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thanks koby
i don’t know what you can see in my head
but him and wanda are the best shot i have of controlling it, i think
[ or guarding against it, at least. ]
it’s nice that people cared
i don’t think i even got reported missing last time
sorry i made you and everyone else worry though
[ did not anticipate embry contacting ADRIAN. or being a missing dog. ]
i don’t know what you can see in my head
but him and wanda are the best shot i have of controlling it, i think
[ or guarding against it, at least. ]
it’s nice that people cared
i don’t think i even got reported missing last time
sorry i made you and everyone else worry though
[ did not anticipate embry contacting ADRIAN. or being a missing dog. ]
[ the simple fact of the matter is bob would rather not talk to anyone about this — but embry has made exactly what happened public, with an assist from adrian, so it’s october all over again. the inner workings and dangers of his brain, available for everyone to gawk at now, later, forever. ]
i’m okay
it’s just how it is with me
i’m okay
it’s just how it is with me
[after it turns out she didn't have to send adrian on a several-hour scavenger hunt through the house:]
You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I'm here if you do.
You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I'm here if you do.
[ waiting outside his door, post thunderbolts retreat: a sealed letter in a pale blue envelope. ]
Bobby,
I keep wanting to talk to you like everything’s normal. Like everything hasn’t changed. Like we used to, in the middle of the night when neither of us could sleep. But everything’s different now, and I can’t pretend that it’s not no matter how much I want to resist that truth.
I’m sorry. Not just for what happened that day, but for all of it. All the times I hurt you. All the times I just did what I wanted. I’m sorry for all the crazy things that I said, the things about your dad and everything else. I’m sorry I made you say that you forgive me. I should have known better. I do know better.
I’m sorry you asked to spend time together in the daylight, and I never gave you that.
I’m only asking you for one thing, and that’s to not blame yourself for any of it. It was me. I pushed you like I always do. I should have known how to treat you, and if not that, I should have known the best thing for you could never have been me.
There are a lot of good people here. I’m glad you found them. I doubt you had plans for it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other anymore. I want to do the right thing. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.
I’m actually asking for two things. Finish reading Hamlet.
Embry
[ within a day, one of the maids returns the letter to embry, alongside his copy of hamlet and the first letter he wrote, which has been torn in half.
on the envelope: ]
RETURN TO ASSHOLE
Write a book next time you want to pretend you give a shit about somebody.
on the envelope: ]
RETURN TO ASSHOLE
Write a book next time you want to pretend you give a shit about somebody.
Edited 2025-12-28 11:59 (UTC)
[ the kind of sleep he’s been doing could be more accurately defined as blacking out, mind and body dead to the world after dabbling in dissolutions and putting off shutting his eyes for as long as he can. he doesn’t want to dream, not when everything that normally sits neatly contained beneath a layer of his personal brand of spoiled destruction has been raked to the surface, raw and tender each time he so much as breathes. the very specific sound a man makes when half their face gets blown off by an ied, and they don’t die. the feeling of when dag did die. how he and ash could kill together and be rewarded for it, but they couldn’t hold hands because that would get them dismissed. bombs every day. the church bombing while morgan lay shot and bleeding inside.
unconsciousness is preferable to his memories. but even then — abilene chases him into the dark. nowhere to run when the devil is in your own bed, when it’s her hands undressing him. taking freely, like he has an unending reservoir to give and give and give whenever the world asks. are bob’s memories like this? potent, sharp, a knife skimming the surface? embry has spent many years boxing up his hurts, struggling to master the emotions that leash him, because otherwise — it’s this. a bitterly scathing gash wrapped up in guilt, in fear, in shame. impossible to feel anything else, when he’s bleeding everywhere, his walls obliterated in bob’s dredging of his pain. exactly what he told yelena never happened.
it’s almost a relief when it happens again, blessed numbness taking over his mind. almost. it won’t be, when he wakes up. he should have told ash. should have asked greer to stay. should have gone to hawk’s bed. should have done anything but spend his nights alone, when he knows the risk. instead, he leaves his room wearing nothing but low slung linen pants, his steps almost directionless as he makes his way down the length of the floor, newly cleaned of shattered glass, all the bulbs turned low for the night. he stops at danny’s room, his blue eyes betraying nothing in their emptiness. for a long stretch of minutes, he just stands there, not knocking, barely breathing, before he turns away and continues moving down the hall, taking the staircase down. malleable, but not responsive. strung out, but caught in the stasis before unconsciousness, not unlike the heavily drugged moments he spent bleeding out in the chapel, feeling next to nothing.
