#(so like the limit is ‘I shouldn’t eat’ or ‘I don’t deserve to live/basic respect because I eat’ not something reasonable you might assume

[boneless-mika]

Ironically my blocking of a word in no way related to food protected me from a food post containing health info lmao

[mysticalrambling]

Hey there hope you are doing well🥰🥰🥰Saw you were open to blurb request...can you please write a fluff related to my second steve rogers x reader story...where the reader forgives steve after his tiresome efforts to win back his family..Like can you write about how a domestic sunday willl be in their lives Steve's, reader's and Ollie's? how they will enjoy breakfasta and Steve enjoys the day with his wife and son❤❤❤

A/N: This is basically an alternative ending to Regretting his Decisions. The original one basically ended in all angst so I hope you guys like this as well. It is totally different from the first one. Just something new :)

Regretting His Decisions (S.R)

Steve Rogers AU (Fan fiction Masterlist)

Summary: Steve and reader come together after she forgives him for all the things that he had done in the past. Now, they are spending a Sunday together with their son, Oliver. It is all fluff.

Warning: None. Fluff all the way.

._._._._._.

There were times when you thought that you shouldn’t have forgiven Steve because society thought that you were in a toxic relationship. They thought that he shouldn’t have come back into your life as he chose Peggy. But Tony told you the real reason. Peggy had hijacked the time machine and Steve had to spend his whole life in the past to rebuild that time machine. That’s why he didn’t come back to you.

However, Steve came back to you like he promised he would. He got Scott to help him reverse the past and become his old self. He was going to choose you and that’s what mattered the most. Your husband knew that the things he did in the start of your marriage were cruel and he didn’t deserve you. But he had suffered a lot and he was truly in love with you. That’s why you gave him a chance. You deserved to be happy as well and your family needed a proper chance.

At first, your interaction was just limited to Oliver and you lived separately even though you knew the truth. It was hard to forgive him for the things he had actually done like belittling you or abandoning you. But as time progressed, you saw how he was with your son and how he treated you with nothing but respect.

Steve gave you as much space as you needed and he was there for you when you needed him. He was there when your library burnt down during a fire hazard. He was there to console you when your parents suddenly died in a car crash. He was there when Ollie broke his arm while playing football. He was always there and that’s what got you to eventually open up to him. You finally asked to try again and for him to move into the house. Your family was happy and that’s what mattered. Other people can go to hell.

“Stevie, mommy needs pancakes.” Your three year old was sitting on the counter with his legs swinging back and forth. He was currently arguing with his father about your breakfast preference because apparently he knew you better than your husband.

“No, Mommy loves waffles. You want pancakes so you’re telling me to make them.” The little boy had been up for the past two hours because he had a nightmare. He always wanted to cuddle with his father afterwards and now, he was angry. “I’m your dad, buddy. Not Stevie.”

“But Mommy calls you Stevie.” He whined as he jumped in his place. Steve was quick to hold him in his place before he could fall. Oliver was never afraid to get hurt because he healed too quickly. The serum running through his veins always made him feel like a super hero. In a way, he was but Steve was always worried about him.

“She can do that. Not you.” At this point, he was just messing with his son.

“I can, Stevie.” Oliver asserted his point.

“Okay, buddy. Can I call you Ollie then?” This was going to get interesting, really fast.

“No! Mommy calls me that name only.” Giving him a pointed look, Steve laughed out loud. “Okay, daddy. I get it now.”

“Good boy. Now, let’s start making the breakfast.” Tying an apron around himself, he started taking out all the ingredients.

It was Sunday so you didn’t have work today. You always slept in late on Sundays and Steve always made sure that you got your much needed rest. A twelve hour job and a hyper three year old sucked out most of your energy so he didn’t like to disturb you for anything. Morning breakfast was your family’s tradition.

Steve didn’t know how to cook properly but you never complained. His burnt french toasts are better than any five star chicken steal and that was saying a lot. You loved him too much to ever say that you didn’t want to eat the breakfast made by him. It was such a sweet gesture that you teared up whenever you saw them entering the room with a tray in their hands.

“Baby, you have to hold on to the vase tightly.” Your husband’s hushed voice filtered through the door and woke you up from your deep slumber. Footsteps echoed through the wooden floor and soon the door opened.

“Mommy!!! Look I made you breakfast.” Jumping on the bed, he completely forgot about the vase of pink flowers and dropped them on the bed.

“Oh, thank you, baby.” Oliver’s knee accidentally hit you in the stomach and knocked the breath out of your lung. Gasping, you slightly cradled your child, “Be careful, bubs.”

“Sorry, mommy.”

Laughing, Steve corrected his son, “Oliver, we both made the breakfast and I did most of the work.”

“I beat waffle mixture.”

“You dropped it all on the kitchen counter. Not the same thing, baby.” He got up on the bed but still was not a match for his father’s height.

“I made it. I’m better than you.”

Interrupting them before Oliver truly got angry, “My baby is better than everyone. Stevie, don’t tease him.”

“’kay, darling.” He raised his hands in surrender and joined you both on the bed.

Steve was thankful for his little family and he tried to spend every waking moment with them. He didn’t want to miss the special moments so he made sure to take time off from missions. Nothing was more important than his family. There was still regret in his heart for treating you like crap in the early years of marriage. He would never forgive himself for the heinous acts that he committed. He will spend every moment making it up to you.

Finishing the breakfast with a lot of teasing and jokes, you went to get ready for the day. Meanwhile, your husband took Oliver to his room and gave him a shower. Oliver was a total boy in the sense that he ran away from the idea of shower. Only Steve could make him sit in a tub long enough to actually bathe him and by the end of it, no one knew who actually showered. Steve would emerge out of the washroom with water dripping down his hair and drenched clothes.

Today was no different. ”Help this little devil with his clothes while I go change.”

“Aw. Thank you, babe.” You tried to hold in your laughter when you saw his condition but you couldn’t help it.

