[several days after hawk is back, in the flesh, mostly keeping to himself.]
I get it, if you'd prefer not to hear from me now that the cat's outta the bag. I probably wouldn't wanna hear from me either. I've always known I wasn't a good man. But I didn't think I was a bad one.
Meeting you might have been the only bright spot out of all of it. I meant everything I said about a "next time", if you're game.
Take care, Bobby.
I get it, if you'd prefer not to hear from me now that the cat's outta the bag. I probably wouldn't wanna hear from me either. I've always known I wasn't a good man. But I didn't think I was a bad one.
Meeting you might have been the only bright spot out of all of it. I meant everything I said about a "next time", if you're game.
Take care, Bobby.
Edited 2025-11-01 20:12 (UTC)
[ after rereading meeting you might have been the only bright spot way too many times — ]
you remember what stephen said, when he accused me?
[ about the blackouts, the violence, the existential threat to new york city posed by his bad day. ]
i get it
what happened, i mean, as much as anybody can
so i don’t think you’re a bad person
and i’d really like there to be a next time
you remember what stephen said, when he accused me?
[ about the blackouts, the violence, the existential threat to new york city posed by his bad day. ]
i get it
what happened, i mean, as much as anybody can
so i don’t think you’re a bad person
and i’d really like there to be a next time
[ it’s a game, just a way to blow off steam that isn’t drinking or fucking or brooding, the three things he’s the fucking best at — at least according to his sister, who arguably has known him the longest and holds a lifelong grudge against him for it (among other incredibly valid reasons). still in prime physical condition out of a combined sense of vanity and a need to be able to participate in marathon sex, he holds some costumed freak in an aggressive headlock until they yield to unconsciousness, gracelessly dropping the body to the floor and laughing at the crowd with a smile meant for stage lights and television screens, somehow still picture perfect with sweat dripping from the dark waves of his hair, until a new face clambers into the ring and socks him across the face.
okay, so maybe he did get drunk before stumbling past the ropes and picking a fight, his only saving grace being the military training etched into his body, drawn out with adrenaline and muscle memory. still, even a soldier doesn’t stand a chance after what feels like ten shots pounded back like he’s twenty again, egged on by some idiot with a pretty face that he’d inevitably end up in bed with. god, the fucking memories. the empty carnality that he thought maybe he could be cured of, reeling him in like a dying fish on a hook.
blood wells over the bow of his lips, seeping into his mouth as he stumbles. he feels no pain, whirling around to spit before lashing out again, his fist paying back the favor as he cuts his knuckles across sharp teeth. still no pain, even as angry red appears on his hand. he laughs again, and that costs him, the wind punched out of him as his back hits the floor, a hard body atop him. can’t quite knock him off, even as he jerks his hips, and then he can’t see anything but dots of stars, distantly aware that he’s been punched again, and he’ll probably have a black eye for it, and there will be no way to explain it to ash or greer. two people who just got their lives back, while embry desperately tries to throw his away.
he doesn’t want to die, per se. or at least he won’t say that out loud, because it feels like something he should have left behind two decades ago, and he has, except for when he’s let everyone down, and he knows he’ll keep letting everyone down, because he’s fundamentally fucked up, and how many people would be better off without him? three million, if he’s counting.
still no pain as he takes another blow, metallic rust staining his teeth, flooding his tongue. did danny kill ash like this? little by little, until the knife slid in. are greer’s memories just waiting to assault her? his hands drop, defenses shattered as he welcomes the hurt, swimming in a haze of alcohol and desperation, wishing someone would plunge a hand right through his chest and rip out the aching pieces of his heart, a wound far deeper than anything that could happen to him in the ring. ]
okay, so maybe he did get drunk before stumbling past the ropes and picking a fight, his only saving grace being the military training etched into his body, drawn out with adrenaline and muscle memory. still, even a soldier doesn’t stand a chance after what feels like ten shots pounded back like he’s twenty again, egged on by some idiot with a pretty face that he’d inevitably end up in bed with. god, the fucking memories. the empty carnality that he thought maybe he could be cured of, reeling him in like a dying fish on a hook.
