#venomous soliloquy

[lightsonparkave]

Celebrate three years of Lights on Park Ave with these Round 36 submissions!

If you missed out on participating, remember that you can always submit something for a round that already ended. You can find out more information about that in the guidelines.

You can see all of the prompts for Round 36 here. In addition to looking at this master list, you can search for works by rounds, creators, work types, ratings, and universes on this page and peruse the Lights on Park Ave AO3 collection.

Round 37 has now begun and will run until September 30. The theme is return, and all the prompts can be found here.

ART

AU

Steve and Tony as cheeky vampires - @venomous-soliloquy​​

FIC

AU

An excerpt from an AU about Tony as a literal homme fatale who keeps people at a distance so they don’t die but is charmed by Steve who is seemingly immune to the curse - @nostalgicatsea​ Tony had forgotten what the last week of August in the city could be like.

[cowboyhorsegirl]

1 and 17 for the ask game~

omg thank you for the ask!! <3

1. things that inspire you

gosh, what doesn't at this point?? i find myself stevetonifying most things in my life nowadays, and even though i know it might be a bit silly, i've also noticed that it's given me a new sense of curiosity about the world around me. like there's a desire to learn more about any number of random things for no reason other than i just think it's neat and i want to be able to contextualize all the stevetony ideas bouncing around in my head

sorry this is sort of a non-answer lol, i will say that music inspires a lot of my story ideas and vibes a ton and i also find myself turning to the comics canon a lot simply bc it's new to me and still very vast and exciting and unknown :)

17. favorite AU to write

i think most of what i write is canon-compliant, so i don't really have a favorite AU per se, but lately i've been having a ton of fun writing 1872 stevetony!

[l4long-winded]

mad carmy with sassy reader that doesn’t take his shit!!! (smut!)

ask and you shall receive (happy valentine's day, love)

o.s. fire in the freezer

summary: it's opening night and you're stuck inside the walk-in with your boss, carmen. can the night get any worse? (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me embarrassingly long. i had a lot to get through these past weeks. i still have a busy schedule with college and life, but i want to do more of these. i have about 3 or 4 prompts i need to get to, but i think i'll be able to manage. also, this might be ooc for some people? idk, it's fiction. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, longwinded descriptions, angry!carmy, angry!reader, takes place during the season 2 finale (pretending claire doesn't exist), implied enemies to lovers, reader's pov, reader is a line cook(?), arguing, surprise kissing, walk-in shenanigans, dirty talk, mention of fridge guy, use of the word "slutty," walk-in p in v, unprotected (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,140

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“What the fuck did you just say?”

It’s alarming how crimson his face appears considering the walk-in’s cold air biting at both your limbs, how you imagine the rising heat of his breath combats the freezer’s chill, puffs relaying the steam building within him. It’s a miracle it doesn’t fume from his ears. Fifteen minutes have passed, fifteen minutes of remaining silent as Carmen mouthed off about the unfairness of the situation, how his cell phone doesn’t have service, how he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on out there when your coworkers have seemingly abandoned the both of you to fend for yourselves. You don’t blame him. You don’t want to be in here any more than he does, but there’s this wretched thing about Carmen that he does when tensions are high and his temper flies off the handle. He gets mean. He becomes hurtful. You’ve worked with him long enough to see it occur, the venomous speech he mutters at a high volume as a tendon in his neck protrudes and the person being yelled at flinches in shock. Though such poison’s never been doused over your head, he’s never directed that anger towards you.

Until now. He inadvertently called you an idiot along with the coworkers busying themselves outside the walk-in. There’s not much they can do about the freezer’s handle breaking, and you both know that, but he’s not calming himself down, nor is he making this easier on you when you’re stuck in the same situation as him. You two are prideful and confident in your actions in the kitchen. Sure, you’ve butted heads a few times and stared each other down from afar, but your relationship’s been tame for the most part.

“I said, ‘Stop acting like a fucking cunt.’” You bark back. So much for being tame. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Everyone has the grace and privilege of being able to ignore him since he’s locked away here with you, but unfortunately, you’re not as lucky. You don’t appreciate being talked down to and you won’t take it from your boss just because he’s irate and the world is crumbling beneath your feet. You want to head out there and contribute to the restaurant as he does, but you’re also not spewing hateful soliloquies to the one person who could possibly understand what you’re going through. That, and it’s fucking cold in here, you’re irritated by the temperature frosting over your skin. It’s opening night and you’re stuck with your least favorite person in the kitchen—your least favorite person possibly in Chicago. The last thing you’re going to do is sulk near the stored ingredients while he shouts and pounds away at the freezer’s door.

This is his fucking fault. How fucking dare he? Why are you paying for his sin?

Just as it did the first time, the second time renders him, miraculously, speechless. It’s not because he doesn’t have anything to reply back, this is evident in how he purses his lips together and clenches his jaw. You notice it flex as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, previously hidden by the collar he’s now unbuttoned. He stares at you with a pointed gaze, eyebrows ever so slightly knitted inwards. Neither of you has to utter a single word to understand how much you can’t fucking stand each other, how Carmen is purposely holding back since you’ve caught his petulant tantrum and condescended him for it. The absence of sound between you two is grim as if he’s waiting for the apology, but fuck him, you’re not apologizing for shit. Instead, you mimic his facial expression like he’s staring into a mirror, crossing your arms against your chest for good measure to illustrate the guard he won’t be breaking through anytime soon.

Carmen steps forward. It’s a singular step. There’s only backwards to go before you end up meeting the shelves, so you remain where you are. His body heat radiates, prominent not because you’re that close, but because the freezer’s becoming more unforgiving the longer you’re both in here.

“Say it again,” he breathes.

You blink rapidly as if he’s a mirage, as if he’ll disappear, and as if he’s grown two other heads. He wants you to say it again? Is this some kind of a test? It has to be. There aren’t many other options, besides how he steps even closer within your vicinity and away from the locked palisade ahead. The temperature rises, and the fucked part about it is that your body’s instinctual need to survive urges you to collide into his frame to share feverish flames instead of standing in the chilled atmosphere on your lonesome. Carmen’s mandibles buckle, a sign of his bottled intentions, of what he really wants to say. You wish he’d just spit it out rather than goad you into the unemployment line.

“Call me a cunt again,” he dares and confirms your previous thoughts. He’s standing so close, proximity lacking to the point where his hot breath ghosts your nose and cheeks. Again, your instincts urge, and again, you will them to shut the fuck up and let me handle this. How convoluted and capricious you are. Arguing with innate impulses on the inside while arguing with your superior on the outside, fastened to him inside an icy cage as your coworkers take advantage of the kitchen’s liberating space without you. Fuck them too, they haven’t told either of you shit in what feels like forever and Carmen’s acting out of character. He’s not supposed to be with you like this. He’s not supposed to be gazing at you like he’s about to blow up. He’s not supposed to be challenging you into an impossible situation. You’ve called him a cunt twice. Twice. Three times symbolize the three strikes before you’re out.

Well, if you’re going out, you’re going down swinging your bat as hard as you can, spins and all, dirt flying and wind ricocheting. He’s thrown his virulence. Now, it’s your turn.

“Cun—nnnmph,” is not what you expected to utter, but before you could punctuate that final phoneme, Carmen’s mouth swallowed it greedily, and transitioned it into an astonished noise muffled by his lips. Your eyes flutter, searching his face for a way to explain why the hell this is happening, but suddenly, Carmen shifts his head, the kiss he’s sprung on you deepening, and an accidental swipe of his tongue shuts your eyes. All in a matter of two conflicted seconds.

“Thought you,” you murmur between his stifling, repeated connections, “wanted me to,” he’s practically shoving his tongue against yours, “call you a–”

He grunts in frustration. Seemingly towards you. His hands grasp your biceps, forcing your eyes onto his as his breathing shallows out. “Believe me, it won’t be the only time you put a cunt in my mouth tonight,” he says sharply. You don’t know why your thighs tremor. You fault the near-hypothermia.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he states the obvious as his attention turns to his palms on your arms, as if he didn’t just plant such a filthy image in your mind’s eye. His thumbs stroke over your goosebumps, examining your skin with careful scrutiny. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you see worry cross his visage for a moment. His hands aren’t any better, but they’re warmer than your flesh, and skin-to-skin makes this situation a little more bearable. You won’t tell him that, but he seems to have an idea of how you’re not flinching away from his touch. In fact… you’re leaning into it.

“Of course I am. It’s the walk-in,” you say sarcastically. “Wouldn’t be here if you had just called Tommy,” you add, but he exhales a heavy breath through his nose. He shrugs off his jacket to his Chef’s Whites, rolling his eyes, muttering something to himself about Tony, Terry, and Tommy, fucking fuck it all.

“Shut the fuck up, put this on, and turn around,” he hands you the jacket. He had the prerogative of wearing sleeves in here, so he’s not as frigid as you are (temperature-wise, anyway).

“It’ll keep you warm while I fuck you,” he promises, hard gaze on your eyes. You gulp, a desire within you to tell him off for being so presumptive of what’s happening here. Yet, that desire is viciously censored in favor of the desire to do as he says, or more so, the idea of being railed to distract you from how cold you are.

You slip his jacket on, pivoting on your heel, biting your tongue as you lean forward and grasp the metal belonging to the shelves ahead. The inside of his sleeves are already snug and cozy on your arms because of how long he wore it. You hate it. The smug bastard’s not supposed to be right.

You gulp as Carmen’s knuckles graze your lower back, lifting his jacket out of his way for a moment to tug at the waistband of your pants. You hear his breathing stutter, his hand skimming down the sensitive flesh of your ass as his eyes trace over the thin fabric of the panties you chose today.

“Is your underwear always this slutty?” He asks, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. To be fair, you didn’t know this would be happening today.

“Find out tomorrow,” you settle for. It seems to be the appropriate response because he groans and kneads at the flesh gathered at your hip as an appreciative gesture. This won’t be the last time this happens. It can’t be.