“Next time, you’re doing it.”

“Sure sure.” Pecking him on the lips, you went into Ollie’s closet. He always said this but he was there to take your son before you could even think about taking him to shower. He would never admit it but he liked this chore. It was a bonding time for him and Oliver.

For today you all agreed that it would be best to just relax around the house. With the upcoming Hydra missions, the media had been loitering around your house to have an interview with Steve. You both decided that the best way to attain some privacy would be to stay home.

“Incredible, please!” The little boy sitting on your lap looked at you with puppy dog eyes that you didn’t have the heart to refuse.

“But we have watched that movie a hundred times.” Steve whined from his place on the couch.

“Not a hundred times, daddy. Just seven times.” Counting on his fingers, he showed you both eight fingers instead of seven.

“That’s eight fingers, baby.” You put one of his fingers down and squished his cheeks. He was too cute for his own good. “And we can watch it one more time but that’s it.”

Steve knew that he would be outnumbered in this match so he just gave up. At this point, he knew the dialogues by heart. But he preferred this over being lonely. He stocked up on all the snacks a day before so you were all set for a movie marathon. It was going to be really fun.

In between the movie, Oliver made you sing all the songs and you all cried when Mufasa died. Even Steve had slight tears in his eyes. Fate was cruel to the Lion King and he could never think of leaving his family alone. It was too much but then the happy ending always brought him joy. This movie truly was a true roller coaster.

“I wanna watch Boss Baby now.” The little boy demanded as soon as credits rolled in.

“Okay, boss.”

“He truly is the boss, isn’t he?” You looked down at the snuggled up child on the couch.

“Yes, he is.” Ruffling his hair, Steve gave his son an adoring smile.

The whole day, you kept going through movies that were demanded by Oliver and around five, you all fell asleep on the couch. It was a really good nap and you woke up before both your boys. You made them dinner because you wanted to eat proper food. Steaks and broccoli was the best option so you went with it.

“You made dinner?” The two hands snaking around your waist startled for you a second but you relaxed when you heard his voice.

“Yeah. Got up before you guys so just thought to start working on dinner.” You kept your hands on the side of his face while he nuzzled his face in your neck. He was extra clingy today and you loved that about him.

“Okay, I loved spending time with you both today.”

“We both did as well. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You were interrupted before you could kiss your husband.

“I’m hungry!” Oliver came waltzing into the kitchen and Steve picked him up.

Both of you looked at each other before saying it together, “We love you, Ollie.”

“Family hug!” Your son was demanding and you both would never deny his wishes. Your family was too cute and you loved them too much.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

._._._._._.

A/N: Tell me if you guys enjoyed it. I am open to blurbs and requests so feel free to send in asks. Love you guys!! And tell me if you want to be added to my tag list.

Tag list: @peculiarpenman, @kalopsia-flaneur, @justile, @agnesk, @caanyoonmoon, @nostxlgia18

Like, comment and reblog.

._._._._._.

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Kneecap Day - Floyd

(better title TBD) This piece is in celebration of two different events! First of all: happy kneecap day to @brutal-nemesis! Thank you for the inspiration this event has given so many of us. Second of all: this is my happy anniversary piece to the Persistence series, which I posted the first part of last year on this date! I seriously can’t believe this story has been in progress for so long already, and thank you to all of you who have supported me through it. Alright. Without further ado, here’s the masterlist for everything else, and this happens further in the future than anything I’ve already written, the closest being the branding. 

Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, suggestions and implications of dehumanization (not quite the purpose, but just to be safe), dislocated joints and realigning them, starvation mentions, and general cruelty and unfairness. ————————————

Mud splattered all across Floyd’s backside when he collapsed from the sheer dizzying force of the slap.

“You get on your knees when you’re told,” Percival snarled, leaning over him and pulling on the leash as he scrambled to sit up. “There is no hesitation. There is no unspoken question. There is no disobedience. A direct order is to be followed immediately, you understand?”

“Aah, I understand- I understand I just- sir, please, the ground is muddy here-”

“Do you think I’d tell you to kneel if I didn’t know what the consequences would be?” A tilt of the head, a rhetorical question.

“I was- I was acting in your best interest, I promise,” Floyd shuddered at his words, but he couldn’t risk anything else. This was his decision to obey, get off easy for the time being, make it through this as quickly as possible, and minimize the consequences when it was finally over.

“You think you know better than I do now, Benedict?” Percival smiled, humor dancing in his eyes. “Oh, dear, I know you’re not that stupid.”

“No! I… these clothes are- they’re so nice, I wanted to show you- I- I’m-” He couldn’t spit out the ‘grateful’ fast enough, but his tormentor understood well enough.

“And yet you’ve gone and ruined them.” Percival sounded disappointed and Floyd flushed in embarrassment, but there was something else in there too. Frustration stirred at the unfairness of it all.

“I’m sorry!” He really was.

“If you loved them so much then maybe you should’ve steadied yourself after a single slap.” 

“You- you ha-aven’t let me eat in three days! What did you expect?!” Anger seeped into Floyd’s voice, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop it. Percival bristled at the change in tone.

“I expected a little more respect toward the hand that chooses to feed,” he snapped, “especially since allowing you to kneel would have been a generous mercy, had you taken the opportunity. I’m sure neither of us wanted you to collapse today, and yet here we are.” 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen if you actually gave a single damn about me!” Floyd yelled, voice cracking around the curse he knew he shouldn’t have said.

“Oh? You don’t think I care for you, is that it?” Venom pooled in Percival’s words. He sank down, straddling Floyd’s chest and letting his own knees sink into the mud. A rough hand cupped his cheek. 

“I… I-”

“I’ve taught you more about yourself than you ever could have figured out on your own. I found the potential within you that you never could. I am making you, Benedict Floyd.” He paused as the man in question shuddered against his grip. “Don’t you think that’s caring enough?”

