main story fully before JK’s POV to have the best reading experience!

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The night was more horrible than the last. I didn’t sleep a wink, thoughts running wild with you, you, you. Your face, your voice, every fibre of my existence seems calibrated to you. It’s frustrating beyond limits. Truly just a stupid boy with a stupid crush. It’s more embarrassing than when I was twelve and had a crush on Catwoman.

But I’ll make an end to all this. The resolve to ignore your presence is the master plan. Brilliant.

So when I walk to the gates of the paddock and see you desperately waving and calling for me, “Jungkook!” I quickly divert my eyes and walk by, ignoring the sweat running down my temple.

Do I feel bad? Yes. But do I feel worse and regret my truly bullshit master plan when I see you walk into the meeting minutes later, smiling and chatting with Joongki? Absolutely!

Jealousy claws at me, burning my insides as I watch you laughing with him. You’re my race engineer, not his…his…I don’t even know what you could be to him. Everything is absurd in my eyes.

The sight of you next to Joongki makes me want to stab my eyeballs out. Oh, and don’t get me started with how livid I am with myself, for making the wrong decisions left and right when it comes to you.

The irritation rises when you stand behind me, which wouldn’t be unusual, but since you’re so much smaller than me, it’s dumb to do that. So I turn, whispering, “Stand in front, dwarf.” I need to insult you somehow; perhaps if you don’t like me, my crush will fade. But as you frown angrily at me, your soft features unable to form real hatred, I can’t help but swoon over you even more.

You step in front of me, your shiny hair catching my eyes immediately, looking so soft and inviting that I can’t resist playing with it. I twirl a lock around my fingers as Toto talks about something I’ve heard him say a thousand times before. It’s fascinating how you seem to take notes of every spoken word. Such a good girl.

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout back at me, the irritation on your face making my heart melt even more. Like a little cute puppy who’s angry, I can’t take it seriously. So, I continue playing with your hair, needing to touch you somehow when you’re this close.

This time, you just let me, causing pure glee to swirl in my veins. Joongki and the fact that you’re my race engineer but not my girlfriend are long forgotten at this point. I really couldn’t care less at this p….

“And Jungkook,” Toto’s voice startles me into an early grave. Is he going to scold me? Oh god, he’s going to scold me in front of everyone for playing with your hair. “Your performance at the simulation yesterday was impressive. Keep that focus today.”

Oh, it’s not anything important. What a relief. “Will do, boss.”

I debate whether to start playing with your hair again, but instead, I slightly lean forward and tilt my head down to sniff it. It smells so good. Why do you smell this good? Is there not one flaw?

“Understood,” you say in unison with Joongki, giggling! Giggling?! For real now?! I can’t take this. You can’t be close to Joongki. He’s a charmer. Well, okay, he’s married, but…but that’s not the point! To divert your attention back to the important things in life, obviously me, I tug at your hair again and look straight ahead. The sharp glare you send me is the result I wanted, and I’m fucking proud of it.

When the meeting ends, I exit the room quickly but notice too late that you stayed behind. I look back and forth, debating what to do, and decide to stay back. I need to find a strategy, and quickly. Should I make peace with you? Trying to befriend you? And then confess my undying love for you? You’re going to ignore my confession like you did years ago again and again. I think of more options, but eventually come up with just playing the bad guy for now.

Playing safe. That’s good.

When you exit the room seconds later, I muster the douchebag persona I use for women who annoy me to death and say, “Nice work in there, by the way.”

The “thanks” you say is void of emotions, so I need to add to it. “Let’s hope you can keep up during the training.”

I see a flicker of challenge in your beautiful eyes, and I know I’ve got you. “I’ll be just fine.”

As you walk away, I hope I will be, too. My emotions are a tangled mess of longing and frustration. You’re everything I want but can’t have, a perfect dream hovering just out of reach. How am I supposed to deal with this? How can I maintain the necessary distance when every instinct screams to get closer?

This is going to be harder than I thought.

The next few hours stretch ahead, filled with tasks preparing for the training sessions, but my mind is stuck on you. My feet take me through the paddock, the familiarity of activity surrounding me as mechanics work on cars, engineers discuss data, and drivers confer with their teams. Yet, all of it fades into the background, my thoughts relentlessly circling back to you, searching for you.

In the garage, I try to lose myself in the rhythm of preparation. There are tyres to inspect, telemetry to review, and endless adjustments to discuss. I throw myself into the work, hoping it will drown out the conflict inside me.

But every time I pause, even for a moment, there you are, standing in your never wavering grace. I catch glimpses of you across the garage, conferring with Joongki or reviewing data on your tablet. You’re always composed, focused, and I envy your ability to keep everything so professional when I’m over here struggling to breathe.

“Hey, Jungkook!” George calls, breaking through my thoughts. He’s leaning against the side of the car, a cheeky grin on his face. “So, what do you think of the new engineer? Pretty great, right?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, she seems good.”

He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder, again with more force than needed. “Come on, don’t be coy. I saw the way you looked at her during the meeting. She’s not just good—she’s incredible. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s just...unexpected.” Unexpected my ass, I got myself into this mess.

“Unexpectedly good, you mean.” He winks, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, sure. Unexpectedly good.”

George wanders off, still chuckling, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. I focus on the car, reviewing the latest setup changes and discussing them with the team. Yet, every interaction, every adjustment, feels colored by your presence.

Finally, it’s time for the training laps. I pull on my helmet, the familiar weight settling around my head, and slide into the cockpit. The world narrows to the track, the car, the adrenaline surging through me. This is my escape, the place where everything else fades away.

The engine roars to life, and I surge forward, the car responding to every input with precision. The track unfolds before me, a blur of asphalt and curves, and I push harder, faster, chasing perfection.

For a very short time, it works. But then your voice crackles through the headset, reverberating in my skull and every cell with the simplest words: “Radio check.” And I fucking swerve the car. Please let no one notice this.

I clear my throat before confirming with a wobbly voice, realizing I’ll never be able to escape you or what I feel. “Copy, radio good.”

But I’m not.

Qualifying the next day is a mess. Everything feels off with the car today, and I'm struggling just to keep it together on the track. I’m pushing it hard, trying to eke out every bit of performance, but it feels like the car is fighting me with every turn. The wheels slip, the engine whines, and the steering doesn’t respond the way I need it to. My frustration grows with each passing second, the car losing performance as if it's mocking my efforts.

“Come on, come on!” I mutter, gripping the wheel tightly, my knuckles white. The car feels sluggish, and I’m trying everything to coax some speed out of it, adjusting the throttle, tweaking the brake balance, but nothing works. I’m not hitting the apexes, and every lap seems slower than the last.

“Fucking hell! DO SOMETHING!” I shout, not realising it’s not Hans but you on the receiving end of the radio. The words are out before I can stop them, laced with desperation and anger. The realisation hits me a moment later, but there’s no time to apologise now.

When I finally cross the line and come into P5 instead of my usual P1, a bitter cocktail of disappointment and regret washes over me. I’m not just frustrated with the car or the qualifying session but with myself for yelling at you. I know better than to take it out on the team, especially not you.

And it’s the meeting afterward that’s truly tense. You're usually so confident, but today you're a shadow of yourself. I see it in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way you avoid eye contact. The mistake hangs heavily over you, and my chest tightens with guilt.

While the others talk strategy and logistics, my thoughts spiral out of control. You should have been able to solve the problem with ease. You’re you. You’re brilliant. I’ve watched you for years, and I’ve never seen you fail like this or at all. Did I cause this? Did my yelling shake your confidence? Block you from solving the problem? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m responsible somehow.

Toto sends me sharp looks throughout the meeting, his silent warning clear. Even though I’m the star driver, mistakes like this can’t continue. It’s Formula 1, it’s drive to survive. Nothing less, nothing more. If we don't perform, it's not just you who’ll lose your job—I might too. The pressure is suffocating, the expectations from the team, my parents, the fans, the media—they all weigh heavily on my mind.

When the meeting finally ends, and everyone else has left the room, I linger. You stay seated, and I know my anger is ill placed but I can’t stop myself anymore. I close the door, my footsteps echoing in the empty room as I walk in front of you. The pressure of the whole season presses down on me like a physical weight.

You refuse to look at me, and something snaps inside me, causing me to loose the remaining control. “How difficult can it be to choose the right tyres from fourteen? Even a chimpanzee without a degree could have done a better job.”

You don’t even flinch at my words, but I instantly regret them. Your eyes finally meet mine, and I see the hurt you’re trying so hard to mask. I’m startled by the echo of my own father’s voice in my head, yelling at me when I was younger, and I hate it. I hate that I see myself in you. Before I can stop my dumb mouth from running, the next words slip out.

“I knew it was nepotism.”

I need to leave before I hurt you more, before I break down completely. I’m disgusted with myself, and your next words cut through me like I deserve it. I hope the bleeding will drown my longing for you, for I don’t deserve you.

Race day starts with Trish knocking at my door early in the morning, as she always does. We go through some exercises to prepare my muscles for the race, making small talk to distract ourselves from the tension.

Then, her voice changes briefly, losing its usual chipper, high-pitched tone. “How’s it going with your new race engineer? She seems to be focusing more on her little dresses and heels than her job.”

Oh, she did not just say that. The hairs on my body stand on end, and I rise to my full height, taking Trish’s hand off my arm, where it never should have been at the first place.

“She’s brilliant, and her work is exceptional. I don’t think it’s your job to judge someone in her position.”

Trish takes a step back, intimidated by my deep, low voice, but I don’t care. With every passing minute, I find her presence harder to tolerate. If she doesn’t change her attitude soon, she’ll have to replace her. Why didn’t I already do it?

I think the day might improve after this, but as soon as I step onto the paddock, the reporters swarm, asking about my relationship with you, which I actively avoid discussing. Then, Toto and George pull me aside to lecture me on how to act towards you, as if I don’t know myself. It’s then that I think I’ve hit rock bottom.

But no, it’s when your sad eyes find mine just as I get into the car for the race. I push everything aside, focusing only on the task at hand. You and I work perfectly together during the race, and I think I’ve escaped the walk through hell and am now in heaven. I love driving, but I love it more with your voice accompanying me, guiding me.

In the final turns, I overtake the competition, your voice filled with pure glee flowing through my veins like adrenaline. I wish I could call you “babe” because that’s what you are to me. My precious, intelligent, beautiful girl cheering me on through the radio.

We did it. Together.

As I slow down in my victory lap, I hope you hear the sincerity in my voice that I carry in my heart. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Babe.

series masterlist

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! what was your favourite part of this chapter?

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife, @alessioayla

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kizu912 · 10 months

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okay this drawing means a lot to me so I thought I'd share it :D it's not my usual artstyle, but I'm still searching for it and trying out things so

I also somehow managed to circumvent the incorrect color calibration on my pc so I'm happy yayy

#kaworu nagisa #art #hehe #:3c #fanart

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i-want-my-iwtv · 6 months

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Lestat, why didn't you simply lie about your time before you met Louis? Marius told you not to expose the secrets but he didn't stop you from telling "stories". And you have told plenty.

Hello! Sorry for the delay on this. I used to really love taking asks for Lestat (and I still do!) and I tried, but I can't summon him to answer this topic with a palatable attitude, so you're stuck with me 😅

(FYI this response is for my VC opinions outside of the AMC show, I'm referring to the canon characters or '94 movie)

[^X my edit, not a screencap!]

@codenamecesare's fic the Secret History is one of my absolute faves, in which Lestat told several different stories about where he came from, so Louis in disgust wrote it all off as lies and didn't bother repeating any of it in IWTV! So I highly recommend you check that fic out 💖

Ultimately, I think Lestat loved them too much to lie to them, even for fun, as a "story." In TVL, Lestat says to Armand, "I never lie, at least not to those I don't love." He says it after telling Armand that Les Innocents is going to be destroyed, which I assume was the truth as he knew it. So Lestat claims he doesn't lie to ppl he doesn't love. And I think we can assume he didn't love Armand at that time!

Anyway... I think Lestat knows that telling even a small lie leads to chains of lies, and it would be hard to keep track of the "facts" of these stories... and Lestat might've felt like even in lying, he might accidentally let something slip he didn't want them to know. Even informing them that a vampire's hands can be cut off and reattached later is technically a "truth" that could endanger them by reference to Nicki, even if it didn't name the specific vampire. Another vampire sneaking around could pick it from their minds and use it against them somehow. Or maybe Claudia might try to try it for fun? The possibilities for harm are endless!

(Hit the jump for more, cut for length.)

Plus, the stories could have motivated Louis and Claudia to leave Lestat just as much as the truth might have. Nicki knew most of the truth, Gabrielle knew all of it, and both of them left Lestat 😭

Keeping in mind that even tho Lestat was being a controlling POS*…. he was also right that Louis and Claudia would be obvious targets to any other vampires. (Of course part of what made them such juicy targets was their ignorance, Lestat, but never mind.) So, given that it was a real danger (especially to Claudia) he really might've been unwilling to risk that they'd glean anything from whatever he said, even lies, and just kept completely mum.

*I think part of why Lestat was so controlling towards Louis and Claudia is somewhat in the direction of how we control children for their protection, you'll grab an arm at bruising pressure if it stops them from waving open scissors in another person's face... it can be hard to calibrate the amount of control force to avoid the potential danger, and especially for Lestat, who had suffered so much loss before Louis and Claudia, couldn't bear to lose them, too, so he may have erred on the side of overdoing it 😭

#ask #anon #lestat #the vampire lestat #lestat de lioncourt #vampire chronicles #iwantmyiwtvhasopinions #actual quote #codenamecesare #fanfic #fanfiction #photomanip #photomanipulation

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st-just · 2 months

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i know season two is still too early to tell but so far who would you say is the worse group of people the people at sterling cooper (mad men) or the people at royco (succession)

From a consequentialism perspective Royco, clearly. We've seen them both try to swing a presidential election for the worse and it only worked once.

Otherwise depends on whether we're calibrating compared to their surroundings or the modern day? Relative to white America in 1960 Draper, Stirling et al are basically saints and angels on an interpersonal level compared Logan and the kids relative to the same in 2020. Much more openly bigoted in all cases, and honestly I'm not sure how much they'd balk at a job on the same level as covering up Cruises file - but at the very least none of them seem to have the sort of vicious 'ruin this person's life and everything they care about' levels of spite that run so strong in the Roys. And are just somehow usually much more polite and pleasant to their social inferiors, but that bar's just in the ground.

