#i need it to be addressed i need steve to perhaps say something too that would be fun

[ickypuppi3]

post starcourt billy lives au where no one moves to california and el’s super uncomfortable with karen wheeler because now she’s classed as one of the bad people who hurt billy

[rustedhearts]

my funny valentine (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: the hand-written evidence of an affair between high school sweethearts, displaced and reunited after war.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the library

♡ the record store

tags: “darling” used as reader insert name; infidelity; mention of war/violence; darling + steve are 35 at the time these letters are written. the time skip signifies lost letters (as they might, in actuality, get lost over the years)

"you make me smile with my heart...stay little valentine, please stay. each day is valentine's day."

— my funny valentine, ella fitzgerald

May 22nd, 1961

My Darling,

Please excuse this intrusion….I got your address from a neighbor. It was so lovely to see you today. I just couldn’t stand the thought of going one more moment without speaking more to you.

I couldn’t believe you thought me lost to you. Though, I cannot blame you for this train of thought. I was gone so long. It was silly to believe you would have waited all your life. Two years was long enough….I don’t blame you for moving on. But did you need to move to London? My Darling, it’s so far from home. I can excuse the new husband given my absence and its circumstance, but the distance will not do.

Nevertheless, I’m rambling. What I truly wanted to say, what I have longed to say since I boarded that train, and what I have wanted to say all day since seeing you on that wet little park bench in your fur coat….I still love you with all my heart. Is there any chance you still love me, too?

Yours,

Steve Harrington

May 24th, 1961

Sweet Steve,

Of course I still love you. You can imagine how confusing a feeling this is to me. Given the circumstance of a loving, successful husband found after such a long mourning period in which I now ponder the merit of….how could I still love you? It goes against all good graces which that of Almighty God intends for me.

But it doesn’t change the way my heart soars for you. The way it did when I saw you approach from across the pond in that tattered coat you’re still clinging to. Your hair is longer. I find it handsome.

I feel a sting of wrongdoing course through me as I etch these words down. Though I love you, Steve, we must not continue to write. Please tell me once what you endured, and then never more. I must have the answers I went so long without. I am allowing myself this selfishness.

However, when the tale is done, I cannot allow myself the selfishness of going on. My life has altered greatly since our time together, and my duties and responsibilities now lie elsewhere. I hope you can understand.

Sincerely,

Darling

May 30th, 1961

Darling girl,

I will begin first by disregarding the words that pierced me so. I will find it difficult to post this letter and think of it as the last of mine that you will ever read. Perhaps, by the end of it, you will have changed your mind.

When I left for Germany, it was as though we were thrown to the wolves. Peril and anguish and torment were all we knew. Myself, the men boys I fought with. We were all so young. Eighteen, twenty, the youngest seventeen. I cannot explain to you the horror of watching a young man’s arm blown off.

But you do not want to hear this. You want to hear of matters obtaining to you, of course. Answers you asked for and answers you shall retain. You’ve waited long enough.

When I returned to America two months after D-Day, I was bodily unscathed but no longer the man you knew. I found myself bound to fits of emotional and physical violence. Days of hysteria and madness that alarmed even my hostess. I was in no fit state to see you. I was, as well, thousands of miles away in California. So, when we were told to board for our way home, I did not go.

California was far enough that you could not find me and the man I had become.

My Darling, I wish I had sweeter excuses than these. I wish I could scrawl something of manly note, but…I owe you honesty. This, my sweet dear, is the honest truth. I was a hollow shell of the man you once knew. And I was afraid to return home to you.

Time in California fell like a whirlpool. A year had passed, and then two. By the time I had some handle on my fits, had worked through my madness and set home for you, you were gone. Your mother said ‘off to London,‘ and with a new beau to accompany you. A husband.

Something I was supposed to be.

Where I failed, I suppose he thrived. I hope you are happy, sweet girl.

Please, feel obliged to reply.

Yours still,

Steve

June 12th, 1961

Steve,

You always knew just how to sweeten the bitterness of goodbye. So much sweetness that I grow too sick to move through with it. Alas, that is why I’ve picked up my pen to write again. Curse you, Steve Harrington. You have such hold over me.

Now, I think it only right that I answer the questions you have not asked, but that I know you are curious of. Reggie is my husband, and we met two summers after the end of the war. I went so long pale and sick with grief, thinking I lost you to Heaven. I had come to terms with this, buried any idea that you might come home.

Reggie was a businessman, in town for dealings. He hails from London, which is the swift explanation for my immigration here. Our love was quick and easy, and when he asked me to marry him on our fifth date, I had no reason not to say yes. You were, in the mind of a young girl engaged to a soldier that did not come home, gone. There was no vow or promise being broken.

I would, however, be breaking all promises of honesty under God if I were to say I have not thought of you in these past years.

I feel an indescribable ache for your suffering, and all the suffering of young men in a similar state to yours. I take your words as oath, as I promised to do so many years ago...which is why I can assure that my heart weeps for you so. Not just for your suffering, but for your company. I think it always might.

Might we allow ourselves one more act of selfishness? An act in the park, Sunday afternoon?

Please return soon.

Darling

June 14th, 1961 Darling,

I would be happy to oblige you in the park on Sunday. Will 2:00 do? Though, you were always an admirer of early morning strolls. Perhaps 10? You always did love a bird call.

Every post from you makes my heart soar, Darling. Did you know? The prospect of keeping your company for even a few hours has me yearning for a busy week, if only to keep the impatience at bay. I meant it truly when I wished your happiness. Fondly, Steve

June 15th, 1961

Steve,

Yes, 10:00 will do. I will be there, wearing my fur coat.

Eagerly awaiting,

Darling

June 20th, 1961 My Darling, Oh I cannot scrub my mind free of this torment. Our act of selfishness I knew to be tempting, but now I am delirious. If I thought my need for you was strong before, it is insufferably so now. You were so beautiful in your coat, in your plum dress. The color compliments your skin so well. I have not seen your eyes that closely in years. Only in photographs, that I horde and selfishly admire in the depths of dark nights, have I seen those eyes of late. And now here they were, staring up at me. With such blatant love as they did once before. Yes, my Darling, I saw all of it there. Are we to go on lying to ourselves, saying we're better off? Our time has passed, it has been so long, yes. Yes, I know it. But I know also that I cannot go another day without making up for the time lost between. Darling girl, please be selfish with me. Please live our days selfishly for as long as we might have. Yours, Steve

June 22nd, 1961

Steve,

I pride myself for honesty, so I will satisfy you with my brief agreement. My heart thumped so wildly in the park on Sunday that I thought it might break free from my body. Would you catch it in your hands if it had? Would you crush it? Oh, Steve, it has always belonged to your hands. The love you detected was not an illusion. It never died, not even across the sea.

Yet, what of Reggie? I love him dearly, as well, though maybe never quite like I did you. He is, nevertheless, my husband. We have grown to live such a wonderful life. And yes, we cannot have children, but we are finding ways to fill this void. The void will only grow, I fear, if I continue to be selfish with you. I will find new gaps and black holes in our life together, and I cannot be unhappy in a marriage that is sufficiently content.

Please do not ask this of me. My heart cannot bear to say no.

Yours,

Darling

June 24th, 1961 Darling, I know you are frightened, but might our love be stronger than this fear? Please do not deny me, I might break entirely apart. Do you not see the predicament we are in? To lose so many years, yet find each other in a completely different part of the world from where we were born. Is it not an act of God stringing us together again? One night, my sweet Darling. If not an eternity as we once intended, one night will suffice. Please do not say no. Yours waiting, Steve

June 27th, 1961

Sweet Steve,

I have been awake for days, ailing over your proposal. Know I do not intend to make any decision without a full realization of every consequence. To deny you would leave me with an ache like no other forever plagued on my heart. To accept, I would part ways with the very peace of mind that my marriage is pure of all faults as it is now, and was before you.

Attach the address of your hotel.

Yours,

Darling

June 29th, 1961 Oh my Darling, I believe I read over your words so frequently and at such a swift pace that my eyes are still sore. Attached is the address of my stay, and know I will be waiting no matter the hour. Come as you please, whenever you wish. I will be at the door. To hold you in my arms again is all I can live for in the hours between. Yours, Steve

July 3rd, 1961

Steve,

The loveliest of nights has passed between us, and yet I feel sick with the wrongness of our sheer audacity. Entangled in your arms, wrapped in those cotton sheets just feeling your breath and your flesh as it always was...I cannot think of a better mercy. For our suffering, for our loss. But will I obtain God's forgiveness when the day is to come? For what I have done to Reggie, I think this always a stain on my conscience.

Yet, some sort of delirium has come over me since that night. I seem incapable of clear thinking. If it is stained, let it be stained.

Please write to the attached P.O box from now on. I cannot risk interception, but I cannot risk a silence from you.

My darling Steve, will you stay?

Yours entirely,

Darling

July 5th, 1961 Darling, You cannot fathom how long I have waited to hear these words. Yes, I will stay. Yes, I will be yours, if you shall be mine. The hours allowed to us are the brightest of my days. I will find permanent residence somewhere in traveling distance so long as it allows me proximity to your love. Please come soon. I miss you terribly. Love, Steve

September 19th, 1961 Darling, You were upset last we parted, and my wish to quell your ailing grows stronger by the hour. I have grown to know your marriage and your Reggie as you have told, and I know now he cannot make you happy. I could make you happy, delightfully happy. The children you have always wanted are in our future, I know this is true. Please, change your mind and say yes, and we can have it. The future you crave, the future you deserve. Adventure, and intrigue, and passion that he cannot fathom. I have stared into the depths of your soul, and have bared all parts of my own. Can you say the same of him? Please, my Darling girl. I only think of you. Yours, Steve

September 22nd, 1961

Steve,

It is with aching eyes and a sore, sinking heart that I have prepared this for you. Know the walk to post it felt like a march to the death. In some way, this is death. Part of me, sealed away by your sweet kisses, and tender touches, and all those long hours whispering secrets in the dark. Part of me will always live in these moments, and that part of me has died.

I cannot leave Reggie, and your request of such leaves nowhere for our selfishness to go. We must not go on like this. Not if we are to live full and fulfilling lives without secret and pain. It is too much for one heart to bear. Were we to go on, it would kill me entirely. I must sacrifice a small part to save the whole. Oh, my love, I hope you understand. I hope you can forgive me.

Yours, now and always,

Darling

[last-herondale]

Almost Part 8

Bucky Barnes x Femreader!

Warnings: none

Angst, heartbreak, healing

AN: this story is close to my heart. This whole series. I’ll go into more detail perhaps once it’s done.

Enjoy ❤️

Months had passed. The weather here in the islands was warm and tropical. You had always loved the beach. Watching the waves crash against the sand, feeling the warm beams of sun hit your face as you relaxed in a beach chair. Tony had several island houses, some remote, some really, really remote, and then there was the one you had chosen, which was completely isolated away from the rest of the world.

Tony didn’t ask questions when you came to him that early morning. You only told him that you needed to get away. Somewhere no one could find you. Somewhere you could be alone. He gave you an access card, an address, and sent you on your way in one of his private jets. The vacation house was huge, way too big for one single person, but you were not going to complain.

You spent the first few weeks in bed. Your body and soul felt absolutely exhausted. Guilt riddled your chest. You hated leaving your team like that. No explanation, no word at all. It wasn’t fair to the people who you saw as your family. But there wasn’t time to write every single one of them a note. You just left one for Steve and Nat. You left the note with Tony to give to Nat, but you left the note for Steve on your dresser.

It was short, but it was all you could muster before you chickened out. It hurt too much. Feeling like you used Steve, fighting with Bucky, and lying to yourself and everyone else that you are okay. There seemed to be very limited options as to what you could do about it without messing everything you built up. Without destroying the whole team itself, over something as trivial as your heart.

It felt like you were dying. Physically and spiritually. You took sleeping pills just to shut out everything racking in your brain. You hardly ate, even though Tony made sure to send groceries every week. No one had come to check up on you, so you assumed that Tony had made good on his promise to keep your whereabouts secret. It was strange to feel so conflicted. To want nothing more than to be alone, but also want someone to talk to.

So you opted for writing. Tony had plenty of empty journals in the house, some filled with new suit ideas or other inventions, but you found one that looked like it wouldn’t be missed and began writing. It helped. Writing down anything and everything you had been feeling when you felt it. It took a few weeks, but you finally decided to leave the house. You began taking walks, writing on the beach, reading the various books that Tony had. It was nice. It was starting to feel like a vacation.

You created a routine. You woke up early in the mornings on the weekdays, making sure to go on a long walk around the island before the sun rose. Then whenever you were ready, you went back to the house and made yourself something to eat. Sometimes it was breakfast, most times it was lunch by the time you returned. You spent your afternoons either reading or writing or sleeping. It was a bit boring and mundane, but it felt like it was exactly what you needed.

The only thing that bothered you was the zero contact. You did miss your friends. At the mark of one month of your isolation, you decided to write to Nat. You left a note for Tony, asking that he still not give out your whereabouts, but you trusted him enough to write a few letters with Nat. Nat seemed understanding, if not a bit disappointed you hadn’t gone to her first before leaving. She didn’t say anything about Steve or Bucky, although you were very careful not to ask or even hint that you wanted to know. Even though you did. Desperately.

You started writing to her every week. You thought maybe one day she would get fed up with you avoiding everything, but all Nat ever said at the end of her letters were:

“I love you. Just be careful, okay? I’ll always be here for you if you need me.”

It was everything to have her support, and Tonys. You felt as if you were finally getting better. You were finally taking care of your mental health and your feelings, rather than worry about everyone else. It was strange. It felt selfish. But you realized it was needed.

After two months, you decided you needed somewhere a bit more social to be. Tony was happy to oblige, and he and Pepper came to help you get settled into your new living space in Maui. It was smaller than the first house, much to your appreciation. Pepper and you talked for a bit, and it was nice to open up to her. She often seemed so set apart from the chaos of the tower life, so she offered her unbiased opinion.

Tony’s aim was to help you have fun again. Before he and Pepper left, he showed you his favorite spots, and ensured that the owners would take care of you, if you ever decided to enter their establishment. It was nice to be out and social again. Even just being out to dinner with the two of them livened your spirits up more than you thought it would.

That’s when you decided that it was time. You told Tony before he left, that he could share your whereabouts with the team. He had just given you a look of uncertainty, but then shrugged. You weren’t sure if he would follow through, but then Pepper put her hand on your shoulder and you knew she would take care of it.

The local city in Maui was wonderful. It wasn’t full of tourists, but it was bustling full of the locals. They were kind, and very pleasant to be around. Even if you didn’t talk to them much, it was nice to be back around people. You took up a small job, delivering merchandise for one of Tony’s recommended shops. You knew it was a small task, certainly not up to what you were capable of doing, but it kept you busy.

You still wrote daily, keeping up with your journal that was now full. Tony had gifted you a whole set, for however long you wanted to stay. You considered going home. Several times during your trip. The memories of what you left behind… who you left behind. It caused you too much pain.

The pain was ebbing, ever so slowly. The realignment, the refocusing your attention back to yourself made it easier. You realized that you deserved to put yourself first. That you needed to love yourself before you could love anyone. And so these long months have been your love letter to yourself. You followed your heart. Did what you wanted. You were honest with yourself and your needs. Things were finally becoming okay.

You felt like it was finally okay… it was finally acceptable to just be you.

A few people sent their regards. A few letters came in for you, one from Sam, Wanda, and even Scott. Nat visited you the next week Tony left. It was nice to be with her again and be able to cry and hug her. It was nice to converse and be around the people you loved. People that you had neglected in your mess. It made you feel whole again… well almost.

You missed them. Although it was hard to say their names still, you missed them both. You missed them terribly.

