#steve is still THE martyr all these years later

[livwritesstuff]

Steve is home one day with his daughters when he realizes that his oldest, Moe, is ten.

Okay, obviously, he knew she was ten. She’s been ten for a while, as her birthday is in July and it’s now December, and the girls are discussing Christmas as they perceive it in their little girl worlds.

It’s really that Steve realizes that Moe is the same age Erica had been when he’d asked her to climb through air ducts and infiltrate a Russian military base.

It’s a realization that has Steve feeling a little nauseous, because Moe is ten and she’s plotting with her little sisters about how they’re going to stay awake on Christmas Eve to catch a glimpse of Santa (their conspiring has Steve worried for his and Ed’s own role in Christmas Eve and the way it hinges on the girls falling asleep as early as fucking possible), and she’d lost another baby tooth this morning and hasn’t stopped talking about what the tooth fairy might leave for her overnight, and she still sneaks into his and Eddie’s room after nightmares looking for snuggles, and she’s afraid of car washes and bugs, and she still wants to be read to before bed every night.

He’d been struck suddenly by how little Moe still is. Maybe he’s only thinking that because she’s his daughter – his first daughter, at that – but he still looks at that kid’s face and sees the newborn baby who’d made him a dad ten years ago.

He can’t imagine looking at her and seeing someone equipped to take on Erica had been asked to do, never mind actually asking her to do it, which is precisely what Steve had done twenty-five years ago.

It eats at him for the rest of the day.

“Just call her, Steve,” Eddie urges him after Steve brings it up for the sixth time that evening, “You clearly need to air this shit out.”

So Steve calls Erica.

Erica is in her mid-thirties now. She’s a kick-ass lawyer at a private firm in Indiana, and she picks up the phone on the second ring.

“This is Erica,” she says.

“Hey, it’s Steve.”

“What’s up,” she replies, still never one for beating around the bush.

“I just – I need to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For Scoops,” Steve says, “For Starcourt.”

Erica is silent for a while.

None of them really talk about any of that stuff anymore. They’d hashed everything out ages ago, until all that was left behind was the understanding that none of them would ever be able to truly move past it, that there would always be guilt and fear and pain they could never shake.

“Okay?” she finally says, question in her tone.

“I just…” Steve hesitates, “Look – I didn’t get it. I didn’t fully get how fucked up it was. I was the grown up in the situation and I should have put a stop to it but I was stupid and reckless, and now that Moe is ten, I can’t stop thinking about how insane it was for us to even consider roping you into that.”

“I agreed to it.”

“You were a kid.”

“You were a kid,” Erica insists.

“Eighteen isn’t a kid anymore.”

“Say that to me again when Moe’s eighteen and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Steve doesn't have anything to say to that, because Erica is probably right (though only time will tell, he supposes). Their phone call ends only a few minutes later with Erica telling him to go easy on himself and Steve saying he’d try before apologizing one more time.

“You gonna take her advice?” Eddie asks after he’s pulled a begrudging Steve into his arms.

“No,” he tells him, curling into his husband’s side and sticking his nose in Eddie’s neck so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

“Figures.”

#steve is still THE martyr all these years later #give that man a situation and he’ll decide he was the problem #they had a much longer conversation but we don’t have time for that #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steve harrington #eddie munson #erica sinclair

[findafight]

It was also so ooc for Robin to want to be friends so badly with Nancy in s4. Plus her encouraging Stancy to get back together? Whoever this person was, it was not my Robin. Like s3 Robin would be wtf are you doing girl. Because let's be real she hated Steve for years because her crush only had eyes for him. How would she not have a grudge for the girl who hurt her person, her bff??? It doesn't matter if Steve never bitched about Nancy or that he would only say positive stuff about her, Robin still sees that her bff is hurting. And with the cheating rumors going around, Robin is smart and can connect the dots.

R/nance doesn't even make much sense as a friendship. I absolutely loved your take on one sided R/nance when Nancy was questioning why Robin didn't really want to hang out with her or preferred the group. And then when Robin told her it's because of Steve and how Nancy never really reflected her wrong doings because it's been so long, that was so good. Because again realistically Robin wouldn't want to hang out with people if it hurts her bestie. Like you said they share everything, Robin would have to limit herself, she couldn't talk as openly about her relationship with Nancy to Steve because it's awkward and over time I think she would conclude that's simply not worth it. Her relationship with Steve is more important to her.

In s4 Nancy should have been the one to make it up to Robin, not Robin begging for Nancy's attention. It would allow Nancy to finally get some character growth and her reflecting on past behavior would also introduce Stancy in a more natural way other than "oh hey Steve, Jonathan is not here, btw you are hot". She basically gets everything handed to her without any work (when it comes to her personal life, I'm not saying she doesn't work hard when it comes to other stuff). Like Robin immediately wants to be besties and Steve still worships the ground she works on, there are never consequences for her hurtful actions and thus no growth as an individual. Like Nancy as a character is still the same as she was in s2, she never reflects on her behavior because the narrative lets her off the hook so she doesn't really have to apologize for anything . It would have been so interesting if Robin was cold to her in the beginning as she was with Steve, maybe even a bit colder.

I think that just because Robin is not good at reading people in the moment, she still is able to make those connections later. Plus, after the first few weeks after Starcourt growing pains between stobin, Steve is probably the one person she knows she can read with accuracy (both because she now knows him, and because he allows himself to be vulnerable in front of her). So what with Steve's guilt/martyr complex and all the rumours that must have followed at school the week after halloween, regardless of Steve brushing them off and probably actively denying that Nancy cheated (literally he doesn't know she did. no one who knows would tell him, and he blames himself openly for the end of their relationship), she'd probably piece together that Nancy did a number on his heart. So I would have liked to see Robin giving Nancy more of a side-eye in S4, especially if her and Steve were getting a bit flirty. Tbh I know I've mentioned it before, but the only reasonable explanation for Steve making not just eyes but flirting with Nancy, is that somewhere along the line, Steve and Robin got it in their heads that Jon and Nancy had broken up (hence Nancy not going to cali with mike). Because we know so little about Steve's parents, but we do know his dad cheats and Steve knows about it and is extremely sensitive to infidelity. I could maybe see him tell Nancy he still had feelings for her before fighting vecna, to get it off his chest before potentially dying, even if he knew she was still with Jon, but not the other stuff. Literally would not make sense for one of the most defining and pivotal traits he's had since s1, or for robin to encourage it.

ooo. yeah I agree. I guess the one-sided rnce post really was attempting to explore a situation that makes Nancy realize that her actions have impacts on people she potentially cares about that cannot be unaddressed. There's a through-line in the show of Nancy's actions, regardless of what they are, as being completely justified and right. So when her and Jon fight in s3, she never has to actually address her part and classism in it. (they were both wrong!! Both of them should have apologized!) In s2, when Steve does reasonable not-wanting-to-get-disappeared things, the narrative treats him like he's a bad boyfriend for being unsupportive. When Nancy cheats on him, TPTB retcon it by saying they broke up at the party or in the alley, removing any guilt for Nancy's actions. For her interpersonal relationships, we don't see Nancy putting much work or effort into them. Hell, we see steve apologize immediately for threatening Dustin's teeth when he was getting frustrated and said he went too far. And Lucas apologizes to Will in s3 too. So the show can show us friends putting in effort to not leave each other hurt. It would be neat to see Nancy actively trying in her relationships. Apologizing or opening up a conversation or something. idk.

I think there was some potential for an interesting friendship between Robin and Nancy. But yes Robin deserved to be a bit wary of Nancy! I can see Robin trying to be her friend a little bit after starcourt, attempting to put Barb leaving her for Nancy behind her, but Nancy not really being open to it so it sort of soured Robin to her. And then in s4 when the Upside Down is back Nancy trying to be Robin's friend and robin, having been burned by Nancy before, is now suspicious of why she suddenly wants to be friends now. That would have been such a fun dynamic to have! Like Nancy being kind of jealous of steve and robin's friendship both for her wanting to have a friends, and possibly, if they were still going with it for whatever reason, for her romantic interest in steve. And Robin being protective of both her own and Steve's hearts from Nancy! neat!

Post s4... yeah. I don't see Nancy actively wanting to be friends with the other people who fight the Upside Down. like, sure maybe she'll exchange numbers and split a bottle of wine with the older teens, but she wouldn't be cuddly call-after-nightmare friends with them. Not just because of personalities, but because I think she'd want to put everything to do with Hawkins behind her and look to her future.

We see her only stay in contact with the person she is dating, and not really anyone else. Like. in s3 we see Steve have connections with the Party and after that with Robin, but only see Nancy with her boyfriend. I think it's really important for Nancy to have an arc that isn't about romance, or about her guilt about Barb. or at least, not her unresolved and continuing guilt about barb. It could be about her moving forward and having close friendships again despite that guilt. But at this point, I don't think could happen, as it would require more groundwork than the show can afford to give to it this late in the series. I just want her to end the series single, ready for uni and moving on from what happened. I want her to be free of Hawkins, in a way she cannot be if she's dating anyone involved with the Upside Down, especially when any of her three popular ships are all hung up on the town or the people in it in a way she doesn't seem to be.

#robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things #stranger things meta #anti ronance #findaanswers #anonasaurus #finda's rambles

[taraljc]

I ended up reading all the Lockwood & Co novels, am waiting on Corgi editions to reread, and am trying to figure out what happened to Tom Rotwell. Did we ever find out anything apart from Marissa and Tom fell out, and his adult son grandson currently runs his agency?

ETA: I have a lot of questions about the timeline.

SPOILERS FOR ALL 5 NOVELS AHEAD!

I know the TV show is set a decade after the books and in the books Fittes and Rotwells first case The Mud Lane Phantom was in 1962, and Marissa died at age 40. But where is Tom's gigantic tomb and statue? Or did Marissa bury him literally and figuratively?

If they fell out only 5 years later in 1967, he still would have been all of 20 or so when he founded Rotwells. Yet Steve is greying when he first appears in book 3--and it's implied that the gate he created under the department store was his first, so he can't be rapidly aging the way Marissa did.

And who was Grace Peel, and how did she die? Was she really a martyr? Or was she just another person ground up and spit out by Fittes' ambitions?

Why did Tom and Marissa fall out? What's the real story there? Did he know when they first teamed up that Marissa was in fact the source of The Problem? Because it's not as if Marissa Fittes is a reliable narrator.

All we know is they both died young--and Marissa died in her 40s, prematurely aged by her trips to the Other Side. But did Tom know Marissa was in fact possessing her own granddaughters body, and had murdered her own adult daughter? Did Steve Rotwell even know anything about that, when he planned the attack at the Chelsea carnival?

What actually happened to Penelope Fittes soul? Was her consciousness suppressed, or was she completely ousted? How did Marissa even know how to possess a living body? What actually is Ezekiel? Could Tom see him with his Sight?

For that matter why is it that Talent fades? Is it physiological, or something else? Because one way to keep control of The Problem is definitely to limit who can see Visitors to children (who are presumably malleable and also immediately distrusted by adults).

Clearly Marissa Fittes never lost her Talent, so does that mean Lucy won't either? Does it have something to do with prolonged exposure to Type Three Visitors? Or is it like how due to the way our inner ears grow, there are high frequencies that even at high decibels people over 25 can't hear?

I'm just full of a zillion questions about who knew what and when, and how. Who started Sunrise? How does Tom fit in with the Orpheus Society? Who founded it?

I'm going to end up writing a novella. *facepalm*

EMETA: I should stress that me having a zillion questions in no way is this a criticism of Stroud. In fact, it's more likely a consequence of the books being written first person from future Lucy's point of view, and therefore the readers are limited to what she experiences and learns. I suspect that if the books had been from George's point of view, we would know way more about everything that happened from 1962 to 2017 before the first book, rather than little hints here and there because George is 300% all about the problem with like 5% of his consciousness reserved for Flo.