#reply #fipindustries #television #mad men #succession

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my-writings-and-musings · 2 years

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I had intended to post some more self indulgent Earthspark stuff for my birthday on the 28th but better late than never, yeah?

I adore that Alex and Dot wholeheartedly adopted two towering robotic children without hesitation and were just like "yup these are our babies now we love them" and felt like writing something soft from that. Please enjoy a little fic of Dot comforting Thrash when the latter gets sick for the first time, because hurt/comfort is my absolute jam and he's baby.

Dorothy Malto didn't make a sound as she entered the barn, something that was easier for her than most thanks to her training as a soldier and experience as a mother. There wasn't even a creak from the old rusty hinges as she squeezed through the doors, though she still held her breath as she shut them behind herself, listening for any sign of movement from within. Hearing nothing, she allowed herself to move with a bit more swiftness.

She couldn't quiet the worry gnawing at her gut as she approached the ladder to the second level, but she pushed it down as she pulled herself up the rungs, reminding herself what she was here for. Someone else needed comfort far more than she did.

For all of her strength, there was no stopping the hurt that cut right through her heart as she beheld the familiar white, brass and blue curled miserably atop a makeshift Cybertronian bed. Thrash hadn't moved much since her last visit that morning, and while the sizable blanket she'd placed on him was fluttering with each ventilation, they were slow and haggard enough for her to tell his condition hadn't improved. Though she'd expected it, the sight still made her ache with sympathy. At least his siblings were being kept from their own worry thanks to the "special training" Bumblebee had cooked up to keep them busy, meaning she could focus all of her attention on the child that needed her most.

As soon as her foot met the floor, the young Terran cracked his optics open, and their dimness deepened her concern. In record time she repeated to herself what Optimus had told her; this would pass, illness was a normal but unpleasant part of Cybertronian development, his immune system was just calibrating itself to the environment he'd been born in…

Smiling softly, she got to her knees beside his bed of straw overlaid with blankets, speaking with as much comfort as could be conveyed through tone. A tender hand on his shoulder allowed her to feel his still unbroken fever, but she didn't let a trace of her worry creep into her voice. "Hey Thrash, how do you feel?"

He looked at her a moment longer before he winced and pushed his helm deeper into the stack of pillows she'd personally arranged for him, looking ready to be sick but soldiering on with a strained murmur. "I'm okay."

Having expected such mock bravado, she moved her hand from his shoulder to the side of his helm, encouraging him to look at her with a tender stroke of his cheek plating. Dim optics flicked in her direction, looking up at her as she tried to encourage him to be honest in the most gentle way possible. "You don't look okay." she said softly, adjusting her hand and sliding her thumb back and forth along his temple. Memories of doing the same for Mo and Robby brought her back to their first times being sick. They'd been a great deal smaller than Thrash, but somehow he still stirred the same protective instinct within her, and she halfway wished for the ability to cradle him as she had them.

The weight of his helm pressed into her palm as he closed his optics with a weak shudder, expression tightening in pain and discomfort before he spoke up just loudly enough for her to hear. "Head hurts…" he confessed, walls slowly coming down as he allowed himself to admit some of his struggle. That was something they'd been told to expect, but hearing it didn't make her feel any better.

"I can call Optimus and see if their medic has anything for that." she offered, speaking somewhat quickly as her concern briefly got the better of her. It didn't matter that he was nearly twice her height; as far as she was concerned Thrash was her baby, and seeing him like this made her feel an indescribable need to provide some kind of relief. With her first two she'd at least had human doctors and a competitive wealth of resources… The ailing bot made a soft sound of discomfort and leaned even more heavily into her touch, his trembling compelling her to speak again, albeit with much more control of her tone. "Can I get you anything for now?"

Thrash was silent, his brows briefly furrowing as he once again fought to be strong and hide all the discomforts she knew was making him miserable. For a moment it seemed like he would succeed, and that he would mutter something about just wanting rest as he had that morning, but Dot felt something falter within him. A wave of exhaustion passed through the young mech, and he let his helm go limp in her grasp.

"Mom…" he said in the weakest whisper she'd ever heard, voice breaking as his dim optics turned back to her before going foggy. She couldn't keep the heartbreak off her face as she heard him speak, especially as his shoulders trembled with a weak sob and her usually upbeat and happy boy confessed his true feelings in a single, pained sentence.

"I don't feel good…"

"Shhh…" she soothed without delay, adjusting herself to gently guide his helm into her lap. Forcing her voice to stay steady and her heart to remain strong, she held him close, hoping he could feel her love and support while he needed it most. She'd seen the same reaction from her older two many times, and remembered the feeling well from her own youth; the helpless misery of being sick and young and just wanting the pain to stop. "I know baby, I know…"

Thrash whimpered again, and though her leg began to go numb she didn't even think of moving him from her lap as she cradled him as well as her smaller form allowed. It brought a small measure of relief to her son, who quieted and closed his optics after a few minutes of her soothing touch, his ventilations slowing as he finally relaxed enough to drift off in her grasp. After a solid twenty minutes he was powered down and her leg was buzzing with pins and needles. Despite all of that, the sight of him recharging peacefully brought a soft smile to her face.

"Mom's here." she whispered with a tender kiss on his helm, intending to stay as long as necessary if it brought him the smallest amount of comfort.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers earthspark #earthspark #transformers: earthspark #tf earthspark #dorothy malto #dot malto #earthspark thrash #tfes thrash #tfe thrash #thrash #thrash malto #fanfic #self indulgent #hurt/comfort

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mad4turtles · 1 year

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I'm not sure if you're still doing writing requests, but I really loved your oneshot about Leo coming out to Splinter - it brought a few tears to my eyes thinking about my own coming out experience :') if you want, could you maybe do something about Mikey giving Usagi "The Shovel Talk"? It doesn't have to be serious, I just thought it'd be funny if Mikey went all Dr. Delicate Touch while Leo tries not to die in the background. Hope you have a good day/night! :D

I'm so sorry this took FOREVER to get out, I went through several drafts before I finally had to say it was fine XD Hope you enjoy :3

---

First Impressions (Part 2)

Miyamoto Usagi has become a regular guest in the Hamato household.

After introductions went about as smoothly as one could expect—Splinter warring between outrage and panic and glee that his Baby Blue was dating, and the rest of the family stunned that Leo actually has game (or maybe Usagi is just as dumb as he is)—the clan don't go long without seeing him wandering the lair, usually side by side with Leo.

In hindsight, that makes the death glares Donnie drills into the back of the rabbit's head make much more sense, but that's another issue.

Apparently, they'd been together three weeks before the introductions, and Mikey believes it. Just yesterday, he'd caught them through the crack of Leo's open bedroom door sitting together on the bed, sharing a pair of earbuds as Leo shuffled through his Spotify playlist, letting Usagi in on his atrocious taste in music.

“Hey, glam-rock is the shit,” Leo nudged Usagi's shoulder. “And you can't talk when all you listen to is J and K Pop, classical, country and Lofi.”

“Shut up, baka kappa,” Usagi nudged him back, grinning wide and showing off the buck front teeth that Leo found adorable. “Classical is thought-provoking, good for meditation. And I'll have you know Lofi is calming, something you never are about anything ever.”

“Okay, I will allow that just this once but you cannot defend country or K Pop—”

“Contrary to popular belief, not all of your western music is about human Christian values, tractors or drinking—in fact, give me your phone, I'll show you my jazz playlist—”

“No!” Leo pulled his arm up, holding his phone out of Usagi's reaching paws even as the rabbit clambered over him. “Knowing you it'll be some awful jazz-lofi remix or somehow have Catholicism involved, people are getting creative in converting the masses—ow! No, get away from me—!”

“Your music sucks! You must be properly educated! Jazz is soothing for the soul!”

“But Queen! David Bowie! Prince!”

“All of the Hidden City knows you're gay, Leonardo, you don't have to blast it on speaker, too!”

“You attack me?! I let you into my house! I trusted you!”

“Gankona baka! Kōfuku shite horobiro!”

“Conejito idiota! ¡Fuera de mi trasero!”

They'd tousled for a bit before falling over on the bed and giving into giggles, barely any space between them. Leo's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and his grin a wide, dopey thing. Usagi called him a fool and nuzzled his nose against Leo's, earning a delighted chirp from the slider, and it was the happiest Mikey had seen him in months.

He's so in love it's gross. Mikey means that in the best way.

And Usagi seems like a nice guy. A really nice guy.

But they've been fooled by a pretty face and flowery words before. Last time, Leo had to bail them out. This time, Leo is too high up on cloud nine; he won't notice the danger until it's too late, and the fallout will be devastating.

Leo is strong, the strongest of them all as far as Mikey's concerned, in little ways they've never noticed until he'd showed them all by locking himself in hell with a demon. He's faced bigger, scarier things than any teenager—any person—ever should. But relationships? Dating? Being vulnerable with another person, opening your heart and trusting that person to take care of it, and in turn care for theirs? That's a beast of a different calibre.

Heartbreak happens to everyone; it's just how life is, and ignoring the ugly truth of it serves no one. Leo had barely survived his physical body breaking under metal fists driven by hatred and mindless bloodlust. Mikey doubts even he, with all that strength he possesses in spades that have carried him through some of the worst moments of their lives, would last long with a wound that deep.

Mikey loves him too much to let that happen.

(That, and he really doesn't want to kill Usagi, bail costs a lot, and not even Donnie has that much in his many wired accounts.)

So the trio meet up in Donnie's lab late one night and make a plan.

Miyamoto Usagi is gonna learn what'll happen if he messes with the Hamato clan.

~0o0~

A week later, Mikey corners Usagi at the front door.

The samurai in training doesn't startle when he drops from the ceiling or flinch at the smile that would have his brothers running for the hills. He smiles back, adjusting the duffle bag on his shoulder.

“Hello, Michelangelo. Nice of you to drop in,” he says, completely straight, and Mikey kind of wants to die. Leo did say they've been dating for a while. More than enough time for him to be a horrible influence on the otherwise straight (ha) laced samurai.

“Hey, Usagi! Here to see Leo?” Mikey asks like it's not obvious.

Still, Usagi nods. “That I am. We'd talked about some traditional Japanese snacks he hasn't tried before, so I bought some from the marketplace near my home.” He unzips his bag to let Mikey peek inside. “I'd be happy to share some with you and your brothers. I may have over-purchased.”

Mikey is dazzled by the array of absolutely delicious-looking snacks—including mango-flavoured mochi, oh be still his heart—but he shakes his head. Focus. Leo's heart and Usagi's continued existence depend on it. “That's great, Usagi, but I'm good for now. Actually, we gotta talk with you real quick before you see your boy. May I take your bag?”

Usagi blinks at him. “Oh. Um. Certainly?” He zips the bag up and shrugs it off, handing it to Mikey, and damn, he wasn't kidding. Did he buy out the whole store?

Mikey shoulders the bag and smiles. “Perfect! Now, stay still so Donnie doesn't accidentally knock you out.”

“Okay—wait, what—?”

Donnie drops from the ceiling and shoves a pillowcase over Usagi's head.

And as Mikey expects, Usagi doesn't immediately struggle or fight: he freezes, an innate rabbit instinct kinda like how Mikey retreats into his shell. He almost feels bad for exploiting that weakness. Almost, because it gives Raph enough time to grab him in his massive arms, pick him up and carry him off to the atrium. Mikey and Donnie follow behind, the latter wearing an unsettling grin that tells Mikey he's enjoying this far more than he should.

Blindfolded and trapped in Raph's solid grip. Usagi doesn't panic. Though his voice carries a twinge of worry when he says, “Is this a game? Am I being kidnapped? Did Leonardo put you up to this?”

“All will be revealed in good time,” Donnie says with a chuckle meant to sound ominous but it comes off as dorky. “Just relax, don't ask any questions and everything shall run smoothly and without the removal of a thing attached to another thing, like your head from your neck.”

“Alright?” Usagi says. Mikey bumps his hip against Donnie's and scowls. Donnie rolls his eyes.

They reach the living room, Dad's chair thankfully unoccupied, and Raph drops Usagi into it. Mikey sets the duffle bag down and quickly zips to his room to grab the sweater, glasses and pants, shrugging into them. When he returns, Donnie has just finished duct-taping Usagi's arms to the chair—

“Donald!”

“What?” Donnie has the gall to look offended. “This was your idea!”

“Not to tie him up!”

“Who's to say he won't run, hm? He's a rabbit and they're fast as frick, we'd never catch him before Leo gets back, and then our whole plan is ruined. Also, no teenager is comfortable talking about 'feelings', so I'm just taking extra precautions—”

“I can still hear you, you know,” Usagi says, the pillowcase still over his head. He doesn't seem bothered about this whole situation, which both amuses and concerns Mikey a little.

“You shush, or I'll bring out the chainsaw,” Donnie says.

Mikey looks at Raph. “You didn't think to stop him?”

Raph folds his arms and shrugs. “I'm just the muscle here, big man. This is your show.”

Dr Feelings appreciates the level of trust and respect Raph has for Mikey that's been a slow-growing thing these last few years. Dr Delicate Touch wants to strangle his oldest brother for being a wise ass.

He rolls his eyes instead and gets in position while Donnie sets up the projector. He nods to Raph, and the snapper pulls off the pillowcase.

Usagi blinks, adjusting to the brightness and looking around. “You blindfolded me to take me to the living room? Where I've been multiple times?”

“Shush,” Donnie hisses, “second warning. We'll be doing the talking here, bunny boy.”

“Don, chill,” Raph says, looking seconds from bursting out laughing. “We're just here to have a nice, friendly chat.”

Usagi arches a brow, pointedly dipping his chin down at his taped arms.

Raph's smile twitches, a drop of sweat trickling down his brow. “... I'm just the muscle?”

Mikey clears his throat loudly, snapping their attention back to him. He smiles and rolls his shoulders back, relaxing into the role that's become a blessing these last few months than the curse it was two years ago (at least to his brothers).

“Good evening! I'm Dr Feelings, and welcome to my newest seminar—!”

He clicks the button for the next slide on the PowerPoint, a photo of the three turtles glaring down at the camera from a high angle, a shovel in Mikey's hands. Underneath, the title reads in comically bright, bubblegum pink letters--

“—Shovel Talks!”

Usagi stares at the slide and then at each of the present turtles. Mikey keeps his smile bright while his brothers (mostly Donnie) no longer hide the touch of sadistic glee in theirs.

“... ah,” he says carefully. “I see the position I'm in now.”