There’s rustling behind you. You hear the sound of Carmen’s belt before you feel the cold metal prod at the meat of your posterior, sent forward since he’s not fully tugging the leather material from the loops of his pants. It’s just enough for him to get at his zipper, the noise causing your hands to grip the shelves ahead of you even tighter. Carmen’s thumbnail slides along your skin as he tucks his thumb under your panties to position them to the side. The blunt head of him strokes at your entrance, his opposite hand pushing between your shoulder blades to exacerbate the bend at your hips and the pretty dip in your spine.

“You’re really hard for a man who’s surrounded by this much cold,” you mutter smugly. It’s all your doing, revving up his engine through simply challenging him amid his grizzly attack.

However, the smugness dies on your tongue once Carmen pushes in. He didn’t offer you a smartass response, instead offering you the breach of his length, the swollen head of him prying at your soaked walls up until his hips are flush with yours. Your trembling returns and it’s no longer because of the cool air, but because Carmen begins to thrust the second your cunt gives to him. Wrath fades from your mouth, and a moan replaces it, indicating your lust and enjoyment from this, much to your own dismay.

“M’this hard because I was thinking about how fucking warm you’d be around me,” he grunts, leaning over you and jostling you with his strong movements. His pace isn’t brutal, but the pressure of each of his thrusts is. He pulls back and then buries himself as deep as he could go, the sounds of his effort being in the way his hips collide with the flesh of your ass, a smack every time he hits it just right. And fuck, does he hit it just right. The horrible thing is it’ll stroke his massive ego. The great, amazing, toe-curling thing is that it feels like nirvana. The tip of his cock becomes acquainted with a pivotal point within you that has your vision blurred, unable to make out a single label of the cans and containers in front of your face.

“H-how warm is it?” You manage. Somehow. Conversation isn’t your prerogative while you’re bent over and being receptive, gasping for air every time you attempt to shift your hips back into him and he surpasses another inch inside of you. But you’re curious.

“Like a damn furnace,” he answers quickly, increasing his pace just as fast as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Tighter than I imagined,” he confesses, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. Your feet shuffle apart, legs spreading further for him as you pant and do your best not to whine. You can’t give him that satisfaction.

But it’s no use. His name shoots off your tongue like a prayer, a Freudian slip, his middle finger stroking along your clit in time with his bruising plunges.

“Wet, so, so fucking wet,” he continues, “drenching me and setting me on fire at the same fucking time.”

Fuck, you hope they never open that door.

[konigenblobbity]

your angst is so UGHHHHH AMAZING. im literally reading every single thing on your masterlist. i need more hobie hurt/comfort or miguel or anyone actually idc who it is i just love your writingggg. maybe like they’ve had a bad day and reader tries to help but instead they get annoyed and say sum ab then being annoying n never shutting up and reader gets quiet after and stuff. although i’ll literally read anything you put out thank you!!!

Request: Out of Line [Hobie]

Hobie x GN!Reader

—> [Miguel’s Version]

Warnings: Angst, yelling, insults, sad reader, comforting, crying, cursing

A/n: Such kind praise anon literally tysm. I love writing angst, it’s just fun to make characters suffer :) but yes! This idea is so good. I also made one for Miguel. enjoy meine Lieben!

You were sat next to Hobie on the couch, an arm wrapped around his shoulder while the other sat on his thigh. Your gaze sympathetic and kind as you looked at your boyfriend, body slumped over from exhaustion and disappointment. His elbows were resting on his knees, head resting on his hands as he was lost in his thoughts, still frustrated from todays mission.

Once he entered and slammed the door, you know the mission went wrong. He had been unexpectedly pulled away that afternoon when Miguel said it was an emergency. Hobie left with a smile and kiss goodbye… only to return with a grimace and a set of gritted teeth.

The only thing he told you was that he was responsible for losing sight of the anomaly and Miguel gave him an earful for it.

So there you were, comforting and reassuring your boyfriend with your words, throwing praises onto him like a crazed fan girl. “You are absolutely phenomenal Hobie. Don’t ever question that. No matter how much Miguel scolds you or criticizes you, you are an amazing part of the team that Miguel is lucky to have” you wouldn’t stop.

In your mind you saw that as a good thing… that Hobie would appreciate how you showered him with affection, but truly it was getting on his nerves. Wishing he could’ve just come home and forgotten all about Miguel and the mission, but no… now he had to hear about it at home too.

“You’re an amazing spider-man, one of the best that spider society has! Remember when you took care of that prowler anomaly single handedly? Or that green goblin anomaly from last week? Miguel didn’t seem to thank you for that if I remember! Now he suddenly decides to get up in your business?!” With each word you were giving him a soft caress on his shoulder or gently shaking his thigh.

His shoulder tensed under your hand, you thought it was because of an injury but if you only knew what really had him so irritated. His eyes were clenching shut, trying to fight the part of him that calls your voice annoying and yells at him to tell you to shut up… because he knows you’re trying, and usually he loves it! Oftentimes the only thing that helps is when your voice rambles on and envelops him like a warm embrace.

“Im gonna say it! Miguel should just keep his mouth shut I think! He-“ you were ready to say another whole soliloquy before Hobie’s voice cut through your own “No you should! I swear all you do is ramble and it drives me up the fucking wall. So just shut it!” His tone was laced with venom, every word a jab to your heart.

His head was turned to look at you with unforgiving eyes, burning with an unbridled rage that you knew wasn’t aimed at you… but it still felt personal. He lets out a light chuckle and when he smiles maliciously it, had your skin crawling. “After todays mission I want some peace and quiet. The sound of your voice is doing my head in. So do me a favor and take your own advice.”

You slowly pull away your hands, noticing how his body relaxes slightly when you do, which only made you more upset. “O-oh… okay” your voice was soft, but clearly shaken. After that you sit in silence for a few minutes, the only audible sound being Hobie sighing every once in a while.

Every second of silence is another second of you pondering and recounting what Hobie said to you. Playing it over in your head until you felt your eyes begin to gloss over. You take that as your sign to leave, clearing your throat and mumbling out a soft “i-I’ll see you upstairs” before leaving without another word.

Hobie stayed downstairs for a bit longer, organizing his thoughts and using the silence to quell his irritation. He then had the opportunity to think back on what he said to you. Cursing into his palm when he realizes just how harsh he got with you.

This wasn’t the first time… he often got harsh and lost his filter when he was in a bad mood; you always understood that. Whenever he’d go off on you, you never took it personally, understanding that he was in a bad mood or a poor state.

He’d always come up to you later and apologize for what he said, and he was lucky because you always understood and forgave him. Afterwards he’d cuddle up with you, telling you all about the terrible day he had or how horrible his mission went. You were always there to comfort him, listening to every word.

This time was different though. He didn’t just make an offhanded comment about how he wanted silence or how you weren’t helping, he made it personal by insulting your voice, a part of yourself that he usually loved and was now suddenly deeming as headache inducing.

When Hobie eventually went upstairs, he found you sitting in bed, back against the headboard, looking at your phone, not even sparing him a glance. He walked over and sat on the edge of his side of the bed, placing a hand on your thigh. You didn’t react so he took the time to apologize.

“Hey love… look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Todays mission just left me absolutely gutted and I just felt right shit. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It was just really rough and I fucked up bad” his hand absentmindedly caresses your thigh as he spoke. You didn’t move and just let out a hum in response.

He paused and hesitated before speaking “I-I’m really sorry…. I didn’t mean it love. You know that right?” he leans forward and goes to kiss your lips, you turn your head so kiss lands on your cheek instead. He was slightly surprised but more disappointed. He decided not to press the topic though. “alright… I’m gonna go get ready and I’ll be back” he says and walks off to the bathroom.

When he comes back out, you’d shifted to be lying on your side, back to him, as if you’re ready to go to sleep. As he gets into the bed behind you, he notices how your eyes are still open and you were just looking at your phone.

He leans over your figure “Love? A-are we not gonna cuddle?” his voice was soft, you could hear the slight pout in his voice. To his question you shake your head, he moved onto his side of the bed and positioned himself to sit against the headboard.

“Oh… can I tell you about my mission though?” you could hear the dejection in his tone but managed to brush it off. You shrug causing Hobie to hesitate, but after a pause he begins to tell you about the mission, going on and on, but never once do you react.

“And then, that prick just threw a sign at me! A goddamn sign, can you believe that?” He looked over at your figure waiting for a response, waiting for you to agree with him or encourage him to continue talking as you usually did, but you still don’t say a word.

He clears his throat at the silence “b-but it really hurt and my shoulders still sore because of it” he continued to complain hoping you’d break your vow of silence but he still got nothing. He can see you’re still awake which causes him to huff out in disappointment, a pout forming on his lips. He shifts on the bed and placed his chin to rest on your arm.

“Love? Why’d you go so quiet?” He watched your expression, it didn’t shift and you just continued to scroll through your phone. There was a pause and then he spoke again. “Was it because of what I said earlier?” You stop scrolling on your phone and he takes that as a sign that he guessed right.

“God… love I didn’t know it hurt you that bad. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said it and I didn’t mean it. Not even the slightest bit” he wraps his arm around your waist trying to pull you back against his chest. Much to his relief you didn’t struggle or try to move away, allowing him to pull you against his chest.

“I love the sound of your voice, I look forward to hearing it after every mission. I was just really irritated and I snapped at you for no reason” you put your phone down but still don’t look or speak to him. He let out a soft sigh and the hand on your waist began to trace soft circles on your skin.

“I’ll keep apologizing as long as it takes for you to speak again. I miss your voice love. Please… even if it’s quiet? I wanna hear it” he placed a kiss on your shoulder, and kept it nuzzled against your arm as he waited patiently.

“You said it drives you up the wall…” a smile graced his lips as you finally spoke, it was a soft murmur but it was something. He places another kiss on your shoulder “Thats not true, I was being stupid. You have every right to be upset with me, it was a daft thing to say and I was being a proper prick” you hum softly in agreement, which he took as a sign of encouragement.

