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some of my best friends i met at the devil’s sacrament

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Heaven Ain’t Close in a Place Like This

(90k)

Rating: mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers/ Bucky Barnes

(@not-withoutyou / not_without_you )

Bucky thought the war was easier. He was made of war; down to the marrow of his bones — he and Steve both. Borne and died of it. Peacetime didn’t stand to reason. Maybe it had, long ago — not anymore.

He’d been only just stumbling into adulthood on gangly legs when he’d gotten that conscription notice. Playground to battleground, and he’d never made it home from the fight.

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It's so funny that Bucky is introduced as this cocky suave character and yet whenever I think about him and Steve having their first kiss as teenagers I can never picture him being the one initiating it. Because Bucky is confident doing things the outcome of which doesn't matter. He can flirt with women because, really, he doesn't care about having a relationship with them, it's just for show. But the moment Steve's face is too close to his, he starts shaking like a leaf because Steve is everything that matters to him in the whole wide world and beyond.

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[source]

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Happy Birthday Steeb ❤️💙🤍

(I just now realised that i put the signature of my other account)

Also, reminding you that my commissions are open, and you can support me on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/derwassermann

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a good sailor will always return to the sea

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Steve and Bucky went out on the town for his birthday :) Happy Birthday Steve!

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(opening the author’s works page after finishing a fic) and if im lucky they’ll have written this exact same fic but different a bunch more times

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happy pride to whatever the fuck this was

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“let’s here it for captain america”

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When I (M29) was a young boy (M7) my father (M35) took me into the city (X167) to see a marching band (M23, M21, M22, F22, M24, M25, F21, M

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“Where ya goin’ lookin’ like that?” What a sight for sore eyes, Steve couldn’t string more than a sentence together.

“I uh.. I have a date,” Bucky ducked his head as he spoke, shy, like he was embarrassed — or maybe something else.

Oh. Steve could feel his face fall, pretending he hadn’t been looking forward to spending some time with Bucky that evening after he’d finished working on his commission. He turned his pencil over in his hand, pressed the pad of his thumb into the point.

“We’re goin’ dancin’ — me and Penny,” Bucky elaborated.

Turning his attention back to the paper— staring unseeing— Steve tried to keep his face neutral. He was happy for Bucky — really, he was. Bucky was too charming for his own good, magnetic; it wasn’t his fault. Dames were constantly vying for his attention.

He knew of Bucky's reputation; he knew most of it was bullshit. But Steve also knew the way the neighbors spoke about them; he’d heard the things Bucky's father had said. (They didn’t talk about it outright very often, Steve wouldn’t push. But it was taxing on Steve’s emotions piecing together a narrative he wanted to be true — cognitive dissonance when he’d be presented evidence to the contrary.) He wasn’t jealous. And he didn’t want to act like this — Bucky went on a lot of dates. Never the same dame more than a few times, though.

It wasn’t that he wanted Bucky's charisma or popularity. With a stubborn insolence he usually ignored the notion — but sometimes in quiet solitude, Steve would allow himself the admission: it was Bucky he wanted. He wanted to hold Bucky's careful hands and he wanted Bucky's gentle soul and untiring patience. Steve craved the balance to his hot temper, slow like the drip of molasses, the falling-snow cadence of Bucky's voice — the sweetest kid in all of Brooklyn.

(Steve would sulk; would sit up all night in his bed, lovelorn and frowning whenever Bucky went out and he knew that wasn’t fair. Bucky wasn’t his. But Steve didn’t know what it meant when Bucky came home at the end of the night instead of staying out — when he came home and sometimes crawled into his bed. Steve didn’t know why it made him sad, although he’d never say so — he’d break his own heart over and over to spare Bucky any pain.)

Bucky took a few steps closer, but Steve didn’t want to touch him with his dirty hands. Thumbing a graphite smudge off Steve’s cheek, Bucky frowned. Steve knew he was being mean — he knew he was behaving like a petulant child, but he couldn’t keep the pinched expression off his face.