#lockwood and co

[frostfairysteve]

i trapped myself into doing history research but i'm just gonna handwave a bunch of stuff because alternative universe

first and most important; the harrington family is british and royal enough to have a position with power and money to throw around, probably through some carefully planned marriages

they moved to france either for the absolute monarchy they had going on (britain grew increasingly parliamentarian, see: act of union in 1707) or because they wanted to remain catholic (see: english reformation during 16th century)

there was a french trading post established in indiana in 1673 and fort ouiatenon (first fortified european settlement) was built in 1717

thing is england and france has a really complicated history and also i have no idea where anything in indiana is so handwaving!

because the harrington family has to move from england to france in the 1500s/1600s and get established enough to then help with the colonisation in the late 1600s

...i got really attached to the idea of steve being born in the 1600s/17th century at one point, i don't know why. his name is probably like étienne stephen harrington which is just the same name twice in different languages. firstly stephen -> stephanos which means "wreath, crown, reward, honor, renown, fame" which fits what his family is going for, secondly, saint stephen is the first martyr of christianity. he was stoned to death.

anyway now that all that is set up

harrington family is trying to establish a settlement in what later becomes hawkins, indiana. they have wealth and power and an heir that they brought with them from france. but after the house got built and they got settled in, there was a lot more for them to do than expected.

slavery in indiana started with the french rule so. guess what the harrington family had. which is another reason steve never saw anyone if they were racist and didn't want their pure son interacting with anyone with different skin. steve has absolutely no prejudices because they never actually told him this, and he's really fucking lonely.

steve was 15 the last time he saw his parents, or anyone. they left for some reason or another and never returned. either they settled somewhere else or they got sick or murdered. maybe they returned to france and then were unable to get back to the colonies. i literally do not care

realistically, they must have left someone in charge to take care of the house and their son, but i assume they left after enough time passed without their employers coming back. not like steve was gonna do anything. don't ask why they never approached him to question him.

steve stopped ageing around 19, so a few years there something must have happened to the house. a curse, a spell, weird dimension stuff, who knows.

the house is frozen in time basically. but new people who enter aren't affected. steve would start ageing normally if he left.

idk i'm still figuring the whole magic house thing out. i don't even know what kind of house it is for it to be historically accurate. it's a european style house because i say so tho.

i would love for this to be historically accurate but i can't process the wikipedia articles enough and also i feel like most of it would fall apart oops

#beauty and the reverse kidnappings #i love aus i love research i love research for aus #but i will handwave my logic and explanations #tbh i just realised earlier today that i've taken a very european approach to this au and i needed to justify it #maybe the european approach is just in my head you tell me #i will admit that i caught myself wondering why it is the house and not the castle and then i had to backtrack #that could also be the beauty and the beast vibes to be fair #the only thing i have going here is that it's not a plantation but also that would be geographically incorrect #steve reveals his name is étienne and everyone makes fun of him #boy gets to be bilingual tho. french and english.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

[cometcrystal]

where they messed it all up w every stranger things character

el and mike - weird dcom relationship drama that doesn’t matter. maybe it’ll be better in 4 but 3 was so. dumb.

will and dustin - they didn’t. they are still angels

luke and max - not quite as bad as el and mike but why is max suddenly like “we will read tiger beat and follow its advice” when she was such a tomboy in 2??? it seems ooc for her to care about that. she’s still my fav kid tho. luke is mostly fine but the coke ad was weird

nancy and jonathan - nancy’s treatment of steve in 2 with no apology. i would have been fine with it if they had her apologize later, bc she’s been thru a lot and sometimes trauma manifests in bad ways, but they didn’t. and her weird feminism 101 stuff in 3 was so dumb. and i’ve hated jonathan since 1 soooo

joyce and hopper - THEY WENT FROM CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO STRANGERS TO LOVERS FORGED THRU FIRE. AND THEN! IN 3! THEY TURNED IT INTO SOME JOKEY TSUNDERE BULLSHIT!!!! THEYRE GROWN ASS ADULTS WHO TRUST AND CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER WHY ARE THEY ACTING LIKE THIS!!!!

bob - why did they kill this man. why can’t he joyce and hopper be in a milf and two dilf dream polycule

murray - this guy always sucked. he only exists to be like “haha you guys like each other but you won’t admit it”. fuck this guy’s existence. worst part of the series

kali - why was she evil why did she have to be written this way she could be so cool

billy - MADE HIM A MARTYR WHEN THE ONLY THING HE DID WAS ABUSE HIS SISTER AND BE RACIST. nevermind about murray this guy is the actual worst part of the series

erica - why is this 10 year old talking about how capitalism is great and commies suck

steve and robin - THEYRE THE BEST ONES THEY WILL ALWAYS BE THE BEST ONES NEITHER ONE OF THEM HAS EVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG THEY ARE BEST FUCKING FRIENDS AND THEY SHOULD GET A SPINOFF SERIES I AM NOT JOKING I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE SERIOUS

#stranger things

[doctor-rainbowfoxey]

Renegades Chapter 4 Part 4 The Wheel Part 2

Link to Previous Part HERE

“Uncle Sparky!! Golly, I am just stoked to see you,” the auburn-haired musician put forth, not sounding super excited despite his words stating otherwise. The feral mutant looked at his cellmate with mild concern, having observed his change in demeanor.

Some part of the colorful musician had hoped it had been another man on the other side, a man who had once been like a father to him but alas he was not surprised to be disappointed. Starks assistance was not unwelcome but he it didn't come guilt free. He would have to put up with the pressure and the sales pitch now.

Tony turned to the rookie cop “open it,” he ordered. The young man squeaked and fumbled to comply. As soon as the door opened Stark strode in and to Cyclop's surprise, the Avenger immediately hugged the other Scott. After a minute held him at a distance looked him up and down, inspecting him for injuries and not liking what he saw. He glared at Scott’s feral cellmate accusingly. Logan was quick to step back, hands up in the universal gesture of innocence. Gently the hippie extracted himself from the older inventor’s embrace.

“Christ Scotty, what did they do to you?”

“It wasn't him, Sparky,” objected the paisley hippie ardently. He continued to assure the elder hero, “You know that. It was the long arm of the law that you love promoting.”

“I know. I saw,” ground out the gold suited Avenger wearily with a grimace still looking over warily at Logan.

“Let's go, let's talk about this somewhere without prying eyes,” prompted the avenger attempting to gain command of the situation.

“Right, about that Uncle Sparky,” chimed in the colorful hippie. “I need you to wire funds to pay for my friend here’s release as well,” stated the auburn-haired man matter of factly.

“Him? You barely know the man,” the Avenger exclaimed incredulously. “He could be some kind of ax murdering hooligan!!”

The musician turned to his feral companion, with mock seriousness he beseeched the other, “are you an ax murdering hooligan, Logan?”

“Nooo….?” the shorter mutant slowly mildly offended by the whole affair.

“See? It's fine Sparky,” assured the younger man with a shrug. “I got a good feeling about this guy…”

“But…..fine,” started the richly attired man only to quickly relent when it became clear the other was not going to give in on the matter. Upon seeing his young charge again preoccupied with the pain in his head the older man fumbled to retrieve something from his pocket.

“Here take these. I saw your other pair.. broke,” said Tony gruffly.

The force beamed burdened mutant carefully to the glasses from the other man putting them on with a sigh.

With fond paternalism, the elder Avenger comforted, “That’s much better huh son?”

“Yeah...yeah, it is” demurred the scarlet-eyed mutant, as his headache eased but with a tinge of resentment at the burden.

Stark grumbled, “here’s your jacket and your shoes. Put them on quickly. I feel claustrophobic and I’ve only been in here for 5 minutes. I’d like to leave this hell hole already.”

“Sounds like you should look into criminal justice reform,” commented the hippie as he slipped on his corduroy jacket and sat to put on his shoes.

Cyclops, not wanting to be separated from his counterpart in this universe, dared to jump into the other Scott’s pocket.

Stark stammered uncomfortably, “We can talk about that later Scotty.”

From inside the pocket, Cyclops could hear them talking but he dared not peek out of the pocket lest he risks discovery.

“Here’s his personal effects,” announced one of the police officers to Stark, in a much more respectful tone than he had used before.

“Gaia!” Sighed the passionate man and Cyclops could hear the sound of latches being carefully opened.

“Oh thank god. She’s alright,” breathed the lanky fellow, clearly relieved.

“You still play that old thing?”Asked Tony, mildly surprised.

“Not as much on stage as I used to, but she does perfectly well on the road and among friends,” explained the musician. Cyclops heard the sound of a door closing, he felt the warmth of the sun through the pocket and could smell flowers on the breeze that tickled his whiskers when he dared to sneak a look at the world outside.

“You can’t keep doing this Scotty,” Stark reprimanded sternly.

“Doing what exactly?” replied the younger man with feigned obliviousness.

“These protests and rabble rousing. The sex, drugs, the rock and roll. Take your place back on the team Scotty,” insisted Stark. Cyclops with his mouse senses could tell he was close to the man from the smell of his expensive cologne.

“I’m an adult and not an Avenger anymore. I left that life, objected Scott, with icy controlled coolness as he stepped back from the other man.

“You think you can stop it? That you’re some kind of martyr or something? This has been going on for 10000 years. I’ve tried my best to slow it from the inside but I can’t stop the wheel. This is bigger than us,” argued the greying inventor. Inside his mind, a peaceful man could hear a great wheel turning.

The lanky ex-avenger sighed, “you’re right this is far bigger than us. The peace movement is far more than me alone. If it bothers you that I find I have more luck reaching people with my music than my fists then I’m afraid you’ll just have to let that be Mr. Stark,” stated the peaceful musician calmly and firmly with a tone that broached no query of debate. Cyclops could tell his counterpart was annoyed by over trod on circular arguments that had been rehashed between the two. The pressure of a legacy he could and never fulfill that ground his soul beneath it’s will like a millstone pulverized grain.

The elder hero fretted, “what happened to you on that shield mission overseas?! Ever since then you’ve changed and you won’t talk to any of us about it! If you can’t tell us than please talk to Steve. He’s been worried sick and you owe him that much!” Confided Stark clearly upset and desperate for answers, but in response Cyke could feel his counterpart stiffen.

“Thank you Mr. Stark, for greasing the wheels politically. I’ll wire funds to repay you.” promised the flamboyant musician, his voice sounding hollow and rehearsed robotically as one gets when constantly fending questions you do not wish to answer. Questions that take your mind to places you never wished to return.

“Scott please, at least call and tell him you are alright! Pleaded the seasoned Avenger.

“Fine Sparky I will call him. Will you give it a rest now, you’re being a drag,” remarked the paisley fellow. With effort the hippie willed memories that threatened to break free from their leashes with gnashing teeth and dripping saliva like the feel of hands stained red with blood that could never be washed clean.

“Fine but this is going to be the death of you, mark my words...also is that a rodent in your pocket,” spluttered Stark incredulously.

Suddenly the seasoned mutant hero now in the body of a mouse, felt gentle hands lifting him from his safe space in the pocket. His borrowed body’s instincts urged him to bite but he refused them. Biting alternate Scotts was off the table unless they deserved it.

“Hey little guy. You’re not something I would expect to be in my pocket,” murmured Cyclop’s alternate counterpart amazement. It was a strange sensation looking into the face of someone who looked so much like yourself yet was not you at all.

With a disgusted scowl, Stark commanded, “put that rat down. It’s probably diseased or something,” he elaborated

“It’s a dormouse, Sparky, don’t blow a fuse. I’ll just let him down here in the grass,” assured the lanky man.

