y’all: i’m not active on tumblr too much anymore, except to collect memes and send shitposts. i’m bad at themes and stuff, it’s too draining to update this when i work fulltime and have so much other stuff going on. but, i love to rp and i still want to write with everyone. i’m most active on dis.cord. (find me at trashking.5551)
maybe when life gets less hectic i’ll come back here, but moving across the country as much as i do makes it hard to invest time in all the other, nonwriting, crap that tumblr rp entails.
he IS angry. ( full stop. he is angry like the boy with an immaculate varsity jacket and blood on his knuckles. he is angry like penance like righteousness. he is angry like heat lightning like distance meaning safety meaning it’s fine to just sit and watch and smile and smile. ) it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really, except that he’s actually voicing what’s going on behind his eyes.
there are photos on the table. there is a tall blonde man with a slightly shorter blonde man, both built like bears ( or maybe freight trains. ) and both armed beneath their jackets.
alexi hates them both. hates them so much that when cat came in, he didn’t attempt to put on a smile and hide the names on his list. he’s close enough to kuznetsov that he can taste the man’s handrolled cigarettes and aftershave.
cat made a joke, he reacted poorly. it wasn’t her fault. few people are prepared for the force of his unrestrained rage, sudden and earthshaking as a geological event. no, it’s not like bucky’s. it’s cold and harsh and unforgiving. ( he wonders what it’d be like if he could be like bucky, could feel emotions like bucky. the older man has his heart on his sleeve more often than not, while alexi keeps his wrapped and tucked out of sight. for everyone else’s good, he’s been told, he tells himself. )
“you’re literally the nicest dude i know. so get over yourself, or i’ll tell ginny on you.”
the statement gets a harsh laugh from alexi, who stands and runs his hand over his face. ginny is the last person who needs to be told he’s a bad person. “i am perfectly fucking civil while i waterboard someone.” because it’s easy, because he likes it, because some part of him has always needed that kind of power. go ahead, cat, tell ginny, she knows better than anyone. he’s put her through worse than waterboarding.
“it doesn’t mean i’m a good person.”
alexi is angry. it’s an ice cold constant, what got him through war and boot camp and being a brown boy in the boondocks of missouri and then kuznetsov came along and showed him how to really use it. “go ahead and tell genevieve. she’s seen worse.” and worse and worse.
alexi is angry, but it’s cooling and he’s hiding it again. he’s not quite smiling yet, but the oppressive pressure of his rage isn’t stealing all the oxygen out of the room anymore. he’s not looking at cat, but standing and looking at the photos still. he’ll show nikolai how apt of a pupil he really was.
it’s a difficult situation to be in. alexi sgt. rojas shouldn’t be this deep in enemy territory, even with an injury.
neither should these men, with their funny accents and strange organization. they are all anomalies, just like himself. it’s fine. it’s none of his business. the word from the top was to go to travel with them, that jack will catch up, that it’s fine. it’s none of his concern. he has a job to do, he has his orders. wait for jack, then move out, weather permitting.
hard to predict the weather this far north in november.
the tall blonde one, steve, and al are the only ones up for the watch at this time of night. al takes a deep breath in, the chill filling his lungs and burning his throat. he doesn’t mind.
he doesn’t mind much.
steve has his orders. he knows something’s off about the man next to him on the watch. the way he watches and smiles, his quiet confidence more than what a young sergeant should possess. and he’s alone. the credentials check out. credentials are easy to fake when you have friends in high places, steve would know. the brass trusts him, and it’ll only be a few days, until the weather turns for the better and they can leave this abandoned village, until pvt. baumgartner comes back.
the silence is tight, despite the pleasant expression on sgt. rojas’ face. were it a normal soldier, steve wouldn’t mind a few days of cover. but something is not right with the man next to him. rojas has secrets of his own. steve doesn’t like not having all the information before him, especially when it comes to orders from the top.
“so,” steve begins, eyes scanning the dark. “how long has jack been gone?” all quiet, even to his enhanced ears. he understands need to know. he lives and breathes need to know. but as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t know all he needs to know.
“comin’ up on thirty-six hours at 0200.” the man has a warm texas drawl, his quiet voice clear as a bell. sgt. rojas didn’t look to steve, didn’t flinch or shift at all. the two men are statues, their breath pluming in the moonlight.
“that’s a little long.”
sgt. rojas makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. he’s been gone for longer, in more nerve wracking conditions. that is not need to know. “he’ll be here by 0600.”
“and if he’s not?”
steve sees the sergeant turn his head to look at him, ever present smile slightly wider than normal, crinkling his eyes. “he will be, sir.” a statement of fact, a touch of humor in his voice, like he couldn’t believe steve was even implying jack wouldn’t be on time, that it was some kind of joke.
steve draws his brows together, glancing to the man to his right. “if he’s not—” he lets the question hang. a bit of a test- for some reason it feels more natural to speak to sgt. rojas as an equal, not as a subordinate. the bait works, as al lets out a gentle sigh, his smile going back to normal. steve thinks not your typical sergeant as al speaks without prompting.