he makes it out to the indoor pool, no reaction to the change in temperature, the warm, balmy air settling over his skin as he walks toward the gentle azure ripples — no sign of stopping, even as he closes in on the water’s edge. ]
unconsciousness is preferable to his memories. but even then — abilene chases him into the dark. nowhere to run when the devil is in your own bed, when it’s her hands undressing him. taking freely, like he has an unending reservoir to give and give and give whenever the world asks. are bob’s memories like this? potent, sharp, a knife skimming the surface? embry has spent many years boxing up his hurts, struggling to master the emotions that leash him, because otherwise — it’s this. a bitterly scathing gash wrapped up in guilt, in fear, in shame. impossible to feel anything else, when he’s bleeding everywhere, his walls obliterated in bob’s dredging of his pain. exactly what he told yelena never happened.
it’s almost a relief when it happens again, blessed numbness taking over his mind. almost. it won’t be, when he wakes up. he should have told ash. should have asked greer to stay. should have gone to hawk’s bed. should have done anything but spend his nights alone, when he knows the risk. instead, he leaves his room wearing nothing but low slung linen pants, his steps almost directionless as he makes his way down the length of the floor, newly cleaned of shattered glass, all the bulbs turned low for the night. he stops at danny’s room, his blue eyes betraying nothing in their emptiness. for a long stretch of minutes, he just stands there, not knocking, barely breathing, before he turns away and continues moving down the hall, taking the staircase down. malleable, but not responsive. strung out, but caught in the stasis before unconsciousness, not unlike the heavily drugged moments he spent bleeding out in the chapel, feeling next to nothing.
he makes it out to the indoor pool, no reaction to the change in temperature, the warm, balmy air settling over his skin as he walks toward the gentle azure ripples — no sign of stopping, even as he closes in on the water’s edge. ]
[ in the days after the void’s resurgence, bob doesn’t sleep. he feigns it, when bucky and yelena cart him away for a few days, and when adrian cracks the doors between their rooms to look in on him. stops bothering to pretend when they finally leave him be, choosing to wander the manor halls again, at once exhausted and restless.
on his return, bob was going to seek embry out. apologise, for all he withheld and still withholds. beg forgiveness, for the harm he caused to embry and ash and greer. but the letter unravels his heart thread by thread, line by line. cultivating the kind of upset that makes you physically ill, eyes wet and blurring, vertigo overwhelming. everything’s different now because bob is different, no longer easy and weak and everything that made him appealing before the trial. he finds each line more insulting than the last, words so thorough as to shut him out forever, yet entirely, exclusively about embry fucking moore. embry, as the protagonist of a narrative that just so happens to involve bob as a casualty — a toy or a tool for him to pick up and put down. devoid of interest in bob’s thoughts or feelings about any of it. a fact that should be unsurprising, maybe, when embry never asked after him. when he offloaded any care for bob on adrian. because embry moore is the tragic hero, free to reveal all of bob’s pain and none of his own on the damn network.
to him, the letter says, sorry about the break. somebody else should fix that for you.
so he calls ani instead. ani, who keeps defending him, who keeps protecting him — who he should have been protecting more this whole time. bob tries to tell himself that people like her and hawk, who spoke up at the trial, wouldn’t run the second the void reached for them. (he looks at the evidence proving otherwise, in the letter he returns, and knows that isn’t true.)
for want of dreamless sleep, bob finds himself at the indoor pool, watching the shadows dance above the tile. this and the lake are the closest he has to any coastline, and chlorine has nothing on salt air — but it is what it is. socks piled beside him and sweats rolled to his calves, he perches at the water’s edge. one hand in the water, fingers making ripples, when he hears footsteps behind him. a familiar heartbeat. real or not real? embry’s been in his dreams again, worse than he had even at the commune. an ashen smudge on the floor of his room, lost amongst the dusty remains of the scientists he glimpsed in the void before armand pulled him back, or walking out the door by choice. the final scenario is, of course, the kindest. in his quieter moments, bob doesn’t blame embry seeking self-preservation, even if it means leaving him to bleed out by his lonesome. you have to put on your own oxygen mask first, right?
bob only looks up when a splash calls his attention sideways, to the steps that lead into the shallows. a familiar figure, near bare in the eerie glow of the pool, expression blank. another nightmare, another step forward. the woman in the water, in embry’s memories. ]
Embry? [ uncertainty overriding his hurt, but only just. weakly, ] I was here first, man. You can just — go wallow somewhere else.
