Hi! Whenever you have time do you think you could write a fic about bug and Steve having dinner with his parents? Remember how on Steve’s birthday his parents came back and it was awkward and filled with tension and a promise to have dinner together sometime? :))
YESSSS !!! was hoping id be asked to write this since i intentionally added it into chapter 9 like hehehe theyll wanna read this blurb when it comes <33
enjoy !
"everything will be fine, honey." your fingers trace over the lines of steves tie, tying and retying it a million times to ease your own anxious mind.
"i feel like i should be the one reassuring you," he mumbles bitterly, once again undoing the tie so that he can try himself.
you watch him with slight amusement, though mostly concern. his hair is a mess and hes wearing a tie to a family dinner in a house hes live in his entire life. yet steves home isnt really a home and the tie is a vain attempt to mask the disappointment of it.
steves back is turned to you as he frowns in the mirror. the crease in his delicate features upsets you to see. wrapping your arms from behind him, your head pokes from over his shoulders, standing on the very tips of your toes, and you make a silly face at him in the mirror.
a gruff laugh reverberates through steves spine and you hold him close, resting your head where it fits just between his shoulder and neck, smiling into his skin. steve finds the hands that are clasped against his chest, and he encases them with his.
"i love you," he says, soft. the tie around his neck hands, forgotten, and he simply allows you to hold him.
"i love you, too."
steve tries to commit to memory the sight before him. the image of the two of you standing in the mirror together, how you just barely manage to be seen. your arms around his waist, his hands around your arms.
"my angel," he pinches your nose, and when you squeak in protest he quickly spins around and cradles your head, kissing the tip of your nose over and over again.
you erupt into laughter and steve sways your bodies together, messily dancing in your room, the imminent night no longer darkening the corners of it.
the table is set in the harrington house when you arrive. in your two years of knowing steve, youve never seen the dining table used for anything other than robotic sets and the occasional puzzle.
may harrington is in the kitchen, dressed in a gorgeous velvet gown that drapes over her frame elegantly. the smell of roast chicken wafts throughout the home and shes just finished cutting up the vegetables when you arrive.
"hello, darlings. dinner will be done shortly." she greets you and steve warmly, sweeping you into her arms the moment youre close enough.
the hug surprises you and it takes you a moment to reciprocate, but when you finally do, may sighs into your embrace.
"thank you for coming," she says, the sincerity in her voice longing and dim.
"of course," you squeeze her hands, smiling as kindly as you can. you admire the woman, you know shes done the best she can with raising steve with a husband who never wanted to be a father, but youll never forget the way steve clings so desperately onto the people in his life, the ever present fear of one day losing everyone hes ever loved.
"wheres dad?" steve looks around in the otherwise empty kitchen. may avoids his gaze. he sets his hand on the counter. he swallows, breathes out heavily. his movements are defeated, expected. "he isnt coming, is he?"
may brings her fingers to her lips. she doesnt say anything, and your fingers itch to brush against steves.
"if you have the ingredients, mrs. harrington, id be happy to put together a salad while you finish up with dinner." your only way of offering mercy to both parties. saving may from having to disappoint her son once again, and saving her son from having to linger in the feeling of familiar abandonment.
"if you wouldnt mind, that would be lovely, y/n." mays eyes are tired when you look back at her. suddenly the elegant drape of her dress seems to almost drown her. shes a shell of a once grand woman, and all you feel for her is pity.
you nod meekly at her, helping yourself to the fridge as youve done time and time again when she isnt home. theres some carrots, celery and cucumbers, and you place them onto the counter.
"steve," you softly call to him. hes still standing at the counter, eyes tracing over the line of the marble. his disappointment once used to be outrage, loud protests and direct retribution, but now, under the kitchen lighting in his childhood home, his disappointment is only adorned with resolved silence.
"honey," voice lowered so only he hears, your hand finds his arm. you try to bring warmth back to his body, try to lull him with any affection you can. "why dont you help me cut up the vegetables?"
phrased as a question, though you both know that it isnt. steve finally releases the last of the anger in his shoulders. he nods, wordless and bitter, and allows you to guide him towards the cutting board.
you stand shoulder to shoulder. his fingers skim yours every time he hands you a vegetable, and your hair brushes against his cheek. the motions are slow, eased, and slowly he comes back to you in the space only the two of you inhabit.
dinner gets served and may tries to salvage the remains of her relationship with you and her son. she makes polite conversation, and you respond with grace, though she knows that her sons disappointment accompanies yours.
the dinner lasts no longer than an hour. steve doesnt touch his food. he doesnt talk. you help may clean the dishes and as your hands soak the plates, the woman murmurs to you, "i tried, you know."
"i know," you tell her, but for what? what has may harrington tried for except the absence of a father? the conversation that failed to amend years of loneliness?
but the shadow in her eyes and the shake of her fingers smooths the anger you feel towards her. shes lovely when she is able to be. shes kind and makes her son banana bread every year it snows. she comforted steve when he had nightmares, she calls him her beautiful boy, and you know, effortlessly and easily, that she loves her son.
"i used to call my husband honey," may wipes her eye, doesnt try to hide this action from you. she shakes her head. you can see the weight of what once was etched into her beautiful eyes.
may sighs, drops her hand and looks up at you one last time. "take care of him, please."
"always," you promise her.
in the dim light of an empty and cold kitchen, two women interlace their fingers together, though they dont look at the other, and the touch says everything that they are unable to.