And like always, it seemed that the universe had a great sense of humor when it came to you. You were sorting through the mail, a normal routine you did once a week. The letters were from the usual suspects, but one name made your heart stop.

You knew it would happen. Maybe even hoped it would happen. And now it seemed that the time had finally come.

[dodger-chan]

Did I procrastinate by writing steddie fic again? Maybe. In my defense, I think this is very funny. Also on AO3.

Warning for non graphic but frequent discussion of sex.

Like a good number of things, it was Wheeler’s fault.

Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have no problem sitting back in his throne and staying above the fray while his little sheep had their silly arguments. Talking is a free action, etc. etc. And they’d wrapped for the night, were only delaying clean-up. But Wheeler, pressed by his friends to join in the defense of their favorite paladin, had gone with a very explicable but awkward choice of phrasing.

“I mean, Steve doesn’t suck.”

Eddie bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was not.

Unfortunately, something about the tepidness, the lackluster nature of Wheeler’s tone only encouraged Gareth.

“Au contraire,” he said, standing and making a gesture that Eddie chose to interpret as homage rather than mockery. “Harrington most assuredly does suck.”

Eddie bit down harder. He couldn’t say anything.

Gareth then began to list a number of harms done to the members of Hellfire that were, for the most part, merely tangentially related to the actions or existence of one Steven Harrington.

Perhaps it had always been a little unfair, to blame the social strictures of highschool on one individual who had no part in designing them and had done little more than anyone else in the way of enforcement. But what was the point of a figurehead if not to take the blame?

Of course no part of Gareth’s speech addressed the one way in which Steve truly did suck dick: literally. Steve had taken to oral sodomy like a duck to water. Eddie would love to claim credit by citing his excellent tutelage - largely by example - but he suspected his boyfriend was a natural.

Eddie tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn't keep biting his tongue. But he also couldn't set the record straight, so to speak. Even if he could tell all of Hellfire that he and Steve were dating, it would be beyond inappropriate to discuss Steve's cocksucking acumen with the freshmen.

“It's an interesting linguistic phenomenon, wouldn't you say?” Eddie interrupted Gareth’s spiel. “You are debating the merits and acceptability of one Steve Harrington, but using as shorthand a term that refers to oral sex. A phrasing that suggests people who give head are lesser than those who do not.

“Without making too many assumptions, I feel safe in saying that most of us would like to enjoy a bit of oral sodomy in the future. Now, I may not be the smartest guy in town, but it seems to me that preemptively insulting the people who might suck your dick is a good way to ensure they never will.”

He gave them a moment to digest his speech.

“So I should have said Steve doesn’t blow?” Mike asked, tentatively.

“Blow comes from blow jobs, so that’s the same thing,” Dustin corrected. A little less confidently, he went on. “Bites, maybe? Biting’s not a sex thing, is it?”

Eddie sighed. Surely there were insults that didn’t reflect some aspect of his sex life. Though biting was, at minimum, not related to oral. And it would probably be easier not to brag about the number of little bruises he’d left on Steve’s neck. And shoulders. And chest. All over Steve’s body, really.

Who was he kidding? He needed to shut this whole conversation down yesterday.

(this now has a sequel)

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 ao3

Steve continues to trace letters onto Eddie’s palm—the only reason Eddie hasn’t called for a nurse, doctor, anyone is because Steve had fixed him with a stubbornly determined look when he went to do so, and Eddie didn’t need it spelled out to know what that meant.

Dude, let me finish.

“You’re fucking unreal,” Eddie had whispered. 

Now Steve prods insistently, right in the centre of Eddie’s palm. 

Eddie blinks; it takes him a moment to figure out that Steve isn’t writing a letter this time.

“…Me?” Eddie tries.

Steve’s finger drags down then up, stopping right underneath Eddie’s pinky. A checkmark. Eddie lets out a breathy laugh.

More letters. OK?

Eddie feels something within him crack. “I’m okay,” he says, tries to smile. 

A circle now, sweeping round and round. Different to how Steve draws an ‘O.’ He repeats it a few times, perhaps noticing Eddie’s confusion, then spells out ‘OK?’ again.

Then it clicks and, smiling again—Christ, he hopes it looks reassuring—Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand with a sudden wave of affection.

“Everyone’s okay,” he replies, and he says it again, softer, when he feels Steve’s fingers tremble slightly. “Promise. Everyone’s okay, Steve. It’s…” He takes a deep breath. “I think it’s fucking over, man.”

Silence. No movement, no words. Just the two of them breathing, and if Eddie is feeling overwhelmed by that statement after just a week of absolute insanity, he can’t begin to imagine how Steve is taking it.

Then Steve abruptly launches back into activity, now tapping rapidly on the back of Eddie’s hand; and Eddie can practically hear the eagerness, the fucking exclamation marks in it. Tap, tap, tap!

“I’m literally right here,” Eddie says. His cheeks ache with the sudden force of his grin, but it’s a welcome kind of pain. 

Steve’s finger returns to Eddie’s palm, lingers there.

?

Eddie laughs, reminded of the Lite-Brite and the impossible golden shimmers; thinking that he’d never feel such wonder again. 

Steve keeps drawing the question mark until Eddie snorts. “Okay, okay, I get it! That tickles, man.” 

Tap, tap, tap. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. “I—uh. Shit, I don’t really know where to start.” 

Steve smiles again beneath his mask. His eyes travel across the room pointedly, and Eddie can almost hear it. Start wherever. M’not exactly going anywhere. 

So Eddie does. It’s a very censored version; he can’t bring himself to really talk about what happened right after Steve had… He skirts around it, says, “After you—u-um, you—”, then leaps hurriedly forward into how he stumbled across Steve’s song and all the playthroughs of it; his meeting with El, the news of Henry’s death; how the carnage caused by The Upside Down truly bleeding into their world (by Steve dying) seems to be healing, bit by bit.

He gets through all of that, and for a few minutes Steve does nothing; his eyes go a little glassy, but Eddie pushes back his initial fear—Steve’s just in deep thought, nothing sinister. 

He sees Steve’s lips move ever so slightly, mouthing, “Wow.” 

Eddie sighs, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah. Wow.” 

Steve’s finger prods the back of his hand again. 

OK? 

Eddie frowns. “You already—I told you, I’m—”

But Steve doesn’t let up, his touch both gentle and insistent. 

?

“Steve. I’m fine.” 

?

Eddie scoffs. “I said I’m—” But there’s a familiar sharp tightness in his chest that cuts the words off, and Steve’s eyes look far too knowing, and suddenly more comes spilling out, no matter how much Eddie tries to stop himself. 

While he still can’t address how Steve was… gone, he talks around the fear, talks about how he was somehow not arrested; the mythical like reappearance of Chief Hopper. 

And then he talks about finding Wayne, and his throat closes up completely. 

“Jesus,” he gets out eventually. “Just ignore me, man, I’m—”

Go.

Eddie stares. “What? Steve, I can’t just—”

Steve’s touch grows firmer. Go. 

“No! I’m not fucking leaving you like—”

“Eddie.” It’s the weakest of whispers, Steve’s voice splintering with every syllable. “Go… see him.” 

Eddie shakes his head. Tears bite at his eyes but he pushes them back, angry at himself, because he wants to go, wants to see Wayne so badly that it hurts.

“You’re n-not…” Steve lifts up the mask, gasps through a shallow inhale, but he raises one hand, as if sensing Eddie’s unease. I’m okay. “Li…sten. Not running. Go.”

“But—”

“Go.” Steve gives a feeble flick of his hand, as if to say non-negotiable. “Will… be here when you’re… back.” He puts the mask back in place. “P-promise.”

I’ll hold you to that, Eddie thinks, but he can’t even speak when he leaves, watching numbly as a group of staff bustle over to Steve’s room, clipboards in hand. 

He’s alone. He’s alone in there, and I left him.

Perhaps Steve wanted it like this, but that thought is muted compared to the spiral of Eddie’s self-loathing as he walks away. No matter what Steve says, it still feels like running. Like a betrayal. 

-

When he enters the hotel room, the first thing he sees is the harsh red glare of the alarm clock. 1:17am. Then, there’s Wayne, sat in the desk chair, clearly kept up by his usual working hours. He’s doing the crossword; Eddie can see where he’s sketched out answers in pencil first before going over them in pen when he’s certain of the word.   

Maybe it’s the normality of the scene that does it. All Eddie knows is that he’s suddenly shaking, and he just lets his guitar fall to the ground when he’d normally cradle it, so Wayne is bound to notice something’s up, but Eddie can’t keep it together, and he doesn’t get it; he’s fine, so why—

“Eddie,” Wayne says. The chair is shoved back as he stands hurriedly, and he keeps Eddie upright with both hands around his forearms. “Sit down.”

Eddie sits on the bed heavily. There’s a distant roaring in his ears; he’s breathing too quickly. 

“It worked,” he says, but he can barely hear his own voice. “I-it—”

“All right,” Wayne cuts him off not unkindly. “That’s enough. Just breathe, Ed.”

Eventually each breath doesn’t seem to burn, and Eddie can hear other quieter sounds filtering through—Wayne carefully moving the guitar, the slow creak of the bed as he sits down next to him.

When Eddie raises his head, he sees that Wayne is looking down at his hands; it’s only then that he notices the red marks on his fingertips, inflamed from pressing against the guitar strings. 

“You gonna tell me?” Wayne asks. 

Eddie closes his eyes. “I...” He grapples for words. “You… you can’t un-know it.”

Wayne sighs. For a moment, Eddie thinks he’ll drop it, and they’ll move on, and that’ll be it: this big, unsayable thing between them forever.

Then Wayne rests a gentle hand on Eddie’s head, rocks once. “Try me.”

-

Wayne doesn’t interrupt; he listens to everything in silence. There’s no disbelief in his face—the only change in his expression is that his brow becomes more and more furrowed. Eddie can’t guess what he’s thinking, but perhaps, after everything that’s happened, this horrific explanation is easy to accept. Or maybe it’s because they have promised, years ago, that they would never lie to each other.

Weary, Eddie finds that he tells the story disjointedly, keeps having to double back on himself and clumsily repeat things—and even when he says things twice, he knows it’s still vague: how Steve’s fate went from a friend died to we’ve got a plan to bring him back.

And because exhaustion is weighing him down, he realises with a sinking feeling that he’s told everything in the wrong order. He hasn’t mentioned Chrissy.

At first, he doesn’t think he can. But then Wayne must sense a change, something wrong in his breathing again, because he puts his hand on Eddie’s knee, and his meaning is clear. You can tell me anything.

Stopping and starting over and over, Eddie finally tells his uncle how Chrissy Cunningham died. How it was an awful death, a painful one.

A lonely one.

“I left her there,” he says, and it feels like that’s never going to leave him, the shame and guilt crushing his chest. “Wayne, I—I left her all alone, and then y-you had to see her like—”

“Stop,” Wayne says. His eyes are wide with dismay, as if realising that this isn’t something he can solve by just taking Eddie away from it all; like when he pulled him away from the doorway when Eddie was a child, urging him not to look.

“I sh-should’ve fucking done something, Wayne. God, I should’ve h-helped her—”

“Eddie,” Wayne says, far more gently than Eddie deserves, “son, she was already dead.”

The words land, rock Eddie’s foundations.

“C’mere.” Wayne puts his arms around him, pulls him close. “It wasn’t your fault. You gotta know that, you hear me?”

“I…” Eddie grits his teeth. “Wayne, I—”

“After I called the police,” Wayne says gently, “I talked to her. Just… just in case she… you know?”

Eddie inhales raggedly. “Oh.”

“She did cheerleading, right?”

Eddie nods.

“Yeah, I can picture her. She was always real polite… Remember that show you had in middle school? And you made me carry half the damn band’s equipment when I came to pick you up?”

Eddie chokes through a surprised laugh. “Yeah.” “She came runnin’ across the parking lot while I was waiting on you. She’d found your guitar pick left on the stage and she didn’t know where you were. Said, ‘Mr. Munson, I wanted to make sure he got it back, he said it was his good luck charm.’”

Eddie doesn’t recall this, but he knows the exact guitar pick Wayne is referring to: the one he now wears around his neck to stop him from ever losing it. And instead of thinking about how she looked on that terrible night, an image forms in his head of what Wayne must have seen, of Chrissy running over, ponytail bouncing. Her happiness.

Death cannot take everything.

He sniffs. “I-I didn’t know that.”

Wayne sighs. “Oh, kid. Don’t let it break your heart.” He presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple, repeats softly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

And Eddie weeps.

-

He sleeps right through until noon. There’s a note left for him on the bedside cabinet when he wakes: Wayne saying that he’s helping with the Red Cross at the high school. He’s added a post-script, as if he received more information just as he was about to head out the door.

Hospital called. Steve Harrington awake & asking after you, said if you were sleeping to leave you be. Said he’s sitting up more & can talk without mask.

Eddie flips the paper over. He writes on autopilot for most of it, says that he’s packing another overnight bag for the hospital—he’s using the last of his salvaged shirts at this rate—and notes down Steve’s floor and room number. He goes to write a thank you to end the message, but that seems too small for last night; he doesn’t know how to put it all into words. Instead he puts Wayne’s crossword underneath the piece of paper, solves the ones Wayne had missed. 

It’s only when he’s walking through the hospital entrance that he realises that he’s  instinctively brought his guitar along, too. 

“Eddie?” 

He turns. It’s Robin, apprehensiveness rolling off her in waves as she searches Eddie’s face. “They—they called and said…?” She trails off, like she’s hardly daring to believe it, like if she says it out loud, everything will be taken back.

“Yeah,” Eddie says quickly. He holds her gaze and nods firmly. “He woke up.” 

She gasps, surges forward and practically jumps on top of him. He has to move just so she doesn’t end up with the body of the guitar knocking against her stomach, shifts his stance so he’s half holding her up by the waist. 

“Holy freaking shit, Eddie, oh my God, oh my God,” she’s babbling. Her hair is tickling Eddie’s cheek, and then she’s planting a sudden, sweet kiss there, a little wet from her crying. 

Eddie hugs her back, and he can’t help himself, jokingly complaining, “Gross, are you wearing lipstick, Buckley?”

Robin pulls back and laughs. “‘Fraid so,” she says in the tone of someone delivering grave news. “The glittery kind, too.” 

As they let go of each other, a passing-by nurse catches Eddie’s eye, appears to give a knowing smile. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Eddie says once she’s gone, and he starts giggling. “Hate to break it to you, but she definitely thinks we’re together.” 

Robin shakes her head with a wide grin. Then, barely missing a beat, she drops into an uncanny impression of Humphrey Bogart: “We’ll always have Paris.” 

Eddie keeps laughing, as they climb the stairs two at a time to Steve’s room. “We’re so weird.” 

Robin clutches his hand. “Yeah,” she says, her smile a tiny, secret thing, just for them. “I’m glad we’re weird.”

And it sounds like she’s saying much more. 

-

Steve is awake when they rush in, sitting up with his pillows supporting his upper back rather than his head. There’s a reassuring colour to his cheeks. 

When he sees Robin, his whole face lights up with the biggest smile. His lips are cracked slightly, marks of painful looking indentations around his mouth from the mask that have Eddie inwardly wincing. 

“Oh, God, who let you in?” Steve asks Robin with a cheeky drawl; and his voice is strong, barely a rasp within it. 

“Shut up, you moron,” Robin sobs.

She hugs him, mindful of the bandages around his stomach, just peeking out from underneath the sheets. 

Steve holds her tight. Over the top of her head, he catches Eddie’s eye. “Is that glitter on your cheek?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks, and for some reason it suddenly feels like all three of them are sharing some private joke, especially when Steve adds, almost sing-song, “Should I be jealous?” and Robin promptly flicks his forehead. 