on his return, bob was going to seek embry out. apologise, for all he withheld and still withholds. beg forgiveness, for the harm he caused to embry and ash and greer. but the letter unravels his heart thread by thread, line by line. cultivating the kind of upset that makes you physically ill, eyes wet and blurring, vertigo overwhelming. everything’s different now because bob is different, no longer easy and weak and everything that made him appealing before the trial. he finds each line more insulting than the last, words so thorough as to shut him out forever, yet entirely, exclusively about embry fucking moore. embry, as the protagonist of a narrative that just so happens to involve bob as a casualty — a toy or a tool for him to pick up and put down. devoid of interest in bob’s thoughts or feelings about any of it. a fact that should be unsurprising, maybe, when embry never asked after him. when he offloaded any care for bob on adrian. because embry moore is the tragic hero, free to reveal all of bob’s pain and none of his own on the damn network.
to him, the letter says, sorry about the break. somebody else should fix that for you.
so he calls ani instead. ani, who keeps defending him, who keeps protecting him — who he should have been protecting more this whole time. bob tries to tell himself that people like her and hawk, who spoke up at the trial, wouldn’t run the second the void reached for them. (he looks at the evidence proving otherwise, in the letter he returns, and knows that isn’t true.)
for want of dreamless sleep, bob finds himself at the indoor pool, watching the shadows dance above the tile. this and the lake are the closest he has to any coastline, and chlorine has nothing on salt air — but it is what it is. socks piled beside him and sweats rolled to his calves, he perches at the water’s edge. one hand in the water, fingers making ripples, when he hears footsteps behind him. a familiar heartbeat. real or not real? embry’s been in his dreams again, worse than he had even at the commune. an ashen smudge on the floor of his room, lost amongst the dusty remains of the scientists he glimpsed in the void before armand pulled him back, or walking out the door by choice. the final scenario is, of course, the kindest. in his quieter moments, bob doesn’t blame embry seeking self-preservation, even if it means leaving him to bleed out by his lonesome. you have to put on your own oxygen mask first, right?
bob only looks up when a splash calls his attention sideways, to the steps that lead into the shallows. a familiar figure, near bare in the eerie glow of the pool, expression blank. another nightmare, another step forward. the woman in the water, in embry’s memories. ]
Embry? [ uncertainty overriding his hurt, but only just. weakly, ] I was here first, man. You can just — go wallow somewhere else.
[Delivered by the staff, on a tray: a little plate of whatever Bob's favourite cookies or small cakes are, and a letter.]
The Earth I know is, I believe, very different to yours. There are many factors as to why this is, more than could be reasonably explained in a note, so I will simply say it is a matter of time and monumental devastation. They still celebrate the heart of winter, however. I have not been there in person, but I have seen images of the lanterns they release over The Last City, the gifts and meals they share. They call it The Dawning. A festival of light and hope in the depths of darkness, shared by people who have known Darkness far greater than any winter could bring.
In recent years, the Guardians of the Tower have taken up these traditions. They gift baked sweets to their friends and allies, regardless of whether they partake in the festival themselves. I, myself, have been honoured to receive some.
As such, I send you this in gratitude for your gifts, which were generous, kind, and exceptionally thoughtful. I send it, too, as I believe, from my understanding of your world and abilities, you may have much in common with the Guardians. They have also learned, through much difficulty, to carry and wield both Light and Dark.
My people and I were born of both. So, as I offered guidance to the Guardians, I offer to you: my door is open, should you ever require assistance.
It is also open, should you ever have an interest in keeping me company to watch space movies.
- Mara Sov
[ it takes a moment to be sure he's found the right mind, to brush up against something that seems familiar in the way it knows armand, but also feels strangely touched with something darker. he can't place it. ]
I understand you'll be looking after Armand?
[ so sorry, bobbert. ]
I understand you'll be looking after Armand?
[ so sorry, bobbert. ]
[ louis finds him in one of the smaller libraries that litter the manor. his voice a sudden, unfamiliar thing. surprise enough that he knocks into a nearby shelf, the entire thing teetering, books slipping free —
until it rights itself. the shelf steadied by his hand. the books, by his desire, reversing their course. he thinks, holy shit and then what the fuck. armand has done this enough times that he rationalises it fast, but there’s something there, an almost resistance. wood creaking, under the ghost of a footstep. the uncanny feeling of being watched. ]
Yeah, yeah, I will. I do.
[ an instinctive answer. the thought of armand switches on a light in his mind. the shadows recede, though they never vanish. ]
Are you one of the other — [ a nebulous gesture, toward his neck, as if louis can see it. he doesn’t know the names of most of the vampires here. the ones he does know float through his mind. armand, caroline, klaus, spike. no dice. ] You, uh, you know they gave us phones? For calling people. After your time, probably.