Before he could even register the tension, Floyd snapped. He smacked Percival’s hand off his face, shoving frantic elbows into his chest and kicking wildly until he slid free, scrambling back as far as the leash would allow. Even then he pulled back against it, settling into an unsteady crouch and meeting Percival’s eyes again. 

He saw the mounting fury there held back by careful patience, but Floyd wouldn’t have been able to hold himself back even without that hesitancy. Words bubbled up and spilled forth faster than he could find the strength to control them. 

“Right, right, because that’s all you see me as, isn’t it? I’m s-something for you to control, to teach, to- to parade around like-” he sobbed, unable to breathe or speak for several seconds, “-parade like a fucking- fucking animal, and you’re so goddamn proud of yourself-”

“Hey now, I-” Percival warned, and Floyd cut him off.

“You do not get to make me. You don’t- don’t deserve to make me. You don’t know me, you never even tried to- to- to talk to me... you saw the potential I had and... decided that’s all that I am.

“I have tried- so hard to find myself. Have you- have you ever lost yourself before? Have you been told that your body is not your own, you are worth only as much as you can work, you are not worth the investment of basic necessities, and- and- you don’t understand. It took years to understand I could be something. Something more than what I was made to be. I took the time, I-I found my truth, I had only just begun living it, and I spent far too long lost in my own mind to just let you pull me under again.

“You hurt and hurt and hurt and you say I’m learning, that I’m- I’m better off, that I’m good for you! The only thing I’ve fucking learned here is how much hurt I can bear before I black out, how hard you can push me before I break! 

“...you... you broke me, Percival, sir. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you want from me? Do you- do you want to know that you’re the one person who has hurt me the most, finally pushed past my limits? 

“F-fine, then. Look at the mark you burned into my chest and know that everything you’ve done has broken me beyond belief, and- and you’ll probably do it all over again and I can’t stop you. But when all is said and d-done, don’t you fucking dare believe for a second that you built me.”

.

..

...the world held still for a few, blissful moments where Floyd felt good. Percival’s eyes narrowed and he did not turn away, did not flinch, did not fall to his knees. 

Percival approached and Floyd rose shakily to his full height, swaying with the dizziness that took him, but standing his ground. When he came face to face with his captor, craning his neck up to see him fully, Floyd didn’t step back up against the wall waiting for him. He didn’t have to. 

Percival shoved him up against it himself, a hand on his forehead to keep his head grinding painfully against the bricks while the other held him in a choking embrace, pulling the leash down between his shoulder blades. 

“Hmm, such a pity. You could have looked so much prettier for your backslide. If only...”

“What-hgk!” A jerk on the leash silenced him as Percival kept on, anger darkening his tone.

“Did you really think all that just now was how you’d been this entire time? Just a free spirit locking himself up of his own will until he could run free again? I didn’t see you slipping shackles over your wrists or heating the brand of your own free will, did you?

“None of this has been a choice for you, Benedict. You fail to see that just because you didn’t recognize something doesn’t mean I didn’t do it. And you have to understand that, no matter what you think, if you aren’t controlling my actions, then you aren’t in control. I broke you, yes, but I’ve also built you up in ways you will only realize when they come to fruition. And when they finally do, you will thank me for what I’ve done.”

“Fff-fuck you,” Floyd sputtered, a last, hateful resort.

“...in any case, I’m not sure you’re even worthy of kneeling at my feet right now.”

Percival’s foot connected with his knee and it buckled immediately. Floyd gasped and fell, but the leash held his limp body up as Percival kicked again, repeatedly smashing metal toes into his battered knees. Pain tore up his leg, flaring with each subsequent kick and suddenly something was wrong. A sickening pop ricocheted through his body, and his vision went white when the next kick did the same to his other leg. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t breathe, but he was finally allowed to crumple to the ground. 

A hand in his hair righted him, briefly him leaning forward on bent knees that he could hardly feel through the blinding agony. Percival was saying something that he couldn’t hear over his own screams, throwing him on his back and holding him down by his shoulders as he writhed.

“Stop, stop stop- hAAAHH! Off, get off get off it HURTS!”

He felt hands on his legs, pulling them flat against his struggles until he went limp and darkness nearly claimed him. Floyd faded in and out of consciousness, gasping for breath around whimpers and cries, somehow finding the energy to shake his head when Percival ordered him to submit. 

A foot smashed down on his knee and he lost himself in the pain, coming to when a cold touch smacked across his cheek. Percival’s muddy hand smoothed back over it--that was certainly going to bruise at this rate--forcing a shiver through him.

“Nnh, nnhhh-“ he groaned, still weakly trying to throw off the people holding him down. 

“Really?” Percival sounded so far away now. “Are you really going to throw away all our progress just like that? Just for some sad, prideful ideal?”

“Wh- hhhhnn… what progress?”

“Oh come now, you can’t deny all the work we’ve done with you. You said it yourself already. I broke you, and I’ll do it again.”

“Yehh- yes, I- but- hhhhh-“

“My darling Benedict,” Percival said, voice in his ear now, a low murmur that made his blood run cold, “I don’t think you understand the predicament you’re in right now. I could leave you like this, you know: leave you to starve with your legs twisted completely out of place, and make sure nobody will ever find you. I could ruin your legs permanently, drag you everywhere else for the rest of your miserable life. I could make this so, so much worse. Is that what you want?”

Floyd almost forced himself to nod, but he was trembling in fear, breath hitching at the mere thought of anything like that…

“Y-you wouldn’t.” He made himself to swallow down cries, slur out weak defenses. “Would nhh- would never. Like me too much f’r that.”

“Oh, I bet I could stop liking you long enough to get the job done. Don’t doubt that, sweetheart.” A warning in a teasing, lilting tone. Floyd was too out of it to even question if that was the truth. “I’ll ask again. Will you submit to me and take back those words, or will you accept one of my many alternatives?”

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut, lips pressed together to hold back the refusal on the tip of his tongue. 

“I… I’ll s-submit, sir.”