It’s all so normal, and for a while, Eddie feels a physical lightness, as if there’s a bubble in the room filled with utter, complete happiness.

But when Robin pulls back, Eddie notices that there’s a subtle fixed look to Steve’s smile, there one minute and gone the next—like if the hug had gone on for a moment longer, his composure might have crumbled.

“You’re looking good, Harrington,” Eddie says quietly, and though it’s said sincerely, he offers it more as an out for Steve, even though he doesn’t quite get what Steve is trying to escape.

Steve’s face flickers with something like relief before he grins again. “Thanks, man. They’ve got me on the good stuff.”

Eddie nods absently. It’s not like that’s a lie; whatever miracle-working drugs Steve’s been given have clearly strengthened his lungs, allowed him to go from practically voiceless to talkative literally overnight. But there’s more to it than that, in the way Steve is sitting up as straight as he can, like he’s proving a point. It makes Eddie suspect that, as soon as he’d left, Steve had tried to speedrun recovery while no-one was looking.

“Had to sweet talk a nurse to get them to call you,” Steve says. “They said phone lines are crazy right now, keep going dead or engaged or…” 

“I can try and get through.” Eddie stands. When he’d gone past reception, he’d seen that the lines for the limited phones available were already snaking round the corridors; it’ll be one hell of a waiting game. “Do you wanna call someone else?”

Steve nods slightly; his eyes flit to the side, and his expression turns sombre. He’s looking at Dustin’s walkie. “I’d better give this back to him, huh?” 

“I’ll go,” Eddie insists. 

Robin smiles at him with clear gratitude, moves her chair closer to Steve’s bed. 

It takes just under two hours for Eddie to get through to Dustin; thankfully he’s the one who picks up. Eddie had half expected some kind of celebration on the other end, like how Dustin had been when Steve’s song was discovered, but instead the conversation is much more subdued and short-lived, as if Dustin wants to finish it as quickly as possible so he can head to the hospital. 

“Henderson’s coming,” Eddie says as he walks back into Steve’s room. “Said he’ll be there as soon as…”

His voice fades away at the sight of Steve’s eyes being closed. 

But just as he falls silent, Steve starts to speak, voice clear and alert. 

“Not sleeping,” Steve says. “Just resting my eyes.” 

And that really does seem to be true, because Steve’s face never once slackens into sleep.

Eddie looks at Robin, trying to voice a silent question in his eyes, but she just shrugs helplessly.

-

Eddie finds Dustin at the end of the corridor on Steve’s floor. 

“There you are!” Eddie says. “Wait, dude, where’s your crutches?” 

“I forgot them,” Dustin says, a bit shortly. “It’s not really a fracture, I’ll be fine.” He seems unaware that that’s not exactly reassuring. 

“O…kay,” Eddie says. “C’mon, he can’t wait to see you.” 

But Dustin doesn’t move. Eddie suddenly worries that he’s been standing right there for a while. 

“Hey,” Eddie says. He sticks out a hand. “He’s really okay, Dustin.” 

Silently, Dustin takes Eddie’s hand. 

As they get closer to Steve’s room, they cross paths with Robin.

“Vending machine is calling my name,” she says breezily. She pretends to dive for Dustin like a football tackle, then ruffles his hair before he can dodge her. “Hi, genius child.” 

“Get off,” Dustin says with an eye roll, a cocky grin, but his nerves are still obvious. When Robin leaves, when they face the doorway, he drops Eddie’s hand and walks through alone; and Eddie thinks that this, beyond anything, is one of the bravest things he’s seen.

He tentatively enters the room when he can’t hear any conversation going on. When he does, he’s just in time to see Steve startle at Dustin’s appearance, blinking like he’s been wrenched from a deep train of thought. 

“Hey!” he calls. He shifts in bed, straightens up even more. 

But Dustin doesn’t move. Eddie holds his breath, tiptoes over to stand beside him, not touching.

Steve is frowning, eyes on Dustin. “Oh, bud, what happened to your leg?” he says with dismay; and it says so much, that he can tell with one glance, without any crutches in sight. 

Dustin’s hands are shaking, clenched into fists. Eddie can hear his uneven breathing. 

“Dustin,” Steve says. One of his hands is braced against the mattress, like he’d be on his feet and running over if only he could. “Dustin, I’m so sorry.”

Dustin shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “No, fuck you, you don’t get to—to say that.”

Steve’s face falls. “I… I get it, dude,” he says. “It’s—”

“No!” Dustin says, and he stalks forward despite his limp, and one of his fists comes up to beat against Steve’s chest, and Steve just lets it happen. “No, you—it’s not okay, it’s—”

“Hey,” Steve murmurs. He catches Dustin’s hand in his own, a gentle and protective hold. “Dustin, hey, it’s—”

“Shut up!” Dustin wails. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m—”

And as he’s speaking, he falls against Steve, and Steve’s arms wrap around him. 

“I…” Dustin hiccups, gasps—cries without restraint, like a child. Because he is one. “I don’t hate you.”

“Shh,” Steve says. “I know, I know.” He presses a kiss to the top of Dustin’s head, then hugs him tight; and Eddie watches as Steve’s face briefly crumples, before he visibly pulls himself together. “Everything’s okay. Hey, shh, shh. We’re okay, we’re okay.” 

Eddie steps out and silently closes the door behind him.

-

Robin pats a spot on the floor next to her, hands him a couple of candy bars. 

“Has he… talked to you?” Eddie asks. 

Robin sighs. “Nope.” She nudges him until Eddie takes a bite out of the candy, then adds, “You?” 

Eddie shakes his head. He thinks back to the blur of last night. “He… just kinda got me talking without really...”

Robin nods sadly. “Yeah. He’s good at that.” 

-

It’s late evening, and Robin and Dustin have long since left, when Steve’s determined resolve begins to fail him. His eyes drift shut in increasingly lengthy blinks, lulled by the dim light.

Eddie quietly draws the curtains. Then he exhales a little laugh when he turns back round to find Steve trying to keep his head up.

“For Christ’s sake, Harrington.” 

“M’not sleeping,” Steve says, though he sounds halfway to dreaming as he speaks. 

“Take the hint, man.” Eddie reaches over, gently guides Steve until he’s lying down properly. “You need rest.” 

As he moves the pillows, he feels a warm puff of air against his hands, Steve’s breathing already slow and deep. “Don’ need to… stay if you don’…” Steve sighs, turns to the side, one cheek pressing into the pillow. “M’kinda boring.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie says gently. And he stops himself from saying something stupid like You, boring? Think that’s impossible, because Steve has already fallen asleep.

-

Eddie doesn’t know what rouses him initially, just knows that he’s lifting his head up from the little couch he’s settled on. 

He hears an indecipherable murmur in the darkness. Blinking blearily, he whispers, “Steve?”

“Dustin…? Dustin…”

Eddie sits up. “He went home, remember?” he says, tries to ensure his voice isn’t harsh, but is still loud enough to break through whatever Steve is dreaming about.

“Dustin…” A quiet, low moan.

Eddie rises, stumbles over. “Steve? Steve, wake up.” 

Steve moans again. “Oh, God, no, no—”

Eddie clumsily switches on a lamp, revealing Steve’s face turning side to side, muscles in his neck strained, eyebrows drawn in distress. 

“Steve, it’s just a dream, you’ve gotta—”

“He’s dead,” Steve says brokenly. “They’re dead, they’re all—oh, God—”

“Wake up,” Eddie says. He grabs Steve’s shoulders and shakes, uncaring if it’s abrupt; he just needs it all to stop now. “No-one’s dead, Steve, come on, you’re—”

Steve wakes with a start, breathing heavily. Eddie instinctively lifts his hands off his shoulders, but Steve looks even more panicked at that, so he immediately returns them, keeps his touch light but there.

“Hey, you with me? Just a dream,” Eddie repeats.

“Oh,” Steve says, like he’s been winded. “Oh.”

“Here, you want a drink? There’s some water on…” Eddie reaches for a glass, but Steve just says, “No,” and covers his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“Just go back to sleep, I’ll be—”

“Yeah, that’s not happening. You sure you don’t want a—?”

Steve’s hands fall away, and he bows his head. “Eddie,” he says. His voice breaks. “I can’t.”

Eddie perches on the bed. “Hey, all right, that’s—”

And everything he was going to say dies in his throat as Steve’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. A growing wet patch forms.

And he stays very still as Steve shakes with silent sobs.

Almost silent.

“S-sorry. I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry…”

Steve takes shallow, desperate breaths. Eddie can feel his lips trembling against his skin.

And then Steve holds onto Eddie’s forearm with a harsh grip, knuckles turning white.

Eddie suddenly remembers that awful moment, right before the end of everything. I can’t feel you.

“Hey. Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” Eddie murmurs. Gently, gently, he puts a hand on Steve’s nape, cradles the back of his head. Feel that? God, please let him feel it… “I’m here. I’m right here.”

[bakeryblood]

Family Video Called

Eddie Munson x Male Reader

Fluffy, indulgent short for me and my mutuals who love the movie

Eddie slammed the stack of movies on the counter as Robin stared him down, a bored look on her face as she chewed the same piece of gum she had been for her entire six hour shift. “Sorry Munson. Can’t do it.”

“Oh no, that’s bullshit. I paid my fee for the last broken one— AND a new VCR because I’ll have you know my machine didn’t just eat the tape it died because of it. So really I should be holding you two accountable.” He pointed to Steve and his partner in crime who tossed his hand up as if telling him to get the hell out of the store before turning back to the blonde he was chatting up.

“As funny of a story as that is, Family Video and all its employees cannot be held accountable for any and all VCR indigestion incidents.” She popped her gum before continuing. “The reason I cannot rent you these is because you have had our only copy of labyrinth checked out for the past..four weeks.” She pointed to her monitor and Eddie practically leapt over the counter to get a look before simply walking around and reading for himself.

“Hey, hey! No customers behind the counter!” Steve shouted at him and garnered himself a middle finger as Munson repeatedly checked the name, address and sure enough the date of check out. Robin shoved him out of the way and waved up the next person waiting in line.

“Outstanding balance Eddie, there’s a lot of other people who’s eyes are starving, hungry, to get a glimpse of David Bowie in that silver bodysuit— $2.75 please.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ rent that Robin! Shouldn’t you know that, you two are here literally every day!” He pulled on his jacket in frustration before taking one last longing look at the stack of tapes sitting where he left them.

“I don’t even remember the last time I ate, Munson. Please just..” Robin looked up from the register to see the young man with the fluffy hair had taken his leave before she even had a chance to order him out, the glass front door slowly falling shut on its own indicating some had just very quickly exited.

Slamming the door of his van perhaps a bit too hard he gave it a momentary look as if waiting for it to fall off it’s hinges onto the ground before heading inside his trailer. He wasn’t mad that you had found something to do while he was at school in between your shifts at work now that his uncle was working days.

It had starting to weird him out when he’d come home and you would be listening to oldies and cleaning like it was your favorite or should he say, only, hobby. While his uncle sat in his favorite chair drinking a freshly brewed cup of coffee. He’d have to pull you into his room before Wayne could start in on him about how ‘THIS is how you make a good cup of coffee’, to explain that you didn’t need to clean while you were there. You didn’t need to make his uncle coffee. You were helping out on the bills, your time off should be spent relaxing.

He was mad at the past due amount. It was a quarter a day with a three dollar late fee, math wasn’t Eddie’s strong suit but the computer didn’t lie. $28 for a movie he’d never even seen and frankly, didn’t want to for that price.

“Honey! I’m fuckin’ home!” He yelled through the trailer as unfamiliar upbeat music played as loudly as possible. He stomped towards his room where the sound was coming from and stood in the doorway, watching on as you bounced around the room dancing. He pressed himself against the wall as much as he could, holding his hair out of his face so he could continue to spy on you.

You spun and twirled, bouncing from foot to foot as you sang along with David Bowie for what had to be the 40th time since renting the movie. You hopped onto the bed and jumped up and down, turning around as you did until you opened your eyes finally catching your long haired boyfriend in the act. Except you didn’t immediately realize it was him in and the scream you let out made him more scared than you were. Grabbing his chest he came into the room and pointed at you. “Turn it off, now.”

You rushed off the bed and stood defiantly in front of the Tv and vcr, arms out stretched. “No!”

“Y/N! Four weeks? You had this for four weeks and never even told me?” He came towards you and you puffed out your chest as if that was going to do anything to Intimidate or deter him from getting that movie out of his house.

“No Eddie, please! Just one more time! I’ll pay the late fee!” He looked at you dumbfounded before wrapping his arms around you and readying himself to deadlift you if that’s what it took.

“You’re damn right you’re paying the late fee, I had to pull out the couch, looking in my uncles car and under the van seats to get the money to rent those movies.” He jingled the change in his jacket pocket after setting you down a foot away, that was the full extent of effort he was willing to put in.

“Just watch it with me one time, please? Then we can watch whatever you want and I’ll pay for those too..” Y/N pouted and moved to sit on the bed as Eddie stalled, thinking it over. Which his boyfriend noticed.

“Pretty good deal, huh?” Y/N perched up on his knees excitedly as Eddie turned back to him slowly. “It has goblins, faeries..things you love Eddie..” Consider him swayed. He walked around to the side and kicked his shoes off before climbing into the bed, expecting you to claim your spot next to him. But you stayed where you were.

As the movie progressed he slowly moved up to where you were, occasionally asking questions that pertained to plot he missed out on by bursting in a fourth of the way through.

“So she’s trying to get her baby brother back.”

“Yes.”

“Because David Bowie—“

“Jareth.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at you correcting him on that for what had to be at least the third time. “—Jareth, steals babies.”

You wiggled your hand as if to say he was half right before giving him a run down of how Sara offered him up because she was upset with her parents. “Doesn’t the baby taking seem a little..off to you?”

“How else is he supposed to fill a city with goblins?”

“There’s a whole fuckin’ city of those things?” Eddie had to admit, though maybe not out loud, that it was a very good movie. The creatures were very well made and he was finding himself becoming more and more enthralled with the idea of incorporating some of the character concepts into a campaign and seeing if he could get away with doing so.

“Plus he’s pretty hot in this don’t you think?” Okay. Fun is over. Eddie pushed himself off the bed and stretched in front of the Tv just as David Bowie had begun the ballroom dance sequence. “Eddie— Eddie move!” Your eyebrows raised up in an upset manner as he huffed and sat back down making the bed bounce.

“No, I don’t think he’s hot.” You quickly turned your face towards him shocked. You couldn’t believe it for a moment until you realized it, he was actually mad. Well, not mad.

“Oh my god Ed, you’re jealous!” He grinned at you and shook his head vehemently denying the accusation. “Don’t lie!”

“Yeah right Y/N, Aren’t we all jealous of David Bowie?” He replied dismissively.

“I can’t speak for everyone but you sure are.” You went back to watching with an even larger grin than you had previously held as Eddie brooded. He was jealous. But not because of his looks, he was jealous because of how you were dancing and singing. It was something you only ever did when you drank, always claiming to be too embarrassed to do it for him or with him so more often than not he’d take advantage of the situation and goofily dance with you if the two of you happened to drink together.

And here you were bullying him. “Why, think I should bleach my hair?” Y/N almost choked on their laughter as the image of him with platinum blonde hair flooded his thoughts in true ‘Poison’ fashion. Eddie slung his arm around the front of of them and took them down onto the bed.

“I could start wearing eyeliner more, is that what it would take for you to dance with me?” Y/N ceased his laughter and looked up at Eddie’s surprisingly serious face as his hair curtained around either of their faces.