blood wells over the bow of his lips, seeping into his mouth as he stumbles. he feels no pain, whirling around to spit before lashing out again, his fist paying back the favor as he cuts his knuckles across sharp teeth. still no pain, even as angry red appears on his hand. he laughs again, and that costs him, the wind punched out of him as his back hits the floor, a hard body atop him. can’t quite knock him off, even as he jerks his hips, and then he can’t see anything but dots of stars, distantly aware that he’s been punched again, and he’ll probably have a black eye for it, and there will be no way to explain it to ash or greer. two people who just got their lives back, while embry desperately tries to throw his away.
he doesn’t want to die, per se. or at least he won’t say that out loud, because it feels like something he should have left behind two decades ago, and he has, except for when he’s let everyone down, and he knows he’ll keep letting everyone down, because he’s fundamentally fucked up, and how many people would be better off without him? three million, if he’s counting.
still no pain as he takes another blow, metallic rust staining his teeth, flooding his tongue. did danny kill ash like this? little by little, until the knife slid in. are greer’s memories just waiting to assault her? his hands drop, defenses shattered as he welcomes the hurt, swimming in a haze of alcohol and desperation, wishing someone would plunge a hand right through his chest and rip out the aching pieces of his heart, a wound far deeper than anything that could happen to him in the ring. ]
[ bob avoids the fighting, less out of valor or humility, more out of plain old cowardice. see, he recalls how it felt to be the sentry through a fish-eye lens, distorted and strange. no sense of the strength or power in his hands until he unleashed it. forgotten again until someone like stephen fucking strange brings it up in front of everyone, or it bleeds from his lightning-fast reflexes, his tightly contained highs and lows. more vividly, he remembers the burn of knuckles on bone, bruising high on his cheek. trying to set his arm so he didn’t have to go the hospital and rack up another bill for his mom. being unable to look the nurse in the eye even as he gentled the question bob knew was coming. did somebody hurt you? easier to lie, not matter how badly he sold it, because nobody can do anything until they have proof, and most people don’t care enough to push past the excuses.
he shuffles past, head down, until he hears that familiar drag of flesh on bone. the dangerous crack when you hit places you aren’t supposed to, in a fair fight. the squelch of blood or spit, louder in his ear than anybody else’s. so fucking loud, in fact, the inherent overstimulation of his amped up senses in play. the crowd jostles him, then, and he hazards a look at whatever fuckhead’s risking it in there.
only he knows that swooping hair, that already-bruising jaw, and so he’s moving before he decides to act. like he always has. in the shadows of his home, the dark of the void, it’s all the same. ]
I’m tagging in. [ doesn’t matter if that’s how it works (and it isn’t, according to the apoplectic sputtering of the so-called ref as bob throws his jacket over him like he’s a coat rack). it’s over, then, long before he gets his hands on anyone. his fear dissipates, replaced by something hotter, brighter in his chest. a bouncer who looks deader than embry goes flying the second he reaches for bob, crashing into the crowd when bob raises his hand. the next one makes it far enough to swing for his head, connecting with a dull thud.the blow there or subsequent cheap shot at his neck doesn’t move him. he catches the third attempt, eyes swirling gold as they assess exactly how human his opponent is — how much he should hold back — with a tick in his jaw, he makes a decision. ]
You really don’t wanna do that. [ because he can feel the fragility of the bones in this guy’s hands, the material fact of them as flimsy as tissue paper. bob’s fingers tighten on his opponent’s fist, and he hears the hairline fracture that precedes a break, the click of a dislocation that he could make a deadly tear, but he pulls the power back at the last second, like pumping the breaks on a careening vehicle, and just slams him to the ground instead. from there, it’s a straight shot to embry and his assailant. the seconds blur. he has his hand on the scruff of the guy’s neck, he knows that abstractly. it’s how bob yanks him off embry, how he sees the blood and bruises that paint familiar features in an unnerving light. but there’s the crack of bob’s grip on the offending arm before he realises it. the break he’d resisted a moment earlier now in effect, accompanied by a terrible howl of pain. a shadow out of the corner of his eye —
bob throws him aside, sloppier than the first time, not wanting to look any closer. in short order, he loops an arm around embry and hoists him effortlessly. ]
Jesus, Embry. [ no need to ask the hell were you thinking when he already has an idea, plucked from his own memories. it’d be faster to carry him but he needs a hand free, just in case. ] You look like shit. [ a beat, as he glances around, eyes still alight and unnatural. they need to get out of this horror show. ] And I think I just broke the third or fourth rule of fight club.