Percival didn’t give a response, humming affirmingly and running a wet hand through Floyd’s hair, the other still resting firmly on his shoulder.

“Emil,” he called out to one of his crew members, probably nearby, probably one of the ones holding Floyd down, “how are you feeling?”

He slipped out of coherence again before he could catch the other man’s response, only vaguely aware of the people moving and shifting around him to make room, the person crouching over his legs, placing careful hands on his knees, feeling the dislocation in each one. 

Floyd snapped back to consciousness when he felt a strong presence grip his knee, a horrible sensation that became a grinding, moving pain until something clicked. The pain died down immediately, now only a throbbing soreness. The invasion left for a minute and he basked in the slight relief. Then it was back in his other knee, moving, pushing against his will, and snapping into place again. Floyd let out a shaking sigh, the effects radiating through him so much more bearable than what they had been just previously.

“Thh- thank-” Floyd snapped his mouth shut, finally registering what he was about to say on instinct. He was too slow, though, as he heard Percival’s delighted laugh above him.

“Only proving my point for me, Benedict. Come on, we’ve still got plenty to get done today. We’ll continue this conversation later. In private.” The twinkling smile as Percival pulled Floyd to his shaking feet was as comforting as a threat, and it really might as well have been one at that point.

Floyd tilted his head into the hand settled over the back of his neck, rubbing right under the collar where the feeling was near heavenly, and tried to pretend it was a choice. 

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself otherwise.

————————————

Tag list, ask to be added or removed!

@whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump, @shameless-whumper, @endless-whump, @theycomeinthrees, @faewhump, @lonesome--hunter, @insanitywishes, @ohmywhump, @deluxewhump​, @galaxywhump, @liliability, @whump-only

[fat-acceptance-dropout]

What first caused you to go against FA? (For me it was when I was bullied for wanting to lose weight)

It's been a while since I answered this question, so I guess it's time to answer it again; bear in mind, though, that I'm mobile so cut me some slack.

There are two things that made me go from supporting to opposing Fat Acceptance.

One, cognitive dissonance.

Two, becoming aware of the hopelessness lurking just below the surface of the FA movement.

Let's tackle them in order, since that's how it happened.

Picture this:

I'm sitting on my bed, eating some horrid thing called a pizza cone that I'm not enjoying, but I'm eating nonetheless.

As I'm eating this, I'm browsing Tumblr and start writing about how weight loss is impossible, and I'm the living example, because I exercise and eat healthy without losing weight.

Do you notice the contradiction?

I certainly did.

It's hard to argue about healthy eating when you're basically fellating cheese and pepperoni and not even having fun doing it. (Seriously, fuck pizza cones. Pizza is fine as it is. Cones just complicate things.)

I had to be honest with myself in that moment. I neither exercised or ate healthy, at least not often enough for it to make a difference.

Certainly, I did it sometimes, but the exercise was hiking twice a week, and maybe some yoga, and the eating healthy was drinking green smoothies and not caring about what I ate the rest of the day.

Certainly, I dieted sometimes. Lasted a month or two, went crazy, binged and called the whole thing a bust.

So, with that big, bright, sharp moment of clarity, I decided to try for real. No half measures. I decided to go all the way.

I joined a boxing gym, which was something I had always wanted to do and something that I was fairly confident I'd be able to stick to. By now, I knew well enough that I didn't like regular gyms, so I decided to avoid those.

No weight machines for me, just free weight exercises and boxing.

Then, I started counting calories.

By now, I knew that sticking to a diet plan just wasn't going to happen, and counting calories would allow me to eat what I wanted as long as I measured myself.

It went horribly.

When I first started counting calories, I went over my daily limit by 12:00 pm, which was one of the most frustrating things I had faced at the time.

I had to acknowledge that I really ate a lot, and that I had not only very little control over what I ate but also over when I ate.

I ate food I didn't like, I ate when I wasn't hungry, I ate when I was feeling down, I ate when I had cravings, I ate when I exercised, I ate when I didn't exercise, I ate and ate and ate.

So I started puking to eat more.

Rather than acknowledge the fact that I had an unhealthy relationship with food I decided to double down on it by binging and purging, rather than just binging.

I didn't lose any weight.

I knew it was a bad idea when I started, but I still did it, and when that neither made me lose weight or made me reduce my caloric intake, I realized I needed a change.

So, I changed. Acknowledged my unhealthy relationship with food, worked on changing it, worked on eating better, worked on exercising for real, and wouldn't you know it? I started losing weight.

So, as I started losing weight, and I started feeling better in ways that I never would've expected —no more ankle pain, no more flash heats, no more snoring, no more fits of coughing— I realized that the FA movement and HAES had lied to me.

Not only was weight loss possible, but excess weight does have an impact on your body.

That's when I realized the hopelessness lurking below the surface of the Fat Acceptance movement, because below the 'love yourself', 'you don't have to lose weight to be loved', 'you deserve respect regardless of your weight', and 'your weight doesn't reflect your worth' of the movement, that I wholeheartedly approve of, there are some insidious messages:

- Weight loss is impossible

- Your actions have no impact on your body.

- Your weight has no impact on your health.

- Even if you want or need to change, it can't be done, so you're fucked.

- Wanting to change means there's something wrong with you.

- Suggesting changes means, at best, ignorance, at worst hate.

And more.

While I understand that, to some, the idea of weight being out of one's control is liberating, I always did find it defeatist, even when I was a complete supporter of the movement, and it caused no small amount of resentment.

After all, how are you not supposed to feel resentful and angry when others have the thin genes? When you're just going to have to accept that you're fat? That you're helpless to change?

Make no mistake. I believe in self acceptance, in learning to love yourself and not using someone's physical appearance as a measure of self worth, but I found that the deeper one digs into the movement, the more helpless it makes you feel, the more it goes from accepting yourself to there is nothing you can do to change.

Again, some people see that as liberating. I didn't. I still don't.

