#that’s my opinion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chirpsythismorning · 2 years

Text

I just wanna talk about this quick and then I’ll shut up forever.

I HATE byler kiss manips (not talking about fan-art, I’m talking about photoshopped byler edits using milkvan scenes). I hate them with a burning passion. The only exception to this would be when bylers use them as a response to homophobic anon asks... now that’s funny. But that’s it 🤣

Like I get it. It’s mostly all a big joke, but it’s just cringy to me..? And weird?? Why can’t we wait for the real thing???

AND YET! AND YET!… Even though I’m kind of contradicting myself by making this post in the first place, I honestly don’t see much value in confronting fans who do this or staging a whole call out about how it makes me personally feel uncomfortable for reasons x y z.

Because that’s just me. I’m sure there are some fans who agree with me and I’m sure there are plenty who don’t. But still, I don’t see the point in policing anyone that disagrees with me on this, to make them feel bad for engaging in fandom differently than me, to make a big spectacle about how it upsets me, bc the reality is, nuance exists!!!

While there are some people out there with horrible, even offensive or concerning takes, not every single disagreement of opinion needs to be put on blast as if that person is bad for whatever point they’re trying to make. Because now suddenly everyone is giving their two cents, clogging the tag to the point where no one can escape it. Now we’re all uncomfortable. Who is that helping?? No one!

So if you’re like me and there’s certain things that make you uncomfortable, no matter how small or even major, BLOCK.

Maybe you are just like me and you give someone a few chances, only to finally block them after one too many posts that are just 😬

Or maybe you block right away the moment you see something you didn’t want to and don’t want to risk seeing again.

I just hate this tendency fandoms (it’s all fandoms, not just st or byler) have to attribute one or even a couple hundreds of fans opinions, to the entire fandom… and then project that onto the rest of us like “IF YOU THINK THIS! YOU ARE BAD!” Like be real, there are hundreds of thousands of us, exponentially chances are there are gonna be a great deal of people you won’t agree with. That doesn’t mean we have to ruin this space for everyone.

I really don’t want to do this again, bc like I said, im basically contributing to the very thing I hate. I hate that I feel this need to voice my feelings on something everyone is already talking about, and now i’m also taking away from the aspects of fandom that can be fun and welcoming and worthwhile.

It’s just unfortunate how all fandoms put themselves in this situation. We allow one or a few to control the vibe of the tag and suddenly you can’t find theories or headcanons or just fun banter between fans. All you see is virtue signaling and people trying to find someone to blame. And then we wonder why fandoms fizzle out with resentment. Because we ruin it for ourselves. We turn on each other for the sake of being right. And it just sucks.

At the end of the day, everyone has the right to say how they feel. By all means, that is your choice and you can do whatever feels right to you. But just know that not everyone is going to agree. And that’s not always a bad thing. And even if and when it is, we don’t have to make it EVERYONES business.

#byler #honestly this could apply to literally any fandom drama #recently with the whole hose joke…#or the hc that Mike has an Ed #fans discussing these concepts aren’t inherently bad or wrong #that’s my opinion #you can feel differently and voice it and that’s your choice #but let’s not turn it into a war of you must think/feel this way bc that’s how I feel #some of us are more sensitive #some of us are more confrontational #if we were all the same there wouldn’t be much to talk about #there are pros and cons that come with fandom #it comes with a territory #if you see something disturbing and want to call it out! go right ahead!!#but also.#BLOCK #and let’s move on.#let’s not make it everyone in the tags problem to contend with #or else this isn’t going to be a space anyone will want to be apart of if we have to all agree about everything #sometimes you disagree with mutuals takes but that doesn’t mean you need to put them on blast #i disagree with ppl I love sometimes #we exist #i love u all #might delete l8r #but still I just had to get this off my chest even tho i contradicted myself by posting it in the first place 😭#the byler tag is already over it too so pls ignore this post and let’s all move on 😅

200 notes · View notes

marvelcriminalhoe · 2 years

Text

The Dancing Statue

Steve Rogers x Female Reader

This is for @supraveng 500 Followers Challenge!! Congratulations bb!!

Rules - There are no rules!

Challenge - Pick a title from the list below and write it about your favorite character or real person!

My Prompt Choice - The Dancing Statue with Steve Rogers

I’ve had this ready for a whole month and forgot to post it because it was in my drafts! Ah! Anyway here it is hope you enjoy :) this was REALLY fun to write and I had a different idea for it in the beginning but i just went with it lol :))

Warnings: just fluff

You loved museums. Any museum really.