He continued to place kisses on your arm and shoulder “You agree don’t you? Hm?” He says and you shrug, a small smile beginning to appear on your lips. His arm wraps further around your waist, beginning to roll you onto your back as his playful kisses moved to your neck. “Cmon you can say it, I was being stupid, I was being a prick… go on” he had a smirk on his face as he kissed at your jaw.

You chuckle softly and then look into his eyes, a smile now settled on your lips. “You really were. The biggest prick I’ve ever met” you say and he pulls away and gives you a fake pout. “Ouch… now that hurts” you roll your eyes and he chuckles softly. He leans back down and begins to pepper kisses all over you face.

“I’m really sorry love” he says and pulls away to look at you with a gentle smile. You sigh out but smile at him. “I believe you” You shift slightly so you’re sitting back against the headboard “but what I can’t believe…” you begin to say and Hobie looks at you curiously.

“Is that that goddamn anomaly threw a sign at you?!” You say exaggerating your shock but loving the smile that it puts on Hobie’s face. “I know!” He say and moves to rest his head against your lap. Letting go of your waist and intertwining his hand with yours to wrap them around his shoulders.

For the rest of that night he recounted his mission to you, every small detail and every tiny slip up, but this time you actually reacted. And every time you spoke his heart sang at the sound of your voice.

[ddarker-dreams]

Ehe, for Scara (brainrot is reaching new heights): “So much snark today. Would a hug shut that mouth of yours up? Or better yet… a kiss?”

"... Reprobate."

Scaramouche glaring at you isn’t a new development. You’d say it’s his default manner of expression; if resting bitch face was on performance-enhancing drugs. You take the archaic insult with ease. It’s not the worst thing he’s called you. Lately, you’ve theorized he must’ve taken to studying offensive language for the sole purpose of flinging verbal venom your way. 

Well, if anything, he should be grateful that you’ve motivated him to expand his vocabulary. You’d say you’re welcome if you didn’t value your well-being. However, today just so happens to be a day where your well-being feels marginally worth defending. 

“I’m not hearing a no.” 

He scoffs, his gaze momentarily leaving your form to appraise the surrounding area. Any unfortunate Fatui goon squad souls that happened to overhear this conversation could expect to be court-martialed... or worse. Seeing how his eye will not stop twitching (how uncomfortable is that?), you’re placing your bets on worse. 

“Have you no sense of shame? Forget it, why am I even bothering to ask when I already know the answer,” he runs his hand through his bangs and sighs. Uh oh. You sense a monologue looming on the horizon. “You can’t expect me to acquiesce to your every annoying whim so easily. If I did, there’d be no end in sight. That boundless imagination of yours is such a pain to deal with. Really, the fact I put up with you at all is—” 

The softness of your lips pressing against his cheek serves to put a premature end to his soliloquy.

Stunned by your boldness, twitching fingers come to rest over where your lips made contact with his now flushed skin, disbelief written all over his face. Considering how powerless you normally are, this shift in authority is a welcome one. Enough so that you don’t mind pushing your bruised pride down if it means watching him unravel like this. 

“You—” he points at you for further emphasis, as if you need help identifying who he might possibly be talking to, “You... ahem... missed.” 

“Huh?” 

Scaramouche is grinning now, ear to ear, his face still red yet his ego too formidable for him to concede so easily. 

“My lips. I demand a proper kiss if you’re going to stick to your conniving ways. Come now, try again. Prove to me that there’s something in this world you can do right.” 

(He looks very proud of himself).

“I mean, I would, but, someone recently told me trading affection for favors is shameless behavior. And, y’know, he might just have a point. I’ll have to seriously reconsider my ways.” 

(He no longer looks very proud of himself). 

"... You couldn’t bother me more if you tried.” 

At this, you smile. “Is that a challenge I hear?” 

[bitchysouljellyfish]

Soliloquy

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Dedicated to @yeyinde and @moondirti for their incredible writings! Seriously I haven't written this often in years so...let's go! Song this was inspired by ⬇️

Simon was alone.

Alone on the roof, mask off and a cigarette in-between his lips and a beer bottle hanging precariously from his fingers. He had nothing but the multitudes of thoughts doing sprints in his brain, a rare chance when he wasn't aware of his surroundings and he could just...be.

He'd been on this mission all of two weeks when he got a call from you, going straight to Price to make sure you wouldn't be delayed. At first he thought the worst, someone had broken in, someone had targeted you, an enemy from his past had showed up and had you hostage and this was the last time he would hear from you.

He wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't two words he'd never thought he'd hear.

Simon took a long drag of his smoke, focusing in the cherry red end go brighter before dulling, the soothing feeling of smoke entering his lungs and tobacco on his tongue easing his mind somewhat. He had no idea what to say, hardly said anything to you before he had to hang up and go over the plan with the team before they were dismissed for the evening. Simon should call you back, but still he had no idea what to say.

"You alright Lt.?" Soap's familiar comforting accent cut through the otherwise quiet night.

"Johnny. Thought you'd be at the bonfire."

"I was, then I noticed a certain Ghost wasn't haunting the area." Soap grunted as he sat beside him, passing him another beer before cracking open his own. "Saw you take that call, was it your hen?"

Soap was the only one other than Price who had known about you, and had been at the elopement ceremony simply because you two needed a witness and he was right there. He was about to go on a deployment for months with no guarantee he would come back, and Simon wanted to make sure you would get his pension if the worst did happen. So, a quick run to the dress shops and then to the courthouse and you were officially Mrs. Simon Riley. He'd gotten you a better ring when he did return, a rock as big as Soap's head and a house away from the city to make up for all the time he's away. That was a year and a half ago now, and he still liked calling you Mrs. Riley.

That wasn't the only reason to marry you, he should clarify, he did want to spend the rest of his life with you, a sense of belonging when he came back home and a reason to stay alive. He supposes he has another reason to come home now though.

"Yeah," he knocked off the ash and took a swig.

"Yeah? Everything alright?" He took one look at the far away look in his eyes and felt his heart break for the man. "Dont tell me it was a Dear John call."

"No, no, she wouldn't-" Simon hoped you wouldn't, "it's not that. She's pregnant."

Why did that leave his lips so easily? He could barely wrap his mind around the idea of you with a lad inside your belly and it being half of him and half of you and-

"Fuckin' hell she's pregnant." He said it again, snubbing out his cancer stick and standing with his hands on his hips.

"Steamin Jesus." Soap breathed out behind him. "That just hit ya?"

"Shut the fuck up Johnny." There was no real venom in it, too focused on the more important revelation at hand. What would he think of him? The lad could call him the old man or some variation, toddling on his little legs to him with his arms out stretched for his dad to pick him up. What could he teach him? Sure, he could teach him to fight or to swim but that was it. He had no life skills, no domestic traits that he could pass on to a son.

"Fuck am I going to do? The hell am I going to do for Jack?" He muttered, pacing a few times before sitting back down next to Johnny.

"Well, you're gonnae do ok if you've already got a name picked out." Soap leaned back on his hands and nudged him with his boot. "What do you think he'll look like?"

"Probably be as big as me. Tall and as a tough as a bloody tree. Can't imagine having to squeeze out this head through you." He knocked on his head.

Soap had never seen him like this. He was...hopeful, dare he say it. Ghost had probably never thought about something like this, never had the opportunity to think this far in his life before. God knows Soap was the most confused he's ever been when Ghost told him to put on a tie and get to the courthouse and lo and behold he had a sweet lil Bonnie lass he was marrying that day. Now, hes got a bairn on the way?

"I think you're forgetting a very important part of the pie, Simon."

He turned to him with a fire in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest and venom in his voice. "What?"

"Jack could be Jackie."

His eyes went wide in a rare display of emotion. "What the fuck am I going to do with her? I can barely handle the woman I'm married to how the fuck am I gonna handle a daughter? Fucking Christ, I can just imagine her...if she looks anything like her mother I'm fucked. Might as well get a bloody shotgun to hang on top of the fireplace..." Simon ran his hands down his face, doing just that and imagining a little girl attached at her mother's hip. She'd be sweet and loving, like peaches and cream from the shop his own mother would take him when his father hadn't drank their money away.

Or perhaps it could be two? One of each or two daughters or two sons and they'd be the apple of his eye. His heart began to pound, imaging the life his children, God his, yours, a family. An honest to God family and he didn't want to miss a moment of it.

"I need to talk to Price." Simon tossed his cigarette over the roof and dumped the rest of his beer out.

"What for?"

"To go home!"

Soap watched him leave with a laugh, cheering to him behind his back. "Good luck, brother."

Price managed to get him home in another two weeks after he worked his ass off to finish the mission. He hardly had time to wipe his ass he was so focused on getting home to you. He hadn't even called you which was a massive fuckin mistake on his part, yes he knew, but he hoped the bouquet of flowers and tiny beanie he had bought on a whim would make it up to you along with a promise that he wasn't going anywhere for a very long time.

Price got another call about nine months later, inviting the team to meet his wife and daughter. June was her name, and he had been right. She was the spitting image of her mother.

[sunnysideprincess]

the wonderful @soliloquent-stark and @whinysteve tagged me to do the cosmos persona test 💫

This is accurate down to the shade of green I have on my nails 🫨 Also what do you mean I can't do 100 things all at once???

Tagging @pandagirl45 @venomous-soliloquy @crownofstardustandbone @ginbenci @polizwrites @robertdowneyjjr @earliebirb and whoever else wants to do it!

[retrodreamgirl]

seasons of becoming: spring | steve harrington x fem!reader

spring | summer | fall | winter

summary: spring is beauty in relapsing buds and the kiss of the sun in all its saturation, its birds singing and hearts beating on high, its the devotion of new friendship in a place that once held none and it's the question of love at first sight vs love we never thought we lost at all; for you spring is baking and gardens, giggling girls, and pizza after courtside, but somehow it's also steve harrington, fake tears, failed plans, and some girl named polly who (in your opinion) has killer high heels [5.1k]

warnings: uh...steve kinda being a jerk ig? just typical mean girl stevie, reader having mixed emotions about steve, strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, fem!reader, eventual mutual pining, some mentions of sexual intentions but nothing explicit, not proofed or edited(sorry bout it), lmk if i missed anything!

