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#steve rogers retrospective
levelofyoureye · 8 months
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my friend innocently mentioned to me that they’d never seen the captain america trilogy, so naturally as someone who used to be a devoted stucky shipper i kidnapped brought them over to my house and forced showed them all three movies. and holy shit y’all…
i literally forgot that half of these lines are actual lines canonically said in the mcu. like, they don’t come from an ao3 fic. they’re not something that i just imagined happening. they happened. “even when i had nothing, i had bucky” are you serious??? “rumlow said bucky and suddenly i was a 16-year old kid again in brooklyn” wow ok catch me crying. “i’m with you til the end of the line” WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS TO ME. in retrospect it will forever be a good thing that marvel was too cowardly to make them canonically in love because i literally do not think i would’ve been able to handle it. i would’ve died and imploded on the spot. the mcu now wants us to forget how much they meant to each other BUT I NEVER WILL. as steve rogers once said SOME PEOPLE MOVE ON BUT NOT US!!!
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tuiccim · 2 years
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Playing for Keeps
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader
Warnings: Post-breakup, angst with a happy ending, jealousy, manipulation, anxiety.
Word count: 2k
Summary: A party at Tony's penthouse has you facing Steve Rogers for the first time since he broke your heart and you make sure to show up with a heartthrob on your arm.
A/N: Thank you to the lovely @whisperlullabyfor beta reading for me. Dedicated to my darling friend @maladaptivexxdaydreaming who sent me the gif that set my brain going on this story.
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You take a deep breath on the elevator ride up to Tony’s penthouse and glance at your date. Handsome in his suit, Jean-Paul smiles at you and reaches to entwine your fingers together. You squeeze his hand as the doors open revealing a room full of people. You make your way around saying hello to your friends and acquaintances while sipping a glass of champagne. 
“Hey! You came,” Natasha greets you with her signature smirk. 
“Of course. Tony invited-”
“Look who it is!” Sam slides up to you with a grin. 
“Hey Sam,” you say, giving him a quick hug but feeling your stomach knot. 
“Who’s your friend?” Sam asks, eyeing Jean-Paul. 
“This is my date, Jean-Paul Beaubier. Jean-Paul, this is Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson.”
“Of course, you two really need no introduction,” Jean-Paul says as he shakes their hands. 
“How did you two meet?” Natasha asks with a glance at Sam.
“We-” “This-” You and Jean-Paul speak at the same time and then laugh together.
“Okay, you tell it,” you smile. 
“As I was saying, this beautiful creature wandered into my reading. I was promoting my latest novel when a vision walked in and stole my breath. I could barely get through the rest of my chapter. And then I had to take questions and sign books. I was watching her out of the corner of my eye to make sure she didn’t leave. She came up after things died down, had me sign a copy of the book, asked some wonderfully intelligent questions, and even managed to seem surprised when I asked her to go for a drink.”
“Jean-Paul!” you laugh at his exaggeration. “More like, I stammered out a barely intelligible question and almost passed out when he asked.”
“I was enchanted,” Jean-Paul smiles at you. 
“And far too kind to me,” you demure.
“That’s so… sweet,” Natasha says with a stiff smile.
“You gotta teach me some moves, man,” Sam elbows Jean-Paul with a waggle of his eyebrows. 
“Oh, Tony and Pepper are waving us over,” you say quickly, relieved to be leaving the conversation. 
Jean-Paul guides you in their direction with a hand on the small of your back. You make introductions and small talk until you can extricate yourself to wander around the party. You enjoy seeing your friends even if it does feel slightly awkward at times. A little later, you and Jean-Paul are sitting close together with his arm around your waist. His whispered observations of the party goers had you giggling uncontrollably until-
“Someone is staring at you, darling, and seems quite unhappy.”
You glance up and feel a chill as you lock eyes with Steve Rogers. His piercing blue gaze speaks volumes. Turning back to Jean-Paul, you tell him, “That’s my ex.”
“Captain America. He won’t make me disappear, will he?” Jean-Paul’s lips quirk. 
You laugh and shake your head. He kisses your neck and continues talking but your mind wanders to the supersoldier whose eyes you can still feel on you. It had been six weeks since he broke up with you. He looked different in just that short amount of time. His hair was a tad longer and less groomed.  His beard had grown in making a much gruffer looking Captain America. He had ended your seven month relationship for reasons you didn’t fully understand. His lame excuse of putting you in danger, and that he was too busy with the Avengers to give you what you deserve had sounded hollow even to you. 