[ no permanent damage? no super duper cheating? ]
he shuffles past, head down, until he hears that familiar drag of flesh on bone. the dangerous crack when you hit places you aren’t supposed to, in a fair fight. the squelch of blood or spit, louder in his ear than anybody else’s. so fucking loud, in fact, the inherent overstimulation of his amped up senses in play. the crowd jostles him, then, and he hazards a look at whatever fuckhead’s risking it in there.
only he knows that swooping hair, that already-bruising jaw, and so he’s moving before he decides to act. like he always has. in the shadows of his home, the dark of the void, it’s all the same. ]
I’m tagging in. [ doesn’t matter if that’s how it works (and it isn’t, according to the apoplectic sputtering of the so-called ref as bob throws his jacket over him like he’s a coat rack). it’s over, then, long before he gets his hands on anyone. his fear dissipates, replaced by something hotter, brighter in his chest. a bouncer who looks deader than embry goes flying the second he reaches for bob, crashing into the crowd when bob raises his hand. the next one makes it far enough to swing for his head, connecting with a dull thud.the blow there or subsequent cheap shot at his neck doesn’t move him. he catches the third attempt, eyes swirling gold as they assess exactly how human his opponent is — how much he should hold back — with a tick in his jaw, he makes a decision. ]
You really don’t wanna do that. [ because he can feel the fragility of the bones in this guy’s hands, the material fact of them as flimsy as tissue paper. bob’s fingers tighten on his opponent’s fist, and he hears the hairline fracture that precedes a break, the click of a dislocation that he could make a deadly tear, but he pulls the power back at the last second, like pumping the breaks on a careening vehicle, and just slams him to the ground instead. from there, it’s a straight shot to embry and his assailant. the seconds blur. he has his hand on the scruff of the guy’s neck, he knows that abstractly. it’s how bob yanks him off embry, how he sees the blood and bruises that paint familiar features in an unnerving light. but there’s the crack of bob’s grip on the offending arm before he realises it. the break he’d resisted a moment earlier now in effect, accompanied by a terrible howl of pain. a shadow out of the corner of his eye —
bob throws him aside, sloppier than the first time, not wanting to look any closer. in short order, he loops an arm around embry and hoists him effortlessly. ]
Jesus, Embry. [ no need to ask the hell were you thinking when he already has an idea, plucked from his own memories. it’d be faster to carry him but he needs a hand free, just in case. ] You look like shit. [ a beat, as he glances around, eyes still alight and unnatural. they need to get out of this horror show. ] And I think I just broke the third or fourth rule of fight club.
[ no permanent damage? no super duper cheating? ]
[ Pushed under Bob's door is an envelope with his name on. Inside is a phone charm, and a folded piece of heavy card stock paper with a poem carefully printed on it: ]
When I Heard at the Close of the Day — Walt Whitman
Meet me for dinner tonight? — A
When I Heard at the Close of the Day — Walt Whitman
When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv’d with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow’d,[ Folded within the paper is a calling card with another note, in slightly looser handwriting: ]
And else when I carous’d, or when my plans were accomplish’d, still I was not happy,
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, refresh’d, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the morning light,
When I wander’d alone over the beach, and undressing bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way coming, O then I was happy,
O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food nourish’d me more, and the beautiful day pass’d well,
And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came my friend,
And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me whispering to congratulate me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast – and that night I was happy.
Meet me for dinner tonight? — A
[ it was only a week or so ago that he told billy no one had ever picked him up at his front door. armand’s next level, compared to that. he thumbs over the corner of the calling card, studying the lovely, looping writing. surely armand is beginning to realise he isn’t all that interesting or clever — only this suggests the opposite.
effort and care and thought, tied with a bow. ]
i’ll be there
you think this guy looks like me?
[ the distressed lil guy on the charm… ]
effort and care and thought, tied with a bow. ]
i’ll be there
you think this guy looks like me?