Cyke felt himself being lowered to sit on soft moss amongst grasses. Abruptly he realized he should put on a good show of doing mouse things because he was supposed to be a mouse now. Apparently. He ran off deeper into the grass.

“See. It ran away. It’s fine,” replied Scott with confidence. By the time Cyclops had snuck back to where he could watch without being spotted, anything Stark had to say in response had been cut off by the sound of a motorcycle approaching..

“Hey kid, I’m heading down to Cali. You wanna ride?” offered the feral mutant who looked like the picture of the man in black in his long black coat, dark motorcycle. The other Scott Summers in many ways is the polar opposite of this man but they seem to be on the same wavelength as is pulled by the same gravity.

The colorful musician looked invigorated in response to the offer as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Where before he had felt a beast being herded and caged suddenly he saw him a way out, an escape. With calculated impulsivity would seize such an opportunity as he always had before.

“Do I!! You’re a sight for sore eyes ol’man,” declared the groovy man as he approached Logan, smiling broadly as the sun illuminated highlights amongst his auburn hair. In less than he had his guitar strapped to his back and was climbing on behind the other man while Stark stood gobsmacked.

“Scott Summers get off that bike right now!! What the hell do you think you’re doing!!” barked the stately Avenger beside himself.

“Sorry, Sparky gotta keep truckin’ later!” answered the man in paisley.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark,” called the man in black politely, if too late.

“Summers!! You get back here this instant! Rogers you’re kid is just as stubborn and troublesome as you! The stress of dealing with both of you is going to give me an ulcer. Damn it!! “yelled Stark to the dust and exhaust fumes that were all that remained of the two vagabonds. All the while Cyclops swore he could hear a voice singing mournfully.

I look at the world

And I notice it's turning

While my guitar gently weeps

With every mistake

We must surely be learning

Still my guitar gently weeps

The whole world around Scott seemed to reverberate around the voice, fading in and out, tilting sickeningly until…

****************

Scott opened his eyes. The voice was still singing. Carefully Scott quietly as possible turned his head to see who was singing.

‘I don't know how you were diverted

You were perverted too

I don't know how you were inverted

No one alerted you’

It was the suborn haired man, with the silver bangs and green eyes who reminded Scott so painfully of a perverse caricature of his kind and gentle friend. Held lovingly in his hands was a pair of hexagonal ruby quartz glasses exactly like the ones the Scott from the vision wore.

I look from the wings

At the play you are staging

While my guitar gently weeps

'Cause I'm sitting here

Doing nothing but aging

Still my guitar gently weeps

While Axel strokes the glasses lovingly a single tear fell slowly from the man’s eye as if it the glasses had managed to awaken something long locked away.

“Is that..?” Scott started to ask on impulse, unable to silence his curiosity.

“You!” Hissed Axel with cold fury as if he had intruded in something private and forbidden.

“Back into the depths you go, you poor innocent soul,” the radioactive green-eyed man. Suddenly the darkness was rising thick as London’s fog, and the last thing he saw before all was consumed was the man’s cruel grin dissolving into blank emptiness.

#scott summers #x-men #xmen #scogan #logan howlett #xmen fanfiction

[anaking-streetwalker]

You Don’t Know What It Would Do

Steve wasn’t going to be a coward tonight. He swore it to himself.

(he was)

TW: suicide attempt, mentions of self-harm, homophobic slurs Steve was standing a step away from the edge of the quarry. Any closer and the rocks might slip out from under him, rendering him no control even over his death. 

(which was the one thing he hoped desperately to make his own)

His hands were in the pockets of the thin jacket he threw on before getting out of his car.

He decided on that one because it was lightweight enough to let his body float atop the water after it broke his bones. 

(he had a better, thicker, heavier another one in the passenger seat of the BMW if he decided he wanted to sink it.)

His legs felt a little wobbly. The pills he took earlier were finally doing their job, he guessed. 

The one night Steve Harrington had enough courage to not be a goddamn coward, the one night he finally wasn’t carting around kids, the one night he didn’t have a tutor, the one night he wasn’t third-wheeling on Nancy and Johnathan, he shows up.

Billy Har-fucking-grove. 

And he was really going to do it, too. Had the note in his car and everything, a small list distributing a few of his belongings under it. 

A car roared up along the road behind him, startling him out of thoughts he didn’t know he was having. Some sort of metal music poured out of the open windows along with the smell of cigarette smoke.

“The hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

His words were slurred but Steve didn’t think it was from anything drug-related. It sounded like he was just high off of the thrill of driving down the empty highway at 70 miles per hour. Steve understood that. Whenever his parents were around he’d pretend to be busy and drive to Indy and back just to avoid his dad’s fists and his mom’s words.

“You know, I really don’t see how it has anything to do with you, Billy,” he shouted over his shoulder as the Camaro came to a stop a few feet away. 

“Didn’t know we were on a first-name basis, pretty boy.”

“Yeah, well…” Steve trailed off. How did he respond to that? ‘I’m going to kill myself and maybe I’m just enough of a faggot to not want you to think I hated you when I was finally gone’?

He didn’t say anything else, only took a step back. He didn’t resent Billy enough to force him to watch another boy’s death. Billy sat in his car for a while longer. When he turned up his music, Steve turned and walked to his car. He opened the backseat and shed his thin jacket to replace it with the larger one. A flash caught his eye from the floorboard. Steve reached over to grab the bloody razor blade, slipping it in the pocket of the thick jacket.

“If you’re cold why don’t you just sit in your fancy car with the heating, huh?”

“Not cold,” he mumbled back. He stepped back toward the ledge, crossing his legs underneath him and sinking down slowly. The cigarette that had been hanging from his lips fell into his lap, tumbling into the rocks and snuffing itself out. He grabbed another one out of the box in his front pocket, lighting it and taking a long drag.

“Hey, King Steve! Can I bum a cig? Smoked all mine of the way here.”

The older boy just sighed and turned toward Billy’s car, tossing the whole box.

“Feelin’ generous tonight aren’t we, rich boy?”

“I’m not, actually. Just won’t need them anymore.”

“Aw, you trying to quit? Pretty boy finally got his morals together?”

Steve let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. 

“I was hoping that tonight I’d be alone out here so I could finally fucking jump, but you had to take that, too, didn’t you?” He got up and went to his car once again, fishing the note and list from his dash. He walked around the front of his car and approached Billy’s.

 “I guess you can give this to the police or whoever realizes that I’m gone since you’re already here,” he continued, offering them to Billy between his middle and pointer finger. Instead, the other boy grabbed his wrist. He either ignored the scars. 

“You can’t go dying on me, Harrington. Don’t want to end up babysitter for those kids of yours.”

“A little late for that, Billy. Just—just look away or something if you don’t want to watch.” He pried his hand out of Billy’s grip and turned back to the quarry. Seconds after, the driver door of the Camaro was slamming shut. 

“You’re being stupid, Harrington!”

“That’s kinda what put me here, Hargrove.” Steve vaguely registered a hand slapping him upside the head. 

“No, it’s not. This,” he gestured between Steve and the ledge, “is stupid. Everyone’s just going to be sad. King Steve will be gone and they’ll finally realize that there’s nothing to do in this shit town but go to your parties and sleep. Those kids? Hell, even my kid sister! What’re they going to think when Nanny Steve is gone? Who else is going to waste their time taking them to that damn arcade every day because of their stupid martyr complex?”

“I’m sure someth—”

“No, Harrington. You listen to me, now. You aren’t going to kill yourself. We’re not friends or whatever but it word gets around that you’ve offed yourself I might revive you and kill you again because of what it’ll do. To everyone.” Billy jabbed him in the chest at the end of his ramble.

“Now you’re going to get in your rich boy car and I’m going to make sure you get to your rich boy house and then I’m going to watch you burn that stupid note and throw the rest of it in your stupid rich boy pool. Oh, and you’re going to give me that blade in your pocket, am I clear?”

A ghost of a smile made itself evident on Steve’s face. How ironic—he hoped that was the right use of ironic—the boy who beat his face in not a year ago and hated his guts more than anything is the only one to give a shit. He didn’t realize that he was kissing Billy until a warm hard slipped itself in his back pocket. 

“Knew you were a fucking fairy, Harrington,” Billy mumbled.

“You’re squeezing my ass,” Steve shot back.

Steve ended up giving the razor to Billy, and he let the boy watch him set the note alight. He also let Billy take him to the hospital, where Hopper was waiting for them. Steve got some new meds and got his stomach pumped and was finally released a few days later.

(the strings were still missing from his shoes)

The next time he showed up at school, a small smile crinkled the corners of Billy’s eyes when he caught Steve’s in the hall. 

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #angst #yea this is really sad #sorry yall i wrote my feelings

[moontheoretist]

This moment when you wonder why there never was a slavic or another targeted by holocaust superhero (not american) who was the face of fighting Nazis.

[This post was written like... so many months ago. Maybe even a year ago, and it was sitting in my drafts and I just said “fuck it” and decided to publish it.]

You know what bugs me about Captain America outside the fact that MCU Steve is made in such a way that it’s hard to not accuse him of doing bad things under the misguided sense of self-righteousness and justice? That Captain America as an idea is associated with fighting Nazis. I mean I do not dislike the idea as Steve Rogers as a character at the same time represents the people whom Nazi would kill in his pre-serum state (ill people were considered faulty, Nazi ideology was halfly based on eugenics ideology so Steve before serum was likely candidate to be killed) and a mockery of an Aryan ideal man in his after-serum state (because he looks like the “ideal of race” and fights Nazis, it’s pretty ironic) because of course America also fought in WWII, but they joined pretty late, and I cannot stress how cool it would be if the superhero associated with fighting Nazis was in fact not American.

Because you see, my whole country’s history is always taught by the lens of WWII, because we were the ones who were invaded when the WWII started (and let me tell you, this history is taught as if we were martyrs on pair with Jesus, and it is annoying as fuck, because no, polish people weren’t only victims of the war, this was so tragic that people who should know better who should fight with it, often joined in on committing atrocities, some people were hiding Jews, some were heartlessly giving their locations up, living in camps was even worse, people were there and even though there were acts of kindness here and there people had to live in this reality in which everybody fends for themselves, in which they had to help around the newcomers leaving the trains and couldn’t even tell them that half of them will be dead before they even enter the camp or warn them, because they would be killed, they had to either be quiet or lie to those people to not scare them and don’t let them try to escape or panic [at first nobody really knew that death camps were death camps, people were told those were places when they can find a job and came in with hope, but then it turned out to be a lie, Nazis often masked death camps as those zones for Jews and non-german people where they were happy, but it was all a cover-up and later on a lot of people who were in the trains knew they were going to their deaths, mothers who just gave birth were killing their infant babies so Nazis wouldn’t be the ones who kill them - it was an act of mercy even though it was horrific] and I cannot even imagine how the people who survived the camps felt when they remembered that they were expected to help SSmans in their daily work), so wouldn’t it be nice if someone at Marvel came with the idea of polish superhero (polish Jew or polish Romani superhero for example or someone else, some other European victim of nasizm like german Jews or Romani ppl in general or gay people from different countries than Poland and Germany etc.) helping our underground army fight of the Nazis? That would be nice to see.

It would be a very tragic story though, showing that even if you have an enhanced person fighting Nazis, you won’t be able to just win the war single-handedly. This character would suffer a lot, they would see deaths and atrocities of WWII, they would see victims of death camps, the experiments and such, probably being one of the victims themselves, have to deal with failures, because that’s what war looks like. Even with an enhanced the efforts to take over the country back could fail and the superhero would then learn that their innate strength and their purpose isn’t something so easily achievable. So it wouldn’t be second Captain America, because Captain, to my information, never lost to Nazis. I dunno, maybe he did, but he is mostly known for winning, while in truth fighting Nazis is something more than sticking a shield into Red Skull’s face, or saving soldiers from the other side of the enemy line. It’s a tragedy.