The intense retrospection you had put yourself through had led you to one conclusion. The drawer. Steve stayed with you as much, if not more, than he stayed at the compound and so you had cleaned out a drawer for him, made some space in the closet, and invited him to keep some things there. Less than a week later, he took all of his things and walked out of your apartment and your life. You were devastated but had concluded that Steve simply couldn’t commit. After all, seven months in and he had never said I love you. Although, that hadn’t stopped you from berating yourself for pushing him. 
Now, your anger and guilt had subsided but your heart still hurt and you knew you had to do something. Jean-Paul was perfect. Handsome, kind, funny, and intelligent, all the things you need right now. 
“Hey…” Jean-Paul gets your attention. 
“I’m sorry. I got lost in thought for a second.”
“It’s okay, minou. Would you like another drink?”
“That sounds great but I’ll get them. Thor is over there. I know you wanted to meet him. Would you like me to introduce you?” you ask. 
“Please,” he stands and holds a hand out to you. 
After making introductions, you excuse yourself to refresh your drinks and run into Wanda at the bar. 
“How’ve you been?” you ask her. 
“I’m doing fine,” she says with a raised eyebrow. 
“Is Vision okay?” you ask, confused by her demeanor. 
“He’s wonderful. How are you?” Wanda’s intonation expresses more than her words. 
“I’m doing pretty good. Just trying to move on. Find some happiness,” you answer the unspoken question.  
“He hasn’t been the same since…”
“He broke up with me, Wanda. This was his choice,” you answer defensively. 
“I’m not blaming you. I’m just letting you know in case…”
“I won’t chase him. He made his feelings very clear. Anyway, I should get back to my date. It was nice seeing you.”
“You, too,” Wanda smiles sadly. 
You make your way back to Jean-Paul who puts a possessive arm around you. It seems every time you glance around the party you manage to catch Steve’s eyes. His gaze seemed to follow you everywhere, sometimes centered on you and other times wherever on your body Jean-Paul’s hand was on at the time. It was disconcerting but you chose to ignore him and made your way around the party while trying to enjoy yourself. 
It was as you were conversing with Natasha and Sam again that everything seemed to hit you at once. Jean-Paul’s side pressed to yours, his hand making circles on your back, the noise of the party, the feeling of Steve’s eyes on you, the weight of the glances Natasha kept making in his direction, the cold glass in your hand, the underlying meaning of all the words around you, and your anxiety skyrocketed. The overwhelmed feeling was too much for you and you excused yourself to the lady’s room. 
Sitting on the toilet, you allow yourself a couple of tears before forcing yourself to suck it up. Before, you would have been with Steve. The noise would have faded when he looked at you, not buzzed as it had tonight. All of the conversations would not have seemed rife with meaning and you wouldn’t feel constantly judged. You would have been safe and comfortable under his wing. 
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you straighten your shoulders, take a few deep breaths, and force yourself to leave the quiet sanctuary. You walk down the hall towards the living room when a door opens as you pass it and you hear your name before being pulled into the room. You stare into Steve’s eyes as he closes the door and then leans into you with his large hands spread on each side of the wall beside you. He was close enough to smell and you had to stop yourself from closing your eyes and breathing him in. Just his presence had an instant calming effect on your nerves until the intrusive memories of his words broke through. 
“Are you okay?” he asks softly. 
You look at him as several emotions run through you. Finally, you lift your chin and answer defiantly, “That’s not really your business anymore.”
“It’ll always be my business to make sure you’re okay,” Steve says softly. 
“I’m fine. Can you-”
“Minou?”Jean-Paul’s voice can be heard through the door just as he opens it and stares at you trapped by Steve’s arms. You push Steve away as Jean-Paul turns on his heel to leave. 
“Jean-Paul, please! It’s not what it looks like!” 
“Tu me prends pour une valise?(Do you take me for a fool?)” He says as he walks away quickly. 
“No! Jean, please!” You try to follow but Steve grabs your hand. 
“Please don’t go,” he begs. 
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I run after a good man? Why should I stay here with the one who broke my heart? Give me one good reason!” You practically shout the last sentence and scoff when he simply stares back. 
As you turn away again, he finds his voice, “Because I love you!”
That stops you in your tracks. He had never said it before. He had never mentioned love or the future even but now he was declaring it loudly. But could it be real?
“Funny how you just figured that out. You see me with another man and your jealousy finally forces those words out of your mouth. Well, Captain Rogers, I don’t believe you!” 