“That’s what you’re hung up on? I just don’t—“

“You just don’t dance or sing because you think you’re ‘bad’ at it. Yeah, I know. But I saw you earlier, you sing really good..” Y/N struggles to lean up as his boyfriend still had him pinned, pecking him on the cheek. “As good as David Bowie?”

Eddie’s lips flat lined as he tried to think of the appropriate answer given how big of a Bowie fan you were. Insinuating that you could show him up might not be the way to go. Thankfully he didn’t have to as you finally rolled the two of you over. “Maybe just a blonde streak..” you teased and Eddie shook his head.

“Nope, all or nothing. I’m sure the kids would have a field day doing it for me.” Y/N began laughing again as he imagined them each going at a section of his unruly hair with handfuls of bleach mix.

“You’re hotter than David Bowie, okay?” Eddie popped up before attacking you with his hands.

“You just can’t stop lyin’ huh!” He tickled you and you squirmed, shouting out apologies as he went in on you relentlessly.

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!!”

________________________________________

The light in the room was dim as flames from the candles strategically placed around swayed and flickered.

“As your group trekked the final mile to the outside wall of the great maze, the light woods begin to thin out. A long empty killing field dotted with crudely hacked stumps, stones, dust, the odd arrow, and a pile of bones is before you. Your horses whinny nervously and paw the ground near the forests edge unwilling to go further.” Eddie looks up from his notes, up over his dungeon master screen as he scans the groups expressions before continuing. “The battlements seem unmanned, and the killing field silent and uninviting, looking past them at the tall walls wrapping around there doesn’t seem to be a visible entrance, gate or otherwise.

What do you do?”

“We should have left the horses a mile back, there’s obviously something going on here and they’re just going to slow us down..” Lucas complained before Erica chimed in but not before giving her brother a annoyed look.

“Is there anything between us and the walls aside from the random garbage about on the killing field..” She rolled for perception and got a nine.

“A bridge lay out at half way, no moat nor water beneath it. You look up and down the ancient cracked stone masonry, moss happily flourished despite the lack of moisture in the air or ground.”

Erica held a smug expression as she looked over the rest of the party, still seemingly confused. “I go ahead of the others and cross the bridge.”

Lucas protested against this idea claiming that this is clearly a trap and this early on they cannot afford to lose their only Rouge.

“Lady Applejack crosses the bridge despite Sundars’ pleas for her to reconsider, his calls for her seeming to fade away as a thick mist forms, clouding her field of vision. She is no longer in the killing fields and her party is long gone. She is in a swamp where aged and crooked trees with branches that seemed to be reaching for her grew scattered, narrowly avoiding the brackish green water.”

“Uh, Lady Applejack is going to turn her ass around and go back for the others..”

“Alright hold the hell up—“ Gareth stands up from his spot at the long table and advances on Eddie who quickly covered his DM notes as best as he could. “Is this a fucking Labyrinth based campaign plot?”

“Hey! Let’s try to not break the Immersion you ass, I also have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dustin laughed before standing up and pointing at his older friend. “Ah ha! I knew you were a liar but know I really caught you! You think Steve didn’t tell me about how you held that movie hostage basically?”

“The Labyrinth? Like with David Bowie?” Erica questioned, Lucas looking more confused than she was. Tiger Beat kept her pretty up to date on the androgynous man’s whereabouts.

“Alright, cut! This is not based on the movie this is all out of my own goddamn head—“

Eddie slammed his hands on the table before raising one finger up to tap it against his skull. “Got it? I didn’t spend hours working on this for you to start heckling me.”

Dustin and Gareth return to their seated positions and the younger boy leaned over and whispered to the other. “This is totally Labyrinth based..”

“Totally, never letting him live this down..”

[sapphyreopal5]

I think would be a great idea for you to make a video talking about Gen and Danneel doing black magic. I think people would be interested in your conversation with the psychic guy by your guys messaging each other. After I did read of screenshots from your last post. I am hooked and hungry for want know more information about it, plus I want your opinion about Gen too.

By the way, did the psychic guy message you again? Because I am dying to know what he said more about Danneel and Jensen.

Hello Anon, thank you for the ask. So he and I have been talking some. Some of the same stuff has been said by him multiple but also by me in different words in multiple posts. For a point of reference, this is the first of these screenshots I posted regarding Danneel and Gen's black magic. I have a few more messages I will share below as well. He and I did talk about Hilarie Burton. I know quite a few anti Danneel folks here don't like Hilarie as well, some have said she comes across as fake and such. Interesting fact about Hilarie, she is actually not an incarnated demon like Danneel is but is instead an incarnated dark Faye. Hmmm, does Danneel in fact have a brunette lover or did she just hang out with a brunette? Some people might think she is in fact talking about Steve, which a lot of fellow anti Danneel bloggers here would know about ha ha. The psychic guy did tell a little more about Danneel's said illnesses and a couple more things.

I just might make a video Anon if there's enough demand for it since it takes time to do research, put together screenshots like this, make the video, edit as needed, etc.

As for my opinion on Gen, now that is something I didn't really elaborate on but it can be implied by more recent posts of mine, I don't exactly hold her on a pedestal. Before I elaborate on my opinions of Gen, I wanted to take a chance to address something I recently saw. Namely, a post someone sent me where it seems an Anon was talking about my Hooters post and where the answer talked about how normal that is going to places like that and how this is crucifying him or perhaps holding him to impossible standards. Now come on, I am no Jared hater and in fact overall like him a lot. No one escapes my observations for better or for worse, Jared and Gen included. I do however just about always defend my friends and family, even if I end up telling them they are wrong in private. I never embarrass my friends or family on purpose and wouldn't do this my partner if I had one unlike Gen ha ha.

Because of the fact I am a personality theories nerd, if anyone is familiar with the MBTI I'm big time ENTP. Of course, labels don't describe everything and we are more than just certain things but I am mentioning this because I question EVERYTHING and EVERYONE, it's what I do. Some people just need to get over this.... anyways onto the real topic, just wanted to share that fun fact about myself and a tidbit of my general personality with you all.

I decided to take this opportunity to share screenshots from a Reddit thread on others' opinions on men who frequently go to places like Hooters, Tilted Kilt, Coyote Ugly, and then the other ones mentioned in the screenshots below. I will say especially this comment in my opinion, 'cause it is extremely relevant for why I question this whole Hooters frequenting of Jared's in my book (and notably without Gen being there for the more recent times in recent years): "Depends on context. Once in a while for a birthday party or guy’s night is fine. Routinely/regularly on his own? That’s weird." I like people getting multiple perspectives thrown into one, 'cause I can. That's just how I roll, kids! But hey, if you want to see some other sites that talk about this, you can also check out this Quora question, this Askmen thread (where of course a lot of the guys who answered said it's merely a woman being insecure), another Reddit thread where her husband keeps lying about going to places like this, this girlsaskguys thread, you guys get the idea at this point, don't cha?!

And I am pretty sure this is exactly what all these "crazy, insecure women" are thinking these Hooters waitresses and such are thinking, summarized in a catchy song "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls. 🎶I'd probably be just as crazy about you if you were my own man🎶

Nah but man for real, I found it funny how the same day Coyote Ugly photos came out, Gen's hair stylist or something posted this. Was this to validate herself or just her position in her cushy lifestyle. Oops, I meant as Jared's loving wife and mother of 3 children... or did I? Here I answered someone earlier today about Jared going from wanting to retire to being a producer and then ended up being both the lead character and the Executive Producer on his Show "Walker". I provided plenty of direct quotes to show what is being officially said about why he changed his mind on staying in acting. Note that I said officially there being the keyword in the last sentence. My real opinion? I think that Jared started to realize that because he spent so much time away from home that he in a way feels like an outsider, an issue that might've been exasperated by the COVID lockdowns. I can't for the life of me find where that interview was originally from, so if someone wants to chime in I'll gladly give credit :D

Now I'm going to bring up a couple of quotes directly from this video that was from their Walker Interview on "The Talk" from April 2021 after the midseason finale of Walker. Again coming straight out of Jared and Gen's mouths.

9:48 What has it been like to to get to work together and live together again? Jared: "Uhh it's been pretty magical I think I think I'll kind of echo something that Gen said earlier which is it's really nice you know. I think as it happens often times mothers will umm put their passions and their talents aside uh when having kids. And annoying so below, 10:12 Um more often than not it's because the fathers are useless. I know I can say that as far as I go, and so she kind of stepped aside from acting for about nine years to make sure that our kids didn't perish so thank god but now seeing her work again in her elements. You know she had gone to school and acted she had her own TV show and then we had met on the TV, she had done movies and this and that and so to be able to show her off you know during COVID times. Con't. 10:55 During COVID times my kids can't come to set because we're all tested regularly. You have to be part of a certain uh grouping tha tyou can only talk with people that you work with, we're all wearing masks and we're all distancesd and so I can't bring friends or family or my kids to set but I can have my wife there because she's on show as well. 11:03 to 11:12: It's date day. So there have been I'll admit there have been a few times where we've been on set and it'll be like 5pm and we're both wrapped. We're like well if we wait a couple hours then the kids will be asleep by the time we get home. Gen starts laughing and says (I think) don't admit that. 11:16 to 11:26: They won't see it, they won't know until a couple more years. (Gen briefly says "catch dinner") Yeah we're gonna be like pretending, let's pretend we're still filming. Uh, let's tell the babysitter we're still filming and let's go get some sushi or something" 11:36 onward And of course, Gen takes a moment to talk about her pet project TOWWN here. Is this about the show Walker or is this about the Jared and Gen show?

Well Jared she certainly made her stance clear in this interview with Dave Hollis (partial transcript included in my post here) how she really felt about you coming home to live with her. Just saying...

"This is the first time I lived with my husband. I know that sounds really crazy but my husband had been filming a TV show for 15 years in Vancouver so when all of this started you know he came down here. He had 2 episodes left and then that was the completion of the series. Personally, it meant that I had to live with him and deal with coparenting which was really stressful like the thought of it. And to make that work, and it was crazy because we were always in this tight bubble with just us and our kids and it really was simplifying. It was you know like the layers are gone. The interference is gone, drama is kinda out the window in a way, and we got to really simplify basic needs. It's so weird how much unlayering we had to do and that's what I'm finding through all of this is a lot of unlayering to get to the core". "I was just talking to someone about this that my favorite relationship with him is a work relationship. Sometimes it's hard to be married to him because he's like, Jared is so interesting because he's so analytical. I mean my husband, I'm going to toot his horn because he's literally one of the smartest human beings I've ever met in my life and it's annoying because he will correct you on words you think he didn't even know. I have a book of SAT words just because I'm like I am going to get him. And so I'll just casually talk about something and use a crazy word in a sentence and he'll be like well you pronounced it incorrectly. It's so frustrating. Also in our marriage he's very giving and emotional and supportive. He's supportive in everything that I've done and I feel really lucky and grateful. I think even more so when it comes to work he is your biggest cheerleader and it's going to be a lot of time together. But funny enough, I think we'll be better at work than sometimes we are at home. Because I'm like, this is how the kids are, this is how I like them, this is the order that I like things in. And it's hard for me to let go I think, at home. but at work, it's just a really nice exchange and I feel really lucky, and he'll sit there too. If he's not working, he'll take it, pull up a chair and talk on the phone and watch at me and I can hear him bragging about me and whether he's doing it for my benefit I don't know but it makes me feel good and I feel really lucky that he does stuff like that."

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A post shared by Genevieve Padalecki (@genpadalecki)

Cute how they bring the kids to the set of Walker at times like they did in the promos last week, ain't it? However, being the questioner I am I wondered after a friend brought up a great point: "why didn't she and Jared celebrate watching the Total Solar Eclipse together on April 8, 2024, which was yesterday?" Not like COVID is preventing Gen from bringing the kids on the set CLEARLY. AND why was she NOT taking this amazing chance to advertise the cool Walker Eclipse glasses (therefore advertising HER and HER HUSBAND'S show) but instead chose to advertise yet another company in her IG story? Another affiliate partnership that's probably gonna rake in less dollars than you know, her husband's show (I meant the "family project")? Dunno you all decide...

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A post shared by Jared Padalecki (@jaredpadalecki)

I mean also funny how in the post below she was seen wearing one of these "less cool" types of Eclipse glasses during the 2017 Solar eclipse, which I'm saying 'cause they're not as snazzy or sunglasses like. So, not buying the whole "it's because it's more fashionable" type of logic or "she can do whatever she wants". Sure she can but she's in the public eye so her actions and such are free game to criticism. Bite me!

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A post shared by Nay🌻 (@angel_gen_)

Point is, Gen is just a walking advertisement. She is fake, she's clearly all about her cushy lifestyle she didn't truly earn (looking at you, black magic!), and frankly I'm pleased that she's got a long ass sentence in "hell" ahead of her (which is funnily enough way longer than Danneel's actually). Also, is it just me or is there something weird about this page excerpt she selected from the book and then comparing it to the attire she chose for the Mom2Summit event this weekend in Nashville, TN? As if the following book excerpt isn't somehow telling about how she REALLY feels without actually saying how she feels...

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A post shared by Charlie Capen (@charliecapen)

Notice the color of her pants in that post Charlie made has her in turquoise pants. And then go read the above. It starts with: "When we're married, I want us to work together. We'll be a team, and I won't leave you out of matters the way my dad did my mom. She wishes Harv hadn't told her all of this. If he was only using her to prop up his family name, it would be easier to leave him. But he wants a true partnership, one where he would welcome her opinions and thoughts." Another part says towards the end of the page "She pictures Ko Lipe from her poster, the inviting turquoise waves. Her dress flutters around her legs as she heaves one leg over the railing, then the other. On her tiptoes, she surveys the water below her. It's no Thai island but it'll do. She jumps." Also note where she underlined: "Too many expectations. Too many people in her ear saying they're not asking for too much. She gives and gives but still it's not enough."

Not sure how much she's giving here because she's been handed everything on a silver platter and fed by a silver spoon her entire life but what do I know? Turns out she even walked away during this summit towards the end to "take a phone call". From who, your husband who once said was ignoring you in a video and said "come on pick up" in? Feeling a bit petty right now XD

My bottomline view of Gen is, she tries to portray herself as this homestead type of crunchy Earth hippy mom but then when you look at her closely enough she is a much bigger liar than Danneel is and is much more fake. She is not this great, super supportive wife that Jared for some dumb ass reason keeps trying to make her out to be. For example, I find it funny how just last week she was all about promoting Walker, even including filming Jared with Odette and Shep. Cute right? Until I realized that they didn't even share the moment of the Total Eclipse yesterday, let alone Gen advertised yet another affiliate product instead of her own husband's show. I honestly don't believe the whole oh we can't bring the kids on set rule during COVID. If y'all are the bosses (oh sorry, there's really only 1 and that's Jared NOT Gen) you can make exceptions. What is the CDC gonna do, arrest you for bringing your kids to work? They could've made them stay stuck to their iPads or something, not that hard to social distance unless they're unruly. But then again being the wittle rebel I can be at times, I just think outside the box a lot. Heck, I brought my kid to work with me to my job during COVID and when he did them online schooling sessions and all that on iPad, ain't it so nice being able to work for family? ♥

[sevensided]

The thing about the 'leaker' is that it seems like she is a bit biased. I won't be surprised if the leaks aren't entirely accurate because of how she's perceiving everything based on her own preferences. For example, she has some pretty strong opinions about Stancy and ships Jancy. She said that Jancy have some nice scenes in the last two eps and that everything ends well for them and said they're obviously endgame. That might be true (I don't even ship Stancy lol) but when people commented about the hints about Stancy she just dismissed it saying that Steve is stink and Stancy are a bad ship 😅 she said that as soon as Jonathan arrives its like Steve who and that the storyline is dropped bc Jonathan's clearly the one for her etc? But to me it will be a bit more complex than that, even though I don't even ship Steve and Nancy lol. It doesn't make sense for the writers to just drop a storyline, it would need to be addressed. Same with Mike and Will and El. She ships Mike and Eleven and was like 'I've been telling you they won't be canon' and idk it's very clear she's not impartial at all!