[ the distressed lil guy on the charm… ]
this feels like a trick question
[ except he’s sure embry would rather cry and throw up again than tell someone they’re — whatever they are. ]
not really no
seems pretty obvious she’s in another league
and that all three of you are fucking bucky now
so
[ that’s a lot, and he’s not sure what to make of it outside of, generally speaking, being happy whatever wound bucky had from his time with ash (and cap) has closed. ]
[ except he’s sure embry would rather cry and throw up again than tell someone they’re — whatever they are. ]
not really no
seems pretty obvious she’s in another league
and that all three of you are fucking bucky now
so
[ that’s a lot, and he’s not sure what to make of it outside of, generally speaking, being happy whatever wound bucky had from his time with ash (and cap) has closed. ]
Edited 2025-12-02 07:13 (UTC)
i'm heading to your room and you need to open the door for me.
[It's a message sent a little while after it looks like Bob's stepped away from the conversation, not needing to see the man to know how wound up he probably is right now. But rather than try to talk it through, rather than attempt to make him see sense in not holding on to that anger, instead he takes the easier option.
One that comes with four paws and a plan to serve as a living fur blanket while Bob takes some time to relax. He knows how much help Ithemba can be for himself, so it stands to reason that he can offer that same service to Bob too, right?
A soft bump against Bob's door a few minutes later, and it won't take long to realize just why Bucky asked for it to be opened for him. Opposable thumbs would definitely have made things easier.]
[It's a message sent a little while after it looks like Bob's stepped away from the conversation, not needing to see the man to know how wound up he probably is right now. But rather than try to talk it through, rather than attempt to make him see sense in not holding on to that anger, instead he takes the easier option.
One that comes with four paws and a plan to serve as a living fur blanket while Bob takes some time to relax. He knows how much help Ithemba can be for himself, so it stands to reason that he can offer that same service to Bob too, right?
A soft bump against Bob's door a few minutes later, and it won't take long to realize just why Bucky asked for it to be opened for him. Opposable thumbs would definitely have made things easier.]
okay
[ not questioning it, even though he has an inkling this is about stephen fucking strange. which, granted, bob re-started that fight, but he doesn't see why some people are allowed to talk about everything that happened in the games from a year ago or hurts from another lifetime, but he can't bring up a more recent wound. the immediate doubt and disapproval from the people he cares for, like kate (even tony), stings more than the apathy of strangers like tim, but he doesn't particularly enjoy either. it all tells him the same thing. there are people who matter and people who don't; that's where the line of acceptability gets drawn.
and his feelings have always been ugly, besides. better choked down in the attic than seen on the ground floor, where they'd surely make things worse.
so bob walks off the hurt and anger alone first, muddy boots by his door. cheeks so chilled by the cold that his shower burns after. hair damp when he opens the door, halfway through tugging his sweatshirt over his head. after he nearly stumbles into bucky, he gawks. ]
Oh, shit. You — on purpose?
[ when they returned to the manor, bucky seemed to have transformed by accident. ]
[ not questioning it, even though he has an inkling this is about stephen fucking strange. which, granted, bob re-started that fight, but he doesn't see why some people are allowed to talk about everything that happened in the games from a year ago or hurts from another lifetime, but he can't bring up a more recent wound. the immediate doubt and disapproval from the people he cares for, like kate (even tony), stings more than the apathy of strangers like tim, but he doesn't particularly enjoy either. it all tells him the same thing. there are people who matter and people who don't; that's where the line of acceptability gets drawn.
and his feelings have always been ugly, besides. better choked down in the attic than seen on the ground floor, where they'd surely make things worse.
so bob walks off the hurt and anger alone first, muddy boots by his door. cheeks so chilled by the cold that his shower burns after. hair damp when he opens the door, halfway through tugging his sweatshirt over his head. after he nearly stumbles into bucky, he gawks. ]
Oh, shit. You — on purpose?
[ when they returned to the manor, bucky seemed to have transformed by accident. ]
[Sure, it's still a few weeks till Christmas and the official gift giving day. But who needs a specific date to actually buy something for someone you care about anyway?
So, when Bob goes back to his room that day, there's an unwrapped box sitting on his bed, holding something a little more protective than his previous pair. And, hanging on the door of his wardrobe, a bonus layer of warmth, and a taste of the 30s that Bucky's convinced will never go out of style.