Steve closes the door before you can go out and when you turn back to him with a sharp remark on your tongue, it fades as you notice the tears clinging to his lashes. He holds his hands up and says softly, “Please, please hear me out. That night was the worst night of my life. I thought I was doing what was best for both of us with everything that was happening. There are so many threats, so many things you don’t know about and I can’t tell you. I thought I could protect you best by letting you go.”
“No, no! That isn’t the real reason you did this. You did this because you’re too scared to really commit to someone. You realized you had gotten in too deep with me and ran scared,” you try to hold onto your anger but your voice breaks on the last word. 
Steve sees you straighten your spine but the quiver in your lip is a dead giveaway. You’re scared to let him in again and his heart twists. Whatever it took he would win you back and the first step was admitting his failings. Carefully, he cradles your neck as he speaks softly, “You’re right. I was scared. I am scared but not having you is so much scarier. You are what makes all of the fighting worth it. You make me a better person and remind me of all the good things in the world. I wasn’t going to come tonight but I knew I had to. I had to see you. I needed to know that I could be in the same room with you and all of my reasons for breaking up with you would hold up.”
“And?” You whisper.
“Not a single one did. The second those elevator doors opened and I could see you, nothing else mattered except you. I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. I love you so much. And if it’s still on the table, can I have that drawer?” Steve looks into your eyes, waiting for your answer. 
“It’s still available. I think we can make that work,” you reply with a little smirk. 
“And the other thing?”
“Yeah, I love you, too, Steve.”
“Thank God,” Steve whispers before kissing you sweetly. 
“What do we do now?” you ask as the kiss ends. 
“Go to my room to grab a few things. Do you want to go find Jean-Paul and tell him?” Steve asks.
“He’ll figure it out,” you say as you pull Steve to you for another kiss. 
Hours later, you smile at Steve’s sleeping form next to you. Your lips are slightly swollen from the number of kisses shared and you would have beard burn in some interesting places tomorrow but it was worth every moment. Quietly, you grab your phone and send a quick text to Jean-Paul, “Tell Kyle I said thank you for letting me borrow his hubby for the night. You’re the best.” Turning over, you snuggle against Steve and smile at being back where you belong.
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darsynia · 11 months
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Shipping and Handling | Ch 2: Urgency
(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)
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SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT
Summary: There’s a chance you and Steve aren’t the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what’s happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head– not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes. Length/Warnings: 3,028 / sexual situations Prompt: @allcapsbingo April Adoptable: Sex Pollen ((I know, right??))
Tags: @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress @cjand10 @wckedheart @samfreakingwinchester @blind-devil @sanniegirl1214 @karimac @dispatchvampire
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Excerpt:
Steve’s expression turns sheepish. “I was trying to persuade him to walk you out.” 
“Let me guess, he was doing the same?”
He nods. The elevator protests the doors remaining open, and he murmurs some kind of command that changes the red color to green.
“You could escort me down?”
“That’s probably a bad idea,” Steve says solicitously. There’s a light in his eyes that sends a thrill along your spine, and you almost wish you could push him to change his mind-- but then you remember how important it is to figure out what the hell Mistress is doing to the many people exposed to it every day. Encouraging Steve Rogers to take an elevator ride so you can stand near him and wish he would kiss you is probably not furthering the cause of science.
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Chapter Two: Urgency
In retrospect, inviting you over for dinner has clearly made things more complicated, not less. Bucky had figured you’d show up, they’d order food, and then the three of you would have an uncomfortable but necessary conversation (one he’d get to enjoy observing, which would make up for the awkwardness).
Instead, he’s barely holding in his amusement at the way things have devolved into an R-rated I Love Lucy episode.
In a strained voice, you observe, “The connections are hopelessly stretched. You’ll probably need a whole new stove.”
Bucky just nods.
“It’s actually kind of impressive, the way the metal crocheted with the cotton in this tea towel withstood the stress like that.”
He clears his throat to cover his need to laugh, but the sound ends on a wheeze.
“Damnit, what?”
“You practically knelt down in front of him. Take pity, will you Doll?” 
Bucky only realizes the endearment after he’s said it aloud, and to minimize the damage, he clenches his jaw and twists his lips into an inconsequential smile.
It doesn’t work.
“You’ve never called me that before,” you say, your lovely eyes lit with surprise and something else, something he shouldn’t be looking for. 
Gruffly, he says, “Really?” It’s a shut-down tactic, because people are much less likely to elaborate on something they’re uncertain over. He maximizes its effect by leaning down to examine the oven door, which is indeed fucked.  