[ he rounds the shelf to survey the mess and finds none. ]
until it rights itself. the shelf steadied by his hand. the books, by his desire, reversing their course. he thinks, holy shit and then what the fuck. armand has done this enough times that he rationalises it fast, but there’s something there, an almost resistance. wood creaking, under the ghost of a footstep. the uncanny feeling of being watched. ]
Yeah, yeah, I will. I do.
[ an instinctive answer. the thought of armand switches on a light in his mind. the shadows recede, though they never vanish. ]
Are you one of the other — [ a nebulous gesture, toward his neck, as if louis can see it. he doesn’t know the names of most of the vampires here. the ones he does know float through his mind. armand, caroline, klaus, spike. no dice. ] You, uh, you know they gave us phones? For calling people. After your time, probably.
[ he rounds the shelf to survey the mess and finds none. ]
[ everything that happened at the pool had been an unplanned surprise — as, apparently, is everything after. namely, bob's absolute fucking silence in his direction, which embry tries to tell himself to be grateful for. it's the best possible outcome for a shitty situation, for an impossible situation, and he should leave well enough alone. but it's hard. hard when things like if i ask you not to leave me and please let me be something good for you keep running through his head (running parallel lines with i don't forgive you and you don't want me and i don't believe you).
he knows what the silence means. he's the one who laid out the red carpet for bob to walk away from him, after all. but — nothing? nothing at all? not even another angry letter. he knows what that means too — that he wounded bob again, this time in places that bob won't show him and maybe won't show anyone. so embry gives him his space, picks at his own slow-healing wounds, and waits. he waits as long as he can, which amounts to exactly four and a half days, before waiting ceases to be an option. ]
So. You chose Ani?
Good. That was the right choice.
Thanks for telling me.
[ after a few moments: ]
If you wanted to let me drown, you could've just done it. It's not like I would've known what happened.
he knows what the silence means. he's the one who laid out the red carpet for bob to walk away from him, after all. but — nothing? nothing at all? not even another angry letter. he knows what that means too — that he wounded bob again, this time in places that bob won't show him and maybe won't show anyone. so embry gives him his space, picks at his own slow-healing wounds, and waits. he waits as long as he can, which amounts to exactly four and a half days, before waiting ceases to be an option. ]
So. You chose Ani?
Good. That was the right choice.
Thanks for telling me.
[ after a few moments: ]
If you wanted to let me drown, you could've just done it. It's not like I would've known what happened.
[ bob began that night having told himself embry was the problem, the asshole, despite the unease in his heart — but he leaves it knowing that isn’t the case. there’s only one person at the scene of every crime, hurting ash and greer and embry and ani.
his resolve still falters, predictably, when he hears embry’s heartbeat in the final thirty of breakfast. around a corner in one of the smaller libraries, dark hair burnished by the sun. now, with his name flashing up on bob’s phone.
he makes it a couple hours before responding. ]
ani isn’t talking to me
she already wasn’t last week, when you brought her up while my hand was on your dick
can you stop being obsessed with her for five seconds
[ thumb pressed into the corner of his eye to relieve the already-building tension. ]
his resolve still falters, predictably, when he hears embry’s heartbeat in the final thirty of breakfast. around a corner in one of the smaller libraries, dark hair burnished by the sun. now, with his name flashing up on bob’s phone.
he makes it a couple hours before responding. ]
ani isn’t talking to me
she already wasn’t last week, when you brought her up while my hand was on your dick
can you stop being obsessed with her for five seconds
[ thumb pressed into the corner of his eye to relieve the already-building tension. ]
[He purposely waits until Bob's fallen asleep against him before breaking out his phone. The message he types out isn't going to be received well. He knows that already. But he's taken time to think on it. To look at how far Bob's come over the past months. At how much he's grown.
At one of the biggest blockers, and just what he could do to help the man overcome it.]
I'm going to make you an offer, and I already know you're going to hate it. But I'm saying it now anyway, and then you're going to take it away to think about before you respond.
Take however long you need to, I don't want you to rush your decision. I already know your gut reaction will be to refuse it, so I need you to promise me that you'll think it through, from both sides.
[Full punctuation? Are you scared yet, Bob?]
I want you to let the Void out, with me.
I know you think it's too dangerous, and you're scared you're going to hurt somebody. But there's nothing it can show me that's going to be any worse than what I've done during my life.
You won't hurt me. And right now, you're hurting yourself, worrying over what could happen. But you want to know a secret? I already know what would.
You, Bob, would find a way to rein it back in. You'd shut it down, because you're so much stronger than you think you are. And if you don't believe that, then I'll do the believing for you. And I'll remind you of just how strong you are, every day for the rest of our lives, if that's what it takes.