“y’all should move out, if you think y’can beat the storm that’s about to bear down on us.” the tone of his voice very politely suggests he thinks that’s unlikely. al tilts his head up, the first clouds starting to obscure the full moon. steve follows suit. they could move out, but it’d ideally be with the human torch to clear their path through the snow. that’d be risky with a too-keen scout such as sgt. rojas nearby.
steve doesn’t know how the invaders fell into this mess, but the sooner they part, the better. even then, moving out through the snow was more of a risk. we’re on the same side. i’m worrying too much.
“do you know private baumgartner very well?” the man’s faith in just a private was abnormal, especially if they’ve only known each other for a few months. the lesson of pairing up friends or family in the same unit was learned in the last war, when entire towns would lose their young men in one encounter.
“do you know your men very well?” a fair rebuttal, both men still watching the clouds swallow the moon. where are the rest of your men, rojas.
“you seem very confident, even though you had to abandon your rv point.” steve turns fully to the man next to him. “anything could have happened. what are your orders if he doesn’t show up? we can help you find him—”
“anything could have happened.”
yes, sir. thank you for reminding me, sir. i’m only just playing over all the ways it could go wrong every time he leaves my sight, sir.
“what are you orders if he doesn’t show up?”
fucking hunt down every goddamned nazi in a thousand clicks and gut them like fish. bury them alive while their friends watch, all their tongues cut out and fed to stray dogs. burn this entire godforsaken continent to cinders and then burn it again, allies, axis, all of you.
“we can help you find him—”
al shakes his head, finally looking to steve. the smile remains. “jack’ll be fine.” steve doesn’t know if it’s the drawl or if al is slowing his words down because he thinks the other man is dense. at steve’s raised eyebrows, he continues. “he works miracles all the time. five minutes before 0600, he’ll be standin’ right here.”
steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he looks back up to the space where the moon used to be. he lets the subject drop. the man is stubborn, on his side, and not letting steve’s realism temper his belief in the private.
three minutes before 0600, howling wind and snow
“you’re late.” al has his arms crossed, looking down his nose to the kid who makes the whole of his command. his smile is gone, the warmth in his voice with it. steve watches, fifteen feet away.
jack, tiny, red nosed from the cold, and, for his part, looking truly morose at being only three minutes early. “sorry, sarge—”
“save your sorries.” al approaches the kid and steve tenses at the authority in his step. it felt like impending violence, but it just led to al putting his hands on jack’s shoulders and looking him over. steve catches a very quiet, “estas bien?” and jack’s muttered, “yeah.”
introductions are made between steve and jack, the kid all salutes and big grins, even though he’s worn to the bone and without a proper meal in over a day and a half. steve feels some of his tension ease at the presence of the young man, the puzzle of their individual strangeness making a bit more sense in the presence of the other, but the question of what are you two doing out here alone still nagged. the three head back to the farmhouse that’s serving as their base, jack chatting merrily at steve along the way.
I didn’t know what to say to her. What do you say to people when they ask you how it feels to lose everything? When every planet in your solar system has exploded?
Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian
(via primriose)
Dead. Legally. Papers signed and sealed away. Sheepdipped to the point of wiping out any trace of him, like a spoon left in turpentine. He does not exist. ( He should not exist. )
He knows. But he wishes---
Well, the people in hell wish for icewater. Alexi Bauer wishes he, in all real senses, had stayed dead. It’d solve both of issues of being visible while simultaneously not existing.
“I can do a pretty damn good job at bein’ invisible.”
Spy, spy, God and Country and Semper Fidelis, it’s a goddamn tragedy he’s so good at his job. Maybe if he wasn’t, he’d get a chance to stay dead.
cathryn thinks it was foolish to think thinks would get better. that she’d be happy and wonderful and all that other bullshit she chose to believe. of course she wouldn’t be. that’s not in the cards for her goddamn life. no, instead she’s crying in some dingey alley way for no real reason. she couldn’t tell you anyways.
she left the apartment because it felt suffocating. empty and too quiet. she was quick to put on clothes and get the hell out of there. but as she kept walking and walking, the constant cloud of dread that followed seem to cast over her more and more. suffocating. she couldn’t breathe. people passed by, there were people around, but still she felt alone. isolated. two common feelings. but it was worse. so much worse that she broke down in an alley way that smelled like garbage.
her eyes are still red, cheeks puffy and trying her best to seem so natural. calm. like she isn’t thinking about flinging herself in front of car because what is the goddamn point. she’s keeping to the back ways, to avoid seeing anyone, but she runs into someone anyways. “ jesus, shit. you watch where you fuckin’ goin’ or what?”
“we should stop meetin’ like this.” here it is--- the flash of his smile, calm under pressure, his coat buttoned up to the top of his neck. he has a gloved hand on her shoulder and his other raised a bit in case he needs to keep her from falling over.
it’s always an alley. at least she’s not beating the snot out of anyone this time. at least she hasn’t gotten the snot beaten out of her. at least she’s not bleeding or been missing for a week before he ran into her.
( he’s a spy, cat. it’s his job to know things, to know how to find people who do not want to be found. don’t take it personally, but if he creeps around enough alleys when she’s not answering his texts--- )
he reaches inside his pocket and pulls out some tissues. it’s snowing in new york tonight. noses get sniffly. eyes get watery. he understands. there is no judgement from him here.