“See, I don't think you do,” Donnie drawls on Usagi's right, Raph looming over on the left. “So we are going to educate you, and do not interrupt or talk until you are spoken to as we have much to go through and very little time before our dearly devoted dum-dum returns from April and Splinter's distraction outing. Dr Feelings,” Donnie turns to Mikey and gestures grandly, “Proceed with your first slide.”

“Thank you! Let's start off by asking our patient some simple questions. Question one!” Mikey flips to the next slide titled 'Spill The Tea' with a doodle of a teacup underneath it. Under that is a photo of Leo flashing a peace sign at the camera with a goofy grin. “What are your intentions towards one Hamato Leonardo?”

Usagi blinks. “... I would think my intentions were obvious? We're dating, are we not?”

“Sigh, yes, we can see as much given how you two are all but attached at the hip whenever you're so much as in the same vicinity,” Donnie mutters before getting right up in Usagi's face with a glare, fisting the front of his blue hoodie and shaking him once. “What we don't know is why you are dating Leonardo! Were you dared to by compatriots or colleagues of similar age or older for a cruel joke? Or are you a spy sent from a yet unknown enemy seeking to destroy us from the inside, integrating yourself into our inner circle by seducing our resident feeble-minded little gay only to turn on us at the last second, surrendering us to your evil leader and shattering the heart of the boy who fell in love with a person that never truly existed?! Speak, heathen!!”

Usagi stares at Donnie with wide, mildly disturbed eyes. Donnie glares at Usagi, right eye twitching.

“Jeezy heckin' creezy, Don,” Raph squeaks after a beat. “How long've you been holding that in?”

Donnie whirls on Raph with a half-crazed grin without releasing Usagi's hoodie. “The whole dub, baby!” he says.

Raph facepalms.

Mikey gathers himself quickly and clears his throat again. “Donald, if you would please let go of our patient—”

“Prisoner, guilty until proven innocent—”

“—patient, so we can hear his clear and honest answer? Don't you test the waters of my patience, boy, I will bring out Dr Delicate Touch on your ass.”

“Language,” Raph sighs, working Donnie's grip from Usagi's hoodie and bodily lifting him up and away from the rabbit. Donnie goes without a fight, but not without a spitting glare aimed at Usagi. Ignoring him, Raph offers Usagi a smile, cementing his role as the Good Cop. “Sorry about him. Just answer the question so we can get this over with.”

“And we'll know if you're lying!” Donnie adds. “I have lie detectors under the seat that'll fry your cotton ass six ways to Sunday—!”

“There are no lie detectors.”

“Raaaaph, you're ruining it, I'm trying to instil fear—!”

“Yer doin' enough of that to me right now! We were worried about Dad goin' all 'Daddy with a shotgun' on him when we really should've been watchin' the 'Overprotective Twin with his Middle Child Nonsense'—!”

“May I speak, now?”

Usagi's tone cuts through the idiocy as neat as the katana he wields, and the boys fall silent. Raph sets Donnie down, and Donnie steps back, his glare fading to make way for open confusion and surprise.

Mikey, who'd been on the cusp of dropping the act and wringing his brothers' necks, takes in Usagi's expression—purposefully neutral, the way he shuts his eyes as he takes a breath, his fingers drumming the armrests he's tied to while the heel of one foot bounces on the floor—and wonders if they've crossed a line here.

Then Usagi sighs, slow and measured, and opens his eyes. “I understand why you're concerned,” he says. “Leonardo has been through... a lot, to put it mildly. You all have, which is why you're so protective of one another. I admire and respect that; you hold true to the ancient belief that founded your clan centuries ago. Anata wa hitori janai, I believe. Leonardo told me about it. About the Shredder, the invasion... and the prison dimension.”

A shudder runs through the brothers. Mikey sees Donnie's jaw lock, Raph's fingers curling into fists. Mikey pulls at his fingers and bites his lip. “... he told you?” he asks in a smaller voice than he intends.

Usagi's gaze softens minutely, and he nods. “Not everything, but yes. I never prompted, but... he saw me fit enough to know.” His brows furrow, his frown deep and angry as he glares at his lap. “It sickens me to hear what that creature put you through—what he did to Leonardo. And it frightens me to think of how you'd come so close to losing him... how I'd come so close to never meeting him at all.”

Oh, Mikey thinks, almost floored. Oh wow.

Usagi takes another breath and raises his head, meeting each of their gazes. “... So yes, I understand your fears regarding our relationship and your hesitance to trust me. Leonardo's well-being will always be your top priority. He's precious to you.” Then Usagi smiles. It's small but bright, warm and quietly delighted, proud and certain. “He's precious to me, too.”

This time Mikey is floored. Oh. Wow.

“To answer your question, Dr Feelings,” Usagi continues, heedless of the turtle's altering perception of reality, “my intentions towards Hamato Leonardo are simple: I want to protect him. I know he's more than capable, and knowing him, he'll never ask me for help outright. But when he does, I want to be there—no, I will be there, because I care about him. Very much. We haven't known each other long, but my life is brighter and better with him in it, and I'll do whatever I must to keep it that way.

“I want to make him as happy as he's made me because he deserves that much. He deserves every good thing in this world.” He shrugs, flashing a bashful, buck-toothed smile. “For now, I hope he can settle for just me.”

Mikey stares. Donnie stares. Raph stares.

Oh. Wow.

Either he's the greatest liar ever, or they've had him pegged so wrong. But then, not even Big Mama, the Queen Bee Bitch of lies, could fake that kind of devotion.

No, Usagi really is just a good guy. A great guy.

“Dammit!” Donnie cries, throwing his hands up. “I can't even fully hate you ironically anymore, what the hell!” He hangs his head with a sigh. “I suppose I shall have to settle for 'jealous older twin suffering from attention withdrawal from the younger twin' until further notice. Also, you get to live another day. Congrats.”

Usagi smirks. “Thank you, I think?”

Raph rolls his eyes, but he's grinning from ear to ear, slicing away the tape binding Usagi to the chair and helping him to his feet without prompting. He drops a heavy hand on Usagi's shoulder, his grin widening when the rabbit doesn't buckle under his strength. “What I think Donnie means to say is... well. We're glad you have Leo's back. And we're sorry for thinkin' the worst of you when we're all still gettin' to know each other. I mean, we've seen how happy you two are together, and we just—well, we wanted to—”

Usagi huffs a laugh, patting Raph's massive bicep. “As I said, I understand. My sensei often warns me against jumping to conclusions, but it's different for family. Especially younger siblings. I should know, I have a little sister.”

“Right?! You get it! My little brothers are literal demons even the devil's too scared to look at, but you get it—!”

Mikey shoves his way between them and barrels into Usagi for a hug, squeezing him tight. The rabbit squeaks in surprise and possibly pain, but his arms carefully come around Mikey's shell a heartbeat later, a chuckle running through him. “I suppose this means I have the youngest's seal of approval?”

Mikey nods against his chest, raising his head to beam up at the rabbit. “You do. Welcome to the family!”

“Thank you. I'm honoured to—”

“But we didn't finish the slide show, so I'll run a tee-ell-dee-arr for you. Hurt Leo and you die.”

“... ah.”

“They'll never find your body,” Donnie adds, “because I will reduce it to atoms. I have a ray in the works, I can show you the blueprints.”

“And if that fails, Raph will break every bone in your body and dump you in the Hudson!” Raph says brightly. “Ever swim there? Pretty deep. You find all kinds'a weird stuff. A rabbit yokai won't stand out much.”

“... I understand. I'll definitely deserve one of those fates.”

“Oh, you will,” Mikey chimes. “Thank you for understanding, and thanks for coming to our TED talk!”

“Pretty sure I did most of the talking.”

“I will yeet your ass across this house—”

“Are you chuckleheads done harassing my boyfriend, or can I have him back now?” drawls a familiar voice that has them leaping a foot out of their shells. They turn to find Leo leaning against the back of the couch with one arm, the other hand propped on his popped hip. He arches a brow at their stares.

Mikey jumps back from Usagi to wildly point at his immediate older brother. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“About a minute,” Leo says. “I've been behind the couch the whole time, though.”

“What?! When'd you get back from hanging with Dad and April?!” Raph cries.

“Never left,” Leo pushes off the couch and swings his arm around Usagi's shoulders upon approach like its second nature. Usagi leans into him likewise, one arm curling around his waist. “I kinda figured this whole 'shovel talk' thing was gonna happen sooner or later, so the minute April and Splinter tried to drag me out for a 'father-son-daughter thing' the same day Usagi said he'd come over, I knew you assholes were scheming and told 'em I wasn't leaving.” His eyes narrow a little, and Mikey almost shrinks back. “Didn't think you'd tie him up, though, or that Raph would just let it happen.”

“I'm just the muscle!”

“And I am hurt and offended that you all thought so little of my absolutely innocent Bunny Boo! You look at this face—” He unwraps his arm to squish Usagi's cheeks between both hands—“and tell me there's a single bad thought behind those beautiful pink eyes!”

“Weonawdo,” Usagi mutters, fur tinted pink with embarrassment.

Quick as a whip, Donnie says, “There's not a thought whatsoever if he's dating you.”

“You're a thot.”

“Different words and spelling. And it takes one to know one.”

“Die.”

“You first.”

“Both of you knock it off,” Raph sighs, pinching his brow the way he's done since he first knew the pains of being the eldest. It's a miracle there's not a permanent mark between his eyes. He turns to the rabbit. “Sorry, could we borrow Leo for a sec? Then I swear you two can finally go hang out and... do whatever two teenage boys do when they're head over heels for each other but still in their parent's house so they gotta keep it PG, 'kay?”

“Um, wow?” Leo scowls, dropping Usagi's face to plant his hands on his hips. “Who do you take me for, a horny teen with no self-control around my significant other?”

“That is exactly what we take you for,” Donnie says.

“I don't!” Mikey says, raising his hand. “You're just a dumb gay hoppin' mad for your bunny boo!”

Leo's eye twitches. “Gee. Thanks.”

Usagi snickers, taking Leo's hands, and Leo instantly melts like putty. “It's fine, Leonardo. I'll wait in your room and get the snacks sorted,” he says, then he leans in to kiss the corner of Leo's mouth. Right in front of everyone.

It's not something he's done before—being openly affectionate with Leo when his siblings or fathers were around—but then Mikey isn't surprised.

Maybe this whole 'hesitance' and 'mistrust' thing hasn't been as one-sided as he'd thought.

Mikey never knew a slider could turn pink, but Leo manages it, steam funnelling out of his ears as the rabbit walks away, grabbing his duffle bag as he goes. There's a pep in his step, and Mikey wonders if the kiss or their acceptance put it there.

Once he's gone, Donnie breaks the silence, staring in the direction Usagi had left in—“Should I get the tranquillizer?”

“You've done enough today.” Raph puts a massive hand over Donnie's face and shoves him onto the couch, ignoring his indignant squawking as he faces Leo. The slider collects himself quickly and crosses his arms, flashing that devil-may-care grin that irritates and amuses Mikey.

“So? You gonna tie me to the chair and subject me to the horrors of dating life via Dr Feelings?” Leo drawls, “Or are you finally gonna admit that you were wrong about my totally amazing and hot boyfriend?”

Raph sighs. “Yes, we may have taken it too far—and in Donnie's case, we were overly paranoid, even by my standards, but we learned our lesson about jumping the gun. Again. And you were right.” He smiles, broad and warm. “Your boy is cool with me, little brother. You got yourself a keeper.”

Leo blinks, his smirk falling. “... wait, wait—for real?”

“Did you not hear his heartfelt speech not even two pages ago? It was rather dramatic and moving,” Donnie says absently from the couch, eyes now on his phone to avoid looking anyone in the eye, but Mikey knows what's up. They all do, but they're nice enough not to say anything. “And if I'm being honest—which isn't saying much because I can't lie for shit and you can clock one with an accuracy that borders on mystical—I don't actually think your new beau is inherently evil. I cannot say that I like him... but I approve. For now. My earlier threats still stand, though, so please try to keep him in line, or I will turn him into a hat.”

Leo falters again in the face of sincerity, however masked, from his twin. “...oh. Um. Wow. That's—uh, cool. That's cool, Dee, I, um... thanks...”

And finally, Mikey steps forward, shrugging off the sweater, glasses and pants. “What? You really think it's that odd that we're lookin' out for you? It's like Usagi said, you're precious to us, bro! And he was damn right sayin' you deserve every good thing. You deserve to be happy with someone who cares about you as much as we do.”

He darts forward again even before Leo's eyes take on a misty sheen, bundling his brother in his arms as much as he can and squeezing. “And if Usagi makes you happy, we're happy too.”

“... you guys,” Leo whines, his voice thick as he holds Mikey impossibly close. Donnie tosses his phone aside to hop up and join the hug, cheek resting on Leo's shoulder. Raph lumbers over and plucks them off the floor, nuzzling the top of Leo's head with a low grumble from deep in his chest.

Later, with mostly dry eyes and a megawatt smile, Leo jogs off to find Usagi. Mikey stands with his eldest brothers and folds his arms. “Our work here is done, gentlemen.”

“But we didn't really do anything,” Donnie says.

Mikey swishes his cape and departs.

“Where the hell did you get that cape?!”

~0o0~

The following week, Mikey corners Usagi at the front door and tackles him with a hug. Usagi laughs and returns it freely.

In the living room, Donnie's eyes are glued to his laptop, fingers typing away. He lifts one fist, Usagi wordlessly bumping it as he sits on the couch with Raph. Setting his comic book aside, Raph reaches out to ruffle his white bangs and chuckles when Usagi's paw bats him away.

Leo enters from the kitchen and immediately brightens when he spots Usagi, leaping over the top of the couch to bounce in the open space beside the bunny. “Hey!"

“Hey, yourself,” Usagi snickers. "You couldn't possibly have missed me that much to come running as soon as I walk in."

Leo swings an arm over the top of the couch, the other pressing a hand to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. "Parting is such sweet sorrow," he bemoans, batting his eyelids at Usagi, "that I shall say good night till it be morrow!"

Mikey laughs so hard he gives himself hiccups. Raph chokes on his soda. Donnie whirls on Leo, looking downright mutinous. "You did not just quote Shakespear so you could flirt with your boyfriend!"

Leo gestures to a madly grinning Usagi trying to hide behind his hands. "It worked, though! You guys hate it when I use the cheap pickup lines off Google, so I consulted the world's finest wordsmith instead."