I trust you, completely.
So think about it, please. That's all I'm asking.
[And with the message typed, he takes a moment to slide out from underneath Bob, careful not to wake him. Not wanting to risk moving him from the sofa to the bed, he instead just shucks off his jacket, using that as a makeshift blanket as he drapes it over Bob. Sure, it's not exactly cold in the room, and sure he could go and grab an actual blanket if he wanted to. But this way, his scent stays with him. This way, his claim is still there, long after he slips out of the room and finally presses send.]
At one of the biggest blockers, and just what he could do to help the man overcome it.]
I'm going to make you an offer, and I already know you're going to hate it. But I'm saying it now anyway, and then you're going to take it away to think about before you respond.
Take however long you need to, I don't want you to rush your decision. I already know your gut reaction will be to refuse it, so I need you to promise me that you'll think it through, from both sides.
[Full punctuation? Are you scared yet, Bob?]
I want you to let the Void out, with me.
I know you think it's too dangerous, and you're scared you're going to hurt somebody. But there's nothing it can show me that's going to be any worse than what I've done during my life.
You won't hurt me. And right now, you're hurting yourself, worrying over what could happen. But you want to know a secret? I already know what would.
You, Bob, would find a way to rein it back in. You'd shut it down, because you're so much stronger than you think you are. And if you don't believe that, then I'll do the believing for you. And I'll remind you of just how strong you are, every day for the rest of our lives, if that's what it takes.
I trust you, completely.
So think about it, please. That's all I'm asking.
[And with the message typed, he takes a moment to slide out from underneath Bob, careful not to wake him. Not wanting to risk moving him from the sofa to the bed, he instead just shucks off his jacket, using that as a makeshift blanket as he drapes it over Bob. Sure, it's not exactly cold in the room, and sure he could go and grab an actual blanket if he wanted to. But this way, his scent stays with him. This way, his claim is still there, long after he slips out of the room and finally presses send.]
[ the thing about the void — about any shadow, really — is that it seems endless. even thinking on the memories that slip to and from his fingertips, he gets the awful sense of having skimmed the surface of something that goes on forever. as though the shadow is the precursor, the warning before the beast rears up behind you. a leviathan rising from the deep, its scale impossible to comprehend.
and bigger still, in your imaginings.
bucky’s message finds him the same way. those first words are as frightful as that initial glimpse of ink-dark danger. claws, in place of fingers, elongated by the light. moving with you, as you crack the door open further. i already know, a foregone conclusion that differs so starkly from what’s been said to him, of late, that he has to blink the bewilderment from his eyes. you won’t hurt me. you’ll shut it down. you would find a way.
bob responds the next evening, a full twenty-four hours later. he thinks about the message ceaselessly and bucky, as an extension of it. bucky, who won’t hit him in the training room, even though he can’t be harmed. bucky, who offered himself to stephen and tony as penance for what real monsters forced him to do. bucky, who surely wouldn’t risk bob in service of punishment. who would do anything for him, even give up the love he’s found here.
he’ll use you like a shard of glass. armand’s voice or the void’s, he doesn’t know. he wouldn’t, in feeble answer. bucky's warning is a more solid counterweight than his own thoughts, which he trusts less by the day. you're hurting yourself. maybe that's the problem. ]
i’ll think about it
and i’m keeping your jacket
and bigger still, in your imaginings.
bucky’s message finds him the same way. those first words are as frightful as that initial glimpse of ink-dark danger. claws, in place of fingers, elongated by the light. moving with you, as you crack the door open further. i already know, a foregone conclusion that differs so starkly from what’s been said to him, of late, that he has to blink the bewilderment from his eyes. you won’t hurt me. you’ll shut it down. you would find a way.
bob responds the next evening, a full twenty-four hours later. he thinks about the message ceaselessly and bucky, as an extension of it. bucky, who won’t hit him in the training room, even though he can’t be harmed. bucky, who offered himself to stephen and tony as penance for what real monsters forced him to do. bucky, who surely wouldn’t risk bob in service of punishment. who would do anything for him, even give up the love he’s found here.
he’ll use you like a shard of glass. armand’s voice or the void’s, he doesn’t know. he wouldn’t, in feeble answer. bucky's warning is a more solid counterweight than his own thoughts, which he trusts less by the day. you're hurting yourself. maybe that's the problem. ]
i’ll think about it
and i’m keeping your jacket
Edited 2026-01-14 22:18 (UTC)
[ i was going to write a nice text but i decided against it sorry ]
Robert Reynolds.