Maybe that’s the reason why there never was a hero like that? Because it would be too depressing to see it all, or maybe because Marvel doesn’t have access to all the diaries and historical stuff we polish people have, written by survivors who shared their experiences and reality of living during the war under the Nazi rule?

Disclaimer:

This post was written before I knew who Isaiah Bradley was, and even in his case, he was just a side story. Nobody cared enough to show the atrocities of WWII, or they were afraid to do it, because it is gut-wrenching and scary.

Still, if Isaiah was Captain America instead of Steve Rogers I would still have an issue that he was the American hero send to help those “helpless slavic, Jewish, Romani etc. ppl”, but he would be at least better than the walking ideal of Aryan race which Steve was, even if Steve’s look is supposed to be mocking Nazis.

Why he would be better? Because he is black, because he was not treated right, because he was forged in pain, and he saw death camps from the inside. Am I too fatalistic to want a hero who was forged by the holocaust? Maybe. But I want them, because you cannot be a face of fighting Nazis without actually suffering by their hands. And Steve never did suffer the same as survivors did. The people who did suffer were never made into heroes. Ask Magneto.

#tw death camps #tw murder #tw child murder #marvel #captain america #captain america critical #marvel critical #isaiah bradley #magneto is usually #a villain so I don't count him here and also he never was a face of fighting nazis #because captain america had stolen that #slavic rant

[slayernina]

Hello! I found your blog thanks to the spoilers ^_^ Do you think there is a chance we will see Billy somehow on s4? Or 5? After all, the rest of "dead" characters "came back", like Will, Brenner or Hopper (I'm not counting Barb or Bob or Alexei because they were smaller roles)

Thanks for the question, Anon! I hope you enjoyed the leaks as much as I do XD

Well, get ready for a very long answer… 

On a personal level, yes, I want Billy back. He is one of my favourite piece of shit characters on the show, and also one of my favourite piece of shit character in TV/movie fandom overall. It doesn’t matter if you liked him or hated him, he was so.fucking.entertaining.to.watch. And Dacre Montgomery nailed the role.

NOW, LET’S ANALYZE ALL THE POSSIBILITIES: 

On an external level: 

PROS: apparently the actor enjoyed his time on Stranger Things, enjoyed his time with the cast/crew, they enjoyed their time with him, and no shitty behavior has emerged from set. 

CONS: the actor is Aussie and we are talking about bringing someone from the other side of the world (bureaucracy and everything) during a global pandemic.

On a narrative level: 

Yes, Max deserves something to close his death and some kind of resolution. If he’s alive, Billy needs a proper redemption arc. Max needs to set her boundaries and resolve their relationship. Both needs to fix their relationship, if they can. Billy should repair the damage he's done to everybody. 

If he’s truly dead, Max deserves something more than mourn him, he shouldn't be left as a martyr, and it would cheap his death and the writing overall if there is a flashback that goes along the lines of “turns out he’s not an awful brother and he and Max made amends somehow off-screen!”. 

On a symbolic level: 

There is no way the writers don’t address Billy’s existence. Max is going to the high school he would be attending his senior year (damn, that would have been an interesting sight having the two siblings at the cafeteria at the same time), she still lives with his father as far as we know, Lucas is in the basketball team now, Jason mentioned him during a public pep talk and the Hellfire Club is heavily related to heavy metal/rock music and drugs. Hell, if we take Jason and Eddie into account, totally looks like the writers splited Billy’s “concept” into two minor characters. 

IT IS POSSIBLE FOR THE CHARACTER TO APPEAR AGAIN? 

If he’s truly dead: Yes. Even if we take into account the wig, the actor shaved his head in the middle of filming for no discernable reason (one of the main points of being an actor is that you are not allowed to change your aspect at all during filming) and there is a pic from the makeup team creating an unused cast of his head and shoulders. So maybe there is a secret scene of an autopsy filmed during season 3, or an autopsy photo in some Dr Owens' file that shows Billy is dead. 

If the actor is “there”, Billy could appear as a nightmare to Max or Eleven caused by PTSD, or as some sort of “spiritual guide” to interact with Eleven, or the Mind Flayer (or Kali, she has that power too) uses his image to scare Eleven. 

If he’s truly alive: Yes again. We don’t know the exact amount of powers the Mind Flayer gave to Billy, but despite being almost a decadent corpse, he was burned, later threw through a wall, later car crashed and later “burned” again… and he was still alive and moving. He died after the gate was closed. The writers can get away with “oh, the gate was reopened, and that caused the powers came back to Eleven -and Billy-, and now he is a Venom/Wolverine type” (mandatory comic reference here). Also, a lot of horror/gore movies from the 80s are about resurrection and/or zombies. 

IF THE CHARACTER COMES BACK WELL: 

Redemption arc and Max scenes. A lot of drama. He would join the Party, which is good for 2 reasons: 

On a D&D level, he would be their barbarian fighter/berserker. The Party and allies fighting techniques are along the lines of intellect, deductive skills, street smarts, superpowers, throw things to monsters, and physical attacks. The latter part was usually covered by Hopper (not now there) and Steve. If Steve isn’t there for whatever reason, it’s good to have some dumb muscle. Also he can drive, which is good if any of the adults, teens or Max is not around. 

On a mental/emotional level, he would be their criminal. He has already a crime record, he is way dark/grey morality than the rest of the characters, he is not shy going places where the other characters are afraid (such as tortures, manipulation, car fu, and “distract people with sexy”). That could be used for good, or to don’t turn your heroes into assholes. Also given his context and past scenes, he can be a healer type due to his experience with fights and abuse, and perform CPR was mandatory on his job. 

On a funny level, just imagine the Cool Bad Boy Dumb Jock surrounded by the Supreme Nerds. Trying to get laid with Robin. Awkard moments with “I almost banged your mom” Wheelers. Or Erica roasting his ass off. Basically, he would be the Spike from Buffy. Damn, maybe he is a secret nerd, imagine a scream contest with Dustin about some obscure D&D concept while the others watch with a WTF face.

IF THE CHARACTER COMES BACK WRONG: 

He can be demented and PTSD, and be the character at Pennhurst Nancy and Robin were investigating. Or the girls were there for Victor Creel, and they crashed accidentally with crazy Billy, who is a John Doe founded wandering around and bought there meanwhile the Pennhurst workers are trying to discover who is he. 

He can be also trapped in the Hawkins lab (I doubt the scientists wouldn’t kept his body). Redemtion arc and Max scenes from above and a lot of drama too. 

IF THE CHARACTER COMES BACK (WELL OR WRONG) AND HAS SUPERPOWERS: 

Please. The black comedy would be endless. This asshole would be Deadpool and we know it. He is the kind of character who would be using his powers for the LOLZ to piss off people. He would leave behind his mutilated hand giving the finger to the army. He would draw with blood a dick over Brenner’s desk. He would rampage the lab, or jump from a skyscraper, or set himself on fire because he is soooo bored. He would mess Max showing her gun holes or performing autosurgery in the kitchen with a fork. He would let Lucas and Steve kick his balls with a bat as a “retaliation”

Basically, Billy has all the potential to become a dark twisted himbo ala Damon Salvatore and I'm here for it

#billy hargrove #asks #slayernina writes stuff

[thegeekerynj]

DC Pride #1 (DC Comics)

An Occasional Attempt to Read, Discuss and Review the Wonders of Comics

By: John Rafferty, cranky old man, and Fan of All Things Comics

DC Pride #1 (DC Comics)

Writers: James Tynion IV, Steve Orlando, Vita Alaya, Mariko Tamaki, Sam Johns, Danny Lore, Sina Grace, Nicole Maines, Andrew Wheeler

Foreward by Mark Andreyko

Artists: Trung Le Nguyễn, Stephen Byrne, Skylar Partridge, Amy Reeder, Klaus Janson, Lisa Sterle, Ro Stein and Ted Brandt, Rachel Stott, Luciano Vecchio

Harley & Ivy Variant Cover by Jen Bartel

‘Who the HELL are you to interrupt MY work??

Just two unruly friends of Dorothy out for a night’s walk…’

————————————————————————————————

Strangely enough, in the middle of a John Constantine Pick-up story, a Midnight one-liner is the stand out for me!

Greetings from the far side of the Pandemic, Gentle Readers, and welcome back to the Angry Fat Guy’s Recent Rambling Reviews of Ribald, Raucous and Reckless  Protagonists of Four Color Art… Say THAT three times fast!

June is Pride Month, and in celebration of this both DC and MARVEL have put together collections of stories about LGBTQIA Characters, written and or artistically rendered by LGBTQIA artistes.

Now, I have chosen the DC Pride book over the Marvel book primarily due to proximity, the DC book is on top of the pile, and the Marvel book is much further down. In as much as I have no dislike for any of the characters on either side, and I do have a limited amount of time, I will be reviewing the DC book at this time (as a big fan of both Bobby Drake and Jean-Paul Beaubier I will review this book at a later time, and address the ham handed treatment of Northstar’s ‘coming out’)

Well, enough of the soapbox, and on to the reviews…

First, the Foreward by Marc Andreyko. 

If you are going to host a book which pays tribute to the LGBTQIA Community in Comics, there is no better way to start than with an essay which addresses the elephant in the room. Andreyko’s essay is simple, straight forward, and on some levels, incendiary. 

‘LGBTQ+ Characters were once used for shock value as villains, prancing butts of jokes, or martyred souls felled by AIDS, or bashing, or some other awful untimely end.’

And that’s the THIRD SENTENCE! The absolutely horrid thing is, there is nothing but truth in these words. Which, unfortunately could bring me back to Northstar… Stay on target, stay on target…

So, we can start off with Jen Bartel’s beautiful Harley / Ivy Variant cover. This was easy, being the Queens of the DC Pride Parade. These two characters have been written together, whether as friends, lovers, nearly conjoined, however one wishes to look at it, for years.This cover, showing them as a Yin and Yang, being crossed by a rainbow…simply gorgeous! 

For me, this was worth the price of admission… yet we still have all those wondrous rides!

Now, I intend to hit on three of the nine stories herein, just in the interest of not boring you all  ( see- In the interest of interest… OK, you can smack me)…or maybe four.

Story the First: He’s The Light Of My Life - Sam Johns writer, Klaus Janson, Art.

Disclaimer: Klaus Janson!!!!!  End of Disclaimer.

Alan Scott. The original Green Lantern.  Magic Power Lantern, weakness is wood… Earth - 2 Golden Age Hero. Man who very recently came out as gay.

Obsidian. Todd Rice, estranged son of Alan Scott, openly gay for much longer than Alan Scott, but just finding out his father was also gay.

This story really hit the social issues of growing up in different times, where ‘Confirmed Bachelors’ needed to meet in closed rooms, with shuttered windows, for fear of what would happen if they were caught doing unacceptable things versus today, where the Social Issues were more cloaked in hatred than fear.

Sam Johns took a deft touch to the many sides of this discussion, looking at the man who was, all those years ago, the man who is today, and the man who grew up to know who he is today. 

This could have been an extremely heavy handed story, told from the side of Todd, but Johns chose to give both characters their voice, so the Reader could understand the driving forces behind Alan Scott’s fear of coming out, and his final decision to do so.

This was a very well written tale, which was only made better for me through the pencil and ink work of Klaus Janson. Not nearly as noirish and dark as his seminal Daredevil days, Janson brings these characters to life for me, with fine line, detail, and an intricate understanding of where less can be much more, and hw once in a while, MORE can be less than what is needed.

This was, by far, my favorite story in this collection.

Date Night, by Nicole Maines, drawn by Rachael Stott. 