No names attached, of course. But is there really a point?]
So, when Bob goes back to his room that day, there's an unwrapped box sitting on his bed, holding something a little more protective than his previous pair. And, hanging on the door of his wardrobe, a bonus layer of warmth, and a taste of the 30s that Bucky's convinced will never go out of style.
No names attached, of course. But is there really a point?]
[ no names attached, no formal thanks written in cramped handwriting. instead, bob breaks in his boots the next day — and his coat, two days after that, when he and bucky venture out into the market again.
the gloves are his own, still. armour enough to brave his way into holding bucky’s hand on the walk back to the manor. ]
the gloves are his own, still. armour enough to brave his way into holding bucky’s hand on the walk back to the manor. ]
And if I said our bed was empty without you? What then?
[ as far as nsfw attachments go, it's not the most risque one greer could have sent, but that's only because she doesn't know who this is actually going to. ]
[ as far as nsfw attachments go, it's not the most risque one greer could have sent, but that's only because she doesn't know who this is actually going to. ]
[ the image is of sam in the full-length mirror of the bathroom she shares with yelena and kate, posing with her phone held out to capture the full view of what she’s wearing. black waves spill over her left shoulder and the lavender of the straps and garters pops against her skintone, the jewels of the bodysuit glinting in the soft light of the room. ]
what do you think? too tame?
[ the person it’s meant for (ani) would know better than she would. ]
what do you think? too tame?
[ the person it’s meant for (ani) would know better than she would. ]
[ by the time max’s message pings on the screen, bob can tell something insane is happening. but also — in this case — it’s sam. sam at the movies, sam in their bed at the lodge, sam looking at him from across the circle of their friends and waiting to be kissed.
you see it, right?
he thumbs over the screen, attention lingering, well, everywhere. the curve of her shoulder, along the line of her spine to the swell of her ass. ]
not too tame
for me anyway
i think [ dot dot dot, flashing on the screen ] you look pretty amazing
amazingly pretty?
crazy hot
is this helping?
you see it, right?
he thumbs over the screen, attention lingering, well, everywhere. the curve of her shoulder, along the line of her spine to the swell of her ass. ]
not too tame
for me anyway
i think [ dot dot dot, flashing on the screen ] you look pretty amazing
amazingly pretty?
crazy hot
is this helping?
whoa
jesus
[ checking the username. not recognising the username. not being clued in enough to guess from the ass and the catholic stuff who, exactly, this is — ]
sorry
[ for saying “jesus” except this is not particularly god fearing behaviour? ]
did we match on voyeur?
i don’t know why i asked that
i know we didn’t because i would not forget somebody who looked like that
but whoa
[ x2, officially. on god, what is happening. ]
jesus
[ checking the username. not recognising the username. not being clued in enough to guess from the ass and the catholic stuff who, exactly, this is — ]
sorry
[ for saying “jesus” except this is not particularly god fearing behaviour? ]
did we match on voyeur?
i don’t know why i asked that
i know we didn’t because i would not forget somebody who looked like that
but whoa
[ x2, officially. on god, what is happening. ]
[ mom (ani) come pick me up i’m scared
there’s a long pause after he receives the message in which there is no typing, no flickering dots. he looks only at the card. remembers a girl in cassadaga who read his cards in a dimly lit bar. he couldn’t say what they were, when he was high on arrival, only that one meant total transformation of the self.
nice, if you can get it. ]
a long time ago
i guess
there’s a long pause after he receives the message in which there is no typing, no flickering dots. he looks only at the card. remembers a girl in cassadaga who read his cards in a dimly lit bar. he couldn’t say what they were, when he was high on arrival, only that one meant total transformation of the self.
nice, if you can get it. ]
a long time ago
i guess
hihihi this is Iggy! the really really tall redhead at the pink slip? I had my corpse desecrated a few months ago?
quick q: you're a really good bodyguard right?
quick q: you're a really good bodyguard right?
a letter, attached to an ornament, hung on his doorknob.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holyposition
2025-12-19 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Bob,
I know modern people don’t really write letters. But I thought this would be the best way to apologize and only say what I mean, without getting flustered or upset. I hope you’ll be generous enough to bear with me.