Thank you for this insight! I think a good way to determine whether something is legitimate or not is how shallow it is. Everything in Vol. 1 has been proved to be more complicated than the theories - even way back when I said that Peter/001/Vecna/Creel kid were the same person, that was literally only on a hunch and it turned out to be far more complex than I'd even considered. That's normal, though, because we are only given snippets without any context and it's only when the show is actually released that you can see the wood for the trees.

I would also say - as a general statement - that anyone who is a diehard shipper won't be impartial. Yes, even me! Because there's another agenda there; we're looking for something. It's a case of getting too close that you can't see beyond the narrow scope of your interest. Perhaps it's a good reminder for all of us to step back a little, to put it into context.

The trouble is, is that once you do that you realise even more that Byler will happen, so... not that helpful (!) ;)

[quaememinisse]

Title: Across the Multiverse, I Follow You

Plot: Bucky's relationship ends terribly, and with Steve gone, all he wants is her love back. He goes to Wanda and the Darkhold for help.        

    The break up was traumatic enough. Wanda can’t figure out why James would want to subject himself to the possibility of this happening again. And then she thinks about the fact that Steve is long gone, Tony, Natasha, too, and perhaps James and the redhead may have ended up together. Wanda’s certain they at least fucked a handful of times. It’s clear now why James would come to her. He felt he had nothing left to lose. She can sympathize, staring a few seconds at the tips of her blackened fingers.

            “She told me she couldn’t look at you anymore, last we spoke.”

            “And when was that?” Bucky asks calmly, closing his eyes and waiting for the answer.

            “Does it matter?”

Bucky sighs, “She still talks to you, doesn’t she?”

Wanda only offers him silence, shrugging and smiling maliciously.

            “And doesn’t want me to know.”

Wanda finally nods.

“If I do this, it may be no different in any other universe…She may even hate you in all of the other ones…why not let me send you to one where your best friend is still alive?” Wanda cocks her head to the side, stepping a little closer to the soldier, eying him curiously. He glares into the distance a moment.

“If she finds out I’m doing this for you, she will hate me, too. Then what will you do?”

“Well, will you help me just for now? Please?”

“Even if she wants nothing to do with you in the other verses?”

            “…It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I figure if I’m in a world with her not hating me, Steve could be there, too,” he explains. The sudden giddy excitement in his ocean gaze reminds Wanda of something she has felt many a time before, what everyone else thought she was. Insane. She wasn’t thinking about the consequences. She knew what she wanted. Bucky knew what he wanted.

            “Do you get the dreams, too?” Wanda asks.

            “You mean, dreams where she’s still in love with me, and I haven’t fucked everything up? Yeah. Every single night," he explains, his shoulders falling with visible despair. He’s not so strong anymore, she thinks. Not that he’d have been a match for her, should he have become violent. He’s broken, compared to what she used to see in him in their hey day.

            “It won’t be real, until I can find a way to get to the multiverse permanently…it’ll feel very real, and I’ll keep you under as long as you want. But just know, you will eventually wake up. Even my magic won’t keep your consciousness there forever. It has other things it needs to address that even magic cannot keep it from.”

Bucky nods, sitting cross legged on the hard stone floor. He decided before he came to Wanda that he doesn’t care about the consequences. He’d hit rock bottom. There was nowhere left to go.

            “I’m ready,” he says, looking up at the witch desperately.

            “How long do you want to stay under?”

            “As long as you can hold it.”

He sees red emanating from her hands, and it sears at first, in his chest, in his eyes. He groans in some agony, wondering if instead Wanda has decided to kill him. He’d have been fine with that, personally. But Wanda disappears suddenly, and he’s walking around somewhere…no, floating…he can hear laughing. His own voice. He’s talking to someone.

            “Mage?” His voice is only an echo when he hears it, like it’s reverberating off of empty space. And he sees himself then, chasing a chocolate Labrador around the couch, Mage’s voice laughing somewhere nearby.

            “He won’t sit still! We’re gonna have to take him to the vet—”

            “Bucky, he’s gonna run down the hall!” Mage’s laughing makes his heart warm. He’s still floating above the two of them, and when he sees himself running out of the door after the dog, a pill clasped in his shiny fingers, he follows. In the hallway, it’s oddly dark, but he can still see himself running after the dog. More like an aura of gold light. It surrounds his figure. He pauses in the hall, the dog running into the kitchen. The soldier pauses in his floating, too.

            “James?” Mage calls from the other room, “…think his food is a good method!”

He can’t focus on Mage’s voice, even though he just wants to turn around and run to her. He focuses on his body, down below, looking about, wondering who’s following him. And then he races forward, as soon as Mage starts into the hallway. The impact of merging into his body causes him to fall back, land ass down on the floor.

            “James? Holy fuck, are you okay? Where’s the flea pill?”

Mage runs to him, having turned the light on in the hallway.

            “I, uh, d-dropped it. Yeah, I’m okay. Just—just tripped a second running after that little booger,” he explains, laughing. He knew that if he didn’t stay in character, Mage would get suspicious. He had long missed her eyes, the warmth of her embrace.

            “I love you,” she says, wrapping her arms around him, “You sure you’re okay?”

            “Y-yeah, babe.”

He stands hastily, wrapping Mage up in his arms. He can’t help but break out in tears, silently, clutching her so that her feet have left the ground. She starts giggling as he holds her.

            “Are you okay?” she asks again, attempting to finally peel him off of her. He gazes down at her, and she looks concerned at the fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

            “You’re scaring me, James…what’s wrong with you? Did you get hurt?”

He picks her up again and carries her into the living room, sits on the couch, just holding her.

            “Bucky…?”

            “I love you,” he whispers.

Her hands massaging his shoulders is the most inviting affection he had ever received. Suddenly, he feels a pulling, like someone is trying to force him out through a door. This mental image keeps appearing, until all he begins to see is scarlet.

            “No! No—please—let me stay!”

            “James?” Mage’s worried eyes somehow break his heart all over again.

            “You can’t stay—someone is coming,” Wanda explains. It takes a few more seconds of blinking before he realizes he’s still sitting the way he had been when Wanda performed her magic on his mind. She is kneeling to his height. He begins to sob.

            “Why didn’t you just leave me?”

            “Because you have to hide,” she explains.

Everything around him gradually loses its crimson and begins to appear more…real. He had lost touch with reality. Wanda’s hands suck all the red out of the wasteland around her to sow a series of trees full of life. When she finishes her work, and turns to find him still sitting there, she glares.

            “You need to leave now. If you come back, I can help you again, but you need to leave.”

As he stands with shaky legs to make himself scarce, little does the soldier know that the person coming to see Wanda is the same person who would stop her.

[stevensavage]

Light The Ugliness On Fire To Warm Ourselves

(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com, Steve's Tumblr, and Pillowfort.  Find out more at my newsletter, and all my social media at my linktr.ee)

The latest news about our oncoming future of AI generated soulless media has got me and my creative friends talking. We’re swearing, too, but the conversation is quite intelligent between the occasional profanities

My good friend Serdar notes in an excellent post that you have to drive out ugliness with beauty. If you keep showing off the ugliness, the awfulness of things, it creates pathologies, a tunnel of crap, even if its in mockery. Trauma tourism of our culture is still traumatic after all, and we hunger for actual good stuff - so make something good damn it to squeeze out the ugly.

I agree with him for the most part, but sometimes you can use the ugly.

Now in my own work, even that which responds to trends (like some worldbuilding books), the goal is to get people to write good things. I want something that adds to the wonderful of the world.

But you’ve also noticed some of my sarcasm or parody here, or in my fiction. It occurs in some of the more experimental art and writing I do (currently) under pen names. There is a part of my work that uses the terrible and sad things of the world as fuel, and I think that is valid – when done right.

There is value in mockery, and parody, and response. From Mark Twain to Dave Barry, Terry Pratchet to Chuang-Tzu, people have made works both timeless and calling out people and organizations and ideas that need to be skewered. Sometimes you create beauty by giving the ugliness a good drubbing- hell, no small amount of Punk music fits this category.

The problem is this is really hard to do. If you’re going to make beauty from ugliness, then you best make sure you’re up to the task and you want to do it. Not everyone is, and that’s fine - for instance Serdar and I have different backgrounds and inclinations. Or in short, I’m the sarcastic and parodic one, meaning our friendship is sort of a Road movie that happens very slow.

As the sarcastic one, here’s what I think makes a response-to-ugliness work as actual, positive, creative work.

First, it has to timeless in its own ways. There’s little value in speaking to the event of the moment without context or depth. The more the thing you’ve decided to “take on” is connected to the big picture, the better. I recall an essay in the Chuang-Tzu on warriors (albeit one clearly written by one of his followers) that had me outright laughing at the end, even though the tale was perhaps two thousand years old.

Secondly, a work of mockery or parody has to be relevant, and this is the paradox that affects many a writer. You have to know the subject matter enough to make what you create more than just saying “see how dumb that is!” I mean I can watch many videos mocking an unwisely-constructed electric truck that seems designed to kill people. But in-depth understanding is valuable because then I understand.

Third, such work has to be human. Ridiculing something or someone is easy, any bully can do it. I want to understand people, their reactions, their experiences. Ever read a good essay or book on the economic impacts of some horrible government choice on real people and felt it? That’s what you want. That’s what art does - it gets the mind and heart going.

Finally, it has to be actually good. You can’t rely on someone else being terrible to carry your work. I learned this lesson from podcasts and youtube videos that did critiques. The truly good ones have good hosts, providing smart analysis, and were people I’d listen to or watch if they spoke about good things.

If you create beauty out of ugliness, you need depth to really do something that will squeeze out the ugliness. For all he took on, the late Sir Terry Pratchett’s books are things of beauty, even when addressing issues from racism to economics. Any ugliness is but fuel for beauty – in the right hands.

If you can’t do that or don’t want to, then fine! We all do our parts to make the world a more beautiful place - and that’s needed today more than ever.

Steven Savage

www.StevenSavage.com

www.InformoTron.com

[tragicvictories]

for velvet, minthara, bucky, and isobel -- what is their perception of redemption?

no meme i'm just asking people to send me headcanon/lore questions

VELVET

for velvet, "redemption" is bringing attention to those who have done better, those who deserved better. it's telling the stories of those whom she hurt and those who helped her overcome her urges. it's obscurity, because the alternative was the fear-inducing bedtime stories baldurians would tell their kids. but it's also turning her familiarity with violence on people who deserve it. if violence is truly a part of her, there's no reason it has to be used against the innocent.

MINTHARA (secret muse lmao)

at first for minthara, redemption isn't something she thinks she should even pursue. in act 2, she's pretty single-minded about vengeance against orin and the absolute, and doesn't see how who she was before the absolute was a problem whatsoever. as she realizes her indoctrination as a member of menzoberranzan culture, however... it's perhaps less still about redemption and more about repentance. it's not about trying to outweigh the horrible things she did in lolth's (and later the absolute's) name, and more about ensuring she doesn't do it again. most importantly, it's about ensuring agency for herself, and ensuring she doesn't do to others what orin did to her.

BUCKY (secret muse #2)

bucky and redemption is such a mess honestly. dropping the more serious tone down a level because bucky and redemption is something i have thought about a thousand times and it's probably one of the more frustrating things about interacting w/ bucky. there are these panels (that i won't find bc looking for them is too hard) of steve interrogating someone about the winter soldier. the guy says something to the effect of blaming bucky, and steve just goes "it wasn't him!" -- you could put bucky in that same seat and the scene wouldn't change. bucky knows those actions weren't his own. he knows he wouldn't have done those things if he'd been in control of himself. but it's so complicated because he also knows he did them. there is no way in his mind to redeem himself because there's no undoing them. this becomes even more complicated because bucky was always the one doing shadier shit. even before he was the winter soldier, he was being sent on missions that high-profile captain america couldn't. even before winter soldier, he was doing bad things for the right reasons. redemption, when he can, comes in the form of doing what good he can for the people who were hurt by what he did as winter soldier. but it will never be satisfying enough for him, bc the people he hurt in a more tangible way---the people he killed under the red room's control---he can never get their forgiveness. he can never bring them back. all he can try to do is balance the scales, but it will never really balance out in his eyes.

ISOBEL

i love this question for isobel because i don't know how often people think of isobel herself as needing redemption. but i do. i know she looks at the devastation her father wrought and feels a burden of guilt. how could she not? she died, and this is what he became. and what it cost to bring her back, what others went through in service, in payment, in the name of bringing her back... it's crushing. and that's not addressing her own guilt about her father's death, frankly. that she couldn't do more to bring him back to the light, that she barely tried. ketheric redeeming himself in her eyes would've been so easy, really---all he would've needed to do was apologize, and she would've moved mountains to get him out of myrkul's grip. but isobel redeeming herself is much harder. it starts with rebuilding reithwin in the name of selune, with healing the land, with undoing some of the more tangible damage he did in the name of shar, and then undoing the further damage he did in the name of myrkul and the absolute. it's not just her own redemption; she's trying to redeem herself for her father's transgressions as well.

[where-our-stories-start]

How to Write Dialogue, Part 1: Natural Speech, or Making Your Characters Sound Like Actual People

So a lot of creative writers struggle with dialogue, and it’s one of the things I actually find easier. I’ve learned a lot from various pieces of writing advice on tumblr, so I figured I’d contribute my bit as well. Some of my basic tenets for writing natural-sounding dialogue:

1. Actual people do not always talk in full, grammatically correct sentences.

When we talk to one another, we rarely use proper written grammar. We drop articles, don’t finish our sentences, abbreviate words, etc. Consider this exchange:

“Hey, what are you doing after school?” Aliya asked.

Leanne looked up at her friend. “I don’t know, why?”

“A couple of us are getting ice cream. Steve’s driving; do you want to come?”

“Sure. Hang on, let me just tell my mom.” Leanne pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

“Cool,” Aliya said. “I have to grab my bag, so I’ll meet you outside in five minutes, okay?”

And now this one:

“Hey, you doing anything after school?” Aliya asked.

Leanne looked up at her friend. “Dunno, why?”

“A couple of us are getting ice cream. Steve’s driving; wanna come?”

“Sure, hang on, lemme just...” Leanne pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her Mom. “Okay, yeah, I’m good.”

“Cool,” Aliya said. “I gotta grab my bag, so meet you outside in five?”

Which sounds more natural? Which feels more like teenagers?

That’s not to say that your dialogue should never be grammatically correct or include full sentences. In fact, grammar can be a useful way to signal how formal or casual a situation/relationship is. If your sibling asks if you’re busy, you might respond, “Nah, I’m free, what’s up?” but if your boss asks, you might respond, “No, I have a minute. What can I do for you?” Your speech becomes more casual when you’re comfortable or when you’re talking to someone you know well. Your speech becomes more formal when you’re in a stricter environment or when you’re talking to someone you want to impress.

2. We almost never say people’s names when addressing them.

One of the most common habits of inexperienced writers is to have everyone calling each other by their names all the time. In reality, we almost always use names when referring to someone we’re not talking to.

Generally, if we’re using a person’s name as a direct address, it’s for one of the following reasons:

We’re getting their attention (“Hey, Sarah, can you come help me?”)

We’re giving a piece of information to just them, rather than the whole group (“All right, everybody ready? Sarah, you lead the way.”)

We’re trying to really drive an important point home, particularly one we’re making in anger or frustration (“For God’s sake, Sarah, I’m doing my best here!”)