⤜♡→

You find Steve at the edge of spring. 

You’re laying amongst the protrusion of freshly bloomed flowers with their petals white, decorated with darkened lines of pink crawling from the center to tickle your cheeks with their waxy finish, resting as pollen at the lining of your nose. Your legs are crossed at the ankle, dress fanning about your thighs like you’d done it all your own, the colors reflecting from the wild growth flourishing as blossoms beneath the watchful eye of mother nature.

It’s just coming upon noon, the sea of flowers swallowing you whole enough that the average passerby wouldn’t even notice you lying there with nothing more than your arm to shield you from the unforgiving wrath of the sun. 

It’s a recent niche, the silence of the trees and the lake brushing delicate mist every so often on a catch of wind easily preferable to the prosaic monotony of Hawkins. 

It’s freedom away from the daunting reality of everything outside of the prolonged stretch of green. You never knew anyone else came here and you were wholly taken with the delicate stretch of land. 

You often imagined what it would be like to build your own little town, not like the square etchings of your hometown with everything exactly where it’s meant to be. Maybe a house in place of the town hall, a pizzeria in the center of a suburb and none of it would matter because it would only be you.

Your hand is raised halfway to the sky, tracing the thickness of the clouds and their analogous shapes, painting them with your nails of chipped pastel pink. Building something as confused as you. 

You find Steve as the obstruction lining the area beneath your pointer finger. 

He’s pretty, is your first thought followed by a string of inconsistencies in his character. The way he would constantly throw his head back and run his fingers through his hair like he was angry then the laughter that would follow suit like he found himself a surprising amusement. 

You think he must be talking to someone, but once he’s made himself aware enough to step beyond the lining of the trees you recognize his thoughtful solitude. 

A melancholy soliloquy to serenade the budding stems, a eulogy to the ones that would decay in tandem with the sun sinking beneath the horizon.

There’s a sudden guilt in your concealment with the Earth. Like you’re intruding on something private, an invasion as long as you continue to watch him as a false inhabitant of the wild field.

You were too embarrassed once he got to the thick of it, nearly screaming the words he spewed like venom, grabbing at a loose branch to assault the trunk of an innocent tree. So you lay there, focusing on the lingering scent of petrichor resting beneath the blades of grass you steadily cull with your fingers. 

You glanced at him often enough to commit his distant features to memory, closing your eyes in an attempt to picture him as someone happier. You ache to tell him there’s something better than whatever it is stressing his voice and the delicate lines of his face. An empathetic farce that tugs at the strings attaching to the appendage too often guided to your brain and the misgivings of reality. 

He never looks in your direction, too complicated in his emotions to bother, but it didn’t stop you from drinking him in like a precipitation necessary for your body to take root amongst the flora. 

Eventually he begins walking away, presumably the way he came, to a car that would drive him far away leaving you with nothing but a committed memory. But what is memory if not the most inaccurate of mental capacities. 

You decide then that you should at least know his name. 

With his back turned you could pretend you’d never seen him at all, like you’ve been hiking in the woods and you only just realized your car might need a jump so you can get home. 

You finally stand with your dress clinging loosely to your legs and the unnamed stranger that you would later come to know as Steve Harrington walking steadily from view with his broad shoulders hunched over like nothing he’s said in the last twenty minutes made a difference at all. You part your lips with the intention of speech, but it never comes.

You were too afraid to say anything.

So you didn’t.

~*~

“What do you think of love at first sight?” You muse, tucking the best flavors of chocolate then securing the lid onto the feux gold box. You scratch at your ankle behind the counter, that way lovestruck girls do in the movies when they’re remembering their lover in absence.

You feel dull for even thinking it, don’t know what this odd feeling of amour could possibly be longing for as it rests dormant in your chest, waiting for the draw of a flame like a moth in dusk.  

“You should walk by again.” 

“I’m serious.” You gasp, tightening a bouquet of flowers with silk ribbon around the cellophane covered stems. It’s not the first time Lucas has darkened your doorstep, pockets clanking with loose change and his heart stapled to his sleeve. Usually something about a cute redhead you’ve come to know as Max Mayfield. 

“So am I! I can barely keep up with love after a near catastrophe and obvious mutual pining.” He’s laid out an assortment of candy to go with his selection of orchids, some of them wilted enough that you marked the price to nearly nothing. You don’t bother asking what he has or hasn’t done this time. The constant roller coaster of teenage allure is an affair to remember though you’d swiftly taken it upon yourself to forget it entirely. “What good could possibly come from falling in love with someone you’ve never actually had a conversation with?”

“You know, you shouldn’t be so pessimistic.”

“It’s called being a realist. Hey, do you have any of those sticker packs around here? I think Max would like them for her portable.” You dig beneath the counter, the sheets you tend to use to decorate boxes of cookies or cupcakes ordered to go. 

“Sure, but have you actually tried to apologize to her? I mean, the things you tell me are so sweet. Maybe you should actually say them to her and you wouldn’t be here so often.” You slide a sheet of stickers along the counter, something a little more neutral than the swatches of hearts bubbling in various shades of pink. 

Lucas stops pestering the package of chocolates on the counter to look at you like there’s a head too many sprouting from your neck. 

“You think I haven’t tried? Every time I start I just get all sweaty and tongue tied. I look like an idiot.” 

“You’re the smartest kid I know, have faith in yourself. Besides, I don’t think we’d be such good friends if she didn’t believe in you at least a little.” You procure a gift bag to gently package Lucas’s apology topped with rose colored tissue paper. You don’t bother ringing him up at all, the monetary loss is something you’re willing to take in the name of true love. “Go talk to her, Lucas. Next time I see you in here it better be for something romantic. You could even bring Max. I already feel like I know her so well.” 

“I can’t just take this.” 

“It would hurt my feelings if you didn’t.” 

“Why were you asking about love at first sight anyway? You got a crush or something?” He’s mischievous now, the completion of his initial significance satisfied enough that he can zero in on the innocence of your quick conversation. 

“It was just a question.” 

“Yeah sure, and Dungeons and Dragons is just a game.” 

“Glad we’re on the same page, Einstein.” He looks like there’s something tipping over the edge of his tongue, but he grabs it just in time to stuff it back in and suffers his loss as gracefully as possible. “Now get out of here, I’ve got actual orders to fill.” 

“I can’t, I’m waiting for someone.” 

“Is it Max?” 

“No, it’s Steve. He’s dropping Dustin and Mike at the arcade.” It pains him to say it. That he’s not wasting his money on Dig Dug and skeeball instead of apology gifts and above average pastries. 

“Who’s Steve?”

“He’s our babysitter.” If you were to describe the way he spoke the words you’d say he’s missing the usual angsty abandon of any other teen who had to say they have a babysitter. He’s rather resigned to the whole thing, more annoyed they aren’t here than that they exist at all.

“You’re in high school, do you still need a babysitter?” 

“He’s more of a glorified chauffeur now, but he likes to pretend he hates being the babysitter so it stuck.” 

“Poor guy.” You deadpan, startling when the front entrance shoves open. You’re momentarily speechless, watching the stranger, who lacks the unfamiliarity of someone you’ve never met, approach the counter. “Welcome to—”

“Don’t bother, he doesn’t have anyone to buy for. He’s kind of a loser now.” Lucas teases, snatching his bag from the counter. 

“You know, that’s big talk for a guy who needs a ride to buy flowers for his girlfriend. Or is it ex? I honestly can’t keep track.” You’re about to speak up on someone’s behalf, but they’re both so quick you never had a chance. 

“Don’t even worry about it, Steve. I guess you’ve had your ass kicked too many times to keep a long term memory.” 

“Lucas!” You chide, unused to him being so brash in any circumstance. Steve takes it in stride, stealing the gift bag from his hand to root through its contents. You feel exposed watching the way his brows knit, like he’s judging you and your store entirely too harshly. You feel awkward, shifting on your feet, trying to place exactly where you’ve seen this guy, Steve, before.

You wonder then if you have anything out of the ordinary on your person, prone to stray blots of flour on your cheeks or embarrassing stains of chocolate on your front. It’s never been embarrassing before, but now you’ve decided it must be entirely silly to bake for a living. 

There’s a hint of persuasion in Steve’s movements, like everything he does is with the intention to draw you in. The gentle precision of his hands and the way his hair dangles just right over his forehead forcing his habit of knocking it away by frequent occasion. He only glances at you slightly, lips pushing toward the apples of his cheeks, leaving you with the emotional repercussions of his perception. Lucas rolls his eyes, turns to you with a funny look. 

“Do you see what I put up with?” You don’t retort, just tear your attention away from Steve tight lipped. You weren’t lying when you said Lucas is the smartest kid you know, his brain nearly ticking with the resilience of his intuition. He seems to realize what you don’t, eyes widening a fraction then falling with a certain resignation. “Are you ready?” 

“Yeah, whatever, let's go. I’ve got a date.” Steve shoves the bag at Lucas, flipping his keys in hand. “You want me to take you to the arcade?” 

“No, I want you to take me to Max’s. What do I look like showing up to the arcade like this, dummy?” You shape your hand to fit over your lips, no intention of laughing at the two so outright. Steve really looks at you then, rolling his eyes like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. 

“Do you see what I have to put up with?” He counters Lucas’s earlier notion, finger spiraling at the brink of his ear, pleading insanity.

“You’re coming to my scrimmage this weekend, right?” Lucas ignores Steve entirely, slapping a flier atop the counter. “It’s just for fun, but I could use some loyal fans.” 

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.” You nod, watching him jog out of the store. Steve follows suit, your eyes trailing every smack of his sneakers against the tile, but he doesn’t look back once.

~*~

You hadn’t intended to be sitting so close to Steve at the game.

