They Are Honestly The Softest Like Who Let Them Be Like This. - Tumblr Posts

🪐 — JAMES BARNES  for  birdie !

panic is a clawing beast;     the answer he knows she wants is ash on his tongue, too thick to fall between the teeth even if he knows it would soothe, even if he knows the moment would end faster, without casualties. the rest of the drying up provides a welcome distraction, too methodological, too precise for it to happen naturally, wiping out the pan from dinner like it’s weighted, like the domesticity could be a salvation. he’d meant honesty when he’d offered it, expected that @musecraft​​ would understand when the words don’t come, that there’s pasts locked away because that’s the only way he knows how to breathe; all he can offer her is the truth away from the aching. it takes a moment, the too - loud ticking of the clock reminding him that he’s been silent too long, that he’s holding on to the words out of fear that they will shatter the peace. 

❛   i don’t know.   ❜        at least that’s honest. elbows lean against the kitchen counter, a stance more casual than the way his stomach churns inside him.       ❛   my mom did. she believed in every bit of it, had all the proper traditions for the holidays. when she died, dad kept them up but without the heart of it. i don’t remember ever asking him really. and when i came back, rebecca was too far gone to tell me anything about it, but her kids had traditions. still do, they invite me over sometimes.  ❜      but he’s a stranger to them. he’s a name that was martyred, something that the pride has disappeared from, too complicated to exist comfortably in the lives that they have built. none of that answers the question, but it buys time, gives him a moment to think about what he should say, work through the feelings and come up with something close to an answer.        ❛   i like being there. i like taking part in other people’s traditions because sometimes they remind me of being back there, and sometimes because it’s the only thing that the army didn’t get. but i don’t know if i believe in it, not anymore.  ❜ 

        THE ONLY THING SHE WANTS  from james is  the truth.  this is a touchy subject for some, she knows  —  faith inspires passion,  &  so many people are so convinced their version of god is the only one that can exist.  &  birdie knows that he goes to synagogue,  that there is some part of himself that has a relationship with the spiritual.  james tends to be closed off about things like this, but she can’t help but be curious.  she just wants to know everything about him  —  including this, even if they disagree about it.  &  james is so convinced that all he has to offer the world is violence, that bloodshed is the only thing his hands are capable of, in spite of the gentleness he has always shown her.  so it makes her wonder who he is within those holy walls  —  if he prays when he visits,  &  if he believes when he does.  but birdie can finally understand that if god does exist, then it appears differently to everyone.  &  if synagogue is where james finds it,  then who would she be to judge him for that ?       so birdie listens closely as he speaks, leaning back against the opposite countertop  &  patiently waiting for @destage​ to find the right words.  &  when he does, she nods, her wide eyes never falling from his face.  she can understand his passion better as a reflection of the love of his community  —  &  as connection with others, which he so desperately needs  ( he is still a human, too, after all ).  but birdie also notices the absence of true faith, the lack of conviction when it comes to a higher power beyond that.  &  she crosses the tile floor on feet clad in mismatched socks  &  curls into him in the way that’s become so natural to them.  both hands tuck around his waist  &  slip up the back of his shirt,  &  birdie rises to her tiptoes so she can nuzzle her face into his throat, lips touching a feather-light kiss just above the pulse point there.  ❝ i get that.  thank you for telling me. ❞  her fingertips trace little patterns over his spine in an attempt to soothe him, swaying slightly back  &  forth between her feet as she clings to his solid  &  steady form.  ❝ it’s still  a big deal  for you.  &  i hope you know that i support you going. ❞  &  then birdie pulls back from her embrace just enough to peer up at him, a soft smile on her lips.  ❝ but it’s not  the only thing  they didn’t get.  they didn’t get you.  you know how i know ?  because you’re still here. ❞   her small hand splays wide over his chest, blue  &  yellow paint flecked across her knuckles  &  under her fingernails.   ❝ right now, with me.  you’re right here, james. ❞