First off, points for Nicole Maines, As a Transgender Activist, a Transgender Woman, and a Regular member of the Supergirl cast, portraying the first Transgender Superhero on Television or Film.

Date Night? Nice little story, looking at the character of Dreamer, or Nura Nal, the half human - half Naltorian member of Team Supergirl, and ultimately, distant progenitor of Dream Girl of the Legion of Super Heroes (Long Live the Legion!)

What is nicer is the artwork of Rachael Stott. This is some extremely pretty work, with detail, and flair, and just enough flashes of brilliance to make this very short story a standout.

I am actually looking forward to seeing if there will be a continuation of these characters somewhere in the DCEU, after Supergirl closes out its Television run this year. These characters are pretty neat, and deserve an extended life.

Third story, but not my least favorite, by any means… 

Try The Girl written by Vita Alaya, art by Skylar Partridge.

I’m a sucker for a story about the Question. Whether it’s Vic Sage, Victor Szasz, or Renee Montoya, Steve Ditko’s vision for a protector of human rights brings the Question to the fore, as the embodiment of protecting Hub City, and those living there.

The story starts out simply enough, with a missing girl.

The girl, it seems, also happens to be a candidate for mayor, who happens to be Black, and interested in actually helping the poor and oppressed of Hub City. 

A perfect case for Renee Montoya, The Question.

Vita Alaya gives us a nice little mystery story, an almost typical Question tale, in four pages of beautiful homage work by Skylar Partridge. 

Had I not known better, I would have sworn I was reading a Lemire / Cowyn story, which is very high praise, indeed. Simple, straight forward, no wasted panels or words…

Complete with the Main Character being taken by surprise. No mistakes, no problems. Very High Praise, indeed.

And finally, because where half of the free world complains about how many places one can find a Batman presence in the DCEU… My complaint has been “How many places are you going to put Harley, Anyway???”…

I have no complaint with ‘Another Word For A Truck To Move Your Furniture’, written by Mariko Tamaki, and drawn by Amy Reeder. What complaint could I have?? This is the BEST PLACE for an Ivy - Harley story, outside of one of their own books.

And what a story… Mariko Tamaki is a wondrous writer, capturing the essence of the Harley and Ivy vibe with some cute dialogue, and fun activity. Am Reeder brings a joyful, bouncy feel to the characters; Ivy who spends the entire eight pages being happy and frustrated with Harley, and Harley, who deftly avoids answering the ONE Question any two people who have been together for any time try to look at, ‘Where are We Going?’.

A beautiful, well written and rendered tale of a lunatic relationship going healthily toward Love.

Now, there are more tales in this book, which I have chosen not to touch on (except for the quote from Midnighter, it was deserving of print), just for lack of time. As i said earlier, EVERY Tale in this book is a winner, these just hit me hardest.

Some might dispute my choices, and that’s OK. I defy anyone to see a stinker in the bunch.

Is this book worth the price tag? At $9.99, it is a little steep for the everyday reader… but if you can get past that, you will no be disappointed.

I can Promise you that.

Out of 5🌶        🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

====================================================

#dc comics #dc pride

[ad1thi]

i just called to say, i love you

dont let the title fool you this isnt fluffy at all

--

an au where the phone reaches before tony has fully recovered

post cacw, angst, past stony, 5+1, implied rhodeytony. the 5 times steve called and the one time tony did(nt)

--

1.

The first time it rings, Tony doesn't pick up.

No thats not right

Tony can't pick up, because he's just woken up from a 3 month coma and is currently breathing through a tube because there's a scar across his chest the size of Steve's shield and he's surrounded by life saving machines and he can't physically reach out and pick it up

He's happy he had the foresight to sign to FRIDAY that she needed to link the phone to her mainframe, because it rings only twice before there's a small click and the room fills with a hesitant

"Tony?"

There's a beat of silence, because Tony can't talk with a tube in his mouth and Steve's voice comes out more frantic

"Tony?"

Tony's saved from garbling a reply through the tube when FRIDAY steps in and says smoothly "Boss is indisposed right now, can I take a message?"

Steve is audibly flustered, Tony can hear him rustling sheets as he sits up, and he imagines its because of the surprise that FRIDAY replied and not him

"Hey FRI, uh is Tony incredibly busy?"

"Like I said, he's indisposed. Can I take a message or should I end the call?" there's a coolness to FRIDAY's tone and Tony absently wonders who taught his girl lip while he was under

"No thats fine," Tony can feel the dejection coming in waves, and there's a small, twisted part of him that's lying on a bed clinging onto his life because of the man on the phone- that still wants to crawl over and give him comfort, "I'll just uh- I'll try later that's alright."

There's a pregnant pause and then Steve's voice filters through again, "Would you tell him I called please?"

And FRIDAY replies, "I'll note it down on his low priority list" and severs the line before Steve can respond

--

2.

The second time it rings, Tony's just gotten back use of his throat. Rhodey has been wheeling in and out of his hospital suite periodically to feed him ice-cubes, and he's too worn down to fight the mother-henning

He's got all these ideas for braces that'll help Rhodey walk, but his hands shake too much and he's too weak to leave his bed, so he lets Rhodey heave himself up on the bed frame, and dutifully opens his mouth for food and water and ice cubes

but Rhodey isn't here and the phone is ringing and Tony can't stop his hands shaking

He manages to sign pick up to FRIDAY's camera in the corner of the room, and there's a soft click and a tentative

"Tony?"

just like last time

and it makes Tony want to laugh, inexplicably, because Steve left a hole in Tony's chest and he's the one who sounds scared while Tony is stuck to a bed

"Yeah Cap?" he croaks out, and he hates how frail he sounds, how obviously weak he is

"Tony? Is everything okay?"

Steve's voice is louder now, like he's holding the phone closer to him, like he cares

"you called?" he says and he's proud of how steady his voice is, how calm it is

"Yeah yeah i did i just," he trails off; and Tony bends closer to the phone until he realises that the call is being played by FRIDAY

"I just wanted to see how you were doing"

There's a hitch in Tony's voice, he knows because Steve says "Tony? Is everything okay?" but he can't breathe and the walls are closing in on him and his senses are dulling and

and someone's holding onto him, tight and steady and Tony leans into it desperately, anchoring himself to the lifeboat

His breath evens out and his vision sharpens, and in stages, he breaths in the musky scent of Rhodey

He loosens the death-grip he has on his shirt, but he doesn't move out

its selfish, so unbelievably selfish, because he knows Rhodey shouldn't be standing on his feet, but nobody ever accused Tony Stark of being a martyr

no, Tony Stark takes and takes and takes, and then he takes some more

His consciousness comes back in stages; and Steve's frantic voice starts getting louder

"Tony sweetheart, fuck sorry, didn't mean to call you that, Tony, are you- are you okay?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Rhodey's dry tone comes out

"He's absolutely fine Captain, not that its any of your concern"

There's a soft thud and Tony knows its because Steve dropped the phone

he doesn't have the energy to smile

"Rhodey, I uh, I didn't realise you were there too"

"I am wherever Tony is, at all times Captain, its what friends do," there's a hitch in Steve's voice, but Rhodey continues like he hasn't heard it, "and its Colonel Rhodes to you"

The line clicks off before Tony can hear Steve's response, and he busies himself running soft circles, loosening his throat long enough to ask

"Is that all we are? friends?" in a hoarse voice

Rhodey doesn't say anything, but he does lean down and press his lips to the corner of Tony's mouth, and that, Tony supposes, is answer enough

--

3.

The third time the phone rings, its been so long, Tony's almost forgotten that the phone exists

Almost

As in its tucked inside one of his drawers, under a bunch of old files and documents, next to a small velvet box he found hiding in Steve's socks that he never got around to throwing away

Almost

As in he curls up next to Rhodey everynight, except the nights when he's looking for someone more muscular, someone blonder, someone who isn't the man sitting next to him

Almost

As in he's healthy and the braces work like a dream and he smiles more than he doesn't, but he still reaches for it sometimes and flips it open just to stare at the screen blankly

The phone rings and it takes him a second to place the sound, before he starts fumbling for anything that vaguely masquerades as a bookmark; thumbs the phone open and holds it to his ear

"Tony?" Steve's voice sounds gruffer, more focused, like he's actually called with a purpose

Despite himself, Tony straightens, and he silently signals for FRIDAY to call Rhodey; this might be an Avengers-level threat and while Tony's healthy- he isn't quite there yet

"Cap," he says neutrally

"Tony oh thank god," Steve's panting on the other end, and Tony physically bites on his tongue to stop himself from asking if he's okay, "Its Bucky"

Tony throws the phone across the room, and it hits the wall just as Rhodey is entering

To his credit, Rhodey barely flinches, he just walks over and maneuvers Tony until he's lying against his chest; fingers carding through his hair

Seconds, minutes, hours later, Tony whispers "he called about Bucky" and Rhodey bends down to press his lips to his forehead and they stay like that until they fall asleep; coccooned in each other's embrace

The next day, T'Challa calls to inform them that Wakanda will officially be initiating proceedings to exonerate James Barnes of all his crimes, and Tony feels a visceral anger until he realises that Steve probably called to give him a heads up

Its progress, evidence that Steve no longer meant to keep things from him, but the pain still burns anyway

--

4.

The phone wakes Tony up from his sleep, trilling and buzzing and Tony groans, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear

"Its ass o'clock in the morning Steve you better be dying or so help me god I'll kill you myself"

"You," he breaks off with a hic, "you called me Steve"

"I didn't think you did that anymore," there's a slur to Steve's speech- strong enough that it percolates through Tony's brain and he sends a silent curse to the entities above because his ex has fucking drunk called him

"Its been over a year Steve," he says softly but firmly, "I've moved on"

"You've, you've moved on?" he sounds so small, like a child who lost his favourite toy; and Tony's heart aches

but not a deep, twisted ache; a milder, softer one- for the man Steve used to be

"Steve," he says patiently, "its 2 o'clock in the morning; why you'd call?"

"I just called," there's a swish of liquid, and Tony has the image of Steve cradling a bottle, curled around the flip- phone burned into his memory, "i just called to say i love you"

"i love you and i miss you and i just-" he sniffles, and something he didn't know was still in him breaks at the thought of Steve crying, "i miss you"

"Steve," he says slowly, "you're drunk, and I'm tired"

"I'm drunk, and I love you," he slurs, "and tomorrow I'll be sober, and I'll still love you"

"goodnight Steve," Tony says and pushes the phone away before he says something he'll regret

--

5.

Its the stupid goddamn flip-phone. Thats how they find him. Tony's taken to keeping it on his person because all his intel says that something big is coming, and he doesn't want to be unprepared, so its not even a thought to slip it into his pockets before he flys to bumfuck Nevada to snoop around an AIM base

and he's so close downloading everything and getting away without detection, when the flip-phone starts ringing, and then all bets are off

"Steve," Tony intones as he bends behind a desk, "this better be important"

Steve says something in reply but its lost in the sound of bullets as Tony runs across the hall and ducks behind a pillar

"Can you say that again, I missed that"

"Tony are you, are you being shot at?" Steve's voice reaches new pitches and Tony shoots at the AIM goons coming 'round the corner before slipping down to the floor below

"I was being shot at," he says plaintively, keeping his voice low as he checks the expansive space, "now im being hunted"

"Why would you pick up when you're being shot at?!" Tony grimaces at his voice

"You did give me this phone for emergencies. I thought maybe this time you were using it for what it was intended. The end of the world waits for - ," he cuts off with a grunt as a bullet hits his leg, hobbling to where Rhodey is waiting with his escape ride

"- no-one," he wheezes out once he's in the car, and Rhodey is breaking a lot more traffic law than he should be comfortable doing

"the end of the world waits for no-one, so why'd you call?"