"You are abusing and defiling William's good name! Thou crusty batch of nature!"

Leo rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You're just jelly 'cause I've officially got more game than you."

"Or Usagi has terrible taste in men."

Leo opens his mouth to say something he'll probably regret, but Usagi swiftly intercepts with a kiss on the cheek that stops him cold. "I thought it was creative," he says, "Much better than your awful pickup lines."

At that, Leo forgets Donnie completely, leaning in with a dumb grin to peck Usagi on the lips. Raph shakes his head with a secret smile, and Mikey giggles as he lays across Raph's thighs, Switch in hand.

Donnie gags. “Get a room.”

“But keep the door open!” Splinter calls from—somewhere.

Usagi tugs an ear over his face, flushed and embarrassed. Leo throws his head back and laughs.

Mikey grins, basking in the glow as he plugs into his game. He can get used to this.

---

Reblogs are appreciated :3

Feel free to send more requests <3

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #leosagi #rottmnt leosagi #rise usagi #miyamoto usagi #my writing #fic request #i love these idiots

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xenonsreturn · 8 months

Text

In Another Life

A short story of Garrus Vakarian and Commander Shepard

I need to do . . . something. I need to get out of here. If I stay in the battery any longer, I think I'm going to explode. Why does this room have to be so damn small?

But where the hell am I going to go? No matter where I go, I have to bring my head with me. What I really need is to get out of my head.

Where is this coming from? I've been doing fine . . . well, as fine as any turian on a suicide mission can do. But now, I can't seem to think straight. I'm nervous. Which is new for me. I can't concentrate on my calibrations and they seem to go on forever. I find myself pacing. There's a buzzing all over my skin. Maybe I'm sick. I could go see Dr Chakwas . . . no. Bad idea. She'd remove me from duty – or worse, give me medicine.

I'm heading for the mess. Maybe just having something in my stomachs will help me settle down.

When did this start, anyway? Hmm. Illium. No, it was after that. Hell, I don't know. I know I was fine when Shepard and I tracked down Sedonis. I still wonder whether I could have taken the shot. Is that what's bothering me?

No, that's not it. Even if I could have, I saw what Shepard was doing. She didn't want me to take it. Saving me from myself, she said. Hmm. She's done that a couple times now. She's always trying to pull me back. I don't know why she cares so much. It's really irritating.

Still, I have to admit, I make better choices when she's around. And when she's not – well, I turn into Archangel. It's a lot easier to be Archangel, but . . . well, I feel stronger, somehow, here on the Normandy. And it's good to have some familiar faces around sometimes. Joker. Tali. Even Liara for a bit there. Shepard, of course. I probably have more in common with her than anyone else on the ship. Hell, than anyone else in my life. I liked it when she used to come down and talk, before Liara came back. Somehow, she made the battery feel a little larger, even though there were two of us in that tiny space. But now, she and Liara are back together, and she hasn't been around since, and I -

Oh.

Oh, damnation.

How did I not see this happening? And now it's too late, isn't it?

I thought – I guess I thought . . . that she . . . maybe . . . ah, hell.

Can I go back to not knowing what's bothering me? That was better than this.

Great. Now I'm talking to myself. Or hearing voices in my head. Whatever. But I'm right. I can't go into hiding – not from myself. I turn around and get a seat at the end of an empty table.

I'm going back to the battery. I need . . . cover. I do not want company right now. No, Garrus, dammit, you're going to the mess!

I'm not alone long, however. Tali shows up. Great.

"Is this seat taken?" She asks – then, without waiting for a reply, she sits down anyway.

"Uhh . . ." I look the length of the empty table. "Doesn't look like it." None of the other seats are taken, either – why don't you try that one way over there?

She just looks at me. Well, at least I think that's what she's doing. That damn mask makes her hard to read. Actually, come to think of it, I wish I had a mask. Lucky lady.

"What are you having?" She asks.

I pretend to be relaxed. I am sure I suck at it. "I don't know. Whatever Rupert's serving that won't kill me, I guess."

Tali chuckles. "Well, whatever won't kill you, won't kill me, either. Let's split an order."

So much for no company. Back to the battery, I guess. "Actually, I'm not hungry after all," I say, and start to get up.

With surprising speed, Tali reaches across the table and grabs my wrist. Not only is she fast, she's strong. In spite of my shock, I have to admit, I'm impressed.

"Don't. Go. Anywhere. Garrus."

Well, this is . . . unwelcome. I slowly sit back down. I have a bad feeling about this.

"You've been acting . . . strange, Garrus. Distracted."

This is worse than I thought. People can tell.

"Ah, I don't think – "

Tali cuts me off. "Don't deny it. You haven't been yourself since we left Hagalaz."

"Well – "

"I've seen you pacing."

"No, I – "

"Your aim was off on the last mission."

Okay, that's too much. "Now, wait just one goddamn minute – "

She sighs. "Garrus, calm down. It's obvious you've got some knot you're trying to untie, and we feel – "

"WE?" This day just keeps getting worse and worse. "Who's we?"

"Oh, you know, Miranda, Jack, Samara, Chakwas, Gabby."

Just when I think I've hit bottom. At least Shepard's not on the list. And -

"Not Kelly?"

"No, not Kelly. I know it's her job, but . . . well, quite frankly, none of us can stand her."

I don't understand that at all, but I'm really beyond caring at this point.

"Look, Garrus, we just want to help."

Help. Fantastic. Not only can people tell, not only are they talking about it, now they want to help. I'm Archangel, goddamn it.

"Tali. Go hack some other project. Right. Now."

I stare into that mask. She seems to stare back for a moment, then shrugs and stands up. "Fine. I tried. Chakwas said you'd do this." She turns away, but then turns back and says, "Take care of it yourself, then, Garrus. Good luck with that. You need it."

I just look at her until she's gone. I wish I could take some satisfaction in hurting her feelings, but it's clear that she's not hurt. She's just pissed. And also, well, I don't want to hurt her, not really. She's a good person on the team. I like her. It's just . . . don't go trying to get under my skin like that! You're not invited!

"So – " A voice right next to me. I look up and Rupert is standing there.

"What do you want?" I growl. I am kind of pleased that he backs up a step.

"Uh, that's what I was going to ask you, Garrus," he says, a little breathlessly. He holds out the day's menu. "What do you want?"

I take it out of his hands. "Just . . . give me something that will kill me."

It has not been a good day.

Back in the battery. I am, in fact, hiding. I don't want to go out there. Where they know. I just wish, in here, I didn't know. I must have been blind. And now, I wish I still was.

I look around the little space. I don't have much of mine here. Because I don't have much that's mine. I never thought about it, never thought I was missing anything, but right now, I do. Damn, do I.

At my terminal, there's my dad's old insignia from the fleet. I wonder, did dad ever have to deal with this sort of thing? I can't imagine it. But then, we were always so different. He had discipline. I have . . . what? Lack thereof, I guess. I can't help but rush in . . . and maybe that's why I feel this way. If he could have felt something like this, Dad would have damped it down. But I can't. Not anymore.

The only other time . . . well, there she is. Her dog tags hang next to Dad's insignia. Scout Lidia Misuraca. I wish I didn't have these tags. Because that would mean she'd still be alive. She might have been halfway across the galaxy – hell, she might even be fighting us; we are with Cerberus, after all – but she'd be living. I've run it through my head a thousand times and I still don't know if there was anything different I could have done during that raid, something that might have saved her life – but I still wonder. And maybe that's why I'm out here now.

And maybe she's not all. I take off my visor and run my finger over the ten names carved in the frame. Yeah. I had a team. Good people. And now they're all dead. Because of me. Maybe that's another reason I'm in here – because everyone I touch, dies. It's safer. For them. For me.

I look at the message on the terminal screen. Took me nearly an hour to write it.

Commander,

When you have a moment, I have something I need to discuss with you.

- Garrus

Am I giving too much away? My finger hovers over the 'send' key. Do I dare? And then I realize, it's the only way through this. I hit the key.

I am surprised by the fact that I actually feel some small measure of relief. We're out of the holding pattern now, I guess. I took action – just a little, but enough to set . . . something . . . in motion. I don't know if it's the best thing, but at least it's something. And what the hell am I hoping for anyway? I know she's with Liara. There's nothing that will change that. Maybe if I'd said something earlier, before Illium . . . ah, but I didn't know then, did I? Dammit. And anyway, Liara makes Shepard happy. Who am I to stand in the way of that?

But don't you deserve some happiness, too, Garrus? It's odd, but I hear Shepard's voice asking this question. Do I? I don't know. Ask me most days, I'd say…no. I don't deserve it. But when we're together, maybe I feel like I do. Maybe because she's always seen the best in me. So maybe I do deserve some happiness – but just because I might deserve it, doesn't mean I get it. The galaxy is a cold, cold place. It doesn't care what we deserve. It doesn't care for justice. It's just dark. And I guess it's up to us to be the stars, to hold against the darkness. That's what I strive for. And in a different way, so does Shepard. Different, but . . . well, I guess I had an idea that maybe we were just same enough to have some overlap, maybe enough common ground to build . . . something more than this.

And now she could be on her way down here. Right now.

The reality of this hits me like a . . . well, like a missile to the face. Suddenly, I need to get out again. Cursing my stupid finger that sent the message, I make for the door, but before I get there, it opens.

Shepard.

Ah, hell. Here we go. "Ah, Shepard. Guess you, ah, got my message."

Her eyebrows arch. "What message?"

She came down here just to see me, just to talk with me. I feel torn between two emotions – elation, and it's about fucking time.

"Ah, never mind," I say, hoping my voice sounds steady. I'm surprised that it does. "Just something I wanted to talk to you about, but it can wait. What brings you down here?" Because it's been awhile.

"Okay, yeah," she says. "I want to know if you have any contacts that can keep an eye on Hagalaz for me. I know Liara's capable, but . . ." She trails off, and I can see the concern on her face.

"You want a couple extra eyes watching her back," I say, without even thinking about it. Of course she does.

She smiles. "Yeah, something like that."

I love her smile. I hate how much I love her smile. "I know of three guys off the top of my head – one from my days at C-Sec who became a freelance mercenary, and two I know from Omega. All three will do the job for money. But they're good. And once they commit, they'll see it through." I see the relief in her face, in her posture. "I'll send their contact information to your terminal." I want to throw myself out the nearest airlock. But really, what the hell else am I going to do? Deny her help? That's not in me, not for her.

"Thanks, Garrus." She pauses. "How you been? I feel like I haven't been down here in ages."

That's because you haven't. "Well," I say, "you've been pretty busy. No problem, though – you always know where to find me."

She leans up against the door jamb. "Yeah, but I've missed you, Garrus. Things have been . . . well, crazier than usual, but I miss coming down here, hanging out with you."

She is actually killing me.

"I mean, hell," she goes on. "With almost everyone else, I'm Commander Shepard – Savior of the Citadel. It's really . . . annoying." She smirks. "But you know, we've worked together for a while now. It's good talking to someone I know. Someone I trust. There's a hell of a lot less of that in the galaxy than there ought to be."

"Yeah," I say, because I can't think of anything else to say. And then, I find myself saying, "Shepard, you know what we need? We need a bar on this goddamn ship."

She laughs. "Hell, yes! That's a great idea, Garrus!" She looks towards my footlocker. "Hey, that reminds me, you got any of that Batarian ale left?"

I grin. I'm actually starting to relax a bit. She always does that to me. And she's the only one. "Yeah, I might have a couple bottles left."

I get out the bottles and pop the tops with my talon. She was so impressed the first time I did that.

"Cheers," she says as I hand her one. She tips the bottle back in my direction.

I return the gesture. "Cheers to you, Shepard," I say.

"Garrus, when we're off duty, just call me Hera. We've known each other long enough for that." I do not show how much what she just said means to me.

"Okay, Hera," I say, trying the name out. We both tip the ale back. It burns a bit, but man, the flavor is fantastic. It really lingers.

And then, as she lowers the bottle, I catch a . . . tightening in her face. Like a shadow passing over. And I'm not the smartest man alive, but I know where it came from. I could ignore it . . . ah, hell, no I can't. "So, Comm- ah, Hera. You and Liara? You've . . . worked things out?"

She looks at me, the smirk reappearing from the shadow. "You know me too well. You know that, Garrus?"

If it wasn't for the smirk, I'd change the subject. "Well, maybe I do," I say instead.

"Yeah. Yes," she says. "We have worked things out. Very . . . thoroughly."

I kind of want to die right now.

She sighs. "But it just means I'm going to miss her all over again."

And for a moment, my heart breaks a little – not for me, but for her. I don't know what to say, but I come up with, "Yeah, but it's good to have someone to miss. Someone you know you'll be coming back to. It's a good thing . . . a good thing to see."

I glance at my terminal, and I think of the only other one who ever was close to me. And now . . .

She clears her throat. "Yeah, Garrus. You're right. You're right. It is good. Thanks." I turn to see her smiling at me, but her eyes, well, human eyes, you can tell when there's something going on behind them. And I realize, I've just seen her, hurting for Liara, and she's just seen me, hurting for Lidia. The fact that we saw each other in this moment lightens my heart. I feel . . . bold.

"Anyway, Garrus," she says, breaking our gaze. "You said you sent me a message?"

Ah, crap.

"It's nothing, really, I'm just . . ." I set my bottle down and look at her. "You know, I work pretty well alone. I can go where I want, do what I want, when I want – I have focus. No distractions. Just the job. I don't need much. And it's good - I think, working that way, I make some small difference in the Galaxy."

"A lot more than that, Garrus."

I shrug, even though I'm touched by the compliment. "Maybe. But sometimes . . . well, I like to see what you and Liara have. And sometimes, I think, maybe I'd like something like that, too."

She smiles. "Thanks, Garrus. It's good. It is. But you know, it's also . . . complicated." She takes a breath. "Boy, that word doesn't even cover it. I died. She almost became . . . someone else. And both of us thought the other had moved on. When I think about it, I'm amazed we managed to find the space together." She chuckles. "It's really a mess!" She looks at me. "Who knows, maybe you're the lucky one."

"Huh, maybe." I don't feel lucky.

She raises her eyebrows.

I suddenly can't face her and turn away. "I'm glad for you, though. It's a . . . good mess. I never thought I'd say this, but maybe sometimes a mess is better. But for me, well . . . there's no one . . . available. And that's my fault. I don't really know how . . . I spend so much energy keeping people at arm's length – "

She interrupts. "Well, that's certainly saying something."