“Hell's your problem, jerk?” Bucky pulled his hand away.

“Nothing. Go have fun,” Steve's tone came out harsher than he intended.

Flinching like Steve had struck him, Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but must have decided against it. Steve wondered if he’d imagined the way his hand hesitated on the door handle, but he surely didn’t imagine the heavy thud as the door shut resolutely behind him. And when he came back home, Steve must have also imagined the hesitation in footsteps outside of his room, because Bucky slept in his own bed.

The next morning, Bucky didn’t say anything as he was getting ready for work. Being an early riser, Steve was up before the sun anyway — it certainly had nothing to do with the trouble he’d had staying asleep.

Trying to play nice, and afraid Bucky was going to leave for the day without saying goodbye, Steve cleared his throat. He normally didn’t acknowledge the women Bucky saw. (They weren’t special, he thought bitterly — Bucky took him to the movies too.) “Is she nice?” Steve asked. Because the silence hurt and he couldn’t not have his best friend. He shoved down the ice in his chest. If Bucky was going to see someone, he needed to know that she’d treat him well — he deserved the absolute best and more.

Bucky barked a laugh, and Steve thought for a moment he was still angry, but when he turned to face him, he was smiling. “Penny? She’s sweet,” Bucky leaned his hip against the table casually.

“So you like her,” Steve stated, skinny shoulders slumped.

“Steve.. she doesn’t like.. men.”

“Oh. I’m.. I’m sorry,” Though his voice pitched up at the end like a question.

“No, moron, that’s the point,” Bucky chuckled, hand on his shoulder. Steve was confused.

“It’s a cover, Stevie. To keep her safe. Everyone thinks she’s got a fella and she knows I'd never make a move on her. Then at the end of the night, she goes home to her girlfriend.”

It wasn’t clicking. Still dumbfounded, Steve stared, eyes searching Bucky’s face as if the answers were there. It was fake? It wasn’t a real date?

“She’s great company, though. You’ll have to meet her sometime. She’s —,”

“Because she knows you’d never make a move on her,” Steve repeated. Bucky didn’t respond. “That’s what you said.”

“Yeah.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it was. “She knows she’s not my type.” Bucky left it at that, looking to the floor.

They didn’t talk about it. But Bucky slid into Steve’s bed that night, citing the blistering cold as the culprit. Steve turned to face him in the darkness. “What is your type?” Because he couldn’t not know. (Because he wanted salt in his wounds.)

Bucky's face was so close to his. He was serious, brow furrowed, though Steve couldn’t see him very well. “Blond.”

Steve nodded, turning back onto his side, trying not to think of Bucky with all those pretty blond dames; trying not to think of their arms around him — of him laughing in the dance hall. Bucky sighed something quiet that sounded an awful lot like ‘for fuck’s sake,’ then slipped an arm around his waist.

(If you enjoy any of my dumb ramblings, come visit me on Ao3)

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oh they hurt me so bad

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Well fucks? Get to it!

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Miller, M. (2011). The Song of Achilles. (p. 298). Great Britain: Bloomsbury Publishing.

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you cannot talk about the homophobic murder of jonathan joss without including in the conversation that he is indigenous.

american indian men are at the 2nd highest risk of death by murder compared to all other ethnic groups. in their lifetimes, 82% of native men report having experienced domestic violence. yet the overwhelming majority of perpetrators are non-natives (88% of native men and 92% of native women who reported violence said their attacker was non-native). what’s more, tribal governments are often stymied in their attempts to bring justice against non-natives, meaning that many of these cases go unresolved.

this was an intersectional attack. the fact that he is indigenous matters, even if the motivation was homophobic, because it made him even more vulnerable and disposable in the eyes of his killer.

as always, look into MMIWP to learn more, and speak up for us. miigwetch, take care

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tried posting the full version twice, you can find it here