The distance of your seat two rows below him and his date is pure coincidence and you’d move away if you could. You don’t know why the thought crosses your mind, but once it does you can’t seem to shake it. 

Your leg bounces nervously beneath you, something about a perpetual embarrassment of character that’s chased you since birth. You aren’t sure he’s spotted you, but you’ve been sitting there too long to have suddenly spotted him you think. Especially because your back is to him and to have seen him lofted above you would mean to be staring entirely too hard. Not to mention there’s no guarantee he’d know you at all. 

“Mind if we sit?” 

The game is in the gym at Hawkins High, a building that’s meant next to nothing to you since you graduated just a couple short years ago. Not that it meant anything but an eight hour sentence set to witness the cruelty of adolescence and the mercy of occasional mental stigma when you did walk the harrowing halls. 

So you’re unsurprised when the first people to attempt to commandeer the empty space beside you on the bleachers are a couple of younger girls, their hair pigtailed and half up respectively. The one that actually addressed you with a heaviness in her tone, one not meant to spur your defenses but rather one that begs an even determination, has a head of fire with the flames crowning her shoulders.

“Oh yeah, go ahead.” You smile, tracing the sliver of skin that shimmies from the sleeve of your t-shirt. Only a few moments after they settle, the makeshift teams with their netted jerseys jog onto the court. “Let’s go Lucas!” 

You’re not sure what’s appropriate for the setting, but when Lucas glances over he seems altogether pleased with your public display. You send him a pair of thumbs, nearly apologizing when the girl to your left side taps at your arm. 

“You know Lucas?” 

“Yeah, he’s kinda the only reason I’m here.” It clicks then, the licking flames and soft intimidation. “Wait…are you Max?” 

“Yeah, who are you?” The girl she stumbled in with peers over her shoulder, a magical sugar stick dangling from the corner of her lip while her eyes widened with a serious case of curiosity. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that…I just—”

“Don’t know who I am? It’s a fair question, don’t worry.” You calm, retaking your seat with the scant bodies crowded around you. “I’m Y/n, I work at the semi-new bakery in town. I may or may not be responsible for the chocolates and sorry flowers on Lucas’s behalf.” 

It’s awful the way she blushes under your attention. Not in a bad way, but rather the rude subtext that she doesn’t quite believe an affection like that should be reserved for her. It plagues you not to grab her by the shoulders and profess her as more worthy of love than she can understand just now. 

“You’re nice.” El supplements, offering you the pack of blue sugar she’d forgone in favor of gnawing her confection bare. You take it kindly, wetting the tip of your finger and dipping it into the tart dust. “I’m El.” 

“Thanks. You guys are sweet.” 

“We’re going for pizza after, you should come.” Max offers, nudging your hand aside to dip her own finger. There’s something nice about the way her face scrunches at the nose, her lips pulling at the edges in reaction to the impression of the granular saccharine on her taste buds. She looks at you, your own face not far off, and giggles. “Steve is driving, but if you're coming El and I will ride with you.”

“He looks like he’s on a date.” You chance a quick glance to find that Steve is very much on a date. He’s molded the length of his arm around her waist and his head is entirely invisible where it eagerly attacks the flesh of her neck. It’s a wonder you’re able to make him out at all, the two of them nearly one person. 

“It won’t last long.” 

“Yeah, he’ll say something stupid and she’ll dump his ass by the second half.” El nods, tugging at the colorful sleeves of her button-up. “So you’ll come?” 

“I mean…I don’t wanna intrude. It seems like a friend thing—”

“You’re our friend. Besides, Robin can’t make it so the boys totally outnumber us.” Max is matter of fact, somewhere in her little rant she snuck her finger back into the candy so now she wiggles the deep blue saturation in your face as if that proves it because she would never do that to someone who wasn't bound to her for life. “It’ll be great I promise, and I’ll make sure Steve doesn’t flirt with you.” 

“Okay, yeah I’ll come.” 

You live in peace with the two girls until about partway through the second half. Lucas has successfully scored twelve points in addition to two free throws when you feel a presence hovering with uncertainty over your shoulder. 

You tilt your chin a fraction, the flit of your eyes over your shoulder is noncommittal until Max senses your discomfort and follows the momentary trail herself. Her shoulders heave and she seems more amused than concerned when she exhales. 

“What do you want?” It feels safe to turn completely then, Steve’s hand fanning the air vaguely in your direction. 

“I could use a bit of assistance.”

“With what?” El looks around, her pupils rounded with a conditioned pointedness. She appears ready to pounce and were it not for the sheepish way Steve pats her shoulder you’d think something was seriously wrong. 

“Look, she's just a little…duller than I expected.” He dips his chin in the direction of his seat above you. The girl he seemed molded to just an hour ago now picking at the chips in her nails and popping her gum excessively where he left her. Between your own thoughts popping like the chewy bubbles she blows behind her head and the constant squeak of sneakers scrubbing the court his excuse is mildly irritating.

“Just take her home.” You offer lamely, turning your attention to the game in an attempt to seem like you don’t care either way. 

It’s not that you do care, but if you were invested enough in him to have any sort of opinion you would tell him she doesn’t seem like his type. Though you don’t know his type at all and the connection of your brain that begs to differ seems to think his type must be something vaguely reminiscent of you and it makes you sick. 

You felt like the dull one just the other night, laying unperturbed in your bed until the ritualistic terror of reliving every interaction you’d had that day no matter the significance. When you seemed justified to spend a little too much time on the portion of the day occupied by Lucas complete with the sliver of Steve, you came to realize you’d known him all along. 

To keep pace with your own tired brain, you were weighed down with the task of remembering just about every doggedly irredeemable interaction you had back at Hawkins High. 

In short, Steve Harrington is what you came up with. 

Not overtly evil or the incarnate of satanic possession, but he’s of no innocence, popular for running with the crowds that were. You vaguely remember the streak of mean that painted him so grossly back then. 

The way he spoke and reveled in his sleight of hand, pockets sealed with cash and the ability to wave inconsistencies in his character with the sleazy crest of his lips. Feigned as the charming trust fund boy who tucked his polos and always sprung for a first date.

It was lying there in your dorky quiz team t-shirt with your legs bare and your beloved plush tucked to your chest trying to remember that absent feeling you felt at work, that your mind was met with the betrayal of your youth. The way you were no saint in your habitual avoidance of Steve and his petulant posse by day when your body gave way to fanciful fits of lust by night with your hand taking the place of he whose name you slowly blocked in favor of your faceless fantasies. 

It’s not that you forgot him, but by the time you graduated he seemed to fade from the spotlight that presented him as so unflattering. You didn’t see him commanding the halls so much as you did in the beginning years, only sporadic whisperings of a king dethroned.

Steve shifts, drawing your attention back to the problem, for him not you, at hand. He’s half kneeling on the bench, close enough that you can smell his cologne and what you surmise is a piece of the gum his date is chewing so aggressively.  

“I tried, she’s not budging.” 

“You could always go for honesty.” Max rolls her eyes, clearly more seasoned with Steve’s waning fits of passion. You begin to wonder how he came to be so influential with such malleable youth. “God, Steve, I don’t care. But she’s not coming to eat pizza if you don’t even like her.” 

“I know, I just need some help, please. I’ll pay for pizza.”

“You were already paying.” El snickers, scooting just a hair closer to Max. She looks at you expectantly. “Maybe you can help.” 

“Uh…how?” 

“Just follow my lead.” Steve clutches your wrist, the moment feeling a tad too charged when he’s softer than you were expecting. His thumb grazes along the underside, the pad slightly calloused but still an uneasy comfort. You avoid his eyes, no intention of acknowledging your susceptibility to the shiver up your spine or the way you slightly stumble forward when he rounds the bleachers. “So…how are you with fake crying?” 

“I mean…I’ve never done it seriously. What’s your plan here?” 

“My friend needs me because her boyfriend is a huge jerk and broke her heart!” A genius truly, is how he presents it. Far too well versed in the art of a clarity that only appears to find him when he’s finished shoving his face beyond the valley of someone’s breasts. “It’s simple really, all you have to do is look devastated then she’ll totally fall for it, I’ll take her home maybe call her for a little one and done another day, we’ll take the stooges for pizza and everything will be perfect.” 

The unfortunate audible that Steve wasn’t expecting is the girl in question catching wind of her inattentive date with his hand locked rather suggestively around your wrist, the distance between you less than paramount to anyone watching. 

Further, as luck would have it, Max and El are no longer paying attention to Steve thus making your display appear far more intimate than it is. You itch to get away, suddenly no desire to be at all linked to Steve and his callous predisposition toward the many girls he’s seen come and go.

You recall Nancy Wheeler in this instance, wondering just how much of that’s actually true. She seems smart enough not to entrap herself in his snare without good reason. 

“I don’t think that’s gonna work.” You posit, readjusting your stature to distance yourself from Steve’s incredulity. 

“It’s the perfect plan.” 

“Sure.” You nod, almost pitying Steve’s ignorance to his own detriment. “What’s her name by the way?” 

“Polly, why?” 

“Hey, Polly, what do you think of Steve’s plan?” Steve flinches, turning around only slowly enough to catch the tail end of Polly’s ponytail following the length of her objectively killer, right heel sinking painfully into the toe of his sneaker.

You’re minutely remorseful for not speaking up sooner, half proud of yourself for teaching him a lesson no matter how small and with the knowledge that it probably won’t stick. He’s keeled over by now, finding solace in the release of the lofty weight from his very minor injury. 

“Guess that solves it!” Max chirps, just as the final buzzer squanders any remaining gratification when you realize you’ve missed the end of the game. “Just in time for pizza. I’m gonna go congratulate Lucas.”

Max jogs off, El looking off somewhere in the jumbled masses until she spots something of interest, excitedly waving her arms over her crown. You see a slouching troop of three boys approaching your trio, likely the friends Lucas is always on about. El glances at you then, chuckling at Max’s retreating figure. 

“That just means she wants to kiss him then tell him he smells so he’ll shower before we’re all stuffed in a booth with his sweat.” 