“Really. I liked it, don’t worry.” Your voice is soft. “Looks like you’ll be needing these menus, I doubt the stove is kitchen rated with the door off! Come on, I’m sure Steve is going to be hungry when he shows back up.”
Are… you joking about what Steve’s doing in his room right now? Bucky lunges over to block your way out of the kitchen. The shirt you’re wearing smells like the detergent he and Steve use, and something about smelling Steve on you sends heat straight to his groin.
He really should’ve punched Banner, too.
“What?”  
“Are you sure you want everything out in the open?” You look at him, uncomprehending, and Bucky’s a hypocrite, because there’s no way any of what he’s been thinking about lately can be in the open.
You’re shaking your head at him. “I don’t--”
He grips the doorframe so tightly it gives a little under his metal hand. “Steve is jerking off in there. He’d only do that while we’re waiting out here because he has to. If he comes out here and you make a comment like that, he’ll feel guilty for--”
“--weeks. Maybe forever. Shit.” you interrupt. He pushes off from the door to let you pass, and you continue; “Banner seemed certain that the… intensity was because we’d spent those two weeks apart, but this is--” You break off and drop the pile of menus on the dining room table with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m really worried it’s going to be untenable, but then I remember all the people out there this could happen to, you know?”
Bucky nods toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms, where Steve is probably touching himself right now. “Is that the ‘untenable’ you’re talking about?”
Your face wrenches in embarrassment, eyes closed, and you nod.
Because he doesn’t want to go through this whole ordeal without some amusement at his own expense, he says, “There are two bedrooms, if you need to borrow mine? You know where it is.”
Your eyes pop open, and you suck in a breath, tightening the blue shirt enough that he can see your nipples are hard. Then you smack him hard on the right arm.
“The look on your face! Stop fake-leering at me, asshole, I was already worried about that!”
That was close. “Worried about what?”
“Well I got to thinking, it’s not like the combined pheromones are inert, right? So anyone who spends time around the two of us could get hit with them. Hell, maybe even the solo ones we were making might be able to--” You retreat to the other side of the table like you need the fortitude of distance. “You’ve still been able to achieve-- I mean… Have you?”
“Roll that back. You think that stuff could turn me as horny as the two of you?”
You wince. “Promise me you’ll tell me if anything changes? For science?”
“I promise,” Bucky says. He is affected, but nothing whatsoever has changed.
“And you can still…”
He raises his eyebrows and pretends not to understand.
“Bucky!” Your exasperation is not a deterrent at all.
“Just spit it out.”
“Can you come?”
He cannot resist. “Come where?”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe you!” Instead of stomping off to cool down, you march right up to him and grab the loose sides of the dress shirt he’s wearing on top of his tee. “I am asking you if you can orgasm, you monumental dickhead!”
Maybe the pheromones you and Steve are emitting are doing something, because a number of inappropriate things leap immediately to mind.
He chooses the least offensive of the five. “Pretty sure I can, but I’m willing to go try right now, if it’s that important to you.”
Steve speaks up from the hallway before you can vocalize the affectionate fury Bucky sees written all over your face. “Everything okay?” 
Steve’s hairline is wet, like he’d stepped into the bathroom to splash his face with water, and his own shirt is untucked. By now, Bucky’s used to steeling himself against his attraction to Steve, but he’s not used to being so close to someone who can figure out what he’s thinking before he shoves it away. Your hands tighten on his shirt, and when he looks back at you, there’s understanding in your eyes.
Understanding and guilt.
Carefully, you reach up to adjust Bucky’s collar as if that’s what you’d been doing all along, patting at his chest maternally before stepping away. “Starting to think you had Steve help you dress before you’d show up at the restaurant for those 40’s nights,” you tease.
Shit. Shit. Are you trying to-- Shit.
Across the room, Steve’s body language is stiff, and he adopts a false joviality that has Bucky screaming in his own head at the multitude of misunderstandings.
“Are you kidding? He snuck out! Probably didn’t want me to ask why he was wearing all that leather on a weeknight.” A second later, Steve waves his hand in embarrassment and comes over to the table. “That came out like I was implying he dresses in leather on the weeken--”
“Stop!” Bucky groans. “I’m starving and the two of you are nuts. Pick something and order, would you?” He walks off toward the window and hopes that you and Steve will mix pheromones so much you’ll completely forget what you think you just saw.