I said some things the other day that were over the line, and I’m sorry. You were right, I was jealous. I AM jealous. The norm here of everyone being wrapped up with everyone else doesn’t come naturally to me, even when I indulge in it myself. I’m always going to be jealous of anyone getting intimate with Hawk. If you want some kind of relationship with him, that’s something you’ll need to learn to live with. Just like I’ll need to learn not to be an ass about it. Things are complicated with Hawk and I, in a way that makes it hard to know where the line is, but regardless of where that is, there’s no reason for me to be hurtful towards you. You didn’t deserve it. I’m not proud, but I am sorry.
I left because I needed him to change, because he was hurting himself and everyone around him. You saw him that way and decided that you wanted him. That's what worried me, that he might use that as a crutch to avoid the hard work that needs to be done. The timing was bad and I judged you for it without talking to either of you, that was wrong too. There was a lot going on. What with the murders, and then the grieving, and the stigmata and everything else. I have not been my best, most rational self. I apologize for making you a casualty of that.
If you want to talk, I'd be happy to. But if you don't, I would understand.
Sincerely,
Tim
P.S. - I don't know what you like or if you celebrate Christmas but the ornament is for you. I kept it secular because I don't know if you're Christian, either. Guess that just proves the point, right? Don't go judging complete strangers.
I know modern people don’t really write letters. But I thought this would be the best way to apologize and only say what I mean, without getting flustered or upset. I hope you’ll be generous enough to bear with me.
I said some things the other day that were over the line, and I’m sorry. You were right, I was jealous. I AM jealous. The norm here of everyone being wrapped up with everyone else doesn’t come naturally to me, even when I indulge in it myself. I’m always going to be jealous of anyone getting intimate with Hawk. If you want some kind of relationship with him, that’s something you’ll need to learn to live with. Just like I’ll need to learn not to be an ass about it. Things are complicated with Hawk and I, in a way that makes it hard to know where the line is, but regardless of where that is, there’s no reason for me to be hurtful towards you. You didn’t deserve it. I’m not proud, but I am sorry.
I left because I needed him to change, because he was hurting himself and everyone around him. You saw him that way and decided that you wanted him. That's what worried me, that he might use that as a crutch to avoid the hard work that needs to be done. The timing was bad and I judged you for it without talking to either of you, that was wrong too. There was a lot going on. What with the murders, and then the grieving, and the stigmata and everything else. I have not been my best, most rational self. I apologize for making you a casualty of that.
If you want to talk, I'd be happy to. But if you don't, I would understand.
Sincerely,
Tim
P.S. - I don't know what you like or if you celebrate Christmas but the ornament is for you. I kept it secular because I don't know if you're Christian, either. Guess that just proves the point, right? Don't go judging complete strangers.
Edited 2025-12-19 17:27 (UTC)
[ the letter/ornament combo surprises him, so much so that it nearly tumbles to the floor when he opens his door from the inside, heightened reflexes catching the wooden piece. he doubles back for the paper to read it within the privacy of his room. ]
hey tim
thanks for the letter. my handwriting is not great, so i’m gonna go back to texting you, but you don’t have to respond to this either.
i appreciate you saying all that
and explaining why you feel the way you do, when you don’t owe me anything. sorry for how i handled stuff too. i basically always make things worse when i try to explain myself, so i know i didn’t help anything.
[ a throughline from his father to walker, from game start with august to the trials, where he couldn’t even muster a word to defend himself. now with tony and stephen and tim in the aftermath. saying the wrong thing and falling into a fight or purposefully opening the wound. ]
and that telling you more now might backfire again, but i didn’t want hawk because he was hurting himself or spinning out. i was really trying to make sure he and embry both did not do that, especially when the diamonds were suspecting them.
i liked him because he was good to me. i’d only been here two weeks when the murders started and everybody treated me like dirt for being a tender. i panicked and tried to quit in the diamonds group, but hawk helped calm me down. he checked on me after i found adrian carved up by saber. and after stephen accused me, he let me explain myself the way i couldn’t in front of everyone.
i am what i am now, all the dangerous stuff stephen said, because nobody looked for me when i went missing back home. nobody was ever going to. i dropped out before we got to ap us history, so i don’t know if you know that america has been experimenting on people for like a really long time. they tricked or recruited guys like me to be test subjects so they could make cures and diseases and weapons.
i think it’d be pretty hard not to like someone who made sure you didn’t feel that expendable again, but maybe i’m as easy to win over as i am to upset.
anyway, it’d be cool if we could start over. we don’t have to be friends or anything, but i really don’t want to be the reason you feel bad about hawk or how you acted when people were literally dying.