“Remind me to thank her later.” You counter, just as a curly capped boy makes haste crouching at Steve’s side. It’s funny the way Steve clutches his shoulder then shoves him away like he’s realized the implication as mocking. 

“What happened to him?” 

“His date.” El shrugs, climbing the short distance to the gym floor. “It’s okay, Steve, Dustin’s here for you.” 

“Shut it, Hopper.” He grunts, managing the admirable feat of standing once more on his two feet and without so much as a limp. “Why didn’t you tell me she was there?” 

“Call it…a responsibility to my sex.” 

“What about my sex?” He spits, though it's not as weighted as he hopes, especially when the trial of pubescent boys snort something of an obnoxious sound in return. “She does stuff, and now I’m never gonna experience it because of some stupid solidarity between women.” 

“Oh come on, you’ll have someone new lined up by the end of the week. Get over yourself.” You shove him, shouldering your tote. “You said she was dull anyway. Wouldn’t you rather find someone you have a good time with?” 

“Forget it.” One of the other boys speaks up, his hair more of a mop than anything that could logically be tamed. He’s also much ganglier and towers over you without trying. “He’ll just go on another tangent about Nancy and I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“Don’t be a jerk.” The last of them to speak also looks to be the sweetest of the bunch, his soft features and bowl cut enough of an indication without the speech that flows like clumped batter. “But she’s right, Steve. You should actually try to find someone you actually like.” 

Yeah yeah, we’re not talking about this. Especially not here, someone tell those two we’ll be outside.” He glances around the gym like it’s something too disgusting to be bothered with and you can’t say you disagree. 

The walk to the parking lot is enlightening enough, you learn new names and exchange your own followed by a brief yet entertaining squabble about who would be riding where. 

“You can all forget it!” Max makes herself known in the nick of time, volumes rising to an extreme in the filtering slab of concrete. You're taken to admiring an unusual spot of growth near the lining of trees to one side. A rainbow like structure of flowers though missing the extremes of bright orange and firetruck red in flavor of muted pinks and blinding white. “You guys are riding with Steve, El and I already called Y/n.” 

“Hey, she was my friend first.” Lucas chimes in, jogging up from behind with his gym bag tossed over his shoulder. He’s freshly showered and still glowing from his performance, clearly still an agent of chaos in his freetime. 

“Lucas, you did great! You have to tell me when your next game is. I missed the end because of someone.” Your tone is joking, but Steve is no less grieved by the subtle dig. He tosses his keys once before setting off the short distance to his car. 

“If you’re not in my car, belts buckled by the time my key is in the ignition it's on you.” He grumps over his shoulder, though you’re sure he doesn’t mean it when no one moves an inch. 

“Not that I agree with him, but I’m starving.” Lucas breaks, hand settling against his abdomen. You’re in no place to disagree, your only meal being the meager helpings of a leftover cinnamon roll you refused to let rot in the display case this morning. 

“Then I guess you boys better get going.” Max points toward the raging taillights of Steve’s car, four pairs of eyes bulging when he dares begin backing from the geometric holdings of his parking spot. The four of them set off jogging, Lucas just catching the handle of the backdoor enough that Steve gives. You can see him spitting something toward them as they all pile in. 

You're left with the two girls giggling at your side, something of a youthful exuberance infiltrating you where you stand. 

“Boys are stupid.” El sighs, gripping your hand unexpectedly. You didn’t take her as someone to hold affection so openly, her slow creep towards you throughout the past few hours something like a timid animal, you the willing participant in her frightful give and hope to receive. 

“They are, aren’t they?” Max is more deliberate, looping your arms and resting the warmth of her cheek atop your shoulder. 

The steady breeze of the growing season kisses at the apples of your cheeks, the sudden path of flowers that earlier snagged your attention feeling as beautiful as the moment you find yourself a part of, the blossoming of new friendship. It’s infectious, the way you smile at both girls forcing the blush higher on their cheeks where they return it in kind. You begin the steady lead to your own car, now resting solitary in the lot now that Steve’s peeled off without further pretense. 

You decide that like all seasons there’s something in the becoming of the soft air and the nuance of the foliage making itself known amidst days of warmth and sudden rain in spring. A delicate hush in the song of the birds in their fresh return from winter, mating along the trees and soaring to heights only known by the grace of feathered flight. It’s inhaling fresh dirt and new leaves, the fluorescence of a scarab beetle reflecting in the concrete. 

The beauty of things to come.

“That they are.” 

[volterran-wine]

here the poem i’ve promised for our beloved tracker ( hope it ain’t awkward or too difficult to understand ) — it was quick &. i did my best.

TRAVELER’s SILHOUETTE, … in front of bleak streams &. frozen in regrets, poured on silky cheeks &. eyes closed for a temporary mourning. this refusal to experience love, maybe a habit, or a shield, or a coercive decision. the heart complains, the mind wanders.

put the armor down on a mellow sheet built for delicious thrills, refined mannerisms for less prying attachment, &. convinced to burst when indulgences temporarily pacifies fears. — like in obligatory duties with a brotherly companion to rely on, like mentally photographing a serene horizon when overwhelming risks kick in, like a devout tracker who covets to reconcile various soliloquies, eloquent honesty through a charming facade remains up with quotidian challenges, &. in the finest hours between mandatory pursuits under the kings’ orders &. nostalgic jamborees, all ends with manifold queries &. lines to finish. ( arduously complex to read, even for wise seekers, layers of elegance &. moldable disguise impossible to question before going back to well—planned tasks in busiest halls. )

frail hug of laden memories amongst questionable instants, the curious mind wanders through old explorations — … a damp melancholia &. reassuring justifications contort grievous tenors ( because sentimental episodes must face a light control that will appease a bit numerous turmoils ) … &. venomous pride halts a chance to fall in love, undisclosed &. difficult to brush — a tracker who seeks a distraction &. not an immediate relief.

Seeing poetry dedicated to one of the characters in my inbox is never something I imagined I would see, but I am not disappointed what so ever. Thank you dear 🖤 it truly means a lot.

To show my appreciation, let me show you the playback of me showing our dearest tracker this poem of yours, he had quite a lot to say.

.

𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢: Darling Mortal, thank you so much for this lovely poem you have penned for me. It makes me very happy to see you lot still manage to weave words into beautiful tapestries.

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞: ... ... I am honestly shocked that you are being polite.

𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢: Well, it is not the first time a mortal has dedicated such beautiful words to me. When they come to their senses and appreciate my intrigue I know how to show my gratitude. Also, It shows that they have refined tastes, not that you would know anything about that dear Archivist.

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞: Whatever historical poet waxed on about you must have been severely intoxicated like the rest of them were.

𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢: ... Excuse me!?,-

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐞: You are excused Demetri, now please leave my office.

.

― 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝑁𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑒 & 𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑖

[festiveferret]

Stony Art Chain Relay - CHAIN ONE

Over the last few months, I have had the utter delight and joy to run an event we dubbed the Stony Art Chain Relay. Five chains of artists were formed, the first artist designed a version of Steve and Tony from their imagination, then each art piece was passed to the next artist in the chain to re-draw, re-imagine, or re-design that piece however they wanted, while keeping the core of the character design itself. I can’t believe (actually I can, because Stony artists are amazing) how creative and gorgeous and inspiring and incredible the results are!!

I’ll be making five posts with all six art pieces from a single chain in each one, so you can see the progression. Please visit the artists’ pages and check out their other gorgeous work!

Chain One | Chain Two | Chain Three | Chain Four | Chain Five

Round One - @chrysanthart

Round Two - @superdecibels

Round Three - @kandisheek-art

Round Four - @ralsbecket

Round Five - @capnstars

Round Six - @venomous-soliloquy

[kandisheek-art]

For the Art Chain Relay hosted by @festiveferret. Chain started by @venomous-soliloquy, check out the full chain here.

[thahiree]

End/Start of the year! Means it’s time for an end of year self rec list! If you want.

A top 5 list OR rank all the fics you have done this year in a full, completely arbitrary, ranked list of all the ones from this year! Would love to hear your thoughts on your own work :)

Thank you so much for this ask 💖💕

Here's my top 5:

to think someone's in your head (MCU, Teen and Up Rated, 6298 words)

Thor and Tony get a little handsy at a team meeting. Steve doesn’t handle it well.

Inspired by an awesome anon on here who I've exchanged fun asks with re. the easy relationship between Thor & Tony and how seeing it might make Steve feel.....😏 (ThorTony are totally besties who fuck sometimes when the mood strikes, completely platonically and uncomplicated!!! I said what I said!!)

zero hour (MCU, Teen and Up Rated, 4665 words)

Steve wakes from a bad nightmare. Surprising himself (and probably Nat), he finds himself reaching out to Tony for the first time in a long while.

Again inspired by a scenario an anon sent me on here! (Ily nonny 🧡). This got a lot more angsty than initially planned but I do love the emotional resolution in this one

and when it came down, i was looking into your eyes (MCU, Explicit, 8118)

Steve gets turned into a vampire mid-mission and Tony volunteers to help him out 😈

My SLS fic for @venomous-soliloquy. I like the fun and trust between them, even during a very scary situation

High Hopes (MCU, Teen and Up Rated, 2282 words)

My take on future fic/established relationship Stevetony & how a proposal could look like for them! (ngl I headcanon both Steve and Tony as not particularly interested in marriage post-EG lol but that's where the story went lol)

wild tenderness (Marvel Ultimates, Explicit, 2734 words)

My first attempt at Ultimates Stevetony! Had a lot of fun with it. One of my favorite dynamics I've written so far, I think 🙈

[ruiniel]

Do you have any WIPs you’d like to talk about?

I dooooOoooo 😓 but have to haul a$$ to actually update one of the 7 in-prog multichapter fics I've got going...