There's silence on the other end and Tony pulls the phone away from his ear to check the call hasn't accidently been disconnected, before saying "Steve? Are you still there?"

"you told me that I was only saying I love you because I was drunk"

Its so left field that Tony takes a few seconds to place what Steve is referring to, but when he does- he can't stop himself from sighing

"Steve look I - "

"I'm coming back to New York in 10 days," Steve barrels on like Tony hadn't started speaking, "I'm coming back home and I'm sober and I still completely and utterly love you."

"The only question is," and Tony can feel Steve steeling himself, "do you still love me?"

Tony looks over to where Rhodey is driving, petting the scar against his chest absentmindedly.

The scar had not hurt Harry in 19 years he thinks when Rhodey feels his gaze and smiles; but there's a tightness in his fingers and Tony knows that Rhodey heard the whole thing

"Steve I- ," he pauses, "ask me again once you're in town"

The line clicks on the other side, and he reaches out to intertwine his fingers with Rhodey's free hand

"I'm not going to make you choose Tones," Rhodey says softly; and Tony lifts their hands so he can press his lips to Rhodey's calloused hands because he knows

There's a silent countdown in the air that week, and Tony has a mental tally of the days,hours, seconds until Steve is back in New York

Except in the end, it doesn't really matter because 9h, 30 minutes and 4 seconds before Steve is expected to arrive in New York, Tony hitches a ride to space in a donut

--

--

+1

He's seen the news

Of course he's seen the news

Its all anyone's seen, and the only reason why he agreed to the godforsaken detour so that they could pick up Vision and Wanda

It's not that he didn't want to help them, its that he told Wanda not to go but she insisted and now instead of being in New York and saving Tony he's in Scotland, saving the person who was supposed to be looking after Tony

He's seen the news

He knows what's going on

But he still can't stop staring at the flip-phone, willing it to ring

So it honestly shouldn't take him this long to pick up when it actually does ring

"Tony?" he says, and he could cry because tony's okay tony's okay tony's -

"Steve?" thats not tony

"Steve hey its Bruce. Long time. Look I know its been a while and this is all very confusing and I'll answer all your questions later but Steve, Steve you need to come back to New York"

"Where's Tony?" he says dumbly, like he hasn't been watching the news obsessively

"Tony's," Bruce's voice cracks, "Tony's gone Cap. And we need you"

Fin

#stevetony #superhusbands #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #tony stark #steve rogers #james rhodes #angst #tw: major character injury #tw: ptsd #tw: anxiety #tw: character in recovery #past stony #past stevetony #implied rhodeytony #post captain america: civil war #post cacw #not steve friendly #but not steve bashing either #my writing #avengers: infinity war compliant #to just clarify #tony does love rhodey #and Rhodey and Tony are happy together #but he also loved Steve #and he's just having a hard time moving on #James Rhodes #Bruce Banner #Wanda Maximoff #i just called to say i love you

[thestuckylibrary]

Group Ask 131

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Please send us an ask stating which group ask and which person you are replying to. Thank you so much in advance!

Anon 1 said:

Do you know the fic where steve and MJ go to a protest and get in trouble with the police so bucky and peter have to rescue them? please tell me you know the link it’s driving me crazy that i can’t find it

Anon sent in tell me that i'm wrong, but i do what i please by Hazloveshisboo (oneshot | 2,082 | T)

Anon 2 said:

I read this one a long time ago and can’t seem to find it anywhere. It’s about mermaid/siren Steve and I remember that later on he has babies w Bucky. And Steve was in a pool with the kids and the other avengers were in it and were all friends and helping out. Thank you!

mackierose95 and lesbianhozier sent in Blue Scales by chaya (complete | 52,224 | E)

Anon 3 said:

Ive been looking for this fic everywhere, bucky meets steve (hes demi in this fic) and then something happens and theyre staying at buckys moms place ((christmas??) and his uncle is tony and he pays off steves debt i think and bucky had a bad past with Brock Rumlow, and they almost kiss towards the end i think they were dancing idk please help lmao

Anon sent in Schrödinger's Romance* by lesbuchanan (complete | 196,220 | M) *rape/noncon, underage

Anon 4 said:

I’ve dug through the tags I think I’d find this fic in but I can’t seem to find it. It’s like 1950’s or 60’s and Bucky comes to live with his aunt and Steve’s gay and they fall in love and at the end they’re running away together?? I’m sorry to have to ask I’ve been looking for a while now

Anon and mille-baci sent in The Heart Wants* by perfect_plan (complete | 21,079 | M ) *period-typical homophobia

Anon 5 said:

hi ive been looking all over for this fic and i’ve tried every ao3 search and just don’t know where it is!! it’s a fic where both steve n bucky are in the battle field (catfa) but steve sketches bucky a lot in his sketch book and steve mentions the curve of buckys lips and his crooked tooth in one of the paragraphs, and steve thinks it’s perfectly normal to notice these things because he’s an artist. thank you!

Anon 6 said:

Hey guys! I was wondering if anyone could help. A long time ago I read a wonderful uni AU fic where Bucky was an extremely grumpy and broken amputee, lost his sister and working at the library of the school Steve and him share and Steve was totally in love with him but like, scared off with Buck’s attitude? I was wondering if you could help me find it. Have a wonderful day!

Anon 7 said:

I’ve looked through pretty much all of the tags, and searched through AO3. I remember that Steve was a prostitute while Bucky was at war. I think Steve ended up still becoming captain America because I remember Sam was in it. Thank you so much, sorry if you can’t find it!

lesbianhozier sent in silhouette, step into the streetlight by caughtinanocean (oneshot | 7,093 | E)

Anon sent in intertwined by moonythejedi394 (complete | 61,411 | M)

Anon 8 said:

Hi, I'm looking for a zombie au where Steve and Bucky live in a store room of a camping store or something and the ending is from Clint's pov being found by the boys in the woods?

padmablossom sent in Searching For The Good by perfect_plan (oneshot | 21,151 | M)

Anon 9 said:

there was a fic i cant remember where bucky&steve were having a “good time” & the avengers heard a commotion & they all thought bucky snapped &was tryna kill steve so they all barged in on them gettin it on

lesbianhozier sent in Just Let Us Kink In Peace by AliceAce14 (oneshot | 24,167 | E) or Lamb and Martyr* by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (complete | 39,589 | E) *HTP, graphic violence, heed the tags

Anon 10 said:

hi!! i'm looking for a specific fic that I have searched high and low for but cannot find— bucky is the WS and gets captured by shield, who put him in a holding cell under surveillance. i think there's a scene where nat tells steve not to go into the cell & steve does anyway and comforts bucky. thanks a ton

injusticexleague said:

Hi, i can´t find this fic where Steve is a cop, and Bucky is trying to find a job. he doesn’t have money, eventually starts working at a starbucks I think? and Steve helps him with the money. Bucky is friend with Natasha, Peter P. and Sam’s Steve friend. Thank you so much I can’t find it ><

Anon 11 said:

Hey, I am looking for a fic where Bucky and Steve are coworker at the same office (in DC, I think). And Bucky commutes every morning. And one weekend, they are stuck in DC because of the bad weather and Steve offered his guest bedroom at his place.

Anon 12 said:

Hi! I’m looking for a fic but I don’t remember much, except that Steve had a child, Bucky’s child, and Bucky finds out years later? Thx!!

whyaretheycalledpancakes and getstucky sent in Nothing Good Ever Happens On A Tuesday by megs_bee (complete | 28,244 | M)

Anon 13 said:

Hiii! I’m looking for a fic in which Bucky confesses his feelings but Steve answers that he has to think about it. In the end they get a happy ending. Thank you!!

angelsarefalling sent in Not Another Supersoldier Fantasy by triedunture (oneshot | 16,462 | E)

ho-dayumn said:

Hey I'm looking for a humour recovery fic where Bucky always talks in Russian so steve doesn't know what he's saying to mess with him but then Steve proposes to him in fluent Russian and he freaks out because he thinks Steve has known what he's saying the whole time. That's all I can really remember. Thanks!

gwydions and Anon sent in This is how it starts by rinnya (complete | 35,191 | T)

#group asks

[yeahishipthatsowhat]

Revenge [Billie Eilish X Marvel - Bury a Friend AU]

TRIGGER WARNING: This story has torture, death, manipulated suicide, slight gore, and psychological manipulation involved, please don't read this if you are affected or triggered by any of the above. This is your warning, this fic has been tagged accordingly.

+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×

Peter has been bullied for years, he's always the new kid when he's forced to move from state to state for his uncle's job. He had high hopes for Midtown High, but it all crumbles down after he becomes a target of a certain groups hate. His only friend came in the form of Bucky Barnes, a senior like himself, who had approached him on the first day with an offer of friendship.

But even Bucky can't save him in the end.

------------------------------------------------------------

He was blindfolded, a gag in his mouth, and his hands bound behind his back. His head hurt, and he was being dragged somewhere, the cool air on his his exposed flesh, and the sound of fallen leaves being crushed in his wake.

. . .

He hurts, everything hurts, Steve had taken his time roughing him up, Tony watching with a smile on his mouth and a plethora of other ways to hurt him falling from his lips.

Nat had brought a taser. . . both her and Thor had a fun time using it on him.

Clint used him for knife practice, he had only brought three blades, but he was good shot, not once missing his target.

Wanda and Strange, liked to play games with words of malice. Telling him of all they would do to him and those he cared about. Hurting his mind more than his body.

But despite everything, the worse was when he came face to face with Bucky.

Bucky was bound, with a cut in his lips and beginning of a black eye forming on his face.

"I'm so sorry Peter, I tried to stop this, but I can't"

The tears leaving Bucky's eyes were real, and Peter knew it.

When they uncuffed Buck and gave him a gun. Peter knew what would happen next.

. . .

They talked about it, and for the first few days it was great, no guilt, no anger, just some good laughs about poor Peter Parker. But then the things started happening, strange and unexplainable things.

. . .

Steve's heart would race whenever he saw a flash of color. He swore he saw a blue sweater, that blue sweater, at the end of every hallway, but when he'd do a double take no one would be there.

Tony had a feeling he was being watched, his skin prickling when he thought he was alone.

Thor had been getting shocked all day, nearly getting electrocuted in Mr. Banner's science class.

Clint found himself missing things. Things he knew had been left in one place but weren't there when he came back.

Natasha had slipped during gymnastics, a tight lightning like pain shooting through her legs as she when to jump.

Wanda had nightmares that didn't seem to go away when she was awake.

Strange found it harder to focus, a splitting headache every time he looked at his books.

. . .

The small things got worse and worse every day. Laughs and smiles were traded in for baggy eyes from restless nights and the weight of suffering on every shoulder. Spring break might ease the tension they all felt.

. . .

Peter had been missing for a whole week before the first one cracked.

. . .

Tony had gone paranoid, eyes following him behind every corner and through every door.  He couldn't go to sleep, the eyes keeping him up at night, and when he finally fell into slumber, his dream were filled with the image of a beautiful boy and the roses that emerged out of the wounds of his rotting flesh. Inside each rose was an eye staring straight back at him, unblinking and crazed.

Tony could feel a gaze on his back, someone had to watching him, following him. And Tony could only take so much.

He darted past his parents calling out for him, straight out of his house, running and running until for the first time in a week he felt like he wasn't being watched.

To bad he wasn't paying attention to where he was.

The Medical Examiner said he was dead a few minutes after impact with the car, but Rhodey would guess that it felt more like hours.

.

Wanda saw him again today. The sweet boy with the soft brown hair and the pitch black eyes. He was always there, wherever she went. Sometimes he would be alone, and Wanda felt a sense of relief if he was by himself. But when he brought friends, that's where the true terror played out in front of her eyes.

