W O R T H Y || MERCY

Hey there, welcome to the home of Sorcha Rogers, cis-swapped Steve Rogers. This blog and three sides are run by Cloud (33)(she/they), in the KST (GMT+9) time zone. Below are handy mobile user friendly links, and under the cut, the blog guidelines. These aren’t negotiable. This blog is -my- space and I control who and what is in it to keep myself happy and without stress.

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“That would be doing it the easy way.” Peter said with a shrug before smiling; the woman’s sarcasm was kind of heart warming, no one had talked to him like that since… “Guess I was just having an off day.” The webhead forces out, trying to prevent himself from going down that path, after all 

“Even us superheroes have our off days don’t we” The young masked vigilante said with a shrug, though he sounded a lot more somber than he had before. “Why are you so interested in how I got hurt? I mean i appreciate the concern but aren’t you a little too old to have a crush on lil old me?” he asked with a teasing smirk., which she admittedly couldn’t see.

            “Ah, and easy’s just not your bag, right.” Of course it couldn’t be his thing, he dresses in a uniform and fights crime. Easy isn’t in a hero’s vocabulary in her experience. So she has to figure it’s not in his either. Off day, however, is a bit worrying. Sorcha doesn’t say much as she finishes up the stitches carefully until he asks his questions. 

“Mm, see we do, and it always lands us under someone else’s needle.” She cuts the last stitch and sits back. Now how to answer that. Sorcha’s never really got how the whole bruise and scar thing works. If she lifts her shirt - will she have the scar already this time or just the phantom ache of it until he heals. She’s never really  -  ahh, scars he should have if this is the right. 

             Sorcha knows that feeling. There are broken pieces of her that jab into her lungs and heart at the most inopportune moments. Almost always triggered by people - the memories of them, the ways she failed. 

Sorcha doesn’t know if that’s what Wanda feels, if that’s what runs through her head to make her say something like this. But, that’s not what needs to be addressed first. She isn’t good at this - she’s always been a life or death, end all be all moment speaker. Wanda deserves the effort, though. 

“Yeah, I remembered something from the doctor about that so I did that a good ten or fifteen minutes ago.” Bexley admitted to her older sister over the phone. “Hospital…I just got too nervous at the thought of doing it here again and losing it where there’s no way to stop it. So I’m doing it there.” She normally was not fond of the location but she felt better about it being with trained professionals there. She kept walking around, that was supposed to help, “But they can’t admit until the contractions are four minutes apart.” She was sure to tell her and moved her hospital bag onto the couch.

         Sorcha nods as she trundles down the stairs. “Okay, good plan. I’m almost out the building’s front door. The hospital is a good choice. Should be a good choice. When Bex had first said she was expecting, Sorcha may have gone on a find all the information on birth binge. Bex is her little sister, a piece of her heart. Of course she’s more than a little worried. 

Her pencil pauses from the doodle she’d been working on as Bexley sits across from her. It’s habit really, to doodle when there’s clean paper in front of her. She may never have pursued art seriously, but she still enjoys it. Not that that has anything to do with what came out of her sister’s mouth.  A crush? 

Dear lord. 

She’s knitting today, when Bex comes in with an announcement. Sorcha’s lips quirk into a small smile. Well, that meant there’s a baby on the way. No one announced a test unless it was positive. Hopefully, anyway. She wouldn’t, were it her. Then again, Sorcha’s liable to just hide for nine months if she ever gets pregnant.