Was this just another ploy? A meek attempt at getting slayer off his case about his flirting? Was he ever truly ‘sorry’ for his actions? She’d often wonder if his loyalty to her was as fickle as his schemes for money. Holding herself, in an attempt to comfort her concerns, she doesn’t look at him, burning a hole into the ground at their feet. Letting his words resonate with her, as she determined how to respond.
Being honest about her feelings came to be more troublesome than she cared to admit. He knew it hurt her, didn’t he? She... didn’t have to tell him that, right?
“ I want to trust you, Houshi-sama. I do in battle, but outside of that...you just...make it so difficult sometimes! ”
Russet swirled eyes flashed with anger as she finally locked gaze with monk’s own. Tears began to blur her vision, incapable of restraining her emotions any further.
“ Listen, ... maybe we shouldn’t continue on together like this. ”
Gaze falls once more, as well as her tone. She was tired of his games. This may have been the last straw for her heart. It was exhausting.
5x09 Reaction Fic because I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THINGS AND STUFF.
Summary: The interesting thing about life is that it goes on, even when it stops for you. Clarke and Bellamy didn’t realize the biggest separation they’d face wouldn’t be the past six years. It’d be the past two weeks.
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5x09 Reaction fic / the thoughts leading up to the final explosion. Moments in between moments, ft. hits like “Desperate Radio Calls,” “How Did the Conversation Go to Get Clarke on Bellamy’s Bed,” and “The Slap Hear ‘Round the World.”
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It was an early spring evening when Clarke first felt the sickening pang of homesickness that she didn’t understand. She never really had a home – she wouldn’t consider the Ark one as it was the place of her father’s execution and her own confinement, and their time on earth before Praimfaya was riddled with so much violence that she never had a chance to catch her breath. Except as she sits on the hood of the Rover, staring at the sky as she always did when Madi was getting ready for bed, she feels an incurable bout of homesickness that won’t go away.
Clutching the radio in her hands, Clarke presses the button without realizing it, the gentle beep causing a longing in her chest that aches and echoes like the depths of a cave. “Bellamy?” Clarke asks, her voice smaller than she’s ever heard it. The longing drips off the one word and she realizes not for the first time that to love someone afar has hurt her more than any Grounder war. Licking her lips, she tries again. “Bellamy, it’s Clarke. I mean, you know that. It’s not like you’ve forgotten.”
She hesitates. “Have you? …forgotten?” She asks, choking over the words.
Yo yo yo, sorry I kinda disappeared for a few days, I've not really been in the best place mentally (or physically, honestly), so I've been takin a break from tumblr. I'm probably gonna be gone for a while, so. Ĝis revido, my dudes.
HE SITS AT THE EDGE OF THE ROOF WITH FOLDED LIMBS, like origami, caught by the sensation that he is as fragile as that thin, opaque paper. the crush of movement & light turns him inward / until STARS burst behind his eyes, a headache rushing forth with every beat of his unsteady heart. he doesn't hear her at first. his eyelids are so HEAVY. the words are words, not a sentence, & then they are.
the truth of the matter is that heroes are not 'people'. in the eyes of the masses, they exist on the same plane as those considered 'other'. HIGHER. like celebrities or performers. they are fictionalized, larger than life, just beyond reach. even the spider / 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕, despite his biology. so the people cling; when they hold too long, when they wrap their arms around him, when they press their lips to his mask, their hands at his waist — he lets it happen, because the suit is a second skin, an alternate sense of self. he exists outside his body, & his flesh is public property.
the BUZZ of the recent (unwanted) touches hasn't worn away yet. he thinks if he breathes fresh air at the summit of a high roof it'll burn it all away. he's been thinking that for twenty years. thirty. he should have replied to her sooner, he thinks. now any quip will feel off-tempo, a little too fake. the mask is supposed to hide his fear. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜. how easily that's stripped away despite resting on his face, when it's just him & her & an empty roof.
❛ sometimes people just need a — ❜ he searches for the word. one that doesn't reveal too much. ❛ moment of comfort. something to prove they're SAFE. it's not . . . it's not really about me. ❜
it’s been like 3 years when will there be a victorious reunion episode that tells us where everyone went and shit huh I need Tori being a famous pop star and songwriter Andre and broody actor Beck and angry playwright Jade and whatever the fuCK Cat did gofddmanit i miss that fuckingg show
Let's get high and forget what the world was like
Back when misfits were just stressed out kids
And not a statement to live up to.
Put your fist down, raise hopes up
Because tonight is the night we forget.
See, the reality is that there's clichés
To explain the complicated things I feel
So I'll just tell you I'm depressed
That I've spent so long masked in optimism
That it's hard to see when I'm faking it anymore
Let's get high and forget what the world was like
Back when misfits were just stressed out kids
And not a statement to live up to.
Put your fist down, raise hopes up
Because tonight is the night we forget.
I can't promise things will always be well
In this life that you've set up for yourself
Cause everything has got a come to an end
I'm not afraid of death, I'm afraid of what comes next
But I won't worry right now, let's make a toast to forgetting.
I know things about myself that I refuse to accept
I've built worry through means of an internal rejection
There are mountains and mole hills on which I've left tracks
Of my refusal to see what a disaster I am.
Let's get high and forget what the world was like
Back when misfits were just stressed out kids
And not a statement to live up to.
Put your fist down, raise hopes up
Because tonight is the night we forget.