It started when you were a kid, your father would take you to the museum every weekend since it was only $3 for him to get in and kids were free. It didn’t matter that you could only go to the museum because money was tight, it was always a blast and your dad would make it fun every time.

It’s started being where you would want to go for all of your birthdays or when you would have a hard day at school. Museums became your solace. Your safe place.

So it only made since that you would find it even more comforting at night, when you were the only one there.

That started when you were in college. You got into Juilliard on a complete scholarship for ballet. They only give one full ride per year for ballet and the pressure you felt having to keep up, stay on top, was monumental. You knew you would never be able to attend without it, which just added to the pressure.

You had made friends with the night security guard at the Museum of Natural History one night when he caught you crying on the steps after a hard rehearsal. You didn’t even remember going to the museum, it was like your mind knew it needed somewhere to relax. To recharge.

And that’s exactly what you did with Barry. He let you walk around with him as you unloaded how stressful your first few months in New York had been. He let you complain about the workload and how overwhelmed you felt being so far from everything you had known for the first time in your life. He let you talk about how much you missed your dad, how you knew you wouldn’t get to see him for awhile since there wasn’t enough money for him to visit or for you to go home during breaks.

Barry said you reminded him of his own daughter, and he let you come back after that night. He even told the other guards to let you in if he wasn’t on patrol. Sometimes he would walk around and chat with you and other nights he would let you go on your own.

You’re not entirely sure when you started using the hallways to practice, but it was a few weeks later. You would dance in front of the paintings or statues or artifacts. Practice until you got it right. But unlike the stage or studio, you didn’t feel that overwhelming stress, all you felt was peace.

You’re positive it’s what got you through college.

When you got the call confirming your spot in the Washington Ballet, Barry and his wife were the second people you called, your dad being the first. They were all ecstatic for you and Barry put in a call that night with a friend that did security in DC.

That’s how you got here, dancing barefoot along the stone floors of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, a mixture of the soft patter of your feet and the velvet like melody of the music playing through the speaker of your phone, where it lays against the wall, fills the empty air around you.

You had maybe been here an hour or so, not nearly as long as usual, but for some reason the dance felt off. You felt like your steps and the music didn’t align. Your feet were dancing alone while it seemed the music was almost calling out for a partner, longing for one of the statues around you to come alive and sweep you off your feet.

Of course, dancing in front of the Captain America exhibit, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself about that idea.

Who wouldn’t want one of these hero’s on the wall to sweep them off their feet?

Not that you’re someone that goes for the muscled up hunk types, you’ve always liked the art nerds more, but everyone can appreciate a man in uniform once in awhile.

Shaking your head you try to refocus on the beat as it starts over again, taking a refreshing breath before going into your count. You get halfway through this time before you step out and have to stop.

Your just about to step back in when you hear clapping behind you, making you swivel around with wide eyes.

“Uh, sorry— I just— that was really good. Felt like I should clap or something.” The real life statue of a man says when he meets your panicked gaze.

You were expecting one of the guards to have been making their rounds over here or something, not for the picture on the wall to actually come to life.

Are you hallucinating? Have you been dancing longer than you thought?

Maybe you accidentally fell and hit your head and now you’re in some sort of weird hypnotic dream.

Instead of saying something normal like, Thank you kind stranger that’s not really a stranger because I used to see you on the news all the time except for those few years your face was scattered on wanted posters, you went with the option that made you internally wince,

“Museums closed.”

Smooth, really, because obviously he knows the museums closed. He is fully aware there shouldn’t be anyone else here and yet, here you are, practicing your piece in front of his monument.

Truthfully, he should be the one to tell you the museums closed. Perhaps he’s taken up night guarding after he retired from avenging and he’s here to kick you out.

Though, the other guards never mentioned anything. And surely he wouldn’t have clapped if he was just going to throw you out on your ass.

“I-I know.” He stumbles over his words, as if he’s the one that should be nervous in this situation, “Sorry, I just heard the music and… You’re really good.” “Thanks.” You mumble, and now its your turn to be bashful. Of course, you've heard compliments bout your dancing all your life, but theres something so, genuine, about the blonde comment that you can’t help but be flustered about it.

He takes a tentative step towards you, reaching his hand out as his next step is more confident, “Steve Rogers.”

And you want to laugh at that, because you both are aware you already know his name, or you should, considering you’re dancing in front of his monument. You take his hand, introducing yourself with only a slight waver to your voice due to the shock you feel radiate up your arm at the contact. It takes all of your control not to become even more embarrassed, but when you look up to his bewildered face, you theorize that perhaps you weren't the only one that felt it.