It's kind of why my message isn't "you should lose weight," or "you shouldn't be fat," but rather "you can lose weight." (and keep it off.)

Because ultimately, I believe that knowing that the choice exists is what makes all the difference.

You can choose to lose weight. You can choose not to lose weight, but you're choosing. You're actively making a choice, and you can change that choice if you feel like doing it.

Choosing to be fat is a hell of a lot better than being fat because you have no choice, and the constant message of "you can't change, you can't change," of the FA movement is what led me to go from simply not being part of it to being against it.

[imaconstantmess]

Until

Until

First attempt at writing anything, criticism is something that is welcome and much needed so please tell me if there was anything you didn’t like.

Warnings: swearing, abuse(ex), angst with an ok ending

Steve x Gender Neutral! Reader

Steve’s mind has been occupied for the past few weeks, and it’s got something to do with the recruit he’s been assigned to train.

part 2 here

Cold.

Empty.

Bright.

“Damn it.” Empty shelves stared at him, save for some sauces that he never used, and some out of date milk in the door. Since when could he not act like an adult and remember to go food shopping every once in a while? He almost slammed the fridge door in frustration, but then he remembered that the fridge wasn’t made to be shut in anger by a super soldier who could keep a helicopter grounded.

The apartment was nice, clean, and more modern than Steve would have chosen. He didn’t want to admit it but he couldn’t help but like the designs Stark kitted him out with; He’d actually said thank you for the record player to both the males’ surprise. With a heavy sigh Steve looked for his keys while shrugging on the leather jacket that he liked to wear. He hadn’t bothered to change clothes since yesterday, since he’d been stuck with debriefing a late night mission to some agents, one of which liked to argue. He doesn’t know where they found him but he suspected he wouldn’t be working on the field for much longer.

Steve decided to just bike it to the nearest fast food place, since he just didn’t have the effort to buy and cook his own meal tonight. Steve wouldn’t usually ditch a healthy meal (a habit left over from when he needed all the strength he could get), but the frustration and sleep deprivation he’s been feeling lately has him doing strange things. He pulled up to the closest diner that would be open, the brightness of the inside straining his eyes a little. It was stereotypical in design, with the black and white tiled floors and old, faded red leather booths. Not all the neon lights worked, but it was clean and had pretty good food from what Steve remembered. He started looking at the menu until he heard the one sound he didn’t expect to hear.

Your voice.

——————————————————

Training was tough. You’d passed the intelligence tests, the demanding physical examination, and had shown excellence in taking orders and adapting to the situation at hand, singling you out from the other recruits in your regiment. That’s why they chose you, as an experimental new initiative that Nick Fury had come up with. It was meant to be a sort of civilian type of avengers, ones with no powers that could blend in more easily with a crowd. An American version of elite spies under shield authority and direction. And you were chosen.

Each avenger with hand to hand combat training got a recruit. Tony and Bruce didn’t have one because tony relies on his mind and if Bruce fights, the other guy makes an appearance. You did an intricate personality test, asking questions as simple as ‘what’s your favourite colour and why?’ To ‘what do you think the most important global issue is at this time?’ and from those results you were paired with the avenger that you were most compatible with, to help ease the training process and create an almost student/mentor situation. You got Captain America.

Surprisingly, the first session you two had together didn’t involve training. It was almost an interview between the two of you, but a lot more casual. Steve text you to meet him an old diner in New York, one that you happened to frequent often. You already ordered your drink when you sat down in a booth, skimming over the menu.

“F/n l/n?”You looked up and found a nice pair of baby blues looking at you, and although you knew he was attractive from the tv, real life was a whole other experience. If you weren’t taken...

Before you could gawk, you put on a friendly smile and answered “Thats me. I’m guessing you must be Steve Rogers”

And that was the first time you met.

——————————————————-

It was late. You’d just got home after a briefing for a mission which lasted longer than it should have. Sam’s recruit, agent Andrew Garrison, had a mouth which led to some sarcastic remarks towards Steve which were in your opinion, uncalled for. When Steve put him in his place it made you feel some type of way, but pushed those feelings aside. You were in a relationship that was coming to almost a year long. When you got home to your cosy apartment you kicked off your training boots, and was about to take off your shield assigned jacket when you heard a cough from the couch.

You went to look in the fridge for something quick to eat, but settled for a bottle of orange juice “Hey, sorry I kept you waiting, the briefing went on longer than it should have. Garrison decided to sass Steve, so after Steve basically put him in his place Fury came in and gave a long ass speech on how we have to show the same respect to other mentors that we show our own” you plopped down next to your boyfriend on the couch but your smile faded when you saw the look on his face. “Tyler? What’s wrong? You alright?” Concern laced your voice as you reached out to tough his face. You were shocked when he slapped your hand away.

“What’s wrong? I can’t believe you’re even asking me that...” he got up and started running his hands through his dark hair. “You’re never here anymore. You’re always training... if thats even what you’re doing” his dark eyes look different, almost like you’re looking at at stranger. While you’re too shocked to reply, he raises his voice in an almost shout. “You’re always out! Shield can’t be training you that much. How can I trust you? You’re around other men all the time!” He spat, his face almost in a snarl.

“Are you kidding me? I’m training under the avengers, not sleeping with other men! You’ve seen Steve- CAPTAIN AMERICA- drop me off! How could you think I was lying?” Your voice was strong but there was a sting in your eyes.

“Then how come Ive been seeing disgusting purple marks on your neck!?”

“I GOT JABBED IN THE FUCKING THROAT-“

“LIAR!” The argument went on for about 15 minutes, you trying to prove your innocence while Tyler just kept making more and more ridiculous accusations. You’d had arguments before, but never this bad. You turned, about to walk to your shared room to try and avoid the conflict- until a loud sound was heard on your right. He’d thrown the damn pot fruit bowl at your head. You whipped round, a look of shock on both your faces, as if he couldn’t believe he’d done it either. This was the turning point for you, things had never been physical in your relationships and they never would be. The shock on your face turned to anger as you fought back the urge to restrain him, like Steve had taught you. You grabbed your keys, and put your jacket back on.