[ There is a voice behind him, manifesting as if from thin air ( though the sound of something soft rasping across the ground, as if an hourglass overtuned has finally run out, thins to silence — ). They're not entirely strangers, perhaps. After all, Bob had been dutifully brought to the celebration of the red-haired deity's nuptials by Armand. Had been introduced, albeit in brief, to Set and his partner before enjoying the bounty of their efforts. Now, he stands empty-handed in the middle of the hall. A figure clad in a backless, one-piece suit with golden jewelry and his hair gathered into a high-seated tail; an expression inscrutable, cat-like in the prideful tilt of his chin and the steady way he takes measured steps forward. Prowling, in a semi-circle, around the boy he called "cow-eyed ( complimentary )". ]
I am Set, god of war. Armand has asked me to watch over you, should the need arise.
[ It feels good, to be thought of as highly as Armand thinks of him. Entrusted for his strength and intelligence with a young man who many have claimed to be the strongest in the household. ( He wants to pit himself against this "Bob", quite badly. To see what expression he'd make, to meet his superior. ) In one hand, he holds a worn journal — something he offers at arm's length to the young man, with a tilt of his strange, fey head. As if readied for refusal, or eager to parse Bob's manner and all the little elements of it. ]
— he said you like to read. Try the knowledge of my people. We have been dealing with circumstances similar to yours long before all others.
Robert Reynolds.
[ There is a voice behind him, manifesting as if from thin air ( though the sound of something soft rasping across the ground, as if an hourglass overtuned has finally run out, thins to silence — ). They're not entirely strangers, perhaps. After all, Bob had been dutifully brought to the celebration of the red-haired deity's nuptials by Armand. Had been introduced, albeit in brief, to Set and his partner before enjoying the bounty of their efforts. Now, he stands empty-handed in the middle of the hall. A figure clad in a backless, one-piece suit with golden jewelry and his hair gathered into a high-seated tail; an expression inscrutable, cat-like in the prideful tilt of his chin and the steady way he takes measured steps forward. Prowling, in a semi-circle, around the boy he called "cow-eyed ( complimentary )". ]
I am Set, god of war. Armand has asked me to watch over you, should the need arise.
[ It feels good, to be thought of as highly as Armand thinks of him. Entrusted for his strength and intelligence with a young man who many have claimed to be the strongest in the household. ( He wants to pit himself against this "Bob", quite badly. To see what expression he'd make, to meet his superior. ) In one hand, he holds a worn journal — something he offers at arm's length to the young man, with a tilt of his strange, fey head. As if readied for refusal, or eager to parse Bob's manner and all the little elements of it. ]
— he said you like to read. Try the knowledge of my people. We have been dealing with circumstances similar to yours long before all others.
[ for bob, hearing voices isn’t exactly — it’s not always on the table, okay, but it’s adjacent to the table. it’s on the chair. sometimes, it happens. mostly his father, a warning light. red, red, red direct to the exit. sometimes, now, the void. his own voice but distorted. spoken through water, through static, through nightmares. i won’t let you die, in the coffin, the last time. still too close to forget. and always robert the hero, robert the brave, robert the fuck-up.
so he stiffens at the sound of his name, but he does, distantly, recognise the voice as familiar for other reasons. ]
Uh.
[ more like uuuuuuuuuuuh, a multisyllabic, open-mouthed experience. bob half-watches set, not bothering to turn his head to give visual chase, instead content to stare in shock down the hall he’d been, y’know, walking through. ]
Armand. [ processing, thinking, sticking on armand the friend, armand the beloved. this time, he turns to find set behind him, eyes huge. ] Armand asked?
[ not that bob doesn’t know armand thinks of him, when they aren’t together. he said so, which had come as a slight surprise at the time, but now feels nice, to think of in turn. like bob isn’t a fleeting, insignificant thing, in the life of an immortal. a burden, still, something to watch over. or maybe it’s something to protect. he finds it hard to spot the difference.
belatedly, he registers the rest of set’s words. blinking a truly astounding number of times, he looks from the journal to set and back. to set and back again. again. ]
Similar to mine. [ mumblecore. ] Like… [ being a florida fuck-up, an addict, a losing greyhound without a goddamn prey drive. ] Oh, um, thank you. That’s really nice of you?
[ voice ticking up at the end in question, even as he takes the journal in one hand and opens it with the other. his brow furrows. set hadn’t been very nice at all, during the murder mystery game. in fact, he'd been cruel. although his wedding was a happier, if altogether deranged affair, they hadn't spoken much. (and for armand alone, he feels the need to impress someone he wouldn't otherwise.) ]
so he stiffens at the sound of his name, but he does, distantly, recognise the voice as familiar for other reasons. ]
Uh.