I turn back see her looking at my arms. I can't help but feel a little thrill go up my spine. "Yeah, I guess it is." I chuckle. How does she do this, make me talk when I just want to shut up? "But maybe I don't do enough to let people in. I just – well, sometimes I feel like I'm alone in the whole damn galaxy. I've been thinking about it a lot lately – maybe I'm a poorer man for that . . . I don't know, maybe I'm just getting old, thinking of where I might be down the relay." I start to feel like I'm saying too much, like I've already said too much. I want to change the subject. "Hell, I don't know why I bother thinking about this. We're not likely to survive this mission anyway."

But – typical Shepard – she won't let it go. "But you are thinking about it."

"Yeah." Dammit. "Yeah, I am." And then I look at her, and I see her being, well, who she is. For me. "Thanks, Shepard. There isn't really anyone else I'd want to talk to about this." And then it hits me, and my boldness returns. She deserves to know the truth. I step right up to her. "You know what I was saying about arm's length? Well, there's not many who've managed to get beyond that. In fact, ah, there's just one. It's good to have someone I can . . . trust." I take a breath and look her right in the eye. "It's you, Shepard. I'm a better man because of you. And I . . . I just . . ."

The words fail me, right when I need them the most.

I see her face soften, suddenly, and I know she knows. She understands.

I can't stand it. I turn my back on her. "Ah, never mind."

I feel her hands on me as she turns me back around. "Hey."

I look right at her. I am certain everything I'm feeling is plain upon my scarred face.

She rests her hands on my shoulders, and I see a thousand emotions playing across her face. "Garrus, I want you to know something. I trust you, too. I don't make a habit of that. And I don't let people get close to me easily or often, either." She pauses. "In this life, you and I are . . . .what we are. And I'm thankful for that." She nods. "But in another life . . ." She looks right into my eyes. "Garrus, yes. Yes."

I can feel something loosen in my chest. I know what she's saying, and although it kills me, I feel a surge of warmth throughout my whole body. She cares, she really does. It's not perfect, it's not the same thing I feel, but . . . I am important to her. I nod, and then I feel a real smile cross my face. "Hearing you say that . . . in this life . . . is . . . almost as good. Almost as good as another life."

#garrus vakarian #shepard x garrus #commander shepard #femshep #mass effect #liara t'soni #no shepard without vakarian #xenon2024 #xenonsreturn #xenon2022 #xenon #my story #my writing

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sol-consort · 7 months

Note

Do you hope the next mass effect will have the original Normandy crew or do you want a new protag and new companions?

(Also wanted to let u know, there's a game in the works by old bioware veterans called exodus: become the Traveler. Appreantly its gonna be a lot like mass effect with a big focus on companions and choices, and the original writer Drew who wrotr mass effect is also involved I think and many other bioware veterans from the golden days of bioware. I realy hope exodus and mass effect 4 wont dissapoint.)

I'm hoping for a new crew. I love the OG gang but ME3 showed me that almost all of them are used to this by now, they've become jaded and they each have their own spot in the galaxy to fullfill that we're stealing them from.

I'd love for them to do their own thing as we get occasional updates, and maybe they join as an extra companion in a mission or two, like how Wrex was in the citadel dlc.

I'd love to see Liara command a group of assassins as the shadowbroker that come to our aid. Garrus with his own special unit and ship that has a special room just for calibrations. Ashley and Kaidan preforming their individual spectre duties and having this friendly competition with Shepard.

All except Joker. Because Joker and Shepard feel like a package deal. There is no Shepard without Joker and no Joker without Shepard. Would love for EDI to be there but again, she deserves to actually go out and explore the universe and what it means to have a soul, not just stay glued under Joker's wings all her life.

Because there is so much potential for new companions! Maybe we get a reaper one? Maybe an asari matriarch? A female krogan? Humans who are the best of the best with their own individual quirks and personalities that were given to join the crew of the commander Shepard.

Hell, even a hanar! Maybe a volus, too. I still can't forget Thane's description of how deadly hanar are in water. Maybe a new species joins, and humanity isn't the new kid anymore. Maybe we even get to show off as this new species looks up to us for guidance bc we speedran getting a seat at the council. I'd love a batarian crew memeber.

I'd love to see more conflict. An asari civil war. A turian and salarian disagreement about who should be held accountable for the genophage that turns deadly quickly. For once I want it not to be the humans who are fucking shit up and have to call others for help.

Maybe even dealing with a blackhole problem. Like how that one sun Tali was investigating began aging quickly. A disease or something spreads that makes stars every wear age at an alarmingly rate and the whole of the milky way is threaten to be swallowed by blackholes from these sun and we have to defy physics and stop it somehow.

Or just a normal adventure without a galaxy wide threat yk? Something lowkey where you can take it easy at times and indulge in luxury or comfort rather than tighten your belt for the upcoming war in ME3. Discovering new planets, saving people and doing side fun side quests. Let us explore the world we saved goddammit! I want to see more of Thessia and we didn't even get to land on palavan!

Beach party at hanar homeworld let's go!! Using water guns against your crew and having a friendly match.

Also Shepard shines more when surrounded by new people who are impressed by you. Think of Brooks before the reveal, wasn't she endearing and made you feel special? Wasn't that how meeting Cornard in ME1 made you feel? Same with the interviewer?

Like imagine a bunch of side quests where you have to deal with your fame and the problems it causes. Because especially after the Citidal dlc, Shepard became a famous gamer with a record only you held. Now you're not just popular with military people but most of the common people.

Having to disguise yourself while shopping for groceries. Being asked for autographs at very inappropriate times. The hanar harassing you about Javik. It should be lighthearted and only happen during these side quests so it doesn't become annoying.

I want to see Shepard relax and be appreciated dammit! I'm tired of war. If one happens, it shouldn't be human related so that we don't feel necessary to go intervene.

Tho I think they should let you keep your romance around. Would love to get to import ME3 save. And ME4 starts with you recovering in a hospital. They did say that Shepard was already part synthetic right? So it makes sense to be able to repair them no matter how bad the damage even without Cerberus.

And it was Miranda who led the project last time, so maybe she could do it again since she got on good terms with the alliance or she gave her information to Liara in case she died.

What I would absolutely hate is a drastic time skip where Liara wakes you up and is like "Shepard, it's been 100 years" or some bullshit like NO. FUCK YOU.

Another fucking time skip? Where everyone thinks I'm dead again??? And all my loved ones died?? NO. BAD LIARA BAD.

If you want some feature timeskip nonsense then let the WHOLE crew join me. Maybe Joker accidentally steers the ship into a wormhole and we end up in the future. As long as everyone Is inside the Normandy when it happens then I'm fine with it. At least this time around we would get some catharsis while proving we're not dead again in front of the same companions who were mad at us for being dead.

Also I'd like more character creation options that influences lore and isn't just cosmetic? Like the background one or the psychology one.

It'd be cool if we got to pick one during each game to determine what Shepard has been up to while we weren't here. In ME4 maybe we get to decide if we setteled down and tried to have a family or if we kept exploring and fighting during the character creation before the game begins.

I don't want it to effect much besides stray dialogue and callbacks, maybe a special quest or two.

The biggest problem tho is the ending. I don't know how they're going to make ME4 without establishing one canon ending for ME3. In which case it sucks and makes the whole endgame choice feel pointless if it was predetermined from the beginning.

And if it wasn't predetermined but imported, then I don't see how it won't drastically change the game. They'd have to make 3 seperate whole games. One where we're hugging and kissing reapers, another where they don't exist.

But like ME2 having an ending where Shepard dies. Probably the only way to import your ME3 save is if you picked the red ending where it's the only one where Shepard lives.

That'd be disappointing but I get it. From a dev perspective I see why it would save them so many headaches.

There is also the possibility to play as another companion or a whole different person? Maybe we try to resurrect our space jesus Shepard? Maybe we're Liara as a Matriarch? Who knows.

Gonna keep it real. I don't wanna play as an asari. Literally okay with any other race. Because I saw how disgusting and weird other npcs get around asari and I don't want to be subjected to that sexual harassment again. The constant flirting gets very old quickly.

Otherwise asari seem really cool and it's a shame they aren't explored much besides "hot alien race"

I talked a lot man, I have to go to my doctor's appointment. Ah I hate doctors.

Anyway I did check the game you mentioned!

WE ARE AN ENGINEERED CHILD? FUCK YEAH!!! WE ARE SPECIAL WOO.

so much trauma potential! Just like Miranda.

It also follows a similar plot to Andromeda from what I've seen? We were in cryosleep for so long while travelling to another place and exploring?

There is also the rot thing, and apparently, we are the only cure. Makes me think if we're gonna play more of a healer saviour role rather than a war hero.

The mech suits look so fucking good, I hope we get the option to pilot one constantly like that one revealed companion.

I do like that we have established parents, please do not kill off my dad this time around :( please. But it leaves less room for customization and background ah. I'd hate it if we couldn't even design our own character and had to use premade ones.

It seems cool so far! Imma keep tracking its progress. The last update was 7 days ago and the devs are open about answering questions. It's a new title so they'll have to make new aliens and such, I hope they end up good.

I mean in a space game, it is the aliens that make or break the game. You either end up with high on life aliens or mass effect aliens.

I don't like the idea of having to re-explore parts about earth history because the player already knows all of that. I don't want to spend an entire quest just to dig up a gameboy or something and have these characters gawk and make bad guesses at what it is. It feels cheap to piggyback off of nostalgia and misunderstanding humour. Every character turning into Ariel and brushing their hair with a fork.

Or are we talking ice age, pyramids and such? It'd be more tolerable then but...also the players are familiar with these things in other games who milked the concepts.

I don't want humans reacting to past human inventions, I want aliens doing it at at least or just give me a whole new world to explore. Why are we so stuck in the past?

But maybe this is special to this one recently revealed character, in which case that's fair. It's a character and their quest is probably optional, plus that will definitely appeal to some people.

My hope is that they realise no one wants to do these massive collection quests in these planets with a massive map and please skip the fluff and stuffing. I'd rather the effort goes into handmade quests like in BG3 rather than "scan 50 plants because fuck you"

Yes I am irritated with Andromeda, am I a pathfinder or a fetch dog? I also hate the resources and crafting our own equipment system.

Like this is clearly somone else's job! what are you people even doing if I'm the one collecting material for my stuff and crafting them? Shouldn't this be your job while I just gave you the credits? Why would I even care about the arks and nexus if I'm fully self sufficient! At least in mass effect you were forced to go there to shop and get your stuff. It made the world feel not so useless.

Like I get it. You want us to feel like we're explorers who make the best of the world around us. We're tight for materials so we have to scavenge and survive! That would've worked if we were stranded in space and not doing fetch quests for the said scientists who can't even give me some uranium to craft my fucking grear and no one is selling it to me either! I hate it here.

I hope Exudes goes away from that direction. And the hacking games one too. I'm tired of soduko, it haunts me in my dreams. Mass effect had this problem too.

Games can be very fun without the fluff and stuffing in between actually interesting quests.

#☆otherfandoms #☆Exodus #☆ME4

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hughungrybear · 9 months

Text

Me while watching Last Twilight Ep. 7:

I am sooooo ready for the real flirting and courtship between P'Mhok and Nong Day to commence 😁

1. So yeah, I have read so many meta writing concerning August and what motivated him to do what he did (shoutout to Mark Pakin for unknowingly being the root cause of all my angst against August 😅). Those who tried to understand August are a lot better persons than I am. My petty ass would still like August's head on a platter 😅😅😅😅

2. Okay, the starting scene feels like Bad Buddy Episode 6 all over again - the awkward tension after a rooftop kiss 😭😭😭 P'Aof, why do you do this?

3. That's it, if we are not getting GeePorjai in this series, I am more than willing to marry Porjai myself 😂😂😂

4. No, Gee. Day does not have to patch things up with that d*ckhead August. <after 2 minutes> I am still amazed of how selfless Mhok can be that he is still willing to let Day meet August despite of everything because it will make Day happy. I guess as Porjai said, when Mhok loves, he loves deeply and passionately - and it shows 🥺🥺🥺

5. Hmmm, I guess they are trying to somehow redeem August? Ngl, the speech was good. But I'm still putting that "pity kiss" on my list of unforgiveable things along with Non's stalker behaviour (Dark Blue Kiss) and Wai's curtain drop (Bad Buddy).

6. Gee knows Day so well 😂😂😂 Also, wtf did you mean Mhok is not your type, Day??? What exactly is your type anyway? After August, one might have thought you would re-calibrate your standards. <after 5 seconds> Oh, no. 😰 That's just selfish, Day. It will be torturous for Mhok to stay and care for you, knowing how he feels about you. It's like leading him on. You should have followed Gee's suggestion, if this is the case 😔

7. Mhok is taking what he can get, I see. I just hope this does not end in heartbreak - mine. I am so tired of crying with every episode 😂😂😂

8. Porjai is just trying as Mhok's wingwoman 😂😂😂 Good thing she does not have to try that hard since it seems like Day is slowly accepting his feelings for Mhok.

9. Day sniffing Mhok's blanket - how Pat-coded you are 😂😂😂 Yes, I still have a Bad Buddy brain rot. 😅😅😅 Also, dang, Mhok's neighbours. Let other people sleep 😆

10. (Sigh) I guess what we'll get is a NightPorjai agenda (goodbye, my GeePorja ship)? Night really seems to care about Day despite the latter's animosity against him.

11. Oh, Day. 😔 You should never have put boundaries on something that you wanted to cross yourself. <after five seconds> OKAY!!! Finally boyfriends!!!! For a second, I thought I'll be hating Day in the next episodes.

12. Mhok is just gonna get cheesier, isn't he? He is going to be insufferable, won't he? Ngl, I'm a bit scared for Day 😂😂😂😂

OH, NO. DAY IS GOING FULL BLIND 😱😱😱

I guess the next episodes will focus on what happened between Night and Day. Ongoing theory in socmed is that Night is the reason for Day's condition. I'm not convinced because P'Aof has that reputation of subverting the 'obvious' in what motivates his characters' actions - i.e., Mes' uncle's financial woes led him to watch Mes die from a heart attack in He's Coming to Me, Tian's illegal race bet causing Torfun's death in ATOTS, and Ming betraying his bff, Dissaya, by stealing her scholarship grant as the root cause of the family rivalry in BBS.

I really am curious to see what P'Aof has cooked up this time. Plus, it's a beach episode next week 😊

#last twilight the series #last twilight ep 7 #mhokday #mhok x day #jimmysea #jimmy jitaraphol #sea tawinan

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natstolemysocks · 1 month

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7.How do their friends and family feel about them as a couple?