Regardless, you drop his hand and find your focus looking anywhere but him. The silence that now radiates is palpable and awkward, only broken when Steve clears his throat, “Do you only dance in dark museum hallways?”

His words have the desire effect, minimizing the tensioned air that had settled around you both and brings a laugh from your lips, “Uh, no, no— just when I need to clear my head.” “Guess we have that in common.”

You look up at him at that, your turn to joke with a raised brow, “You dance in museum hallways when you need to clear your head?” And the laugh that now leaves his lips runs through you like fresh air, comforting a piece of you, you didn't even know needed comforting, “Never tried that, no. I usually stick to just walking around them. Are you a dancer?”

“I dance for the Washington Ballet.”

Steve sends you a friendly smile, his hands tucking themselves into his jean pockets, “I uh, I’ll let you continue practicing then. I’m sure you have a big show or, something, that you’re getting ready for.” His smile is shy as he backs away, “It was really nice to meet you.”

And you almost want to stop him, this is his area of the museum, technically, but before you can, he’s gone, and with how your brain is working tonight, you’re not entirely sure he was there to begin with.

Am I going crazy?

Shaking your head, you reset the music and practice for a few more hours before your feet finally have had enough, and you retire home. By the next morning, you’ve forgotten all about the encounter the night before. Another week of practice and a few more nights at the museum, without anymore special appearances from real life statues, and your show goes off without a hitch, another one soon taking it’s place.

That’s how you find yourself in the same place a month later, practicing your steps in front of the Captain America Monument. Usually, you didn't care where you practiced, choosing a new place in the museum every time. But since that night, the one where you weren't sure if you were hallucinating or not, your body has either consciously or unconsciously bringing you back to this spot to dance. You try not to read too much into that, just like you try not to read into the ghost of his hand in yours, the way your arm still feels the rush of the shock, almost as if it’s holding onto the warmth it received.

You practiced for hours, at least, but much like that night, the song feels off. Your steps feel off. Everything feels off. And it makes you want to scream out in frustration. Instead of doing that though, you look up at the picture of the blonde adonis of a man you can’t seem to shake out of your head, blaming him for how thrown off you seem to be, and mumbling a, “Stupid Captain America.”

“Wow, what’d I ever do to you, doll?” Comes from behind you, and the deja vu you get turning around with wide eyes and a racing heart is comical, the only difference being this time Steve is leaning up against the concrete slab with a smirk on his face.

“Oh my god.”

Thankfully, Steve doesn't seem upset at your earlier comment, nor does he acknowledge your shock. Instead, he pushes off the wall, hands in his pockets as he walks towards you. His smirk turning more into a reserved smile, “I saw your show.” The shock on your face stays the same, along with your pounding heart, “What? You did?” “It was really good.” He nods, standing in front of you now. You stare at him, surprise still on your face, reeling at the news he actually watched your show, but with some confusion too, he doesn't seem like the type of man to go see a show, “Why were you at a ballet show?” The small blush that settles itself on his neck and cheeks is so endearing it almost makes you want to melt at the sight, “I uh— I sorta, looked your name up after we met.” And you do melt at that, especially when he rubs the back of his neck and looks anywhere but right at your eyes, “I just thought— you’re dancing was so beautiful that night— I wanted to see the whole thing.”

And now it’s your turn to be flustered, again, because it seems to be the only emotion he brings out of you, mostly by his words and the way he peaks at you through his lashes. The blue of his eyes is mesmerizing, like looking at the stars in the night sky, something the pictures of him don't bring to justice, and you find yourself wanting to stare at them longer.

“That’s,” You shake your head, a small smile gracing your features, “Thank you. That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah.” A small smile of his own on his face as he nods. He looks over to where your phone lays, still playing the music, “Are you practicing something new?” “Yeah.” You nod, explaining the new show that will be happening in a few weeks, “Its— I’m just struggling a bit with the steps.” “Need any help?” Steve questions, and at the questioning tilt of your head, he explains himself, “Just, I could uh, tell you what I think. If you want. I don;t know a whole lot about dance, but, I’m sure a second option could help.” “Sure.” You grin, the acceptance coming out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, not that you would. Having the retired soldiers undivided attention on you sends a sort of rush through your body and brings a whole new set of butterflies you haven't had since the first time you danced on stage. Stage fright is not something you’ve experienced since you were little, and you find you try and hype yourself up in your mind as you restart the music. But at the reassuring smile Steve sends you as he sits on the bench in front of his statue, takes all of your worry away. He’s already seen me dance, what do I have to be worried about?