[ more like uuuuuuuuuuuh, a multisyllabic, open-mouthed experience. bob half-watches set, not bothering to turn his head to give visual chase, instead content to stare in shock down the hall he’d been, y’know, walking through. ]
Armand. [ processing, thinking, sticking on armand the friend, armand the beloved. this time, he turns to find set behind him, eyes huge. ] Armand asked?
[ not that bob doesn’t know armand thinks of him, when they aren’t together. he said so, which had come as a slight surprise at the time, but now feels nice, to think of in turn. like bob isn’t a fleeting, insignificant thing, in the life of an immortal. a burden, still, something to watch over. or maybe it’s something to protect. he finds it hard to spot the difference.
belatedly, he registers the rest of set’s words. blinking a truly astounding number of times, he looks from the journal to set and back. to set and back again. again. ]
Similar to mine. [ mumblecore. ] Like… [ being a florida fuck-up, an addict, a losing greyhound without a goddamn prey drive. ] Oh, um, thank you. That’s really nice of you?
[ voice ticking up at the end in question, even as he takes the journal in one hand and opens it with the other. his brow furrows. set hadn’t been very nice at all, during the murder mystery game. in fact, he'd been cruel. although his wedding was a happier, if altogether deranged affair, they hadn't spoken much. (and for armand alone, he feels the need to impress someone he wouldn't otherwise.) ]
[ Delivered to Bob’s room at the end of the month: a live lavender plant with a purple ribbon tied around the pot, and a dachshund plush with an accompanying handwritten note: ]
Thank you.
-Shadowheart
Thank you.
-Shadowheart
[ A few days after things return to (relative) normal, an envelope finds its way to Bob's door, containing a piece of pale blue card stock upon which has been written, in Amy's neat, looping hand: ]
Dear Bob,
I know we didn't get the chance to speak, but that's all the more reason for me to write to you, now. Thank you for your part in saving Rupert and I. I guess you could say I'm not used to strangers going to such lengths to help — I'm still not used to it, but I promise I don't take it for granted.
— Amy
[It's another lazy afternoon being spent on the sofa of Bob's room. Training has been set aside in favor of (yet another) reread of The Return of the King, complete with the familiar weight of Bob's head against his lap. A makeshift pillow for the other man to use as he tries to catch up with the sleep he so desperately needs. The fingers of his right hand run distractedly through Bob's hair, an attempt at comfort that's as much for himself as it is for Bob. A reminder of the fact that the other man trusts him enough to let his guard down like this. That Bucky actually has a reason to try.
It's only once he finds himself rereading the same page for what feels like the tenth time that he finally closes his book and sets it aside, his attention drifting back to the man in his lap. His expression is fond in a way that feels uniquely directed towards Bob these days. A level of care and admiration there that only rears its head when he's face to face with the other man. So he doesn't bother trying to hide it. Doesn't see a reason to, when Bob's already seen some of the worst Bucky has to offer and still hasn't gone running.
How the hell he managed to survive living in a post-Steve world without someone like Bob around, he doesn't know. But he sure as hell is glad that's changed.]
You know, I've taken a lot of women out on dates before. [His words are a quiet murmur between them, only spoken once it's clear that sleep is evading the other man completely.] I was always the guy to show a girl a good time. But I was never the type you took home to meet your folks. [Especially given how much of a flirt he used to be. That might not be who he is now, but it's still a small piece of him he wants to share. A ghost of the past for Bob's ears only.]
I tried dating again after the Blip. [His face scrunches up a little at that. At some of the things he saw on those apps everyone was so engrossed with.] Never sat right with me though. There's people out there who think it's a turn on to take pictures with tigers in captivity. Seems kind of messed up to me. [Which is saying a lot, coming from someone like him.]
What happened to just going out and meeting people anyway?
It's only once he finds himself rereading the same page for what feels like the tenth time that he finally closes his book and sets it aside, his attention drifting back to the man in his lap. His expression is fond in a way that feels uniquely directed towards Bob these days. A level of care and admiration there that only rears its head when he's face to face with the other man. So he doesn't bother trying to hide it. Doesn't see a reason to, when Bob's already seen some of the worst Bucky has to offer and still hasn't gone running.
How the hell he managed to survive living in a post-Steve world without someone like Bob around, he doesn't know. But he sure as hell is glad that's changed.]