A'lexi (A'nijah's older brother): I don't have any opinion. Saw the man. Bit trigger happy around knives perhaps? But overall nothing too bad. If it's what Nijah wants so be it.

A'nhea (A'nijah's father): -simply not told-

Ayo'a (Lea'li's older brother, A'nijah's friend): It took me a while to get that they were… you know. An item. I just thought they had somehow inexplicably become very close friends. Was confused for days when I found out.

Etoilonoix ('friend' of A'nijah, colleague of Lea'li): This stays between us, but gods, A'nijah Tia could do so much better. Honestly, Dipper is as cultured as a boar. There is auroch shite with more decorum. Though I suppose the little Seeker could've done much worse. Like something tall, royal and Garlean. Or said Garlean's grandfather. But don't look at me, I'm not here to exhume the dead. Not before sundown at least.

Kiht'a (A'nijah's uncle): Don't ask me, I've never even met him.

Lea (Lea'li's mother): Nothing wrong with getting yer back blown out by an adventurer of such calibre. Fought the li'l twerp with the rest of the crew and 'Ells, I was layin' on me back too afterwards.

Nateli (Ixali friend): Fun, the gingers are. Lot of volume when together in secret. Ask what redheads are doing then, Nateli should.

Nemoh (another lover of Lea'li): Isn't it just a joy to behold? The way they look at one another, it's so sweet. They're so in love!

Pyha (A'nijah's aunt): Wait now, he met someone? Why no one told me?

Sethorel (hates them both): I'd rather they stuck to their own business and kept out of mine.

Tyago (A'nijah's mother): …I just don't like it. Sure, perhaps he's a nice man, as my son keeps insisting. But I'd prefer he'd stay away all the same.

In general Lea'li as his partner is quite baffling to others because outwards they seem like completely different people. What possibly could bring them together is a mystery. And if A'nijah would try to explain given the circumstnces of how they've met it's even more appaling for many. His brother who had a pleasure to witness Lea'li and how he is with A'nijah is the most receptive of this relationship however. Some others would say that he awfully quick to draw a dagger. @confusedtia

Lea'li throws out innuendos as often as he's throwing knives, which has left some friends and family confused about the type of relationship he has with A'nijah. This especially was the case when they had just started dating, which might have been a blessing for Lea'li since on one hand he was nervous about what others would say, but on the other he couldn't hide his fondness for the little Seeker at all. He still can't, to be honest. But he's also rather jealous, which can make introductions to friendly acquaintances of A'nijah pretty rough. All in all though, most people tend to be accepting. @natstolemysocks

RELATIONSHIP ASKS

#ask #a'nijah tia #lea'li ohrun #collaboration asks #ty for the ask!

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rayshippouuchiha · 1 year

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Ray, light of my days, it is I, the one who can't shut tf up😂

I just want to say that I'm sorry I made fun of you in that one post that one time for having a type bc here I am, dating your type lol

Am I jealous the cat I've been trying to bribe into pets for months jumped into his LAP the first time they met? Absolutely.

We're actually both kind of supervisors for the kids bc we live in a village so "out until the streetlights turn up" is still a thing, but watching him with the kids is wow. Especially now that I'm not fucking stupid. Because FYI, I was dead ass that idiot who went "his wife's gonna be so lucky" without realizing I was jealous of that hypothetical woman that doesn't exist.

He's also all "tall, dark and handsome", which looks ducking goofy next to my 5 foot zero ass in my mismatched clothes and pink hair.

Also, apparently he has rizz, oh does he has rizz, but it's strictly for me for some reason (am I smug about it? absolutely). It's like he got calibrated to me lol, but we grew up together so I guess I was the one to do it? It IS weird, because on one side is me going "isn't he perfect?😍" and on the other side is literally anyone else going "pls get help, both of you "

Also, we cracked the code. And by that I mean "childhood friends who stayed friends until they started dating" hits the exact same notes "enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers" does, just half a step to the right. The "I saw you at your complete worst and I still want all of you".

On another note, I think I should've started ring shopping when he gave me food that upset my stomach and instead of peaceing out he sat in front of my locked bedroom door(I was mad-mad at him, cause I like food and I couldn't eat for days) and sang "we're all in this together" on loop😂

This is, somehow, my revenge for you picking on me about my type.

He honestly sounds delightful though darling and I'm so happy to see you so genuinely enthusiastic and happy with this relationship.

#RayRambles

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3pirouette · 1 year

Text

Fic: The Captain and The Missus (3/?)

Title: The Captain and The Missus

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: AU of CA:TFA

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Instead of wanting to recreate the serum, Schmidt wants every trace of it wiped from existence so he can be the sole one to benefit from it. This means that Steve’s life is in danger, and Peggy’s new job is to keep him alive as he travels in hiding with the USO tour.

Story A/N: AU of CA: TFA, based on @roboticonography’s idea of having Peggy go on tour with Steve as “Mrs. America”

(Robot’s post HERE: https://3pirouette.tumblr.com/post/654017864817360896/steggy-24-49)

SO... Yes. yes, it's true. I've somehow managed to only update this once a year during the past three years for Steggy Week. At least I'm consistent.

For 2023, this satisfies Steggy Week Day 2: WIPs and Updates.

Chapter 3: Getting on the Right Track

Summary: Peggy and Steve are off on their adventure, but she’ll need to start relying on him just as much as she wants him to rely on her if this is going to work.

A/N: Yes. I’ve now posted one chapter a year for three years in a row for Steggy Week. It’s become tradition. I think a lot of it has to do with this story really just coming slow. I love it, but it’s not flowing as nicely as I’d like it to, so when I get to Steggy Week, I see the WIP category, and go “oh! I should update that!”

So, yeah. Please be kind about it.

~*~

Peggy huffed as she sat on the bench, sliding over to make room for him, irritated. “I’m already not liking this.”

Steve settled softly, trying to tuck his body into a space that used to seem roomy to his 90-pound self, and now seemed cramped for his new body. “The seat?” He turned and looked up the aisle. “I can ask the conductor if there’s—"

“No, no,” she interrupted him, setting her bag on her lap and playing with the edge. “Playing the nagging wife. ‘Oh, do be gentle! My grandmother’s china is in there! Please keep that on the bottom, men, I don’t want it tipping. Oh, could you do me a favor and make sure all our trunks are labeled? Couldn’t lose one, you know!’” She huffed again, looking over at him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Those men nearly dropped that entire trunk full of ammunition and finely tuned decoders!”

Steve looked alarmed and dropped his voice, leaning in to her. “Could they have exploded?”

She pressed her lips and turned away for a moment, trying not to be angry for his ignorance. “No,” she mumbled, looking back, “But we won’t get another chance at getting more decoders or half of the other kit in there if something breaks or de-calibrates. It won’t explode, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t delicate.”

Steve nodded, letting the information settle for a moment. “I was a little curious why you were being so specific about them.”

Peggy glanced around the sparsely populated car, still caught up in her anxiety. The car ride to the train station had been quiet, which she had hoped came across as contentment, but it was really more her nerves than anything. “I understand why we couldn’t take a transport, but I’d take a well-trained private over a single one of those brutes tossing around our luggage any day. I felt like I was running basic training all over again out there. Everyone on this train must think you’re horribly hen-pecked.”

For a moment she saw that 90-pound man reemerge as he twiddled his thumbs and his jaw opened and closed as he tried to come up with an answer that would appease her. It was enough to crack the wall of growing anxiety and soften her just a little bit. She took pity on him and set her hand on his to stop the fidgeting. “I’m being ridiculous.” She started another sentence, but had to turn away as she yawned, big and wide, into her elbow.

“Tired?” Steve asked, his fingers almost, but not quite, holding her hand.

She sighed, turning back to him as the train rumbled to life under them. “A bit. Had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Why don’t you take a nap?” He shrugged, half smiling. “We’ve got, what… six hours?”

Peggy clicked her tongue behind her teeth and pulled her hand back, sitting tall. “That’s exactly why I can’t take a nap.” She took a deep breath, looking around the train. “Beginnings and endings of operations are the most dangerous part. Anyone could have followed us here. I can’t let my guard down for a second.”

“Peggy,” he started, almost stern, “there’s barely anyone on this train car. I don’t think that the eighty-year-old woman or the two little kids over there are planning anything nefarious. How could they have figured out our plan and followed us here already?”

She looked at him hard, knowing he was trying to placate her. “How, indeed?” She mused sarcastically, “And how do you think a Hydra Agent managed his way into a top secret SSR bunker to try to kill you and Erskine, hum?” She didn’t mean to be sharp, didn’t mean to open the wound that was still too close to the surface, but the thought still kept her up at night.

That man shouldn’t have been able to get in there. Someone in the SSR was ratting them out to Hydra.

That meant that nothing, nothing they were going to do that anyone else knew about, was safe.

Especially putting Steve in this damn show.

Steve nodded in understanding, shrugging half-heartedly, a shadow passing over his face at the thoughts of what had happened. “I get it, I do.”

“I have to keep you safe.” She replied softly, urgency filling her voice. “I can’t let my guard down, even for a moment.”

“So what?” he didn’t miss a beat, his own eyes accusing now, “You’re not going to ever fall asleep?”

“Well, I—”

He shook his head. “No, Peg. This isn’t one sided.”

She leaned forward, dropping her voice down low, “It’s my job to keep you alive, and I’m damn well not going to—”

He reached over, grabbing her hand. The movement was enough to derail her frustration and turn it to curiosity as he held her left hand up to his. “This, Peg, says we’re partners.” He moved his hands, letting their matching rings shine in the light, smiling a little and letting his own frustration morph to earnestness. “For better or for worse. Like it or not. You and me against the world.”

Peggy didn’t want to admit that the moment, born out of frustration and desperation, was extremely tender, or that she felt a little thrill of excitement at the confident, strong way he took her hand, or that she felt cared for in the soft way that he cradled her hand as he lined up their rings. No, she tried to ignore the fact that his eyes were damn near sparkling as he said those words, filled with all the emotions she was feeling, and maybe even more. She really, really didn’t want to admit that of all the moments in her life, that was the most damn romantic of them all.

“Steve, I…” Her voice drifted away. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but she knew she needed to protest, needed to change this moment before it got way out of hand.

“We’re a team,” he whispered. “The moment we left that base this morning, it was just us. I don’t like to think about the fact that someone has already tried to kill me, and that it’ll probably happen again, and I don’t like thinking about the fact that you’re in that line of fire with me. But you’re here to protect me, and even though no one’s said it before now, I’m saying it and I mean it: I’m protecting you, too.”

Peggy struggled for composure; she tried to keep a straight face when everything inside her was falling apart. She’d never been one for big declarations or sappy sentiments and coming from anyone else, it might have felt trite or overly sugary, but Peggy knew with every fiber of her being that Steve meant it. He well and truly meant it.

She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever said something so simple in such a profound way to her before. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever believed someone so fervently before.

It was a struggle to pull her focus back out, to keep the world from closing in until there was just the two of them, hands cradled together, train bouncing below them as Steve just happened to outdo her ex-fiance’s proposal of marriage in a few earnest words, but she managed it. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing the words were not enough for the depth of the sentiment he just expressed. She forced the tension to break with a smile, squeezing his hand. “You don’t need to work so hard, Steve, I’ve already married you.”

He chuckled, the heaviness around them lightening almost instantly. He looked away, ears turning red as he whispered into the aisle, “Maybe I’m trying to get you to fall in love with me.”

“Hum?” The questioning sound was out of her throat before she could stop herself. She knew very well what he’d said, but didn’t quite want to believe it. She managed to keep a straight face as he panicked, letting go of her hand and shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he tried to cover, poorly, and forced a nervous smile at her. “You should take a nap, really.”

Her smile only lifted her lips a little as she ducked her head. “To be honest, I don’t know if I could if I wanted to, I’m still so keyed up.”

This time his smile was genuine as he rooted in his pocket to pull out a small paperback. “Offer stands. I don’t need much sleep these days, anyway.”

She watched him, unabashedly, as he turned to the book and flipped through until he found his page. Without thought she reached out, hand wrapping around his wrist to get his attention. He looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

“That meant a lot,” she managed to choke out, uncomfortable with the way the words made her feel exposed, but knowing she needed to make him understand how she felt, “what you said about us. You and me.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Together against the world.”

“Yes,” she could feel the stress start to drain from her. “A team.” She took a slow, deep breath. It was like the worry, the anxiety of the last two days was getting left behind them with each passing second and each mile they put between the base and themselves, but she’d never been more serious. “I’m going to hold up my end, Steve, I promise.”

“I know you will,” he put down the book, flipping his hand and lacing their fingers together. “And I’ll keep up mine.”

~*~

She remembered holding his hand, contentedly, looking out the window and pretending she was watching the landscape pass them by while he read with one hand, but instead took the time to clock each and every passenger, to look them over in the reflection and try to gauge their threat level.

Somewhere after the pre-teen boy three rows up, she realized she had her head on his shoulder. It didn’t much seem to matter, though, as she could still hear him turning pages and they were supposed to be married, after all.

Just after the man two rows back, she thought that she’d just close her eyes for a minute.

Just one.

And five hours later, she woke up tucked into Steve’s side as the train slowed, chugging into the station.

~*~

They were hustled from the station to the theater by a small man with a pinched face, who seemed both annoyed by and indifferent to their presence. He assured them that their trunks would make it to their hotel room safely before he ushered them off the platform and into a small car.

She was both impressed and somewhat relieved that Steve managed to make his own fuss about the trunks as they were ushered off the train, she didn’t even need to speak a word on the subject.

They were quiet in the car, the trip quite a bit longer than they expected. “I thought we were going to be in DC?” Steve asked as the man navigated the streets.

“The show will open in DC, rehearsals are outside of the city,” the man replied. “Your hotel is close to the theater, don’t worry.” He grumbled, mumbling under his breath, “I know you’re worried about your trunks.”

Peggy tried to hold back her smile, but couldn’t. Steve gave her a gentle tap with his elbow, and she acknowledged his performance on the subject with a grateful bow of her head.

“How are you feeling?” He spoke softly. Even though they were bound to be overheard by their driver, who was under no obligation to keep anything he heard a secret, his soft voice went a long way to making the question feel at least a little private.

“Much better,” she replied just as quietly. “Suppose I was more tired than I thought.”