One of them is something I hadn't updated since 2020 and that's my sword of Zamolxis-fic... it's a dark fantasy AU set in the Fourth Age, where Sauron won, regained his ring and his fair form, and Aragorn is his prisoner (similar to Húrin in another Age):

The prisoner showed no outer emotion concerning the event as the new presence crossed the wide space with light, even steps, his soundless, black booted feet leading him forward. This one stood taller than perhaps any being in Middle-earth, and his face was pale and fair to look upon. Long hair of a russet shade ran in waves down his back, and eyes of amber looked ahead as he came to stand at the side of the seated man. His fair form was a reminiscence of the days of old, and once he had regained that which was rightfully his, he had returned to it. His bearing was regal and strong, and deceptively open. That was until one saw his eyes: molten flame that not even his highest servants dared to look upon lest they be burned to ash. "Well met, my friend," a low, metallic yet melodious voice addressed the old man. The other remained silent, but for another fit of coughing, his gaze set afar. The new presence looked upon the prisoner then, and his eyes were terrible. "Your companions, the dark-haired twins died yesterday in the slave quarters." If not for his unbeatable hearing, he might have missed the swift sigh of the other. "I thought it my duty to personally impart the tidings." A long silence followed, broken only by the billowing of his black robes in the wind. "They have both been quite brave to the end, enduring what they did in the mines. Alas," he pondered facetiously, "The Firstborn have always suffered from this flaw. Hard to bend though delightful to punish, and oft-times falling prey to their self-adulation and pride." The old man said nothing, though his eyes were reddened and his fists clenched on the arms of the seat where his hands were cuffed, his legs bound in a similar manner. Seemingly undeterred by the soliloquy, the pale one continued. "Twenty-five of your years have passed since the great mockery at the Gate. I still recall your regal, impudent bearing when you struck upon my gates, and demanded I surrender. " His flaming eyes focused to the East, where a storm of lightning struck the skies and brushed the mountain tops. A long, pale hand motioned to the seated man. "And now look at you," he said, venom in his voice. "But the long life of your line does well by you. Though weakened, I surmise you and I will have a few more good years to spend together."

Anyway, the focus is on a half-orc grunt who ends up traveling with a *very* changed Legolas who has an obvious purpose in mind, but focuses on her growth... a hero's journey of sorts, a picaro:

Finally, she heard him speak. "I will allow you to follow to the fringes of this land, after which we part ways." It was strange, to feel the stirring in her chest. The corners of her mouth were turning upward. She had seen this expression on none but the alchemists of the Tower, but more often than not it was accompanied by different acts of cruelty. She went to stand by his side. "Then we are... agreed?" The elf looked sideways at her. "Hinder me, lead me for one moment to believe that you are a spy, show any form of fell intent and I will not hesitate to do what I had not before." Kal nearly scoffed at the preposterous notion, but his hardened mien showed her the elf fully intended to follow through with his threat. Another putrid wind and ash blew through the forest, sending yellowing leaves flying onto the road. "My sole intent is to escape this place," she said. The elf merely gaped at Kal for a short while before pacing ahead. He knelt and brushed the blade of the dagger against the rusted grass. "Will you give me back my weapon?" she tried. "No," came the curt reply. Curse you. With a groan she did not even attempt to hide, Kal returned and drew the scimitar off the fallen Uruk before following after the retreating figure. Kal realized she never learned his name, for obvious reasons. Perhaps it was time. Surely elves had names? "I am Kal." "So I have heard," the elf muttered as Kal fell in step with him. Or, perhaps elves did not value names, as such. "What of your name?" There was a pause. The blades of grass and leaves onto the forest bed wailed with crunching sounds beneath their feet. The elf appeared strangely absorbed by this, his head lowered as he stalked forward. "It does not matter. Not anymore."

It has an eventual romance subplot, enemies-to-lovers

The Problem? I have to rewrite the entire 110k words worth of it. I've grown and changed some headcanons along the way, and even though the story is Not abandoned, it'll take me a while...

[lightsonparkave]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO LIGHTS ON PARK AVE! WE’RE OFFICIALLY A THREE-YEAR-OLD TODDLER TODAY. Join the celebrations by submitting a work! There’s a little less than a week and a half left until Round 36 closes on August 31, and you have 161 prompts to choose from. There are no minimum work requirements or limit to how many works you can submit.

Not sure you can finish your work in time? Little messages are great presents too. What has the past year of Lights on Park Ave been like for you? Do you have a favorite prompt or round? A favorite LoPA work? Want to make a rec list of your favorites or wax poetic and show some love for a specific work and/or creator? Go for it. Let the Steve/Tony community know! The LoPA askbox is open or if you want to make your own Tumblr post or tweet, you can mention @lightsonparkave​ or tag #lightsonparkave. Whatever method you choose, I’ll make sure to share your message/post on here and Twitter.

Or maybe you’re not up to making anything this time. In that case, let’s take a walk down memory lane. Here are all 35 Lights on Park Ave works for previous rounds.

ART

Any 

Steve in a crop top and Tony in an open shirt dancing in a nightclub with their middle fingers up - @soraempty​

A WIP of old Steve and Tony, with Tony wearing a shirt with Cap’s shield on it - @soraempty​

The boys cuddling on a camping trip - @venomous-soliloquy (WIP)​​

AU 

“A Monster Rendezvous” - @jetblackfeeling​ it’s capwolf’s rut season and tony has a gift

Portraits of vampire husbands - Kota RiverRoad (@unstable-river) Anthonio was originally born as an aristocrat in Italy. Centuries later finds his future husband Stephen as a soldier on the battlefield of Waterloo, saving him from certain death. Tony being an inventor in the thriving renaissance and Steve fighting in a major historical battle. Tony got changed by a kind doctore due to his poor health and heart problems. Living a double life since then. How could their life look like nowadays?

“hot toasts and cold showers” - @jetblackfeeling​ (also on Tumblr) steve wants to get in the pants of the new tavern keeper in lowtown (pirate AU)​

MCU 

J. C. Leyendecker-inspired art of old Steve and Tony in formalwear at a gala - @pineapplebread “Will you be able to put up with me for another 56 more years?” “I am looking forward to it.”

EDIT

MCU

Two scenes from Civil War where Steve and Tony knowing each other - @meidui

FIC

616 & AU

“august in the heat” - @starvels​ A collection of ficlets for the Lights On Park Avenue round 24 prompts: featuring hurt/comfort, canon divergence and lots of pain. :)

AU

“Even If It Hurts” - @ralsbecket​​ While on a holiday vacation in Thailand, Stephanie and Tony's family are faced with the impossible.

“Our Corner of the Universe” - @mildlyholmes It's senior year, and Tony hates it here. He's still licking his wounds from his recent break-up with Pepper and would much rather hide up on the roof with a drink than join the party that's going on in his house. He doesn't expect Steve Rogers, beloved football captain and school heartthrob, to show up with just as heavy a heart. Late night talks turn into a tentative friendship that blossoms into a summer fling that is doomed to fail when they eventually go off to different colleges. Then, ten years later, they meet again at a friend's wedding for the first time since their tumultuous break-up. --- Including: rooftop conversations, a post-graduation summer fling, and learning from past mistakes as the years go by.

“for the love of renegades” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) Tony is a lonely millionaire with a drinking problem. Steve is a lonely personal trainer with anger issues. They sneak back and forth from LA to New York and somehow make it work.

“angels who sin” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) Summer air is thick and sweet, like Tony's voice pouring honey into Steve's throat, telling Steve more than he needs to know. He's here with his parents for the summer, he just finished his first year at college, he doesn't believe in God but his parents make him come to church. "They said you can help me find faith," Tony says, as mischievous as he is innocent, and Steve is as good as gone.

“Star-Crossed” - illogicalkat Tony watches the ocean. He watches the waves rolling in, cresting and crashing to the shore. He watches the surface, how it bends and curves out in the distance, how the sharks and the whales cut through it like it’s nothing while the surfers and swimmers are pummeled. He thinks about wading out into the water, he thinks about pushing deeper until his feet no longer touch the floor and just floating, letting the current take him out to sea. He thinks about how long he might float before he is returned to shore.

An excerpt from a soccer AU where Tony and Steve dislike each other instantly when Tony joins Steve’s team but eventually fall in love - @nostalgicatsea “It’ll be a fresh start,” Pepper had told him, tapping the signature line with her “special occasions only” Montblanc—as if downgrading to the U.S. from Spain was a momentous event that deserved to be celebrated—and the best and worst part of it was that she had sincerely believed it.

“all the world is only you and me” - illogicalkat Steve has trouble breathing, when the air gets this thick.

“Bonfire Promises” - Infinitywrites/@infinitywriters-blog​ As the age-old tradition goes, desired Alpha and Omega are bonded during the new moon night in a bonfire. And a Bonding in a Midsummer New moon night is considered very auspicious by the elders. The elders say the bond would last the seven lives the Alpha and Omega will have if they are soulmates. Though Steve scoffs at the story from his elders, secretly he loved the magic of being bound to one’s soulmate for all of eternity. (Or)Bonfires, Bonding and Soulmates

“Kings of Summer” - @gonetoarcadia A bonfire. The last night of summer. Confessions in the dark. Tony did always want to dance after the sun went down, and Steve wanted everything, even if it hurt.

AU/MCU

Excerpt from a post-Endgame soulmate AU where Steve wrestles with his emotions about his soul bond to Tony - @nostalgicatsea “What do you think would have happened to us after the battle if we hadn’t bonded?” You’d be dead, Steve thought. But Tony didn’t know that. Wasn’t talking about that.

This is an excerpt from a fic where Steve and Tony reunite ten years after a bad breakup and are keeping secrets from each other - @nostalgicatsea​ “You want me too, don’t you? I don’t think I was…I don’t think I’m misreading things.” Tony’s grip on Steve’s shirt was surprisingly strong as Steve finished tucking him in, preventing Steve from standing up properly.

Avengers Assemble

“Surprise Fairies” - Neverever (@captainneverever) “We’re fairies, Tony,” Steve said resignedly. Tony and Steve's Halloween takes an unexpected turn.

MCU

“Running Up That Hill” - illogicalkat Following the events of Civil War, Tony returns to New York while his husband, Steve, goes on the run.