This started a new tradition. You and Steve would meet up 3 nights a week. You, practicing through your steps, Steve, telling you his honest opinions. They were mostly praise, but after the 5th time of you reprimanding him, telling him you need the constructive criticism too, if you are to be at your best, and promising you wont take it as anything but him helping you, he started handing it out as well. Though, still far less than his compliments.

4 months later, this weird dynamic you and the former avenger have built becomes the thing you look forward to the most. Steve does to, he told you that, rather self consciously, one night. You both had shared stories in-between breaks which turned into confiding in one another. It became part of the routine to talk about anything and everything after that. There were even some nights you never even got around to dancing, too busy walking around and the dark museum and talking.

Like tonight, “I never ran so fast in my laugh.” Steve’s laugh echoes down the quiet corridor as you both walk side by side, “My ma was so mad at us. Bucky was banned from coming over for a whole 2 days.” You shake your head at the story, imagining young Steve and Bucky terrorizing his poor mom with the ‘’pet frogs’’ they decided to catch and bring into the house, “Did you have to bring so many in?” Steve’s grin as he looks down at you is infectious, “We couldn’t catch one and leave the rest! They were family.” “Still,” You laugh, “13 frogs in your house?! You’re luck Bucky was only banned for 2 days. If it was me, he’d be banned for life.”

“Nah, my ma loved him too much for that.” Steve rejects that idea with a wave of his hand. You both flow into comfortable silence after that, only your steps making noise as you walk around.

Steve looks down at you again after a few minutes, “You don’t need to practice tonight?” With a shake of your head you reply, “The next show is a duet. Hard to practice without my partner here.” He nods a few times, mind no doubt thinking about something, silence resuming as your walk seems to take you back to where you both first met. A question that has been burning on the back of your tongue for months now comes to the surface. You usually try and stay away from the topic of his heroism unless he brings it up himself, never wanting to over step, but you can’t stop yourself tonight, “Why were you here? That night we met?” If he’s shocked by your question, his face doesn't show it. His gaze observing the memorial in front of him. His memorial. “Sometimes, I like to come here and just… Sit. I guess. Reminisce on everything.” He shrugs a shoulder, his eyes going over the pictures of his old unit.

You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, how isolated he must have felt waking up from the ice alone, all his friends gone, is chilling. No pun intended.

Granted, that was years ago, and he did get one of those friends back a couple years ago, and then went on the run, and then got pardoned when he saved the world, again, but those haunted times must still bother him some nights. You imagine someone doesn’t really move on fully from something like that.

He finally tears his gaze away, looking down at you. He reaches up with his other hand and places it over yours, giving it a squeeze. You expect, like the other times you comforted him like this, for him to let go after, both of your arms dropping to your sides. But he doesn’t. Instead, he searches your face for something, slowly dragging your hand down his arm until he switches hands, holding yours firmly now, linking his fingers through yours.

You try to keep your breathing normal, but by the way his thumb runs over your pulse point, you know he can tell how fast your heart is beating.

“I can help you practice.” He whispers and you find yourself watching his lips as he does. “What?”

He steps closer, taking your other hand and placing it on his shoulder, before grabbing your hip, “You said you needed a parter, right?” You find yourself smiling as he slowly starts to lead you in a dance. He doesn't seem to care that there isn't any music and neither do you. You do however raise a brow at him, “This doesn't seem to be ballet.” “I don’t know how to dance ballet.” He shakes his head, his lips pulling up at the corners, his grip on you tightening just a little as he pulls you closer, your noses brushing against each other, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You whisper out, staring into his eyes that hold so much warmth and affection. Affection you know mirrors in your eyes, growing the longer you spend time with him. “Is this okay with you?” And Steve knows you mean it genuinely. He’s told you the story about the promised dance he didn't get to keep. How, even when he was able to go back, to finally have the dance, he knew then he hadn't found his partner, and returned to wait for the right one again. The breath he releases as his eyes close, forehead resting against yours, is one full of relief and peace, “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

And you realizes then, quite startlingly, that your solace, the place that has always been the museum hallways, has shifted to the man now holding you in his arms. But you find it hard to care as his lips gently mold against yours, before pulling back and continuing to lead you in a dance that you’re sure makes all the statues in the museum wish they could come to life and enjoy.

Too bad that sort of magic only happens once in a life time.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers fluff #Steve Rogers x female reader #marvel au #marvel fanfic #steve rogers one shot #steve Rogers is retired #and lives in dc again #instead of New York #cause I want it that way #steve Rogers doesn’t go back in time in this #he stays #because that ending was stupid #that’s my opinion #you don’t have to like it #supravenghit500

129 notes · View notes