[ a second text, one minute later. ]
sorry that was so long and it probably didn’t even make sense
and thanks for the ornament
he’s really cute
[ another minute later. ]
i forgive you obviously
i don’t know why i didn’t say that first
hey tim
thanks for the letter. my handwriting is not great, so i’m gonna go back to texting you, but you don’t have to respond to this either.
i appreciate you saying all that
and explaining why you feel the way you do, when you don’t owe me anything. sorry for how i handled stuff too. i basically always make things worse when i try to explain myself, so i know i didn’t help anything.
[ a throughline from his father to walker, from game start with august to the trials, where he couldn’t even muster a word to defend himself. now with tony and stephen and tim in the aftermath. saying the wrong thing and falling into a fight or purposefully opening the wound. ]
and that telling you more now might backfire again, but i didn’t want hawk because he was hurting himself or spinning out. i was really trying to make sure he and embry both did not do that, especially when the diamonds were suspecting them.
i liked him because he was good to me. i’d only been here two weeks when the murders started and everybody treated me like dirt for being a tender. i panicked and tried to quit in the diamonds group, but hawk helped calm me down. he checked on me after i found adrian carved up by saber. and after stephen accused me, he let me explain myself the way i couldn’t in front of everyone.
i am what i am now, all the dangerous stuff stephen said, because nobody looked for me when i went missing back home. nobody was ever going to. i dropped out before we got to ap us history, so i don’t know if you know that america has been experimenting on people for like a really long time. they tricked or recruited guys like me to be test subjects so they could make cures and diseases and weapons.
i think it’d be pretty hard not to like someone who made sure you didn’t feel that expendable again, but maybe i’m as easy to win over as i am to upset.
anyway, it’d be cool if we could start over. we don’t have to be friends or anything, but i really don’t want to be the reason you feel bad about hawk or how you acted when people were literally dying.
[ a second text, one minute later. ]
sorry that was so long and it probably didn’t even make sense
and thanks for the ornament
he’s really cute
[ another minute later. ]
i forgive you obviously
i don’t know why i didn’t say that first
[ First, a photo of a pair of cufflinks in the palm of Armand's hand. ]
For Portia's Christmas dinner party perhaps?
For Portia's Christmas dinner party perhaps?
Hey handsome.
You're "missing" - and I dunno if that's on account of Adrian's attention span or an actual need to sound the alarm, but tell me you're alright, at least.
You're "missing" - and I dunno if that's on account of Adrian's attention span or an actual need to sound the alarm, but tell me you're alright, at least.
[ half a day later, ]
missing
i’m not missing
[ parsing out what happened, a process made more difficult by his porous mind, scar tissue still forming form the night before. ]
did something happen yesterday?
was it
was it bad?
missing
i’m not missing
[ parsing out what happened, a process made more difficult by his porous mind, scar tissue still forming form the night before. ]
did something happen yesterday?
was it
was it bad?
Edited 2025-12-26 19:38 (UTC)
[ he doesn’t know why he’s braced for anger (he does, and it has nothing to do with bucky). body tensed, heartrate rocketing —
and then easing, when bucky is anything but. right. of course. that’s not who he is. ]
Hey. [ the answer is, of course, no, but also yes? comparatively okay, to last time. ] Yeah. I mean, it was — it was close. For a second there. A coupla seconds. [ with a tired sort of misery, ] But I’m, uh, still me.
and then easing, when bucky is anything but. right. of course. that’s not who he is. ]
Hey. [ the answer is, of course, no, but also yes? comparatively okay, to last time. ] Yeah. I mean, it was — it was close. For a second there. A coupla seconds. [ with a tired sort of misery, ] But I’m, uh, still me.
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