“We’re done. Try to attack me again and i will show you just how much training I’ve done” your face looked terrifying, but under the mask you were heartbroken. You’d thought he was the one you were going to spend your life with. You were wrong. Obviously. You stormed out of the apartment, too consumed by anger to realise you had nowhere to go. You had limited cash on you, and your closest relatives were a state away. You couldn’t ask your friends to come pick you up, it was too late. After walking for almost an hour, you came across an old diner you lived going to. You told Steve about this place a few months ago, and both of you went after a particularly hard day of training. Plus it was literally open 24hrs, so you could stay until it was early enough to catch Steve or Sam on a run. You sat down at an empty booth in the corner, but since the diner was empty you could see and hear everything. You ordered a simple cheeseburger and a coke, not wanting to spend much money. You just sit and wait until you hear the phone ring. It was Tyler.

“Babe? Where are you? I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that it was all my fault-“

“You could have killed me. And I completely agree, it was your fault.

Don’t call me again. I don’t know when Ill be picking my stuff up. Bye”

“Y/N don’t do this, I love you-“

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have thrown a bowl heavier than a brick at my head.”

You heard the door open, but you were just angrily staring at the table, not bothering to see who came in. You were biting your knuckle to stop yourself from crying, pent up emotions wanting to break free. You tried to keep from crying, growing silent as you evened your breathing.

“Why are you doing this?! I thought you loved me! Maybe I did aim it at your head so what!?” Your heart sank. He’d meant to hurt you. Knock you out, maybe even kill you. “You deserved it for turning away from me. Why can’t you just come back? You need me. Give me one valid reason why I should stop calling you”

“You tried to fucking kill me”

_________________________________________

“You tried to fucking kill me”

Steve heard your voice and whipped round. He hadn’t noticed you in the corner when he came in, but the words you just spoke sent a small shiver of fear down his spine. What had happened? We’re you ok? You were still in your shield assigned training outfit, and there didn’t look to be any blood on you. He quickly walked towards you and saw you angrily slam your phone down, an unreadable expression on your face.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” It unnerved him to see you like this, he’d never seen you sad, or even angry before. Irritated at losing hand to hand combat? Sure. But he’d never seen you like this... so open... so...vulnerable.

You blinked back tears as you slowly rose your head up to look at him. He’d taken a seat across from you, arms on the table and the most concerned look you’d ever seen him with. Then again, after taking a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror, you did look a mess. Hair messy from a days training, red eyes and a blotchy face from almost crying. You decided it was not a good look on you.

“I’m-“ you were about to say fine, but you weren’t. You needed someone to talk to, and although it might be considered unprofessional, Steve was worried and you knew he wouldn’t drop it. He’s too stubborn. “Actually, I’m not fine. My personal life has just been obliterated.”

You let out a dry laugh to try and hide the hurt.

“Y/N, what happened. Tell me, please.” The way he had said please, with so much emotion almost made your heart burst. And with those eyes, full of concern and... something, staring directly at you you found it hard to not tell him everything. You looked and the table when you started explaining, almost ashamed of what happened.

“You remember my boy- well EX boyfriend, Tyler? He tried to maim or kill me. Haven’t figured out which he meant to do yet.” You hoped a bit of sarcasm would make the words you just spoke seem less... heavy to the super soldier. However when you glanced up, the look on the super soldiers face was pure anger. Before Steve could say anything, you carried on “ he didn’t actually touch me, but he tried to. I walked out before anything else could happen.”

“What do you mean tried to?” His voice was eerily calm, but soft. It completely betrayed his stiff posture and furrowed brows. You’d never seen him like this, but you weren’t scared. Somehow it was comforting.

“Well you know that big, heavy ornate fruit bowl that my grandma made me?”

“The one shaped like a peacock? Feathers for the bowl?” You nodded.

“He threw it. At my head. I was walking away and it hit the wall next to me.” You explained quickly, seeing him lean back and nostrils flare slightly. He was directing his angry gaze at anywhere but you, you weren’t the reason for his anger.

“He could have killed you. A blow to the back of your head from and object like that- jesus it could’ve cracked your skull open. You could-“ he swallowed, calming himself before finishing his sentence. “ you could be dead right now. Or unconscious, or with a cracked open skull...” as he trailed off he realised how bad the situation could have been. You could’ve been hurt. Not by some trigger happy mafia member, not by a highly trained hydra assassin. Hell, not even in training. When he caught your throat in training a few days ago he thought you were going to hate him forever, and he hated himself for hurting you. Even after you caught your breath and smiled, no laughed at him for fretting, he still hated himself for putting you through unnecessary pain. The fact that you were hurt in your home, in the one place you were supposed to be safe infuriated him. He had never wanted to kill, not really, but the anger and secondhand fear for your safety could have been the thing that made him do it. He looked at you now, seeing past the obvious and noticing the circles under your eyes and the way your body just seemed exhausted, physically and emotionally. Before he could speak, you decided to change the subject. Until tomorrow at least.

“Hey you getting any food? I can practically hear your stomach from here.” You said with a smile. Steve relaxed his posture a little and realised he hadn’t ordered in his haste to check on you. As he turned around to once again look at the menu, to cheeseburgers and cokes were laid out infront of you both by a middle aged woman, who had a young motherly look to her.

“I know you didn’t order anything, but the diners quiet and I couldn’t help overhearing a few things. I added cheesy fries, no extra cost.” The woman turned to you, wiping her hand on her black apron in a worried manner. “I hope you’re ok sweetheart. If you want, I can sneak you another drink, on the house. Just ask.” She gave you a kind smile as you thanked her and tried to return it, completely forgetting to ask Steve if he was ok with the meal. It reminded you why you joined sheiks in the first place, to protect people like her.