You know, I've taken a lot of women out on dates before. [His words are a quiet murmur between them, only spoken once it's clear that sleep is evading the other man completely.] I was always the guy to show a girl a good time. But I was never the type you took home to meet your folks. [Especially given how much of a flirt he used to be. That might not be who he is now, but it's still a small piece of him he wants to share. A ghost of the past for Bob's ears only.]
I tried dating again after the Blip. [His face scrunches up a little at that. At some of the things he saw on those apps everyone was so engrossed with.] Never sat right with me though. There's people out there who think it's a turn on to take pictures with tigers in captivity. Seems kind of messed up to me. [Which is saying a lot, coming from someone like him.]
What happened to just going out and meeting people anyway?
[ bob read somewhere that relaxing with your eyes closed is, like, almost as good as sleep. this probably isn’t true, but it feels that way sometimes — and it feels that way most often when he’s with bucky. with every few tugs on his hair, blunt nails soothing at his scalp, he sighs. shifts a little, here and there, restless today (restless always, thanks to the power and its overwhelming energy, his unquiet mind and its splintering thoughts) s’nice, anyway, with bucky’s heartbeat in his ears, those strong fingers in his hair, the warmth of his body compounding bob’s own. as close as he gets to rest, on bad days.
today isn’t a bad day. not at all. ]
Mm. [ a flutter of lashes, and bob opens his eyes, true blue flitting up to find his view freshly unobscured. lucky, lucky. as bucky talks, bob stays settled. i’ve taken a lot of women out on dates. sure, he buys that, especially for rakish, sepia-toned, museum-bucky, grinning in every photograph. a timeless kind of handsome. still is, with the sharp angle of his jaw overhead.
never the type you took home — bob’s brows and eyes lift, all of his features drawn the slightest bit up, tinged with wonder. more for the sight of bucky than anything he’s saying, though bob likes when his voice goes low and intimate like this, a secret kept between them. he draws a knee up, tipped into the back of the sofa, slowly refocusing, and bends an arm to toy with the hem of bucky’s shirt.
one corner of his mouth curls. ]
Those guys hang out in bars and clubs, too, old man. [ snorting, ] Trust me. They mostly order you drinks without asking and breathe-talk on girls too nice to send ‘em packing. No asshole photo op to warn you before it’s too late.
[ a pause in which he opens his mouth again, only to press his tongue against his teeth. a rethink of whatever he was gonna say. ]
So nobody stuck? [ he slips his fingers beneath bucky’s shirt, knuckles brushing along the flat of his stomach. ] After the Blip?
today isn’t a bad day. not at all. ]
Mm. [ a flutter of lashes, and bob opens his eyes, true blue flitting up to find his view freshly unobscured. lucky, lucky. as bucky talks, bob stays settled. i’ve taken a lot of women out on dates. sure, he buys that, especially for rakish, sepia-toned, museum-bucky, grinning in every photograph. a timeless kind of handsome. still is, with the sharp angle of his jaw overhead.
never the type you took home — bob’s brows and eyes lift, all of his features drawn the slightest bit up, tinged with wonder. more for the sight of bucky than anything he’s saying, though bob likes when his voice goes low and intimate like this, a secret kept between them. he draws a knee up, tipped into the back of the sofa, slowly refocusing, and bends an arm to toy with the hem of bucky’s shirt.
one corner of his mouth curls. ]
Those guys hang out in bars and clubs, too, old man. [ snorting, ] Trust me. They mostly order you drinks without asking and breathe-talk on girls too nice to send ‘em packing. No asshole photo op to warn you before it’s too late.
[ a pause in which he opens his mouth again, only to press his tongue against his teeth. a rethink of whatever he was gonna say. ]
So nobody stuck? [ he slips his fingers beneath bucky’s shirt, knuckles brushing along the flat of his stomach. ] After the Blip?
Edited 2026-01-31 17:55 (UTC)
You know there's a whole movie theater here? Sweet talked the cute twink who runs it into doing Survivor screenings cause the amount of people here from pre-Boston Rob is a goddamn atrocity.
You aren't pre-Boston Rob, right?
I never asked.
[they have had one (1) conversation and it was about childhood trauma, so.]
You aren't pre-Boston Rob, right?
I never asked.
[they have had one (1) conversation and it was about childhood trauma, so.]
Are there, like, tours here? How long until you got used to the layout of the house?
BOB
do you like bobby or does it feel like a nickname for a kid
we're having a party at dead men you should come 🙂
no this one 😊. you said the regular one is scary I'm sorry
do you like bobby or does it feel like a nickname for a kid
we're having a party at dead men you should come 🙂
no this one 😊. you said the regular one is scary I'm sorry
Edited 2026-02-04 16:48 (UTC)
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