She expected a smile, or maybe a flirt- something he’d been more confident in over the last day- but instead he sobered and dropped his voice even lower. “I’m glad you felt safe enough. I always want you to feel safe with me.”

She couldn’t help but smile this time. “I do.”

~*~

It occurred to Peggy, as she walked into the theater, that she’d never been in one as something other than a patron. She’d gone for films and for the occasional play, even to hear concerts… but she’d never been in a theater where she wasn’t ushered to her seat and treated to a performance.

She was stunned as she followed Steve through the backstage area, stepping over coils of rope and avoiding scattered set-pieces that were half painted and half built. The bright white backstage lights were nothing compared to the colorful performance lights she was used to. She’d always thought theaters seemed too glamorous, so frivolous, and yet, there was exposed, dirty brick and sawdust everywhere. There wasn’t a luxurious velvet curtain in sight and instead it seemed little more than a warehouse with an audience.

It left her with an odd feeling of awareness, as if it was the first time she realized everything she’d seen on a stage really was just smoke and mirrors, sets and rigs and pulleys that made Peter Pan fly and Hamlet’s father rise from the grave. Seeing the lighting rigs bare overhead and the mess of lights and wires and rope on the stage made her feel a peculiar sensation, as if she was seeing something no one was ever meant to see.

“About six feet to the left!”

The shout pulled her out of her thoughts, and immediately reminded her that this was a place that posed an extreme danger for the both of them. The man who was shouting was a rotund man standing just below the stage, eyes on the two workers hanging a large American Flag from the rigging. He shook his head then caught sight of them, only looking slightly interested.

“You must be my headliners!” He gestured for their pinch-faced chauffeur to bring them down the stairs to him. He watched as Steve helped Peggy down the steep steps at the front of the stage with a hand, the raw wood wobbly. “Don’t worry about that,” he bellowed, “They may be unsteady, but they won’t be there for the show. Just while we’re getting the stage set up.” He shot a careful look over to where the men were hanging the flag, “It’s been busy around here since we got the rewrites.”

He held out his hand to Steve, “I’m Walter Pennington, Producer.”

“Steve Rogers,” He shook his hand, pulling back when he saw the man fight to keep a pleasant face at his strength. “And this is my wife, Peggy.”

Peggy knew right away what kind of man he was by the fact that he barely acknowledged her. No handshake, and barely even a nod. Instead, he kept his attention on Steve. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to being looked over, but rather that it always stung.

“Well, they weren’t lying that you’re strong,” Walter said, flexing his hand a few times. “That’s good.” He took another short glance at Peggy. “We were surprised you’d want to bring the little lady with you, never mind incorporate her into the show.” He laughed, “I’m even more shocked Brandt went for it.”

Steve glanced over at Peggy. Neither of them had been briefed on what, exactly, Brant had told the people who were making the show, and she realized that her nap today really was lost time. They had no story put together and would be making things up as they went- at least for today.

That was always dangerous territory.

“Well, we’re still newlyweds,” Steve managed the reply fairly quickly, pulling Peggy into his side. “How could I leave a gal like this back home?”

She felt Steve’s hand just barely tighten at her shoulder, and she could tell he was just as uncomfortable with the man’s suggestive gaze as she was. “I guess not,” Pennington finally mumbled, though Peggy was sure there was something else he wanted to say.

Walter cleared his throat and finally looked at her face, addressing her directly. “I suppose we can work you into a few of the singing numbers, though that’s really up to the director.”

“I don’t sing,” she declared, arching an eyebrow at the man. His clothes said high class but the way he leered at her proved he hadn’t had a proper upbringing.

“Well, then,” he looked her up and down again, not hiding it, “At least you’ll look good in the kick line.”

Peggy wished she could punch him, the way he looked at her reminiscent of far too many men who thought they were better than her. She could feel Steve tensing up beside her. “And I don’t dance.”

He cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Oh, you don’t, huh?” He leaned over to Steve, “What does she do?”

“Well, she…” Steve stuttered only for a second, thinking on his feet and smiling that boyish smile of his, “she’s swell at telling stories, pretty versatile, really, and just look at that smile!”

The producer turned his head back to her and she flashed him her best grin, trying her best to hide the disgust and sarcasm. “’Swell’ at telling stories?” He sighed. “I’m supposed to sell a great American hero who married a Brit?”

“I mean, we are allies,” Steve tried to rationalize.

Walter sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “What did Brandt think, you were going to stand on stage and smile? You might have a nice set of gams there, but that and a nickel will get you a cup of coffee.”

“I think you’ll find,” Peggy started loud, clear, and very American sounding, “that I can blend in quite well when necessary. I’m happy to affect any accent you’ll need for the stage, and do most anything except sing and dance.”

Walter looked up at Steve, obviously not used to being talked to in that manner by a woman, waiting for Steve to say something to her. Instead, he gave her a little squeeze and met the man’s confused gaze with a proud smirk. “That’s my girl!”

He wasn’t pleased, and he didn’t try to hide it. “Rehearsals start tomorrow, you’ll get your script then.”

“How long will we be here in rehearsals?” Steve asked, genuinely interested. Peggy wanted to know, too. They had woefully little information about the process.

“Three weeks of rehearsals then a soft opening run of four shows here. You open in DC for a week, then there’s a cross country schedule.” He tipped his head to their chauffeur who had stayed close. “Dave there will bring you to your hotel.”

Peggy almost smiled. Their pinch-faced man had a name. Dave.

“You need anything while you’re here, you ask Dave. Once you’re on the road, you’re on your own. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, almost reflexively.

Walter looked him up and down once more. “Yeah, I think they’ll believe you belong in the army.” He turned away from them, mumbling as he left, “Damn government contract.”

Peggy had only the barest of moments to share a stunned look with Steve before they were interrupted by Dave, who stepped in front of them and motioned for them to follow him back through the audience.

~*~

Their hotel was not quite homey, but not quite bleak: two high towers full of rooms with a central connecting lobby filled with the dining room and common rooms. It was housing all the staff and performers for the show, most of whom, at least according to Dave, already knew each other from being on the performance circuit.

Steve unlocked their room, pocketing the key and swinging open the door wide. It wasn’t much: pale cream colors on the walls and faded floral bedsheets with matching curtains, a worn loveseat and a tiny table with two unsteady chairs. The bathroom was small, but having their own private one was a luxury.

“Not too bad,” Steve mused, walking around. He patted the tops of their trunks, sitting across from the bed. “How do you think they fared?”

“Well enough, I’m sure.” Peggy smiled just a little, eyes falling on the single bed. “Better than a tent on the front,” she mused.

He chuckled a little, shoving his hands in his pocket. “Very big upgrade,’ he agreed. “Should we unpack?”

Peggy held up her hand, her wife façade falling and the agent taking over, serious and stoic. She pulled a small black box from her purse and flicked a small button, moving it up and down as she slowly side stepped her way through the room. She slid it over the dresser and under the bed, in the small shower stall and behind the toilet. Finally, she sighed happily, clicking the box off and gesturing to the room. “Proceed.”

He didn’t move, but rather pointed to the box in her hand. “What was that?”

“One of Howard’s designs,” she held it up, admiring it with a small smile. She tapped the small, dark bulb on the end. “It lights up in the presence of an electronic listening device.”

Steve looked around the room, crestfallen that he had been so blindly trusting of their accommodations. “So… we’re good?”

“For bugs? Yes. Though the walls seem about as thick as a piece of parchment, so we should get used to keeping our voices down.”

His shoulders fell just a bit more as the whole thing became just a little more real to him. “You… you really think I’m in danger here?”

Her lips pressed tight as she looked up to him, she forced the tiniest of smiles. “I think that Colonel Phillips is one of the smartest men I’ve ever worked with, and despite his misgivings about you, he’s a keen judge of people. I also think that if the goal was to simply guard you or keep you safe, not only are there many other people besides myself who can do that job, it could be easily accomplished by putting you in a cell in Alamogordo. The Colonel has a great distrust of Senator Brandt, and made sure I was the one sent with you. Brandt didn’t make that pick, no matter how he tried to sell it- Phillips did. He told me himself.” She took a deep breath. “He had this show all ready for you to go in to without more than a day’s notice, and is a main suspect in how that Hydra Agent got past our defenses. Whatever’s going on, Phillips wasn’t just trusting anyone with this, and I’m not going to take any of it lightly.”

He was silent for a moment, taking in all he hadn’t known: that Phillips picked Peggy, not Brandt, and that Brandt was a suspect for being in cahoots with Hydra. “Thank you,” he finally whispered out, forcing himself to move on. “I guess… I guess we should get unpacked.”

Peggy shook her head, “Only the littlest bit. If we make it look like we’re living out of the trunks, it’s less suspicious that we’re not unpacking two of them.”

He nodded, undoing the straps on the top one and opened it, moving aside to let Peggy see the artillery had made it safe and sound. “We should put these on the bottom, I think, and ours on top so it’ll be harder for anyone to snoop.”

Peggy smiled up at him, proud. “Thinking like a spy already!” She reached in and pulled out a small handgun and a little filled canvas bag. “That should do for now, make sure those straps are tight.”

Peggy set her bounty on the counter and moved to the second trunk as Steve tightened the straps and moved it deeper in the room, setting it in the back corner, then grabbing another trunk and stacking it on top of it. Peggy pulled out a pair of retractable batons and the boxes of clothes Howard had sent with them, setting those on the counter as well. When she turned back, Steve was at the edge of the bed, holding a small, wrapped package, looking more than a little bashful.

“I, uh…” he laughed nervously, looking down at his toes. “This seemed like a good idea at the time, but uh, seems corny now.”

“What is it?” Peggy asked softly, taking a small step closer and fighting to keep her hands from fidgeting in the folds of her skirt.

Steve turned red, but met her eyes with a big smile that reminded her of the one she’d seen on him at the beginning of basic training. “A wedding present.”

She swallowed, hard. “I… I haven’t gotten you anything.” The retort seemed silly, even to her ears, but it somehow relaxed him.

“I didn’t expect you to. I just…” He shrugged and stepped forward, holding it out. “Here.”

She took it in her hands, soft and light, and let her fingers run over the brown paper wrapping and the little blue ribbon bow around it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a properly wrapped present. She realized she was taking her time, and looked up at him, smiling. “Thank you,” she almost whispered, still surprised.

He shoved his hands back in his pockets, shoulders up to his ears. Slowly she pulled at the bow, and separated the paper to reveal a piece of black fabric that looked suspiciously like a garter belt, but with a little more fabric to it. She looked up at him, his cheeks slowly burning red with embarrassment. “A garter?”

“It’s- it’s a holster.” He reached out one hand, almost touching it, then pulling back. “Or it’s supposed to be, anyway.” He cleared his throat and fought for composure. “After you left Howard’s lab yesterday he mentioned that his butler’s wife was a seamstress and had done the majority of the sewing for the… stuff he gave you.” Peggy fought to not laugh at how cute he was, struggling around the topic. “Anyway, he seemed to think there was some left, so I asked if she could make you something nice. Anna seemed to think you’d find this more useful.”

That caught her up short, even as she pulled the holster up to look at it. “She knows?”

Steve shrugged. “I was as surprised as you are, but apparently all she knows is that the fabric Howard gave her is supposed to be a lighter version of armor, and she figured if you’d need armor you’d need this.” One side of his lips turned up. “Sounded like a good idea, to me.”

Peggy smiled. The holster was genius: made out of the same protective fabric that the stockings and slips were made of, it would lay extremely flat against her thigh and the flap at the top would keep the shape from being too conspicuous. She’d been worried how she was going to keep a firearm on her when she needed to be on stage, and this had just made it very, very easy. “This is wonderful, Steve. Thank you.”

“You like it?” He sounded like a hopeful little boy.

Peggy bent over and slid it up her leg, reaching out and settling the small handgun she’d pulled from the trunk in it. “I love it!” She let her skirt fall back over her legs, and noticed that he’d looked away while her bare thigh was on display. She spun, letting the skirt settle. “Can you tell it’s there?”

He looked, swallowing as he stared at her legs. “Uh, no. No, I can’t.”

She smiled brightly. “Then it’s perfect.”

~*~

Peggy felt better with the gun nestled against her thigh as they walked down to the lobby. With the entirety of the show’s cast and crew staying at the hotel, they were providing breakfast and dinner each day. Steve and Peggy stopped at the double doors of the small banquet room, watching the people, most of whom seemed to know one another, hustle around the large buffet and bounce from table to table, chatting.

“Not too much different from the mess, I guess.” Steve mumbled, tugging at his shirt sleeves. The civilian clothes he changed into fit him tight across the shoulders, almost too tight, and the pants were too big by at least two sizes. Most of the clothes he brought with him needed tailoring, badly, but they were all he could piece together on short notice.

He’d only had this physique for less than a week, after all, and none of his old clothes fit. Even the socks were too small.

Peggy slipped her arm through his, setting them forward. “Stay close, please.”

“Not a problem,” he mumbled, trying to force smiles as they moved through the room. It was easy enough, stepping in line and filling plates. No one questioned that they were supposed to be there as everyone was enthralled in their own dinner conversations. Peggy struggled to split her attention, eyeing each performer in the room, looking for someone whose gaze lingered just a little too long or whose eyebrows knit a little too deeply, while trying to decide what to eat. Apparently, rationing wasn’t quite as bad here as it was in London, and nowhere near what it had been on the front lines. Bowls and platters were full of chicken and mashed potatoes and rolls and butter and there were little cakes at the end of the line that made her do a double take.

She hadn’t seen a proper dessert in months.

“Bloody Nora,” she mumbled, trying to keep from letting her eyes pile more than she could eat on her plate.

“Yeah, it’s a good spread,” Steve whispered beside her, not being shy about piling his plate high. “Better than rations, huh?”

She carefully picked out just one of the little finger cakes at the end of the table and looked up at him, astounded. “Does everyone in America eat like this?”

“This?” He laughed a little, taking his own cake and then following her to a corner where there was a free table. “No. This is pretty extravagant.” He set his plate down, noticing she set them in the corner, where they’d both have a good line of vision to keep nearly the whole dining room in view. “I’ll go grab us some drinks. Water? Tea?”

“Water, please” she replied, still a little shell shocked. She watched him take the few steps to another table and fill two tall glasses and she unfurled her napkin and revealed the silverware that had been waiting for them on the table. The room still buzzed, but she could see that it was with a jovial familiarity. People were talking like old friends, making new friends, smiling and laughing.