You and Steve started eating, and for a few minutes there was nothing but comfortable silence. Until Steve had a thought. After taking a few sips of his drink, he broke the silence.

“Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” He was not under any circumstance letting you go home to that psycho.

“Actually, I was just going to chill here for a few hours and hopefully catch you or Sam on a run...” now that you’d said it out loud, it sounded kind of stupid.

Instead of being angry, Steve just looked sad as he asked “why didn’t you call someone? You could’ve called.. me.” He almost sounded disappointed. He was, he would go pick you up from Japan if you’d asked him. He thought you knew that. “I would’ve picked you up..” he picked up a fry to try and seem more casual about what he’d said, about what he’d implied.

“Honestly, after I stormed out I was angry- walking around New York for an hour” you stopped to take a sip of your drink and have some fries. “It’s late, tower is on lockdown in early hours. And.. everyone was so tired after today. It’s not fair on them if I wake them up.” You took a bite of your burger and swallowed quickly. “ And you... you’ve been so stressed lately and after that stunt Garrison pulled I thought you deserved some sleep” you finished your sentence with a light shrug. You took another bite of your burger and looked at Steve, who couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. How dare you think you’re less important than a few hours sleep.

“You can stay at my place if you’d like, Ive got a spare room... it has an en suite.” As Steve was nearing the end of his sentence he thought he sounded stupid. He’d daydreamed once or twice about having you live with him, sharing a bed... but he never thought that this would be the way it was going to happen. He’d kept his distance because you were in a relationship, never going over the platonic boundary with you.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be a burden-“

“You’re never a burden.” He said that a bit too quickly for his liking.

“Well... ok, sure, thank you. I don’t really have any spare clothes so I might be a mess in the morning...” you laughed slightly and Steve’s eyes lit up. That’s better.

With a slight blush, Steve said “if you want, Ive got some spare clothes you could sleep in. You can wash your clothes at my apartment if you’d like.”

The gesture was oddly intimate, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to refuse. You both finished your meals, which Steve refuses to let you pay for since “you’ve been through a lot tonight. I’m paying”

You said your goodbyes to the waitress and headed outside. You were trying to hide a smile.

“What’s got you smiling?” Steve asked as he handed you a helmet.

“Not going to lie, I’ve always wanted to ride your...” you paused, making sure his bike was an old Harley. But Steve couldn’t stop himself from finishing that sentence in his head. “Harley. It’s so much cooler than the bikes in Starks garage. Hey, why don’t you have a helmet?”

“I don’t live too far, and I’m more likely to survive than you. And besides, we’re not going to crash.” He said as he swung his leg over the bike. He gestured for you to get on and after fastening the straps on the helmet, you got on behind him. You hesitated before putting your arms around his waist, but then just wrapped yourself around him. The feeling of his strong back pressed against you sent a pleasant wave through you, and Steve was just glad you couldn’t see the shy smile on his face.

“Ready?” He asked as he kicked the engine into life.

“Mmm” you said as Steve moved forward, leaving you clinging to him.

You couldn’t wait to go to sleep, even if it wasn’t in your bed.

Steve was just happy you were safe now. He’d never once offered his spare room to anyone except Bucky, he’d never trusted or cared about anyone enough.

Until you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: hope you liked it, it’s my first ever attempt at writing a fic so opinions and criticism are welcome :) I’ll do a part 2 if this gets a note, new to tumblr so I’m not sure if anyone will read it.

[jaywhitecotton]