One time he brought a man with horns on his head to her family dinner. She had to watch her family get slaughtered and served as she dined with the demons who ate the flesh off the bones of her loved ones.

Another time the boy brought a small child with flaming eyes with him. They played and played and she had to watch as flesh melted and the world burned in front of her desk in Physics class.

The worse was when she saw her body decomposing, still locked in her head as her she brought her rotting hand to her face and watched she the flesh fell apart.

She couldn't bear it anymore.

"Stop this, please stop the things I see"

The boy simple looked at her and hummed before smiling and walking away.

"Come with me and I'll end the visions"

And so she followed the boy, tripping over rocks and roots, feeling the ocean breeze on her skin. He was the only thing she could see, his hand reaching for hers.

"Come to me and the awful things you see will be no more"

So she stepped forward, a leap of faith, and her foot felt no earth beneath her.

The newspaper read "Fatal Accident: High School Senior Falls Off Cliff"

.

Thor wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and sleep, but the blankets shocked his skin every time he moved. He'd never heard of static cling that hurt so much. Plugging in his phone to charge left him with either mild discomfort or a 2nd degree burn.

Nothing electronic in his house would work for him, everything automatically going haywire and shutting off the moment he got to close.

He probably shouldn't have been out in the rain. But sometimes a storm can move in when it's least expected.

And who knew lightning stuck twice? Or three times? or even five? Or enough that the all that was left was burnt flesh and the smell of a Christmas ham.

.

Clint knew where he put his wallet when he went to shower, it should have been in the same place as always. But lately he was missing things. Missing his bus when normally he's never late. Missing his notes he just took last class. Even missing a catch and breaking his pinky finger.

Clint knew he had put his phone on the wireless charger. He remembered it so clearly. So why did he hear his phone ringing down stairs?

Perhaps the worse thing he ended up missing was not his phone, but the first step on his way downstairs.

He tried to crawl to his phone, his head bleeding and body in pain, but for some reason when he reached where he had thought he had heard it earlier he saw nothing. But a familiar tune of his cell phone ringtone played from up stairs.

Its sad how many teens don't pay attention to where they place their things. You never wanna stick it somewhere you'll regret later.

.

Steve awoke in pain, blue and purple bruises covering his body. Perhaps the guys had been a bit to forceful during practice last night? Suddenly he felt dizzy, and then the feeling of something warm dripping into his chest.

Blood. Another bloody nose. He'd been getting them at least once a day every since. . .

No matter, he'd just have to make sure he was fully focused and in tip top shape for the game tonight.

Its hard. They're losing by one, a two point conversion would get them the win. Just before the play Steve sees the blue sweater, it's dirty and covered in blood. He can feel the pain in his chest and the start of a dizzying nose bleed only after its too late.

He's tackled and underneath two teams. By the time he's uncovered, well . . . let's just say the journalist and activist for higher standards of football safety have their martyr.

.

Natasha couldn't move. It's like she's stuck in place, her muscles tensed as if they're ready for a zap. It takes two whole minutes before she's able to move again.

It happens randomly, in the middle of class, at the beginning of lunch, at the end of dinner, even in the dead of night. Its never really harmed her much, except when she was running for a jump in gymnastics and suddenly her legs gave out.

The doctors say it's 2 weeks in the cast, and by day three she's has had enough of it. It's hard enough trying to get around the house, but her cat sees to have it out for her, dashing in front of her legs every time she tries to move.

Natasha just wants to take a nice bath, soak and relax. The cast's not supposed to get wet, but she's smart, setting up a ledge on the bath to place it.

The bedroom, the kitchen, and the living room, she checks everywhere but can't find her phone. Even from her home phone, but till there's no sound. She must've left it on silent, but there's no way she's gonna be able to relax in the bath if there's no music.

The silence freaks her out to much.

So she takes he dad's old two-in-one radio and cd player, pops in one of her favorite artist and gets the bath ready. Leaving the door open a crack so she's not suffocated by the steam.

When she's finally in, the warm water feels like heaven, her body sinking into the tub. It's nice even though the water isn't filled to the top.

She's too afraid of getting her cast wet.

Suddenly, amongst the sweet sounds of music coming through the cd player, the tub starts filling, water steadily coming through the spout. Natasha has a second to think 'I hate this stupid old house' before reaching to turn the water off. But her hand never touches it. Her body seizes, body fuzzy with static, and bolts of pain lacing through her body.

Her body is lowering into the water, and there is nothing she can do. Panic sets in as her head slowly sinks into the water, and she can barely breathe let alone hold her breath.

She opens her eyes in the tub, trying to stay calm, when she sees it. The familiar black of her cats tail.

Except when the cat turns to look at Nat, it's eyes aren't the usual green she's used to, but instead a stunning red. Maybe the lack of air has gotten to her?

She can feel the pain leaving her body, for a moment she thinks she's in the clear. But then the cat brushes against the player, and she watches as it makes its decent towards the tub.

She screams, the air leaving her lungs, bubbles coming to the surface as the player makes contact with the water.

Was Natasha really so upset about her injury to do this to her self? She seemed so distant the past couple of days. How could they not have seen this coming?

.

Stephan thinks little of wasting a day away by doing nothing but watching tv. But lately he can't focus, his head erupting in pain when he starts to study. Even documentaries are off limits. So he's stuck with children's shows and mindless classics.

Stephan figured a few pills might help the headaches and the sleepless nights. And they do, but only for an hour or so.

One day Stephen ends up staring at a book for a solid hour, unable to focus and read more than a sentence before it becomes too much for him, slamming the book shut and practically running to the bathroom.

Just two pills he tells himself. But it doesn't last as long the second time around. One more pill won't hurt. Two more will make it better. Maybe one blue one and one green one might make it easier. Add in a sleeping pill for when he can't make it through the night. Two sleeping pills might make the nights dreamless.

Every time he takes them it he feels like himself again, but the effects never last long, he needs more and more every time.

Stephen really should be paid attention to the warnings. He was practically chugging the blue pills, green ones sprinkled in, and the red ones, well, he used those more often than he liked.

He's reading one day, yeah that's right, actually reading, when his vision starts to go blurry, his mind drifting, NO, he can't stop now, this part is the climax, the part where all his questions get answered.

He tries to get up to get more pills, but the moment he's off the chair his vision blacks out and he falls on the ground. It takes a second to regain his train of thought, when he abruptly throws up, the taste of bile on his tongue.

When was the last time he ate, really ate, not just a snack? Had he been that focused on reading, on finally being able to connect with the world again that he skipped meals? What day was it? When was the last time he drank water, besides to wash the pills down? How many had he taken?

He questions himself till his head pounds with pain and his vision goes spotty. He sees movement in the corner of his eye, but his head is foggy, he can't tell what it is.

A second later his book falls near his head, it's pages open, but Stephen can't make out anything. He looks over the page, yearning to be able to read the ending before he's gone.

He eyes are heavy, his chest hurting, he wants one last glace at the page. Then he sees it, the one line he can make out, 'A delicate thing like you will be fun to break, Peter', and the blood in his veins run cold. He said that once, to a boy, a boy in a blue sweater, whose blood had stained his shirt.

He's almost out when a thought crosses his mind. 'I don't remember a character in the book named Peter.'

Poor Stephen Strange, so absorbed in his books that he missed the world around him. What a shame that in the end all be had were printed words on a page.

. . .

Bucky arrived at school after Spring break, his heart and head just a heavy as before. He had been away for the entire week, his friend Sam inviting him on a trip out of state.

He kept his head down, focused on getting to class a making it through another day.

He was shocked to enter homeroom and find flowers on seven desks. He looked around trying to find answers when he over heard a conversation.

"Can you believe it?"

"They're all dead."

"Scott said that they were all accidents, but the way they died . . . and all during break, there's no way that all seven of them died by accident."

"Could it have been a suicide pack?"

"They all had good lives, why end it short?"

"I don't know man, but did you hear about Peter?"

The bell rang and The conversation ended as both students took their place in class.

Peter? Bucky's chest tightened. What about Peter? Did they find his body? His poor body broken and bloody, tear tracks down his soft delicate skin. Bucky never did know what they did with his body.

He was nearly over taken with guilt and pain, the beginning of tears prickling in the corner of his eyes.

"Hey there Bucky. I missed you."

Bucky froze, the air around him stilled, his heart nearly stoped before pounding loudly in his chest.

The boy walked in front took of him, took the seat before his own, say down, and turned to face him.

Peter was the same as before, but not. His soft brown curls framed his face, he rich brown eyes staring straight back at Bucky's own. His lips just a pink and pretty as before, the smile that rested on them kind but guarded.

The thing that had changed, wasn't his body, but the air around him. He wasn't as weak and small as he seemed before. The feeling of vulnerability gone, replaced with a strength Bucky never knew Peter possessed.

Bucky's hand reached out to touch the boy's cheek, stopping right before he touched him.

"Peter" the reverence in Bucky's voice was palpable.

Peter moved his cheek to Bucky's hand, eyes closed and a gentle breathe leaving him.

When Peter looked back at him, Bucky couldn't help but smile.

He should be afraid, scared, frightened by what Peter is, or what he can do. Not in this moment he feels nothing but peace.

One by one they all fell. Justice or Revenge? It doesn't matter, it's done now.

#peter parker #tony stark #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #thor ordinson #dr stephen strange #clint barton #wanda maximoff #bucky barnes #tw: suicide #tw: gore #tw: murder #tw: drugs #tw: death #tw: psychological abuse #bury a friend AU #marvel x billie eilish #lowkey winter spider #revenge #my aus #angel's au

[abovethesmokestacks]

Constellation

Title: Constellation

Pairing: Stucky x reader

Rating: All audiences

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: ...angst? You know me. Can’t resist the pain.

This is written for @the-canary‘s 1k Constellation Challenge. My pick was Cygnus and, well, this is what became of it. Tag list at the end, although I have mostly just included those on my EVERYTHING-list since I wasn’t sure if everyone on my Seb- and Bucky-lists were into Stucky x reader.

Here Phaethon lies who in the sun-god's chariot fared. And though greatly he failed, more greatly he dared.

He can feel the drag of wind, the bite of the cold as clear as when it happened, the thundering of the train that had died away into deafening silence when he started feeling his grip slip. Bucky doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t feel weightless, doesn’t want to hear Steve’s voice shrink away from him, doesn’t want to-

The scream dies on his tongue, both of his hands coming up to clasp firmly over his mouth when he bolts upright in bed, the sheets falling from his sweat-covered body. Bucky’s heart thunders in his chest, the bed he’s in suddenly feeling too small, and he struggles to stumble out of it. The moon filters through the dirty windows, create little beams where he can see dust mites dance.

He’s here. It’s okay.

Here is a shitty safehouse out in the boondocks, too far from comfort.

Here is a bed that barely fits them all, because no one would allow any of the other to take the couch that looks like the seventies puked all over it.

Here is quiet, no distractions and Bucky feels his skin itch.

Behind him, someone, he thinks it’s you, turns over and exhales. Grabbing his tac pants, he pads out into the cramped living room, past the crunchy couch and to the door leading out onto the bare porch. He’d prefer to have sweats, something soft and comfy, not the roughness of the tac outfit, the stains on them dark against the dim moonlight. It’ll have to do, he supposes, running a hand through his hair and cursing when he belatedly realizes it’s his left and tresses snag on the platings. It’s been seventy years, this should not be a problem anymore.

If anything, it takes his mind off the horrors that had been playing like a feature film. It gives him purpose. It distracts him in a way that is. Pleasant. It’s closing his eyes to gently untangle his hair from his bionic hand, breathing long and calm and feeling the cool night air caressing him and drying the cold sweat and making shivers travel down his spine.