The mood, and the food, was a far cry from the front she’d grown used to during her time with the SSR. She wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. It certainly made her anxious.

Steve slid in across from her, setting her glass down. He smiled and pulled out his silverware, taking no time before tucking into his food. He stopped a few bites in when he realized she hadn’t started. He hurriedly wiped his mouth like a little kid and sat up tall. “Did… did you want to say grace or something?”

“No, sorry,” Peggy lifted her fork and tried to smile. “Just… people watching, I suppose.”

He started eating again, this time a little slower, with his eyes on her more often. “Did you… notice anything?”

Peggy swallowed and dabbed at her lips, moving her peas around her plate with the fork. “No, which bothers me.” She sighed quietly, leaning in towards him, “I’m used to knowing more about the situations I’m headed into. We know nothing about these people. I don’t even know who could be lying about who they are because I don’t have any dossiers on them at all.”

“Brandt didn’t give you any of that stuff?” Steve asked, his eyebrow knitting as he speared a piece of chicken.

She shook her head, chewing a forkful of potatoes thoughtfully. “I suppose I could get their bios and headshots somehow, but it still gives us little to go on.”

Steve tapped the fork against his lips, looking around. “What if… what if it’s not anyone here?” He turned back to her. “Wouldn’t it be easier to be an audience member?”

Peggy sipped on her water, nodding. “Could do, yeah.” She looked around, too, picking at her chicken that had seemed so appetizing just a few minutes ago. “Easy in and out. But if it were me? Someone in the show would be invaluable.”

“Like you,” Steve mumbled, looking at his plate and shoving a big forkful in his lips before he could say anymore.

Peggy’s heart skipped a beat, but before she could reply, a shadow slid over them. They both looked up to a bright, smiling face. “So, you must be the guy?”

“Excuse me?” Steve swallowed hard.

“Like, the guy, right? As in Mister Captain America?” She smiled and pulled the chair behind her up to the table. “I’m Angie,” she held out her hand, waiting for Steve to take it.

“Steve.” His handshake was tentative, but that didn’t seem to deter her.

She turned right away and held it out to Peggy, too. “And you must be the Missus!”

“Peggy,” she swallowed the mouthful of food she’d forgotten about, pulling her free hand to cover her mouth as she shook Angie’s hand. “Sorry, you surprised me.”

“Me?” Angie chuckled, eyes wide as she looked Peggy over. “You’re the surprise!” She let her voice drop, telling Peggy a secret she knew Steve could hear. “I mean, I was cast as Betty Carver, so I was a little disappointed when I heard I was getting dropped down to feature.”

Peggy watched Angie’s face fall when neither she nor Steve seemed to react to that. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to know who that is?” Peggy shrugged, trying to play it off as being dim. “We haven’t been given a script yet.”

Angie’s face went from disappointed to outraged. “You haven’t been…” Her mouth worked in disbelief as she looked between the two of them. “Who is your agent? We’ve all had the songs and script for weeks now!”

Peggy felt the sentence hit her like a punch in the gut: whatever Brandt had been planning, it had been going on for weeks, not days. Though they’d both known this couldn’t have been put together in the last few days, the realization that there was already a plan to center around some ultra-strong American hero bothered her deeply. She tried hard not to react to the plain panic in Steve’s eyes while Angie’s face was still on her. She made a snap decision, and decided the more honest they were, the better. “Agent? Why- the US Army, of course!”

Angie laughed, brushing Peggy’s comment away with her hand. “You’re funny! No- come on- tell me so we can help you guys get it all straightened out!” Angie’s smile faded as she watched Peggy’s straight face barely move. “Wait- you’re- you’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“But- this… this is a show. Why would the Army…” She looked between the two of them, truly confused.

Steve cleared his throat and stepped in. “There, uh, was an accident.” He looked down, and kept his eyes averted in a way that Peggy knew meant he was uncomfortable with what he was doing. “I couldn’t serve the way I wanted to, and some of the higher ups thought that this might be the best place for me.”

Peggy watched Angie’s face as she shifted uncomfortably. The young woman clearly hadn’t been prepared for what she thought was an injured veteran before her. Peggy reached out and took Steve’s hand, letting her thumb rub over the knuckle. “We’re very lucky to be here right now,” she nearly whispered, proud of how he’d managed to play his role.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” Angie, for her part, was now mortified, hands covering her mouth as she looked at the two of them. “You’re… wait- are you really married, too? I thought I just got re-cast!”

“What?” Peggy’s head swung around quickly.

“Betty Carver was supposed to be the love interest- the home front girlfriend of Captain America.” She rolled her eyes, talking out loud to herself. “I mean, I was thrown for a loop when I came over here and you were English! Couldn’t figure out why they’d recast the home front girl with an English gal, but…” She softened and turned, smiling genuinely. “Well, I guess it all makes a lot more sense, now.” She looked over at Steve. “You were really a soldier?”

He nodded, and Peggy pushed forward with the charade, skirting the line of reality as close as she could. “It’s how we met.”

Angie’s smile melted even further. “That’s so sweet. I wish I had a guy to write.” She shrugged, and switched gears quickly. “So, wait- you mean you’re really fresh out of the Army, no script or nothin’?”

“Nothin,” Steve confirmed.

“Well, you stick with me. I’ll show you the ropes, introduce you to everyone. Most of us have been taking gigs together for years now. After a while rehearsing and once we’re on the road we’ll be one big family.”

~*~

“I can sleep on the floor,” Steve said warmly, feeling gallant as he took a pillow from the bed even though he was drained from the way Angie had dragged them around the dining room, introducing them to nearly the entire cast.

Peggy pulled it from his hands and tossed it back on the bed. “Absolutely not.” Steve only knitted his brow at her. “The windows face the other side of the hotel. Even with the curtains drawn you can still see shapes. Plus, now that Angie’s introduced us around, I doubt she, or any of them really, will be too shy about stopping by. One overly nosy chorus girl sees you on the floor and starts talking and our cover is blown.”

Steve wasn’t convinced, and looked nervous now. “Still, I didn’t want to—"

“My modesty will survive if yours will.” She set her hands on her hips and looked at him, finding herself tired and frustrated after the afternoon they’d had. “One overly eager bell boy or maid comes in and finds you out of the bed, and we’re in the gossip mill. One wrong word to the wrong person, and this all goes south, you know that.”

He grabbed the pillow back from the bed, just as obstinate. “I don’t sleep that much anyway, it won’t bother me, Peg.”

Peggy shook her head, closing the tiny amount of space between them. “You and me, together against the world, right? But let’s get one thing straight, shall we? My official mission is to make sure you don’t get killed. If you die, I’ve failed,” she paused and smiled proudly, “and I never fail. Even more so than that,” she sighed, her eyes turning softer, “I’m quite fond of you, and I would very much appreciate you not dying.”

“Fond?” Steve nearly squeaked out.

Peggy smiled. Perhaps they’d been dancing about this too much, because his shock, after everything they’d said to each other this afternoon, was not the response she expected to her words. “Yes. Fond. So much so, in fact, that I might even let you take me on a date once this is all over.”

Steve flustered, surprised as he stuttered out, “D-date?” He cleared his throat and composed himself, nodding and looking anywhere but at her. “I mean, yeah. No. I’d love to take you out.” He took a breath and slowed himself down. “I’m… fond, too.”

Peggy smiled, turning her back, ignoring that he turned a deep shade of red. “Affection aside, we need to be comfortable with one another in public for strategic purposes: holding hands, casual touches, even kissing.” He’d very nearly gotten himself under control when she said that and she could see how hard he fought to keep his face from turning red again as she pulled the pillow from his hand, gentler this time. “When people see us, they need to believe we’re a couple, no matter if we love one another or can’t stand each other. Understood?”

He nodded swiftly.

She tossed the pillow down. “Now get in bed.”

He stared blankly at her for a second before sitting on the side of the bed, still fully dressed. “Did you… want to go to bed?” He asked cautiously.

She huffed, sitting heavily next to him. “No,” she admitted. “We need to talk this through. We can’t afford to get the details messed up. We came close a few times today already.”

Steve nodded. “I know. I tried to keep it as close to what really happened as I could, so we couldn’t mess it up, but—”

“No, that was good.” Peggy kicked off her heels and slid back on the bed, tucking her legs under her. “The closer we keep it to reality, the less details we have to remember. But the timeline is off. It’ll be what gets us caught.”

“Because according to the papers we were married before we even met.”

“Exactly.” She nibbled at her thumbnail, turning away to think. “And you were on the European Front. We need to figure out just exactly what your accident was, once these people get comfortable with us—”

“Angie’s already quite comfortable,” Steve mumbled.

Peggy hummed in agreement before continuing, “Once they get more comfortable, they’re not going to hold their questions for long. And it isn’t as if you’ve got anything overtly wrong that would take you off the front lines.”

Steve nodded. “They’re keeping every able-bodied soldier out there. It’s gotta be convincing.”

“Well, we should be able to fend off questions at least for a bit.” Peggy shifted, looking him over seriously.

Steve squirmed under her gaze. “What?”

“Just thinking,” she sighed, forcing her eyes to his. “If you were in your old body, we’d have no trouble passing you off as discharged.”

His laugh was somewhat self-deprecating. “If I were in my old body we wouldn’t be here.”

Peggy looked him over again, her eyes very pointedly popping up from the bed they were both sitting on once her gaze rested there. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

His jaw fell, more out of surprise than anything, and he was even more surprised to see a bright red tint start to shade in around Peggy’s cheeks. She cleared her throat and looked away. “Goodness only knows how people get places, yes?” she asked quickly, pushing through the heavy seriousness that had fallen over them both. She stood, pacing with newfound energy as she tried to halt the images of just what they could do in a bed together. “What if you were in your old body? What could we say was the reason?”

Steve switched trains of thought with her easily, shrugging and curling over, so reminiscent of the frail boned boy he’d once been. “Gosh, take your pick. I’ll start with the A’s: anemia, asthma, angina, all kinds a’ scrawny… then there’s the scoliosis, high blood pressure, constant sinus infections. I had scarlet fever, then rheumatic fever…. Nothing ever felt the same after that.” He almost jumped when he looked up to see she’d managed to creep so close to him that she was leaning in only inches away from his face, staring, fascinated. “What?”

The amazed look on her face never faltered. “How did you ever manage Basic Training?”

He laughed nervously, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he shrugged. “You were there. You know I barely made it through most of the time.”

Her amazement shifted to pride. “Sheer force of will, I imagine, was the only thing between you and collapsing on that field.”

“Probably more often than you’d know.”

Peggy stood slowly and resumed her pacing. “Asthma would work.”

“They catch that right away. No hiding it. I never would have made it past the recruitment center. In fact, there were five times I didn’t.” She hummed, leaning back on her trunk, still looking him over. Steve tried no to hide from her intense gaze. “You know, that’s getting a little…”

Peggy turned her eyes down, shaking her head. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” She looked back up and smiled. “Seems Erskin’s serum worked a bit too well.”

~*~

Peggy stepped out of the bathroom, pin curls hidden under her kerchief, face scrubbed clean with just a light sheen of moisturizer on, her robe covering the only nightgown she had. She smiled when she saw Steve’s back, his face turned carefully away as he sat on his side of the bed. “You can look, you know.”

“I, uh,” as he cleared his throat she could see the pink creeping up his neck, “I didn’t want to presume.”

“I’m sorry to say that there’s nothing scandalous about me without my make-up or with my hair pinned for the night.” She carefully sat on her side of the bed, smiling as his shoulders tensed when he felt the mattress move. “Though I am in a nightgown, I wasn’t allowed to keep the army-issued pajamas.” He slowly turned, looking over, relaxing a little once he saw her. “What?” She chuckled, “Was that all that bad?”

“I just… I didn’t want to presume…”

“You said that already,” she smiled, unable to see anything else but the stammering 98-pound man across from her in the back of the car.

“I know, but it seemed…” he huffed, shrugging.

“You’re not scandalized?” she teased.

He smiled softly. “You look like my Ma.” Her eyes widened and he threw his hands up, rushing to explain. “No, I just, I thought you’d be- I don’t know, more- but not like- no, and then I turned and you were just- normal.” His hands started flying and his eyes darted back and forth as he panicked, words spilling from his lips that didn’t make any of his stuttering confessions better. “But no, not like that. Not normal. You’re pretty. I just assumed you’d be more since I imagined—not that I want more, you’re enough. But I saw you like that with the kerchief and that was just how my Ma used to do her hair and—” His eyes widened comically large, “No! I do not think of my Ma like that. Not that I did or would, but I thought of you like that—”

“You have?” she interrupted, completely amused and charmed at his stammering.

“I have!” He announced, proud, before he realized what he’d said, his face falling again and the stammering resuming. “No, it’s just that, I respect you. A lot. And you’re gorgeous. And we are married, but not for real so then I shouldn’t—”

“Steve!” Peggy smiled, put a hand on his. “Breathe!” He stopped his disjointed rant, looking at her and finally taking a deep breath in, eyes wild with pleading for understanding. “It’s alright. I understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Good,” he chuckled, turning more completely to her, “because I sure don’t.”

Peggy laughed lightly, taking her hands from his. “I believe I have an unfair advantage here as I’ve already seen you without your shirt, and ladies do tend to have quite a few tricks up their sleeves.”

He looked sheepish, swinging his pajama clad legs on the bed, eyes focused on his threadbare undershirt. “I’ve heard fellas say that they’ve seen their girls without make-up and their hair done and they look completely different. Made them not want to date them.”

Peggy shrugged her robe off, setting it on the chair next to the bed. Her nightgown wasn’t exactly revealing, she had dresses with lower necklines, but it was thinned from use and age and she didn’t have another. His eyes traveled her form, and she pretended not to notice as she pulled down the blanket and slipped into the bed. “And do I?”

“No.” He smiled, turning away to click off the lamp to hide his expression. “You’re…” he looked down, trying to pick his words carefully, “just as beautiful.”

Peggy bit her lip, unsure of how to respond as he slipped in the bed, the pillow between them separating their sides. “That’s a kind assessment,” she finally whispered into the darkness.

“It’s the truth,” he whispered back. “Good night, Peggy,” he added gently, looking over the pillow that separated them, the compromise they’d made to keep him off the floor and somehow save her virtue.

“Good night, Steve,” she whispered back, completely sure she’d have quite the difficult time sleeping now that she knew that unlike Fred, he didn’t seem to mind her as she looked not so done up.

#SteggyWeek23 #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #@roboticonography #Once a year is a valid update schedule I swear

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