Death Rattle of Provacative

What is the value of free speech? In a world where everyone is a pundit, a commentator, a walking op-ed piece - just what is the value of free speech? What value is a voice that only serves an audience of sycophantic echoes? This week people have been arguing over whether or not alt-right troll Milo Yiannopoulis should be given opportunities to speak. Should he be allowed to voice his opinions on talk shows and college campuses? Especially if his speech creates violent reactions like the small anemic riots in San Francisco. Well yes, of course he does. Its pretty simple.If an organization invites you to speak, they have the right to do so - and in turn - you have the right to protest and speak out against it. You have the right to condemn it as well as the right to ignore it. That’s it. You do not have the right to throw a goddamn violent hissy fit and destroy property. Don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of reasons to burn a Starbucks. I can think of twenty in LA right now, filled with budding screenwriters applying the Save the Cat formula to some trite bullshit that will eventually clog theaters with more artless crap. If you’re going to burn anything – start with the university’s student loan office. A greedy and exploitative institution that is actively destroying lives and creating the type of indentured servitude that straight up keeps people chained to shitty jobs with worthless degrees. But over Milo? Are you fucking kidding me? This is what a provocateur is these days?! Did somebody hit the snooze button on ‘effective challenging figures’?! Milo ' Greek Yogurt' Yiannopoulis is about as dangerous and effective as a wet fart. Sure you might need to go to the restroom for a security wipe, but it’s not like you’re going to call a friend to bring you some new pants. Lenny Bruce went to jail for the right to use profanity in his nightclub performances. The Supreme Court was forced to deal with the issue of indecency because of a George Carlin album. Frank Zappa, 2 Live Crew, Dee Snyder – all fought against the likes of Tipper Gore and evangelicals desperate power grabs to block or define their art. Good or bad - They all won in their own way. Maybe the problem here is that art is no longer challenging. It’s been suffocated by corporate monopolies, artless interns who work their way to becoming taste-makers and industry gate keepers. Comedy, music, film – I can’t think of anyone in this current crop of “successes” who is actually saying or challenging anything of merit. Why would they? In a world where media is so prevalent, so saturated in blogs, op-eds and TV pundits – how do you creatively challenge this kind of world? A world where everyone thinks they’re bland talking points are equal and deserving? When Johnny Square Dick Barista and Sally No Tits Paralegal think they have the ‘hottest take’ equal to the wisdom of Mark Twain. Myself included. We have all the free speech you can want and unfortunately – you get what you pay for. No wonder Kanye lost his mind. No wonder our idea of progress is Adele accepting awards in one hand while saying it belongs to Beyonce in the other. No wonder there’s an army of copy n paste ex-Disney kids growing up celebrated for their achievements only because we need the nostalgia to feel like our formative years mattered. That it was all worthwhile. Never mind the fact that art has been predominantly shit for probably more decades than we care to admit. Art is fucking dead. And what good, actual real art that might exist - has been mirrored and co-opted by brand ambassadors and self aware mimickers with WordPress skills. The effect is gone – the audience is on stage and the real artists are stuck suffering while watching this shit show play out. I mean when was the last time you saw a guy walking down the street with a guitar and didn’t think “who does this desperate asshole think he’s pretending to be?” Some people blame the progressives. Progressives were the people who used to defend ‘free speech’. Gradually over time they became the enforcers of shutting down communication. Shrill voices trying to yell down any opposing point of view - be it slight or egregious in disagreement. They unified and then - turned their attacks on themselves. Everyone became apologists deferring in one hand while grandstanding in the other. We couldn’t have a simple Women’s March in solidarity against the new Administration without people pointing out that 'white feminists were bad because they couldn’t effectively speak for black women', then 'black women were bad if they were Christian and felt that abortion was wrong', then 'abortions were bad because they enabled sex workers and it was bad to slut shame sex workers', then 'it was bad they were sex workers because many were virtual slaves to systematic patriarchal pimping'. I think – I don’t know – It’s hard to keep up with all this free flowing sanctimony. Maybe that’s why everyone is so desperate to be on the cross? It’s hard to flutter your opinions when you’re completely nailed down. All i know is you can’t be politically correct every hour of every day. ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE WRONG ONCE IN AWHILE. The need to always be the most right is the snake eating its own tail. Somehow in all this chaos, the conservatives have tried their best to posture as if they were finally on the side of hip and relevance. Even though their whole core being is against this entire concept. Most of their value judgments are either corporate funded or motivated by outdated religious dictum and prejudices. Its why most of their talking points are “See! We found a gay jew who bangs black guys to agree with our hate speech!”, or “Here’s a woman who thinks other women should shut up about who governs their bodies!”, or “Businesses shouldn’t be forced to serve gays ice cream cakes!”,” Indians are in the way of PROGRESSIVE oil pipelines!”, “Solar energy is in the way of Dickens-era coal miners!”, and “Environmental conservation limits corporations from profiting as much as they deserve!”, and also “Corporations are people and black, brown and poor white people need to be gerrymandered out of their districts because they can’t effectively be their own voice and we need to bring Democracy to the Middle East!” Or the now popular “Gender neutral bathrooms only encourage rapists to attack more women and children.” This is why Milo Yiannopoulis is considered a ‘provocateur’?! A rebel fighting for the right to free speech?! Bitch please! This motherfucker is so basic, why do you think the right embraced him? The fact that he’s so transparent makes me wonder how he gets away acting like he’s actually transphobic. He’s not. It’s an act. His only fear is the public realization he’s utterly irrelevant to any conversation. He brings NOTHING to the table. Never trust the conservative right’s opinion of what their version of a rebel is. It’s NEVER AUTHENTIC. This is the party that thought Tucker Carlson was making a rebellious statement because of his dedication to the bow tie. STOP treating Milo like he’s the new bad boy saying it how it is because he waves the free speech flag as if a Hero. I’m sorry, but a real Hero isn’t afraid to use a unisex bathroom. A real brave person doesn’t quiver in fear behind false statistics of sexual abuse in between shaking out mud nuggets in the handicapped stall. Trust me – I’ve taking shits in jail holding cells. I fucking know fear and bravery. Also – Lets clarify this shit once and for all. Milo isn’t a fucking comedian. The same way Ann Coulter isn’t a comedian. Comedy requires so much more than just yelling bland statements for the audience to agree and clap to – NO MATTER WHAT COMEDY CENTRAL PRETENDS OTHERWISE. We should let idiots have a platform. We should use their insipid, tired rhetoric to serve as an example and a teaching point for people to see through them. Nobody said you had to treat them with respect. People get the respect they give onto others and trollish fucks should be openly showcased and treated in kind. It all works out eventually. You ever hear the expression ‘give a man enough rope’? Look at what’s happening to Milo right now. By exposing himself so publicly he has opened himself to the worst trolls of all. The general public. And the general public LOVES false idols. You see – What people forget about the public eye is that it also has a mouth – and a fierce appetite for people who posture as if untouchable. And the public eye is NEVER bigger than our stomachs. We’ll chew every inch of meat on your body until we swallow you up and shit you out, courtesy flushing you into forgotten mediocrity. The best part - this bathroom is gender neutral. Just ask Lena Dunham. It’s already happening. When ill informed, no talent shrills make their living pretending they’re capable of actual satire – they get rooted out for the frauds they are. It’s why Milo is facing actual setbacks now that his recorded support of pedophilia has been unearthed for all to exploit. He’ll still have his audience for now, but the more this kind of attention consumes him, the more he’ll whither like a fish on the hook. The trolls he surrounded himself with will eventually get bored of him - and all he’ll have left are the few scumfucks who genuinely embraced his rhetoric who will eventually gay bash him. Meanwhile Leslie Jones will still be getting work. The fun and the power will be played out and he’ll have nothing left to devour, but himself. Because - again - the need to be right is the snake eating its own tail. Including the alt-right. That said.. I realize I’m just adding another voice to this. I realize that in some possible way, I’m playing a small insignificant part of the very thing I’m railing against. The difference is I’m not selling anything. I’m not even saying I’m right. For fucksakes I can be off a few points here and honestly – there’s plenty I didn’t add for brevity sake. All I can do is challenge myself to do more. To take a chance to be wrong. Maybe that’s what art has evolved to? Maybe art is no longer trying to challenge people – maybe art has evolved into challenging ourselves? Take it or leave it. Free speech. You get what you pay for.