Other than that, we pretty much don’t say people’s names to them, so your characters shouldn’t do it either.

3. Break up dialogue with action.

Nothing makes a reader’s eyes glaze over like huge blocks of text. We know this when it comes to description--how often have you tried to read a book with huge, dense paragraphs on clothing or weather or social structure or any number of other things--but it can be true with dialogue too. Even if the focus of your scene is a conversation, we need action to ground us in the scene. If your characters talk for too long without a physical check-in, we start to find it difficult to “see” them. When we experience real interactions, we process dialogue and visual stimuli simultaneously. Threading them together in your writing will make it feel more real to your reader.

Consider this quick scene:

Adam walked into the kitchen to find his mom sitting at the table, reading. She looked up when he entered.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” Adam said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Lisa might be pregnant.”

“Okay,” Mom said, her voice even. “She doesn’t know for sure yet?”

“No,” Adam answered. “She got a pregnancy test after school. She said she’ll text me right after. She’s three weeks late, though, so.”

“So,” Mom agreed. “Thank you for telling me. If she is pregnant, you know I’m always here. Whatever you two want to do, I’ll help you figure it out.”

The scene is all about the conversation between Adam and his mom, so it makes sense for the focus to be on the conversation. It’s also not a scene where they’re moving around a ton. However, little bits of action can not only ground the scene for the reader, they can also provide additional information and insight. Let’s make some little changes:

Adam walked into the kitchen to find his mom sitting at the table, reading. She looked up when he entered.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” Adam said.

Immediately, Mom closed her book and folded her hands on top of it. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Lisa might be pregnant.”

“Okay,” Mom said, her voice even. “She doesn’t know for sure yet?”

“No,” Adam answered, sitting down across from her. “She got a pregnancy test after school. She said she’ll text me right after. She’s three weeks late, though, so.”

“So,” Mom agreed. “Thank you for telling me. If she is pregnant, you know I’m always here. Whatever you two want to do, I’ll help you figure it out.”

I only added one action for each character, but see what they do to the scene. In the original, we hear Mom welcome Adam’s need to talk to her, but by adding a bit of physicality, we can see clearly how she recognizes his serious tone and immediately gives him her undivided attention. This lends specificity to this interaction, but it also gives us insight into what kind of mother she is in general, and makes it feel believable that he trusts her enough to come to her for this in the first place.

Adam’s action is tiny, just sitting down. However, it clarifies a few things for us. First and most obviously, we say what he’s doing. In the original, since we don’t see him sit, it’s left unclear whether Adam stays standing or joins his mother at the table. In the revision, we not only know where he is, but the placement of this action colors his emotional state. He blurts out the crux of his problem immediately and bluntly, perhaps to just get it over with, perhaps because he’s worried he’ll lose his nerve. Then, once his mom reacts well and they need to talk details, he sits down to continue the conversation.

Little actions like fiddling with something, brushing hair/sweat out of your face, closing a door, sighing, glancing aside, shifting in your chair, pouring yourself something to drink, etc. can ground your reader in the scene and remind them (and you!) where the characters are. They’re also a way to use your characters’ body language to say things that aren’t (or shouldn’t be) present in your dialogue or speech tags.

4. When in doubt, read it aloud!

The easiest way to find out if your dialogue sounds natural is to listen to it. You can read it on your own, or even better, with a friend to play each character. Read just the speech, not the dialogue tags or descriptions. How does it sound? How does it feel? Is there anything you’re tempted to phrase differently from how it’s written? Are there times one character responds to the other in a way that doesn’t quite fit or make sense? Obviously your characters may have different speech patterns from yours, but generally, if you stumble over something in the conversation, they will too. It’s worth reworking it into something that would more naturally fit into your own mouth, and therefore into the mouths of your characters.

[americasass91]

His Kind of Beautiful

Hello lovely people! I don’t even know where to begin here. My ex popped up as a friend I may know on Facebook the other day. Of course it brought up all these memories. (I’ve been with my husband for over a decade so this ex was from way back when.) Anyways, I couldn’t help but think back to when and why we broke up. We worked together (that was a mistake) and I was chatting with one of our coworkers. The guy looked at me and was like ‘I don’t want to get in the middle of anything but your boyfriend said something about you the other day and it bothered me.’ I told him to tell me what he said. ‘He said you weren’t pretty enough to blow him.’ (Fun fact! I had already blown him a few times by this point.) So of course I thought my life was ruined. I mean I was only 17/18. I called him right away and asked him if it was true. The fucker didn’t even deny it! He was like I was just joking around. So I told him since I wasn’t pretty enough to blow him, I wasn’t pretty enough to date him either. That’s the last time I spoke to him.

Anyways! That’s what inspired this little fic. I know we all go through days where we don’t feel pretty or beautiful. But you know what? We are all beautiful no matter what! Please if you ever feel less than that and need to talk, I am here and willing to listen! Nobody should go through life feeling anything less than beautiful.

So I knew I needed to somehow incorporate this into a fic. At first I was going to go with Steve but I took a look at my Masterlist and realized I only had one Andy fic on there. That’s just despicable! So without any further ado, please enjoy this fic with our lovely, handsome floofy haired lawyer daddy!

Rating: Explicit (Like I could write something that doesn’t involve sex with Andrew)

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: Language, fingering, unprotected sex(Remember: Sex is cleaner with a packaged weiner), and just Andy being fluffy

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You honestly didn’t even know why you had agreed to this. You hated first dates in general, let alone a blind date.

But your friend, Jane, assured you this guy was handsome and nice and worth your time to go out with.

So, you pulled a blue dress from your closet that you’d only worn maybe twice in your life and actually did your eye makeup.

After getting fully ready you take one last look at yourself in the mirror. For once you didn’t hate the woman staring back at you. This dress happened to accentuate your curves and the color of your eyeshadow made your eyes pop. You wouldn’t necessarily say you were pretty, but you looked decent.

You slip on your heels and grab your purse and head out of your apartment. As you go to lock your door, the apartment door behind you opens.

“Good evening, neighbor.”

You turn around with a smile on your face and return the greeting to your sinfully handsome neighbor, Andy.

He can’t help but notice how pretty you look. “Where are you going all dressed up?”

You blush and start heading towards the elevator together. “Oh, my friend set me up on a blind date. I’m nervous. Haven’t been on a date in awhile.”

He presses the button for the lobby. “Blind date, huh? Yeah I went on one of those recently. First date since the divorce. It was...interesting.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as you both headed into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. You turn towards him. “Interesting, how?”

“Well, for starters, she was almost an hour late. Then when she showed up, she didn’t even apologize for being late. She just sat down and demanded the waiter bring her a cocktail. By snapping her fingers at him.”

The elevator doors open. You head into the lobby and notice Andy following you. “So I think it’s safe to say you aren’t calling her for a second date?” He opens the door to the outside for you. You smile in thanks and head out into the warm evening air of Boston.

He rolls his eyes as he follows you onto the street and hails down a cab. “Absolutely not.” He gestures for you to take the cab.

You look at him confused. “Don’t you need one?”

He waves you off. “Nah, I’m heading to pick up Jake to take him to dinner. He finally found some time to fit his old man into his ‘busy’ teenager schedule.” He heads towards his Audi you now realize is parked in front of the building right behind your cab.

You scoff at him as you open the cab door. “Old man? Oh, please. You can’t be more than what? 38?”

He opens the door to his own vehicle and smirks at you. “Try 43, sweetheart. Hey! Good luck on your date!” He waves and gets into his car. You return the wave and get into the cab and give the driver the address to the restaurant and try to get your mind off of how good Andy’s ass looked in the jeans he was wearing.

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You arrived at the restaurant with a few minutes to spare. You wanted to get there a little early so you could get a drink from the bar and calm your nerves.

You find a seat away from the other patrons and order a glass of wine. You scan your eyes over the room to see if your date has arrived yet. You weren’t entirely sure what he looked like but you knew he was going to be wearing a red shirt.

The bartender sets your wine in front of you. You hand over a 10 dollar bill and tell him to keep the change. As you sip your wine, you check your phone for the time. 7:02. You’re about ready to text your friend to ask if your date is normally late when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You turn around and look up at who you assume to be your date for the evening. He was handsome. Not as handsome as Andy, but handsome enough.

He gives you a small smile. “Hi, are you Y/N?”

You nod your head with a smile. “Yes, hi! It’s nice to meet you. You must be Jason?” You then gesture to the seat next to you. “Would you like to have a drink before we get a table?”

He nods once and takes a seat next to you and flags down the bartender to order a scotch.

The bartender sets the drink in front of him. Jason thanks him and pays for his drink.

You can feel the awkwardness start to creep in. And when that happens, you tend to get chatty.

“So, what do you do for a living?” You smile hoping to ease the tension building.

He turns to look you up and down. And not subtly. He shakes his head in disapproval and downs his drink before standing up. “Listen, I’m sorry but I can’t do this. Jane lied to me.”

You can’t help the confused look that crosses your face. “She lied to you? How?”

He gives you another not so subtle once over. “She told me you were beautiful. And no offense, but I just don’t see it.”

You can’t help the jaw drop. Sure you knew you weren’t gorgeous but damn. You’d never had a man be bold enough to actually say it to your face. “So, you’re just gonna leave? Not even give me a chance because I’m not your version of beautiful?”

He scoffs and checks out a girl that walks by the two of you. “What can I say? I’ve got standards that you just don’t meet.”

You feel like you’ve just been punched in the gut. That’s it. You’re fucking done. You reach behind you and grab your wine glass and throw the drink in his face.

You grab your purse and head towards the door. You turn back to face him. “I may not meet your ‘beauty standards’ but at least I’m not an asshole!” With that you flip him off and head outside to hail a cab to head back home.

You manage to make it almost all the way home before the tears start to fall. Sure he was a stranger and his opinion didn’t matter. But it still fucking hurt that he didn’t want you and didn’t even think you were pretty enough to share a meal with. Your self esteem already sucked and this asshole sure as hell didn’t make it any better.

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The blue dress goes in the trash as soon as you step into your apartment. You take off your nice lace bra you had put on. You take your makeup off with a wipe and pull your hair up in a ponytail. You throw on some hello kitty pajama shorts and a t- shirt that’s at least 2 sizes too big for you.

Then you head into your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine from a bottle you keep in the fridge for emergencies. You think this classifies as one.

You grab your phone off the counter and call your favorite Chinese place. You order double what you normally do because nobody wants to sleep with you. Might as well eat whatever the fuck you wanted. God, you can’t believe you shaved your legs for that asshole.

The lady on the phone lets you know it’ll be at least an hour. You give her your card number and thank her before refilling your now empty glass.

As you’re sitting on the couch waiting for your food, you can’t help but replay the events of the evening. Then that takes you into a downward spiral as you think back to all of your exes.

Come to think of it, they’ve all left you for one reason or another. A majority of them cheated with someone way prettier than you. Wow, maybe you were the problem. Clearly you were going for guys out of your league.

Maybe you needed to reevaluate the standards you had. Which quite frankly, wasn’t much. You just wanted them to not be a serial killer.

Perhaps you should just give up on dating. You were perfectly happy alone. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be for you.

Before your thoughts could spiral anymore, your doorbell rang. You glance at your phone. Damn that hour flew by.

You grab $10 out of your purse for a tip and open your door. As you’re grabbing the bags and thanking the delivery guy, Andy steps out of the elevator with confusion written all over his face. “Hey, Y/N. Thought you had a date?”

You could almost feel the tears trying to well up again. No, you weren’t going to cry. Especially in front of your handsome neighbor.

“Yeah, it uh, didn’t work out. Shit happens.”

He puts his key in the lock and opens his door then turns to look at you. “Not your type?”

You can’t help the rush of air that leaves your mouth. “Not exactly. I wasn’t his. Apparently Jane, our mutual friend, told him I was beautiful and well. He didn’t agree with her.”

Andy furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side. “What? Was he blind or something?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I just wasn’t up to his standards.”

Andy mumbles something under his breath. “Well, I’m sorry. Some guys can be real assholes.”

You wave him off. “No need to apologize. I get that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

Andy shakes his head. “Still, I’m sorry. That really sucks. And he really said you weren’t beautiful to your face?”

You give him a sad smile and shrug your shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m used to not being wanted. Have a nice night, Andy.”

You turn and head back into your apartment before he has a chance to reply. You don’t need his pity. You just need to drown yourself in the rest of your wine and gorge yourself on the greasy Chinese.

Just as you set the food down on the counter, you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you head over and open it to find Andy standing there. And he looks kinda pissed.

“What do you mean you’re used to not being wanted?”

You sigh and put your hands on your hips. “It’s not the first time some guy hasn’t wanted me and it won’t be the last.”

Andy shakes his head as he pushes his way inside and shuts the door with his foot. “There’s just something I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “And what’s that?”

He then proceeds to walk closer to you, forcing you backwards until your back touches the wall. He puts his hands on either side of your head and gazes down at you. You’ve never been this close to him before. You can feel his chest move against yours as he breathes. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.God, he smells good.  You realize you’re not breathing and take a deep breath. He smiles down at you and takes his left hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear that had fallen free from your ponytail.

“That some moron would think that you’re not beautiful. He’s fuckin crazy, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches as his left hand has now grabbed the back of your neck to raise your lips towards his. You close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable kiss. “I guess I’m just not everyone’s kind of beautiful.”

He leans in, just barely brushing his lips against yours. “You’re my kind of beautiful.”

WIth that, he presses his lips to yours for a slow but intense kiss. You can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him all the way up against you. He grunts when his hardening cock comes into contact with your soft belly.

After a few minutes of intense kisses that take your breath away, he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours. “Will you let me show you how beautiful I think you are?”

You don’t even need to think about it. “Yes, please.”

He smiles and leans in for one more quick kiss. “Take me to the bedroom, pretty girl.”

You quickly grab his hand and lead him down the hall towards your bedroom, making a quick stop in the kitchen to throw the Chinese food in the fridge.

Once in your room Andy spins you around and presses your back up against his front. He leans forward and starts placing soft kisses against your neck. His left hand rests at your waist while his right hand moves up under your shirt towards your breasts. “Is this okay, pretty girl?” His voice is so low and husky. Your panties didn’t even stand a chance.

You nod. “Yes, please. Touch me, Andy.”

He groans a little and reaches up to cup your right breast in his hand. You hear him let out a growl as he continues to fondle your breast. While his left hand makes its way into your shorts, brushing his finger over your clit. You jolt forward at the sensation, whimpering out in the process.

“You like that, pretty girl? Like my fingers on your little cunt?”

You grab a hold of his wrist and writhe against him as he lowers his fingers towards your entrance. He gathers your slick up before moving his fingers back towards your clit and starts slowly circling it.

“Fuck, Andy. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? You want my fingers inside you, baby?”

You quickly nod. “Please. Need to feel you.”

He lowers his hand back down to your entrance and slowly slides his middle finger against your walls. You arch your back and moan out his name as he starts pumping it slowly.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight. When’s the last time you’ve been touched, pretty girl?”

“Too long. Feels so good. I need more. Please.”

His index finger quickly joins the middle one. He starts pumping them in and out of you quicker, curling them just right so they rub up against your g spot. “Oh, fuck!” You can’t help but yell out at the feeling. It’s been so long since someone’s taken the time to pleasure you, let alone find your g spot. You could feel the coil tightening already. You were embarrassingly close and he hadn’t even really started yet.

“You gonna cum for me already, pretty girl? Do it. Make a mess on my fingers.”

He moves his thumb and starts circling your clit. Your legs start shaking. He presses his thumb down just a little harder and you’re gone. You cum with a shout of Andy’s name into the otherwise empty room.