His patience, sadly, runs out twenty minutes later, yanking out the final strands that refuse to untwist not matter how he tries to fiddle and make the plates shift ever so carefully. Free of his hair, he turns his hands over, looking at the plates shifting again and again, the ripped strands dancing with each movement.

“Buck?”

You’re standing behind the screen door, arms crossed over your chest against the cold, blinking sleepily. It takes only seconds for you to read him, to push the creaking door open and swallow back the chills. He wants to tell you to go back inside, to crawl back into bed. The night is dark and cold, you’ll catch your death-

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He can only nod, wishing like a fool that you’ll accept it, press a kiss to his head and go back inside to Steve. He’ll keep you warm. Bucky has few memories left of warmth. He is ice and his moniker, stuck in winter’s merciless grip. He should have been more careful, should have kept moving. Bucharest made him lose his touch.

“I can see you thinking.” Your voice is gentle, a breath against his shoulder when you sit down and lean up against him. “And you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but please… come inside. It’s cold out here.”

It’s not funny, but he can’t help the little huff of laughter that spills across his lips. What’s one more icy embrace? Sometimes, you and Steve let him be, allow him the solitude he needs to work through the slumps that sometimes catches him off guard. It’s a strange relationship, interconnected circles, like planets in orbit that only align every so often. You each need space from time to time, need the space to walk alone, but you all relish the intimacy, the safety and love that floods at points of contact. Bucky still feels like he is drifting more than you and Steve, that he his about to break away and it scares him. He doesn’t want to lose Steve again, doesn’t want to let go of what the three of you have built.

“I was falling,” he begins, voice rough and deep. “I-I haven’t- I couldn’t look away. I could feel my grip- Steve’s face, he was- I wake up every time and my ears buzz and my face hurts. From the wind.”

The plates in his hands click with the stretch of his fingers, arcing through them to form a fist, “I can still feel the iron bar I held on to. Of all the goddamn things that didn’t- didn’t get lost, this had to be one of ‘em.”

You stay quiet next to him, letting your warmth seep into him. He feels unworthy of it.

“I don’t…” Bucky hesitates, weighing the words, wets his lips. “I think I wished it would be quick. That it would be over quick and that Steve… could go home. That whatever happened after better end with him getting home.”

“He did,” you affirm, kissing his now warm shoulder. “You both did. Took a while, but you did.”

“Not all of me. My arm's somewhere in the fuckin’ alps and parts of… of me are just… erased. Wasn’t exactly what I’d planned for my life.”

“So what did you have planned?”

Bucky lets out a long breath. “Can’t remember. But it sure as hell wasn’t that. Stevie and I, we could never have lived- We couldn’t’ve grown old together like we’d wanted to if we’d both gotten home. I’d’ve told him to marry Carter. I’d’ve lied through my teeth and coached him through a proposal and I’d’ve smiled until it hurt at their wedding and made a toast and waxed poetic about a love more epic than anythin’ we’d read about the Greek myths and I’d’ve lived on the fact that he was happy until they put me in the ground and no one were the wiser.”

The words tumble from him, pours out of a heart and soul so long forced into dormancy. They hurt in their own way because it’s a life he was denied, even if it would have been a special kind of pain to live through life knowing he’d never be able to have then what he has now. It makes a realization surge through him, crystalline and sharp, that he doesn’t want to lose it now, and panic follows, asking how he thinks he can stop it from happening.

“Greek myths, huh?” you muse, scooting a little forward to be able to look up at the heavens.

It’s a house in the middle of nowhere, and the skies are dotted with stars, far more visible than anything he’d hope to see in New York. At his nod, your eyes search for a moment, flitting back and forth, your index finger absentmindedly tracing shapes and following a path only you know.

“There.” You point, and Bucky’s not sure what cluster of stars to fixate on. “Can you see Cassiopeia, sitting on her throne?”

He strains his eyes, searches the sky, his memory. A queen on her throne, shaped…

“The W.”

“Mmhmm… Next to her is Cepheus, arms spread wide and praying for his daughter’s life. And underneath him, can you see it?”

Bucky cocks his head, following the outline of the ancient king. “The cross?”

“Some call it the Northern Cross. Others call it Cygnus,” you tell him, lowering your hand but keeping your gaze on the formation.

“The swan.”

“Phaeton was the son of the sun god Helios. His friends would mock him, denying his heritage, so he went to his father, asking for a chance to prove that he was a son of Helios.” Your voice sounds dreamy, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “So Helios finally allowed his son to ride his father’s chariot for a day. But Phaeton wasn’t strong enough to tame the horses pulling the chariot, and in order to save humanity, Zeus struck it down with a lightning bolt. Phaeton fell into the river below. His lover, Cycnus, grieved him and spent days searching for his bones so he could give his love a proper burial. Finally, the gods took pity on him, turning him into a swan and lifting him to the heavens.”

Your voice trails off, settling into a silence that is meant to give Bucky time. Time is treacherous. Time creates space for thought and doubt.

“Who am I supposed to be in this story?” he asks, looking at you under his lashes.

You turn to him with a flourish, an unreadable expression on your face like you know something he doesn’t.

“Does it matter?”

“Shouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re telling me this? So I can… see myself in Phaeton?”

“Do you?”

Steve’s voice makes you both jump, and you nearly end up in Bucky’s lap. He’s standing where you stood only a little while ago, leaning up against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. It makes Bucky flounder, arguments and counterarguments forming and failing faster than he can speak.

“See, I don’t. Phaeton had something to prove. Running headfirst into something that is too big for him,” Steve continues with an easy smile, slipping through the door, joining you on the porch.

“But he fell.” Bucky’s voice is failing, he swallows around his memories of the dream, grips at the analogies.

Sadness colours Steve’s features, his head falling down to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. And so did I. We’re not a perfect simile. You're Phaeton and Cycnus as much as I am Phaeton and Cycnus.”

He pulls Bucky in for a kiss, resting their foreheads together while you stay still between them. “I didn't search for you, Buck. I didn't search and it haunts me to this day. I should have.”

“I don't blame you,” Bucky soothes him, feeling his stomach twist at the thought of Steve carrying this around for all these years. “Never did. Never will.”

“So maybe both of you get saved in the end? Both of you lifted to the heavens?” you murmur, arms snaking up around their necks.

“Only because you pulled us up there.”

You give Steve a playful shove, shivering as a gust of cool air finds its way past the two supersoldiers’ bodies. “Martyrs, the pair of you. Can we please go back to bed now? Relief team isn't picking us up until 0900 and I'm not gonna catch a cold.”

With a snicker, Steve gets up. He's still warm, the serum surging through his veins. Ambrosia from the gods, Bucky thinks. You follow, drifting to Steve's side, but halts when you don't hear Bucky's steps following.

“Bucky? Please… come to bed.”

“I will,” he promises, a small smile to reassure them as much as himself. “Just… in a minute. Promise.”

You look like you want to say something, your lips pursing just a touch. Bucky has seen it before, knows it as a precursor to your final attempt at swaying him. It's so endearing, so sweet and his heart aches for it. Steve pulls at your arm, sensing Bucky a smile that speaks of trust. It echoes in his heart, the image of a smaller Steve, of Sunday mornings and gentle touches that would never belong to anyone else.

He's left alone, no cajoling, just an exhale and the sound of the screendoor and the click of the one behind it. Turning his gaze back to the sky, he finds the swan again, imagines its form fleshed out. Wide wings stretched out in flight, long neck held high. He thinks about the story again, plays it over and over, and though Phaeton is dark and brooding, a mirror image of a golden-haired Cycnus at the start, the men morph into some indistinguishable combination. A slight boy with brown hair and too much to prove. A young man with one arm and a shield on his back scouring the river. Gentle arms cradling his despair, wrapping it in down and giving it wings.

Maybe you and Steve are right. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it's not a perfect simile. But it's enough to make him want to hold on. A gust of wind sweeps in, finally penetrating his defenses and making him shiver. His left shoulder aches dully, and he rolls it, massages the scar tissue when he gets up. Quietly, he pads back in, sheds his tac pants, stands bathing in the dimmed light of the bedroom windows. There is a place for him, a space to fit into, right between you and Steve. Bucky is careful when he crawls in between you, trying to jostle you as little as possible. Arms wrap around him, a nose is pressed between his shoulder blades. He lets out a breath, allows his himself to relax, to accept, to take his place in his own little constellation.

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#fab1kchallenge #stucky x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #greek myth inspired

[godownthehall-blog]

THE OA: PART 1 Episode 1 “Homecoming” Part 2 !!SPOILERS!!

I’m gonna rewatch the OA with the most critical eye possible and note everything I find. 

Let’s start with the names of our characters. 

Nancy: Favor, Grace 

Abel: breath, vapor ,or son. n reference to the biblical story, Abel is usually linked with his brother who killed him, as Cain and Abel. 

Steve: a crown, a garland. The name is borne in the Bible by St Stephen, one of the seven chosen to assist the apostles, and the first Christian martyr.

Jesse: Gift 

Betty: In Greek the meaning of the name Betty is: From the Hebrew Elisheba, meaning either oath of God, or God is satisfaction. Brodroick: Or Nordic Decent Allen: Harmony, stone, or noble. 

Alfonso(French): "noble and ready" Other theories claim the first element is hadu or hild (see ILDEFONSO), both of which mean "battle".

Buck(Michelle: "Who is like God?"

Nina:Native American name meaning"mighty warrior" On a lot of baby name sites you will find that it says it is of Spanish origin and means ‘little girl’. Hindi name meaning "pretty eyes." 

1. Not even 38 seconds in and there’s so much to talk about. The boy saying “She’s going to the other side.” A flock of five birds flies in V formation just as OA lets go. 

2.Seven is an angelic number, and Prairie was missing for seven years. 

3. Seven years, three months and eleven days* 

4. An old woman in a dusty car. Who was she? Will we ever hear of her again? 

5. When Prairie is looking through the computer room there’s a cork board with several head lines tacked to it, missing persons signs, articles from magazines calling her the Michigan Mystery, FBI Seeks Answers, Prairie Still Missing, and interestingly ‘A year later, lights over Michigan still a mystery’

6. In the video of prairie sleepwalking as a child taken by able, young Prairie is saying this in Russian ‘I'm going to find you. I'll start in the old house, or may be in the farm's grandfather, or in the old mine’

7.Nancy tells Prairie ‘doors must remain open at all times’ 

8.After the dog attack, in the bath, Nancy asks OA if she’s “Hearing voices again” (this is one of the first of many moments that supports my theory that Nina jumped on accident when she went back to her body as a little girl.) 

9.OA says “I do need help,” to Steve’s proposition of “ I thought I’d help you out and you could help me out” In Part 2, Old Knight tells OA that her brother has been sent to her in every dimension to help her. 

10. When we meet BBA she’s completely surrounded by purple, she’s wearing purple, the board around her has purple birds. Purple can represent as much as wisdom, nobility, devotion, peace, mystery, and magic. 

11. There are a lot of threes on the board of BBA’s classroom. 3 is an angelic number. I still don’t really know what that means even after extensive googling, so. Do with that what you will. 

12. There are a lot of images of birds throughout the meeting between BBA and OA. 

13.Homer’s accident was on November 2, 2007. 

15. OA was born in russia in 1987 

16. High pitched ringing can be heard in Nina’s premonition. The ringing, tinnitus, is a side effect of inter-dimensional travel. 

Those are all my thoughts  on Episode one: Homecoming

#The OA #The OA part 1 #The OA s1e1 #The OA:Homecoming #Nancy Johnson #Abel Johnson #prarie johnson #Michigan mericle #steve winchell #Jesse #Buck vu #BBA #betty broderick allen #Alfonso #French #Brit Marling #The OA: Part 2