“Tell me about despair, yours” - @ayapandagirl/Fluffypanda The dock creaks as Steve lowers himself, pulling off his socks and shoes to dip his feet in the water. It’s cold, something Steve probably should have expected in late October. 

A ficlet where Tony looks for Steve and finds out he turned into a werewolf - @ayapandagirl/Fluffypanda “Steve?” Tony asked the cold night air. “Please tell me you’re out here.” Wind whistled through the trees, bringing with it the smell of frost and decay. Tony shivered and turned his makeshift light to the animal path ahead of him. It was the only way forward.

“the rest we know” - @meidui (also on Tumblr)​ Tony's been chasing peace at his lakehouse for five years, but he knows it's over for him the moment Steve steps out of the car in that black leather jacket.

“he hung the moon” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) Steve lives on the moon now.

“i intend to end up here.” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) It’s 1945 and Steve has been assigned a K9, a German shepherd that he handpicked out of the litter.

“every card in the deck” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) Angsty things Steve and Tony have said to each other in the MCU, said again years later but happy this time.

“eyes closed forever to find you” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) It can’t all be pain, but so what if it was? The hurt always felt a little like love anyway, when it came from Steve.

“What He Didn’t Know Before” - @ayapandagirl/Fluffypanda (also on Tumblr) Steve falls in love

“your eyes look like coming home” - @arabellamonkey​/ArabellaAM (also on Tumblr) To this day, Steve still remembers his first thought —the first thing he yearned for— when he woke up in the 21st Century. He still hadn’t found out he was in the future; he hadn’t processed that what had once been his present was now the past. He hadn’t even started grappling with the alien concept that what he had never expected to live to see had become his present. Even before any of those thoughts appeared on his mind, a more simple, instinctive one had shone brightly. He just wanted to return home.

“even in my worst lies (you saw the truth in me)” - @arabellamonkey/ArabellaAM (also on Tumblr) When Tony has an accident in the middle of a battle, his teammates find out the secret he's been keeping for almost a year: he's Iron Man. The Avengers take it surprisingly well. Except for Steve, that is.

“i cannot be known (better than you know me)” - @meidui (also on Tumblr) Steve isn't as good as they say, Tony decides. He's a million and one times better.

“you cannot be known (better than i know you)” - @meidui (also on Tumblr) Steve learns a lot about Tony before he ever meets him.

MCU/TRN634 (CIVIL WARRIOR) CROSSOVER

“love and war” - @meidui​ (also on Tumblr) “Who the hell are you?” Tony demands as Steve stands up and instinctively gets between them, taking him in: Tony’s armour, but in his colours. His shield, but with Tony’s arc reactor in place of his star. “I’m from Earth-TRN634,” he says. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to stop your Civil War.”​

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. Based on everyone’s convos about the Papotin's trailer and Brigitte’s potential response, I wrote this piece. I’m looking forward to his whole answer because the snippet we already got is making me melt even if I’m super angry that someone actually asked that. I’ll probably write something after the interview on Saturday, but for the moment …

(PS - to the Anon mentioning the Elle interview, the quote from Brigitte was: “And by the way, Emmanuel was never in my class. Any fool who claims that I used to read his poems and his homework is lying.”)

She was having a great time watching this interview from her spot safely back in the corner with the cameras and the editor’s bank. While she loves her husband, and is happy to support him in whatever way he needs her, including being there for every major TV interview, some of them were a lot more boring than this one.

But that joy came to a crashing halt when she heard him read out the question (could it even be called that?) passed to him on a sheet of paper: “He is the president, he must set a good example, not marry his teacher.”

She couldn’t breathe. Once again, she could feel the hard, judgment filled stares of everyone around her, could hear the phantom ghosts of the years in Amiens parroting their venom over and over in her head until she wanted to run, to hide. It was a trauma that never really went away, for no matter how much the passage of time had dulled their words and the feelings, one snide remark, one snarky comment, one question like this brought it all back to the surface.

“I never taught him!” she wanted to scream. “He was never in my class!” But she knew that just like those comments had been received previously, no one would listen. No one cared about the truth, about the reality.

For his part across the room and surrounded by others who were a mix of shocked at the audacity of the question or giving approving glances to the contents, he was stewing with rage.

“Set a good example,” he wanted to scoff. Where was this outrage when Hollande fled like a coward from his mistress’ apartment with his silly little jacket and helmet on his silly little motorbike? Or when Sarkosy divorced and remarried within a year - his first year in office? Or how about all the secret families housed at the Élysée? Or affairs that kept the President from actually governing?

But he, a man who has loved and has been faithful to one remarkable woman his whole life, a man who has lived a fairytale (at least, that’s how he would describe it), he gets told he’s the bad example?

He is half a mind to lay into the sexism and ageism underlying the question, or to point out that hypocrisy in blatant cutting words. Another part of him wants to launch into a soliloquy extolling everything he loves about his wife (even if that would take ages) just so someone would maybe finally understand just how of a no-brainer it was for him to fall in love with her. There’s even a small part of him that just wants to call it quits right now and storm out of the interview. He can’t keep putting her through this, can’t keep watching people tear them apart, tear her apart.

But he knows he can’t do any of that. So instead, he settles on the most obvious truth he can think of, the simplest way to express the complexity of his feelings, the depth of his love. “Love is something that is stronger than you, and it transcends you.”

His love for his wife is, was, and will always be stronger than him, just like he knows her love for him is, was, and will always be stronger than her. It’s why, 15 years of marriage later, 2 presidential elections and 5 and a half years in office, 7 grandkids, kids’ weddings and divorces, and happiness and heartbreak, but not in equal measure, they are still together, still as in love now as they ever were, despite whatever stupid comments anyone else makes. Their love is stronger than everything (see - a fairytale).

She can hear him responding despite the buzzing in her ears, knows he’s talking about love, his love for her, she can just hear that word love over the din in her head. It’s enough to keep her grounded for now, return her back to reality where there’s still more questions to go and a lunch afterwards.

After the interview, they second they unmike him he is at her side, whispering, “are you okay?”

Smiling softly at him, she replied, “do you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” he answered her instantly, forcefully.

“Then I’ll be okay,” she stated simply, slipping her hand into his with a gentle squeeze. “As long as you love me, I’ll always be okay.”

Helloooo fanfic anon #2! ❤️

This piece was really beautiful! At some point, I almost forgot I was reading a fanfic and not actually my thoughts... or even their own thoughts!

It’s interesting how we all seem to have reacted the same way with that particular question on the teasing video... really really curious about the all thing.

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

[notveryimpressed]

Shakespeare Attempt #5

Act 1: The Sinister Strokes

Scene 1: A dimly lit artist's studio adorned with eerie paintings. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

Enter MALVO, an enigmatic painter clad in dark garments, holding a wicked-looking brush.

Malvo: In shadows deep, where evil breeds, I paint my canvas with twisted deeds. With strokes malign, my art shall speak, A villain's tale, both dark and bleak.

Scene 2: The Villain's Lair

Enter BARBAROS, the malevolent antagonist, adorned in sinister attire, surrounded by a horde of henchmen.

Barbaros: Upon my throne of ruthless might, I cast a web of dread and fright. My heart, a void, devoid of grace, My kingdom thrives in vile embrace.

Act 2: The Bard's Lament

Scene 1: The Town Square

Enter the townsfolk, distressed and weary, gossiping about the villainous deeds that haunt their lives.

Townsperson 1: Oh, wretched souls, our lives entwined, By Barbaros, his twisted mind. A plague upon our fair domain, His evil taints our every vein.

Scene 2: The Bard's Study

Enter BARDOLPH, a renowned Shakespearean poet, driven to expose Barbaros' wickedness through his eloquent verses.

Bardolph: With quill in hand and words of might, I'll vanquish darkness with the light. Through tragedies and poignant verse, Barbaros' villainy I'll immerse.

Act 3: The Final Conflict

Scene 1: The Showdown

The townsfolk gather in the town square, armed with determination, as Bardolph confronts Barbaros.

Barbaros: You, mere wordsmith, think you can sway, My kingdom's reign, my dark display? I'll strike you down with my cruel might, Your lofty tales, they shan't ignite.

Scene 2: The Climactic Exchange

Bardolph and Barbaros engage in a battle of words and wit, each trying to overpower the other with their unique arsenal.

Bardolph: Thy vile facade, I shall expose, Unmask thy soul, for all to loathe. Through words, thy reign shall come to naught, Thy painted canvas shall be caught.

Barbaros: Thy feeble words cannot unmake, The legacy I choose to take. I'll blot thy verses with venomous ink, Thy downfall imminent, I shall think.

Scene 3: The Triumph of Artistry

Bardolph, inspired by his burning desire for justice, delivers a rousing soliloquy, weaving a tapestry of words that pierce the hearts of all who hear.

Bardolph: By ink and quill, my power thrives, I paint a world where virtue survives. In Shakespeare's grace, I shall prevail, Barbaros' reign, I now curtail.

Barbaros, defeated and consumed by the brilliance of Bardolph's words, falls to his knees.

Barbaros: My canvas tainted, my reign undone, Thy artistry, the battle won. Thy words have shattered my villainous might, In Shakespeare's realm, I've met my plight.

Act 4: The Dawn of Redemption

Scene 1: The Town Rejoices

The townsfolk celebrate their liberation from Barbaros' tyranny, embracing a newfound hope for the future.

Townsperson 2: Oh, glorious day, our freedom restored, By Bardolph's words, we were empowered. The villain's brush, now cast aside, In Shakespeare's realm, we shall abide.

Scene 2:

Bardolph's Epilogue

Bardolph addresses the audience, reflecting on the power of art to expose and conquer the darkest of villains.

Bardolph: Through art's embrace, we pierce the veil, Exposing villains, their hearts impaled. In Shakespeare's realm, where words hold sway, Evil shall wither, fade away.

Curtain falls.

Please follow me or reblog my writing. it really motivates me to write