He continues pumping his fingers in and out but removes his thumb from your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you too much. “Good girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

You lower your head in embarrassment. He spins you around and places his finger under your chin so he can raise your head so you’re looking at him. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl. I want to see everything.” He takes his left hand and raises it to his mouth, sucking your essence off of his fingers. He moans into his hand. “You taste so fucking sweet. Knew you would.”

He grabs your face to pull you in for a sweet kiss as he slowly pushes you towards the bed. The back of your knees touch your mattress before he pulls away. He smiles down at you as he grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up and off, tossing it somewhere in the room. His gaze then falls to your breasts. He licks his lips hungrily. Before he can get too caught up, he hooks his thumbs into your shorts and pulls them and your panties down and off your legs, helping you step out of them.

He stands back up and pulls you in for another kiss, your hands fall to his chest. You start to unbutton his shirt, revealing his chest to you a little at a time. You pull away to get the last few buttons and push his shirt over his shoulders and are surprised to see his chest and abdomen sprinkled with various tattoos. You never would’ve guessed. You can’t help but let your hand trace over a quote on his collarbone or onto the eagle covering his pec.

“I never would have pegged you for a tattoo guy. These are amazing.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I only have them where they can be covered up by clothes.” He grabs your wrists to stop your tracing. “You can trace all of them some other time, pretty girl. Right now, I need to be inside of you.”

You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine at his words. His dirty talk was going to be the death of you.

He moves his hands towards his belt buckle and starts undoing it. You couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble to his hands. You place your hands on top of his and look at his face. “Hey, if you don’t want to do this, that’s ok.”

He looks into your eyes and gives you a shy smile. “No, I want to. God, do I want to. It’s just, I haven’t been with anyone since Laurie and I guess I’m a little nervous.”

You couldn’t help the pull you felt at your heart at his words. He was nervous. Thank god. So were you. This beautiful man wanted to sleep with you, of course you were nervous. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous too. You’re kind of intimidating.”

He cocks his head to the side and furrows his brows. “Intimidating? Why is that?”

You remove your hands from his and gesture up and down his body. “Just look at you. You’re breathtaking, Andy. And I’m just me.” Your gaze falls down to your feet, unable to look at him.

He puts his finger under your chin and raises your head so that you’re forced to look at him. “Speak for yourself, pretty girl. You’re the breathtaking one.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Yeah, right.”

His gaze on you hardens just a little. He grabs your hand and places it over his pants against his erection. “Do you feel that? Feel what you do to me? Nobody but you can make me this hard, pretty girl. I’ve been in a constant state of arousal since I moved in, watching you coming in and out of your apartment in your tight skirts and almost see-through blouses. Making me go fuckin’ crazy.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything or make a move then?” Of course your self doubt was starting to creep in. Maybe this was him just wanting to get his dick wet. You needed to know.

He grabs your hands and brings your knuckles to his mouth, giving them a soft kiss. “Honestly? I thought there was no way in hell an old man like me would have a shot with a sweet thing like you.”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped your mouth. “Please. You’re only 43.”

He pulls you in for a sweet, lingering kiss. “Yeah, well. Probably too old for you. But after what you said to me, about how you’re used to not being wanted? I stopped caring how old I was. I needed to show you just exactly how much you’re wanted. So, can I still show you, pretty girl?”

You quickly nod your head and help him finish removing his pants, leaving him in just his black briefs. The fabric doing nothing to hide the outline of his hard cock. Jesus. He looked big. Bigger than anything you’ve taken. You couldn’t wait.

You quickly pulled his briefs over his hips and down his legs. His cock sprang free and smacked against his inked abdomen, making him hiss. You grab him at the base and slowly start pumping him, looking at his face for his reaction. His head is thrown back and his eyes are closed as he moans out your name at the feeling. His hands are gripping your hips.

You smear his precum that’s gathered at the tip and use that to help jerk him off a little faster. You tighten your grip as you pick up your pace, loving the sounds you're pulling from him. You start to go on your knees when he suddenly pulls you back up. You look at him in confusion. “If I let you continue, this will be over before it even starts. Gonna make me blow my load like an inexperienced teenager.”

You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself but once again furrow your brows as Andy walks to the other side of the bed. He starts looking around in your nightstand. “Do you have any condoms?”

You shake your head. “I did but they expired. If you’re okay with it, I’m on birth control. And I got tested after my last partner and I’m clean.”

He pushes the drawer to the nightstand back in and climbs onto the bed and lays on his back, hand lazily stroking his cock. “I’m more than okay with that. I just had a full work up done. I’m healthy as well.”

You barely acknowledge what he said, unable to remove your eyes from his hand that’s wrapped around his cock. You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth and let out a little whimper. Andy chuckles at you. “Well, are you going to just stare at it, pretty girl? Or are you going to hop on my lap and get comfy?”

That gets your attention. You meet his gaze. “You want me on top?”

He nods. “Wanna be able to see all of you, baby girl.” He removes his hand from his cock and pats his thigh. “Come on, pretty girl. Ride me.”

Well that sight just caused a new wave of arousal to pool at your core. You had only been on top once before and it was only for a short time.

You place your knees gently on the bed and crawl the short way to him. You swing your left leg over him so that you're sitting right above where he wants you. You thread your hands through his hair and lean down for a heated kiss. You lick his bottom lip, wanting in. He doesn’t even hesitate to open his mouth to let you in.

He places his left hand on your hip while the other grabs his cock. He pushes your body down so that you’re hovering over it. “Please. Fuck me, pretty girl.”

You keep your lips attached to his as you slowly sink down on him. You get about halfway before you stop and pull away to look at him, trying to slow down your breathing. He brings his right hand up to cup your cheek. “You ok? Do you wanna stop?” The quick shake of your head makes him chuckle. “No, god no. I just need a minute. You’re fucking huge Andy.”

He can’t help the cocky smirk that appears. “Yeah, I know. Just take all the time you need.” He rubs his hand up and down your back to help calm you down. It only takes you a few more seconds before you continue to impale yourself on his impressive dick.

You let out a breath of relief when your hips settle flush against his. He grabs the back of your head and pulls you in for another kiss. You slowly start rocking your hips against him. He feels fucking incredible. Hitting all the right spots inside of you.

You pull away from the kiss and raise up a little and plant your hands on your headboard for some leverage. The rock of your hips speed up significantly. You move all the way up until his tip is barely inside before you slam yourself back down against him. You’re pulling the most beautiful sounds from his lips. It makes you move that much faster and harder against him.

Andy moves his hands to your breasts and gives them a good squeeze. Then he starts pinching your nipples, eliciting a moan from you. “That’s it, baby girl. Doing so good. You look so gorgeous fuckin’ yourself on my cock. Goddamn. Riding me so well.”

The praise he’s giving you just spurs you on. You raise up even more and place your hands on his chest and pick up your pace just a little more. You can feel the coil tightening in your belly. You’re going to cum and hard.

Andy keeps his left hand on your breast and keeps pinching your nipple. He moves his right hand down until his thumb is pressing against your clit, giving you the friction you needed. “Can feel you squeezing me, pretty girl. Cum for me. Make a mess.”

He presses his thumb just a little harder and that’s all it takes. You free fall over the edge of bliss with a scream of Andy’s name, your hips faltering from their rhythm.

You slow down your pace as you come down from your high, collapsing against Andy’s chest. He cradles you in his arms and rubs his hands up and down your back. “Still with me, sweet girl?”

You weakly nod your head and take just a second to catch your breath. It takes you a moment to realize he didn’t finish. You raise your head off his chest to look at him. “Why didn’t you cum?”

He smiles and pulls you in for a sweet kiss. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry. Just wanted to watch you fall apart on top of me. And let me just say, it’s one of the prettiest sights I’ve ever seen. You look gorgeous when you cum, Y/N. Almost made me lose it. Think you can take some more?”

You nod your head eagerly, already wanting to cum around his cock again. “Then why don’t you be a good girl and turn around and get on your hands and knees for me?”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You quickly pull off of him and turn around to get on your hands and knees. He takes a second to admire the view of your once again dripping pussy before he gets up on his knees behind you. He grabs a hold of your ass and gives it a hard squeeze. “Such a nice ass. I bet it’ll jiggle real nice while I’m fuckin’ you.”

He grabs a hold of the base of his cock and moves it towards your entrance. Before he starts pushing in, he gives your right cheek a hard smack. You drop down onto your elbows and moan into the sheets below you. Fuck. You didn’t know you liked that. He places his right hand on your hip and squeezes.

“Hmm. We’ll have to revisit that later.” And that’s the last thing he says before he slams home. You arch your back and fist the sheets as he sets a hard and fast pace.

And boy was he right. Your ass does jiggle nicely with every snap of his hips against it. He threads his left hand through your hair and gives it a tug. It makes you clench around him. “Fuck, baby girl. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m not going to last long.”

You move your head to the side and peer back at him. You clench around him again and it earns you another groan and smack to your ass. “Want you to cum for me, Andy. Please. Fill me up.”

He stills for just a second and wraps his left arm around your chest and lifts you up until your back is flush against his chest. This time he keeps his thrusts nice and slow. He places a kiss to the side of your neck. “Yeah? Want me to fill that pussy up, huh? To claim you as mine?”

You let a whimper escape your lips and you grip onto his arm that’s holding you against him as he starts picking up the pace of his thrusts. You clench around him again. “I am yours, Andy.”

He quickly moves his right hand down and starts circling your clit. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re gonna make me cum. Cum with me, please.”

You start pushing back and meeting his thrusts, desperate to get him to his release.

It only takes a few more snaps of his hips and circles against your clit before you're both falling over the edge while moaning out the other's name.

He continues pumping his hips until he’s completely spent and gently moves to lay the both of you onto your sides, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms.

He slowly pulls out of you and turns you around so that you’re facing him. He tucks your now loose hair behind your ear. “Hi, there.”

You chuckle and move up against him and press your face into the crook of his neck. “Hello.” You place a gentle kiss to his pulse point and relax as he wraps his arms around you.

There’s only a few minutes of peaceful silence when:

“So, was that good for you?”

You pull away and look up at him with an incredulous look on your face and smack his shoulder. You both start laughing.

“Of course it was good for me. Did you enjoy yourself, Andrew?”

He pulls you in for another sweet kiss. “Oh, yeah. But you know. Just to be sure. We might need to do it again.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you. It only makes you laugh once more.

“You are such a dork. How about we get a shower and then heat up the food you so rudely interrupted me from eating before?”

His jaw drops in mock hurt. “You weren’t complaining when I was making you come around my cock, pretty girl.”

You sit up and stretch your arms over your head. You swing your legs over the side and stand up, wobbling just a little. You hear a chuckle behind you and playfully send a glare his way as you make your way to the bathroom.

You turn on the light and can’t help but look at your reflection in the mirror.

Your hair is a hot mess, having fallen out of it’s ponytail. Your lips were swollen and red from all the kissing. Your nipples looked slightly red from all pinching they had been subjected to. Your skin flushed from the orgasms. And there was what looked like a bruise forming on your hip in the shape of his hand.

And yet. You’ve never felt more beautiful.

You see Andy walking up behind you in the mirror. He smiles at you.

You turn around and return it before throwing your arms around his neck and raising yourself up on your toes to pull him in for a kiss. He gladly wraps his arms around you and reciprocates.

You pull away with a smile still attached to your face. “Not that I mind, pretty girl. But, what was that for?”

You shrug. “Just thank you. For making me feel beautiful.”

He smiles down at you and pulls you in for another quick kiss. You can feel him hardening once again against your hip. “Why don’t we skip the shower for now? I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

And with that he pulls you back into the bedroom where he spends the rest of the night showing you that you’re his kind of beautiful.

Permanent Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @IIIoIs 

[egcdeath]

aunt flo

summary: your monthly friend decides to visit you while staying over at steve’s.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: steve rogers x reader 

warnings: periods (so blood as well), awkward situations

a/n: this is definitely inspired by the *ahem* cycle that is currently plaguing me. it also hasn’t been thoroughly edited as this was the first time in a while that i’d written something, and i wanted to share it with you all as soon as possible! i hope you enjoy <3 

Sleeping over at Steve’s apartment was never a bad experience for you. He seemed to always be completely prepared for what the night would entail, whether it be a plethora of snacks, or your favorite scent of lotion.

However, when you woke up in what felt like a pool of your own blood, saying you were alarmed was a bit of an understatement. You mentally cursed at yourself for not realizing ahead of time that your cycle was set to start any time that week, and the fact that you’d bled all over your boyfriends sheets.

You attempted to slip out of Steve’s grasp and out of bed to assess the damage done in both your underwear, and on the bed. Once you were finally standing on the floor and gawking at the red spot in bed, you rubbed your forehead exasperatedly. While it wasn’t as bad as you’d expected, it certainly wasn’t good. The quarter sized blood stain seemed to be glaring back to you, and you decided to glare back at it before heading into the en-suite.

Before plopping yourself down on the toilet, you searched through cupboard upon cupboard for some sort of period product. Behind the mirror: aftershave, Advil, bandaids, a random bar of soap, nothing you could use. Under the sink: Epsom salt, your favorite body wash, an extra bottle of shampoo, but not a tampon in sight. Above the toilet: a few rolls of toilet paper, yet nothing even resembling a pad.

Seeing as Steve seemed pretty prepared for anything related to you, you were more than a bit surprised that he hadn’t considered that you were a menstruating human. You huffed as you sat down on the toilet, then assessed the damage control you’d need to do. First and foremost, you needed something to protect the rest of Steve’s apartment from your uterine lining. After you figured that out, you desperately needed to get that stain out of your boyfriend's sheets before he’d notice.

Maybe you could order some pads from a grocery store to his apartment. That seemed like a safe bet, but Steve would probably become concerned if he realized you’d been in the bathroom for 45 minutes. Perhaps you could just leave without a word to Steve. But that raises the issue of a random blood stain, and possibly, an upset Steve.

“Think, Y/N, think,” you muttered to yourself. You attempted to brainstorm more options for yourself, but ultimately ended up dozing off, and waking up to the soft rapping against the bathroom door, along with the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Sweetheart, everything okay in there? You’ve been in there for a while, and I saw some blood on the bed. Did you hurt yourself?”

You mentally cursed at yourself, at least now you’d only have to worry about obtaining a pad, and not addressing the mess on the bed.

“Oh yeah, I’m completely fine. Actually, I should probably head home,” you attempted to sound convincing, but didn’t exactly hit the mark.

“Are you sure? I thought we were gonna get brunch together this morning.”

You could’ve sworn you heard the frown in Steve’s voice. “Oh, uh, I’m not super hungry right now.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But about that blood, what happened? Are you alright?” He questioned.

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“Did the headboard scratch you? Did I sleep fight you or something? Did you hit your leg on the nightstand again?”

“Jesus Steve,” you scoffed a bit at the overload of questions. “I just started my period. And you have nothing I can use here, so I need to go home. That’s why there’s blood in your bed, and that’s why I’ve been in here all morning.”

“Doll, you should’ve told me! I’ll go get you something, okay?” He opened the door just a crack, and blew you a kiss. “Just stay right where you are. I’ll be back quicker than you can say period. There’s medicine behind the mirror, and I can grab you my heating pad before I go. Maybe taking a shower would help t-“

“Steve,” you giggled. “That’s plenty. Now go get my shit so I can stop bleeding all over the place.”

“Got it. I love you,” he smiled warmly at you before closing the door softly, and heading out.

—

Steve basically sprinted to his nearest convenience store, getting lost in the feminine hygiene section, then finding himself completely at loss with what he was supposed to buy. There were just too many options. He considered calling you to ask what you need, but he didn’t want to bother you more than necessary. Plus, you could be standing in the shower right now, and what if you heard your phone ringing, tried to get out of the shower to answer, and slipped? The thought of you hurting yourself made Steve shudder.