The need to stare at each other (and feed him) seems to be enough to preoccupy the two of you. Bucky looks out at the bustle of rush-hour traffic and tries to tamp down his panic. Of all the struggles he’d faced in the past year, he’d never have picked ‘caring too much about his closest friends’ as the one to give him the most trouble. It’s an unfair thought on its face, because the burden of all his other shit has been lifted by having you and Steve around.
It’s not just caring, though, and as much as he wants to lie to himself, it’s not just physical, either. If there was any way to reassure you about the pheromones, he would, but if Bucky’s honest with himself, he’s glad you’re worried about that. It gives him cover.
He sighs. A thought that had occurred to him a few nights ago pops back up. To have friends is one thing, to want someone is another thing, but to know better than to act on it? To step aside for the sake of the people he cares most about in the world… that’s a sign that he’s more human than weapon. It’s cold comfort, but he’s used to the cold.
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The knowledge of what Steve had been doing and why is burning through your insides. It looks like it’s burning through him too, but from embarrassment, since he’s just worked through his other discomfort.
Steve clears his throat and reaches over to scatter some of the menus. “Any preferences?”
“Let me see what we’ve got,” you say, and he nods, loosing a lock of wet hair that flops onto his forehead.
It suddenly occurs to you the reason why it’s wet-- he went to wash his hands, and just in case that wasn’t enough, he washed his face, too. Because he’s a gentleman, despite what it was he was doing. You feel such a rush of pure affection for him that it shakes your ability to stand. To cover it, you drag out the chair you’re standing near and fall into it, reaching for the brochures.
“Do you, ah…” 
He falls silent, and when you look up, he looks supremely uncomfortable. You lift your brows.
“Do you need to…”
You are completely baffled-- until you aren’t. “Oh, God, thank you, but no. I’ll--  I’ll manage.”
His nod is anxious, so you hand over the menu you had your eye on and do your very best not to worry that you should have taken him up on it. After all, you weren’t able to change your underpants, but if there’s a world where you have to ask Captain America if he can smell your arousal, you’d rather just disappear into the NYC sewers.
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Dinner goes surprisingly well. You already knew that Bucky and Steve got on well, and over the course of the evening, you can tell that your rapport with Bucky is reassuring to Steve. Instead of making you uncomfortable, the simmering heat you’re afflicted with seems to keep you on your toes, a constant reminder to be careful about what you say and do, lest you awaken the same banked fire in Steve. 
You let the two men run the conversation, and at times they almost fall over each other to share anecdotes. When you’re ready to leave, you step away to use the bathroom and come out to Bucky and Steve deep in a serious discussion, almost an argument. Maybe it’s your full, happy stomach, maybe it’s your sense of impishness, but instead of alerting them to your presence in the room, you sneak over to the door and make it to the elevator before Steve catches up to you.
“Making me feel like a failed host,” he says, jogging over to hold his hand over the just-opened doors.
“Not at all,” you smile. “You two looked like you were having an important conversation.”
Steve’s expression turns sheepish. “I was trying to persuade him to walk you out.” 
“Let me guess, he was doing the same?”
He nods. The elevator protests the doors remaining open, and Steve murmurs some kind of command that changes the red color to green.
“You could escort me down?”
“That’s probably a bad idea,” Steve says solicitously. There’s a light in his eyes that sends a thrill along your spine, and you almost wish you could push him to change his mind-- but then you remember how important it is to figure out what the hell Mistress is doing to the many people exposed to it every day. Encouraging Steve Rogers to take an elevator ride so you can stand near him and wish he would kiss you is probably not furthering the cause of science.
“Good night then, Sir Knight,” you tease, dipping into a curtsey. Your skirt is tight along your thighs, but you’re able to use the tails of your borrowed blue shirt to aid in the look.
When you lift your head, the elevator doors are closing, and Steve is nowhere in sight. It’s not a big deal-- you’ll be seeing each other once a day for the foreseeable future anyway.
Not that you’re looking forward to that, or anything.
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Steve and Bucky had agreed to show up at the performance the next day, to satisfy the proximity requirement. As expected, the 90’s crowd is different from the 40’s one, but the energy is high, and you end the night on a literal high note. The plan is for the two of them to come over after the set to spend a few minutes physically close by, but as usual, the band is crowded by admirers who ‘just want to chat a few minutes.’
You can see that Bucky’s temper is flaring by the way Steve’s fingertips whiten on his friend’s shoulder, so you try to hurry. The last person to push through to speak to you is carrying two of the restaurant’s signature ‘flagon’ beer glasses, and he enthusiastically thrusts one into your hands before you can stop him. The action sloshes the liquid over onto the back of your hand.