He ended up settling on three different varieties of pads and tampons. If you didn’t need them, he could always donate them to a local shelter. He then stopped by the candy aisle to grab you some dark chocolates (he’d heard in passing that it was good for menstruating women), along with a package of panties that looked like they could be your size, before hopping in line at a register.

In the midst of Steve’s menstruation mania, he failed to notice a random customer snapping a photo of him with the over abundance of women’s hygiene products. He was much more busy with checking out and getting back to you as fast as humanly possible.

——

Once Steve made it back to his apartment, he found you still in the bathroom, surrounded by a light mist of fog from the shower, and clad in an oversized sweatshirt with a faded SHIELD logo.

“I didn’t know what to get you, so I got you everything,” Steve blushed at his own unpreparedness, then passed you the bags of period products. “I’m gonna go change the sheets. When you’re ready, just meet me in bed, okay?” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving the bathroom, letting you handle your business.

——

A breakfast-in-bed and movie marathon later, you were still cuddled up in Steve’s bed, his massive body giving you an extra level of warmth that was soothing your cramps like nothing you’d ever witnessed before. You were probably more comfortable than you’d ever been. Except for the incessant vibrating of your phone on the bedside table.

You’d finally reached out for it, and were pretty shocked to see all of the messages you’d received. You opened the first message from one of your closest friends, and your eyebrows raised as you read it.

LMAO read this right now bitch

enews.com/caps-pad-problem

Curiosity got the best of you, so you opened up the article.

#Padgate?

If you've been anywhere on the internet in the last few  hours, you’ve certainly seen the word “padgate” trending. The reason why is more interesting than you’d think.

Early this morning, Captain America, America’s sweetheart was spotted buying out the entirety of the feminine hygiene section of his local convenience store.

From this, a huge question rises. Is he donating? There’s certainly enough pads and tampons to keep an army of women satisfied for a year. Is he seeing someone? She must be some lucky gal.  Either way, when we thought this man couldn’t get any more lovable- he did!

You blushed while reading the article, not exactly sure how to feel. After letting it simmer in your brain for a second, you began to giggle, deciding that more than anything, it was pretty damn funny. You texted a quick message back to your friend who’d sent the article, then finally began to speak to Steve, who was giving you a bit of a confused look at your giggling.

“Steve, you goof. Someone took a picture of you buying all of that period stuff, and now the internet has gone wild.”

“What? Let me see,” he reached for your phone, and you gladly passed it to him. He skimmed over the article, then furrowed his brows. “Tony and the PR department are never going to let me live this down,” he groaned.

“Don’t be so dramatic, maybe something good will come out of this!” You chided, giving him a mischievous grin.

——

As it turns out, the word good is subjective.

It’d been about a month post-padgate, and you’d been strolling through the store with Steve, working on getting your groceries for the week.

As you entered the wellness aisle, you looked at the shelves containing menstrual products, knowing that you needed to restock sooner than later.

When you first saw what you saw, you had to do a complete double take. Your eyes must’ve been deceiving you.

A Tampax box stared back at you, a logo with a shield containing a star clearly defined on the box, along with the text ‘Captain America approved!’

“No way,” you actually laughed out loud at the sight. “Steve!” you grabbed onto his sleeve, and pulled him in the direction of the box so he could see what you were seeing.

“No way!” He reprised. “Oh my God. I’m really never gonna live this down, am I?”

[valwentinefics]

Altruism Ch.1 (Zemo x Reader x Bucky)

A/N: Here it is ya’ll, my thank you for 100 followers series! I know 100 isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things but I’m just a random girl who’s super insecure about her writing, so having 100 people who like it is really exciting for me! Thank you! 

This chapter is just setting things up, don’t worry there’ll be more romantic things in the next chapter onward.

Masterlist

Warnings: spoilers for tfatws ep 3

Y/n walked into the mechanics garage with soft careful steps, not sure if she had gotten the right address. She glanced down at her phone, double checking. Yep, this was the right place. The garage smelled of gas, the scent almost making her dizzy as she approached the bickering voices that bounced off the concrete walls. It took a few moments to recognize them, but once she did the tension slipped out of her body and she closed the pocket knife she had been wielding. She walked around a car and to the two men, who didn’t acknowledge her presence if they noticed it. 

“I don’t like how casual you’re being about this, this is unnatural.” Sam looked around, exasperated. “And where are we man, what does Y/n have to do with this?” He questioned, giving Y/n a small nod hello that she returned with a friendly wave.

Before Bucky had time to speak, the click of a door opening rang throughout the garage, turning everyone’s attention to the shrinking shadow of a man approaching, only to be revealed as Zemo once he pushed past the clear plastic divider. Sam looked shocked, moving forward swiftly to confront the man.

“Woah...woah, woah, woah! Hey! What are you doing here?” Asked Sam, held back by Bucky. 

“Did he not tell you the plan?” Asked Y/n. “Bucky you need to tell people your plans, it's rude to not.” Y/n scolded, feeling bad for Sam having to be shoved into this. She side eyed Zemo as he approached, side stepping closer to the arguing men to get away from him.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let this happen!” Bucky explained as if that was a good reason to hide something so big.

Y/n watched as Sam and Bucky bickered about Zemo, wishing she had the guts to say no to people. She was a pushover, and saying no to a friend just felt rude, especially a friend like Bucky who was for the most part alone. It was perhaps her fatal flaw, her inability to say no to someone in need. It made her a great nurse and an even better friend, but a not so happy person. Sometimes she wished she could just yell no to the next person who asked something of her, but the fear of saying to outweighed her need to have alone time to rest and feel better.

“If I may…” Zemo began to say something, taking off the prison guard hat. Y/n had to admit, objectively and not out of her own opinion, he looked good in the uniform.

“No!” Shouted both Sam and Bucky simultaneously, fed up with him already. Y/n could see why they needed her around now, they would lose their patience with him quickly.  

“...Apologies…” Zemo said, looking down. Y/n almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia accords you two backed him. You broke the law and you stuck your neck out, for me. I’m asking you to do it again.” Bucky said to both Y/n and Sam.

“And I will Bucky, don’t worry we’re friends, I have your back!” Y/n smiled at him, wanting to turn around and leave. She really didn’t want to do this, but they were friends after all and that meant sticking her neck out for him.

“I really think I’m invaluable-” Zemo began, clearly not learning his lesson from the last time he spoke.

“Shut up!” Sam sighed, tired of Zemo already. “Okay if we’re going to do this, you don’t make a move without our permission.”

“Fair.” He replied

Sam looked at him, he also seemed like he didn't really want to do this “Okay Zemo… Where do we start?” 

Zemo smirked a bit before leading them through the plastic divider and to a room filled with many old and expensive cars. Y/n was too focused examining them to listen to what the others were saying, figuring she would just figure it out eventually. She walked around an old red car, admiring how shiny it was despite how long it must have been since it was driven. She was too focused on admiring it to notice Bucky's approach.

“Thanks, for saying yes. It means a lot.” Thanked the stoic man who put his hand on the side of the car, only to pull it away when Y/n gave him a pointed glare because he would smudge it. 

“Anything for you Bucky, you know that.” Y/n smiled at the super soldier. “But are you sure about this? About Zemo? He could turn on us at any minute.”

Bucky nodded. “I’m sure. We need him Y/n, he’s our best chance at taking down the Flag Smashers.”

Y/n sighed. To be honest she sympathised with the Flag Smashers, having just become accustomed to a new normal, only to be kicked out of their new homes and tossed onto the streets, but she didn’t voice her opinion to Bucky, she knew he’d disagree

“Whatever you say Bucky…” Y/n sighed, looking down until Bucky’s hand touched her shoulder. He was about to say something when Zemo’s voice interrupted and his hand jerked away.

“We’re going to need to scale a ladder of lowlives, first a mid level fence named Selbie that I still have a line on, from there we climb.” Zemo stated, holding a jacket and a light brown leather bag in his hands. He glanced back to the three people behind him, Y/n throwing Bucky a nervous smile before rushing to follow Zemo.

-

“So all this time you’ve been rich?” Sam asked as the four approached Zemo’s private jet. Y/n was shocked. From how he dressed last time she saw him, Y/n had assumed he was just a normal middle class man.

“I’m a baron Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country.”

Y/n felt shame deep in her body as Zemo greeted his pilot and they boarded the plane. She didn’t know much about Zemo. She didn’t know his motives for doing what he did to her friends, but she did know that as a result of her friends actions his country was destroyed and she felt terrible. She sometimes at night still felt the pain of the wounds of the sokovian citizens burning into her skin as she took them from them. 

That was her power, to take the wounds from others and give them to herself with only slightly accelerated healing to compensate. Y/n became nothing but a glorified nurse to the Avengers, only receiving words of thanks for her efforts and nothing more, other than Bucky and Steve of course, they were above and beyond making sure she was okay, especially Bucky. She had long accepted that the other Avengers were too busy to truly make sure she was okay like those two had done, but it and the pain she could still feel from the Sokovian incident were both factors in why she retired after the Avengers own civil war.

She looked up from her lap, finding herself in the seat across from Zemo, who was watching her with his head slightly tilted. She must have been lost in her thoughts for a while as per usual, seeing Sam doze off and Bucky with headphones in looking out the window. Y/n crossed and uncrossed her legs, looking around the plane with nothing to do. She was too nervous to bite the bullet and start a conversation with Zemo. Luckily for her, he spoke up. 

“We’re going to Madripoor.” Zemo stated, his voice causing Y/n to look him in his eyes. “You seemed a little out of it while I was explaining it, I assumed you would like to know.” 

Y/n was hesitant to reply, not knowing if she should be having a conversation with him. “Thank you.”

Zemo took a sip of what Y/n assumed was champagne judging from the glass. “If you don’t mind my asking, what were you thinking of?”

Y/n didn’t see a reason not to tell him, letting out a small sigh. “I was thinking of Sokovia…” Zemo’s head tilt looked as if it was encouraging her to go on. His eyes had a strange way of making it seem as if she was the only person in the world when she spoke. “My power… I used it a lot back then… I tried to do the best I could to help the civilians.”

For a few moments  Zemo looked as if he was looking through Y/n and back at that day before replying, snapping out of whatever mindset he was in for those moments. “Your power. Is an interesting one, but I’ve always wondered… You do so much for other people. What do they do for you?”

-

Tag list: Let me know if you would like to be added

[anika-ann]

Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, songfic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 4700

Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.

Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.

Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.

Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language

A/N: P!nk’s Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - it’s soooo beautiful.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.

It wasn’t that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just… the timing wasn’t ideal.

Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you – and initially without your knowledge – she had an image to live up to.

You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.

You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.

Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.

You weren’t even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.

You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.

You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.

“Party of one?” a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.

 There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good

 “Felt like crashing it?” you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.

Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.

“Well, I didn’t get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.”

You sighed tiredly despite Steve’s kind teasing. Tonight was just… so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.

Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell – nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-… – or call it a night.

Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you weren’t certain that was a good idea.

It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.

You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to… to be compassionate.

Dammit, Steve.

“Must have got lost in the mail then,” you said eventually, offering a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. “Doesn’t look like much fun and I think it’s about to end anyway.”

“I guess…”

 Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?

 This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didn’t have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.

Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.

Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.

Right?

Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more – they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.

Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.

And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.

“No, it’s fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.

“…and?”

“And I’d feel better if you weren’t walking the streets alone,” he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.

Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.

“Steve, I’m a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-“

“But you don’t have to. And-” He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.

Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natasha’s enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.

Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.

It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.

“I’m not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,” you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. “And two beers.”

“I know,” he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.

God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.

Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.

Huh? He… knew?

“I… might have kept an eye on you,” he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.

“Why?”

Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you don’t count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.

Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?

No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but… why?

 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

 The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I mean, I know that you probably wouldn’t-“ he started, only to grimace. “It’s not that I think you’re an alcoholic! It’s just that... you--- and it’s only been-…“

-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.

One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.

“-I was worried. But you didn’t look like you were interested in having company, I didn’t want to be a bother and-“

You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because… you weren’t looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didn’t help to lift his spirits.

“-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,” you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didn’t appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. “That’s understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and I’m the one being antisocial.”

You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steve’s forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you… honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.

“You… you shouldn’t have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.”

Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.

“That’s what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?”

You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was – you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.

A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.

“Yes, Steve. You can walk me home. It’s conveniently located on the way to yours.”

He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. “Happy coincidences…”

 There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm

 Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.

Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.

Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.

On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steve’s imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steve’s point that you shouldn’t walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.

“I would have been fine, you know,” you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.

It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didn’t mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.

It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added “But thanks.” –  a whisper full of honesty.

“Uh-huh.”

Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasn’t the only cause of it.

Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.

“…are you? Okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.

“Just… today-” you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that ‘today’ was a confusing term. “Or, more like, yesterday…”

A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.

Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.

“What about it-?“

You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?

You were aware what the day meant for him – another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.

Though this particular loss – of his mother – haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.

“Nothing, I guess,” you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. “…Mr. Nothing Can Touch Me.”

The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.

“I… I’m okay. I think. I… should be. It’s been so long. Decades,” he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didn’t know him, hadn’t witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.

You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didn’t retrieve from your touch instantly.

“Not for you,” you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.

The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.

Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and… harmonizing once more.

“How did you know?”

“That’s what friends are for, Steve,” you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. “They remember important dates, good or bad.”

“No one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one… you…” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought – or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.

Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.

And you were alright with that. More than alright.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didn’t have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.

You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.

“She didn’t make it,” you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didn’t react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it.  “Kayla, one of the kids… from last week’s mission. I found out yesterday… she-she didn’t make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.

“Yeah, so am I.”

Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Wasn’t it? If I was faster, if I-“

Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.

You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself.” Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. “You did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.”

You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.

“Sometimes I think he might have been right, you know?”

Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking – it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You weren’t too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.

“… Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That I’m just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, I’m not even close to being as good-“

Steve’s feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop – as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.

“I feel like taking a detour now,” he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.

“Huh?”

“Where does Jim live?” Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldn’t help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. “He has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-”

“Steve, he wasn’t wrong, I’m just-“ you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.

“We all make mistakes. But that’s beside the point, because you didn’t even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-“ he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.

Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.

“-I haven’t met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then I’m glad that that asshole is gone from your life. … though I would still appreciate his address.”

Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steve’s strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.

You deeply appreciated Steve’s display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldn’t stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.

Tonight, you… you needed serenity and comfort.

“…thank you. That… that means a lot. But… maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?” you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.

Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steve’s eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.

So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.

“Always.”

You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.

 Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on

 You reached the Tower hand in hand.

Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to each’s private quarters.

You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.

Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.

“For the record, you do a great deal of good,” he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. “You’re amazing and you’re the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.”

That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.

“You admire me? Steve, that’s really nice of you to say, but don’t be ridi-“

Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.

“And you’re a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,” he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. “If he didn’t praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.”

You gulped, a silly association with the word ‘praise’ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.

“I’m not a dog to be praised, Steve…”

One corner of his lips – and when did they got so close anyway? – twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.”

You only nodded at the ridiculous statement – why was he thanking you? – too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?

His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.

Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.

“Steve!”

Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.

“Uh… are you ready to go to bed or… or maybe… would you like to watch a movie or something?” With me?

I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.

Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.

“I think I’d like that,” he called out lowly. “Ten minutes? I’ll get the blankets. You pick the movie.”

“See you in ten then.”

You pretended that your heart didn’t flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.

 Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside

*✧･ Bonus *✧･

If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steve’s arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didn’t mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.

He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.

He’d rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.

Probably.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

S.R. masterlist

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word ‘griefcase’ as an alternative to emotional baggage.

Also, I’m pretty sure songfics aren’t supposed to be so long... oops?

Thank you for reading!