Before you can formulate a polite refusal, the restaurant’s bar bouncer Benji throws a collegial arm around the man’s shoulder and guides him away.
“Saved a life, right there,” Steve says in a low voice beside you. You actually slump over into him for a few seconds in relief, feeling him initially stiffen at first contact before his arm comes around to support you.
“What do you mean?” you ask, lifting your hand up to lick off the alcohol. 
To your surprise, Steve spins you the few steps out into the dance floor. The ballad currently playing means that the couples around you are slow-dancing in the ‘modern’ style, hands on hips or shoulders, swaying close with little to no artistry. His hand at your wrist is an inexorable band as he positions your palm flat on his chest, his other hand grasping the small of your back in defiance of convention.
“Okay, clearly you have panicked,” you say, blinking up at him. Your other hand is holding onto the lapel of his suit jacket as if for dear life, because holy god, the man sends your senses reeling.
“Inside pocket, Mistress test tabs. Swab your hand,” he whispers hoarsely.
Your steps falter, and you nod. Testing has become second-nature at this point, so you don’t even need to check the box for the color key. 
“Orange,” Steve says, when he sees the strip. His hand at your back sweeps you closer. Orange is more than the yellow or green of faint traces. 
The drink was dosed.
“On it,” Bucky husks as he brushes past the two of you, plucking the test strip from your fingers on the way. Because of Steve’s close stance, you’re helpless to stop him-- a point Steve makes very clear by spreading his fingers at your back. The possessiveness of the action works like napalm in your bloodstream, but the pressure of each fingertip against your skin sends a very clear message: you may not follow.
There’s napalm, and then there’s napalm.
Fixing your eyes on his chest, and with a bright smile hiding that your teeth are clenched, you hiss, “Steve, if we weren’t in my workplace, I would be pitching a fit right now. You are not in charge of what I do or say, do you understand me?”
The pained sound from his throat drags your eyes up to his. Steve looks stricken, and you realize you’d offered the man who tried to deliberately drug you with Mistress more grace than the one who dearly wishes he hadn’t. Your apology dusts in your mouth when he starts speaking.
“I couldn’t protect you when it counted. I can’t protect you from me. I will damn well protect you from everything else!”
As he speaks, Steve moves the two of you off of the dance floor and back past the bar into the alcove Benji usually stands in. He’s shaking, and you’re overwhelmed, the fear of what you’ve just dodged only prickling the edges of your consciousness. The only thing you can think of to defuse the moment is Bucky’s gripe about Steve’s reticence for swearing aloud.
At the very last second, you realize you can’t use the phrasing you’d meant to, because this man’s mother has been dead a very very long time.
“You kiss your lovers with that mouth?”
Time stands still for a long second as you regard each other. Then, Steve’s head tips to the side, eyes locking onto your mouth. His lips part, and the sigh he releases seems to release the angry tension he’d been holding since pulling you close in the first place.
“You tell me,” he whispers, releasing you and holding his hands up like a man being held hostage. In a way he is. You both are.
You can’t recall wanting to kiss someone more than you do right now. To hell with absolutely everything else! you think to yourself, reaching your hand up toward the side of his face.
The wetness on that hand reminds you, and you draw back. “Shit. Shit, Steve! Mistress!”
He looks at your lips again, then your hand, then your chest, and then dashes off into the crowd of people only to reappear again impossibly quickly with a damp washcloth from the bar. Without asking, he scrubs at your hand-- but you bite your lip at the sensations. Even that small amount of the drug is affecting you, having soaked in while you were distracted by the undercurrent of desire you always feel around Steve.
“Thanks,” you murmur, your voice low. 
He makes a little noise in response, then puts a hand on each of your shoulders. “We need to get to Banner. If what I’m feeling is related to the Mistress in your system--”
“Oh God,” you whisper.
Steve’s grip on you tightens, and he snaps his head back like he’d been about to lean in for a kiss before his instincts kicked in.
Your instincts are affected by Mistress, but you don’t give a shit. You reach up with both hands and cup his face. “In the cab.”
“Stark sent a car, actually. I sent a distress call.”
“Even better.”
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To be continued...
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wheel-of-fish · 23 days
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Updated stream list
I've been getting a lot of questions/requests regarding possible streams and thought it might be helpful to catalog everything we've watched so far! I'll keep it pinned and updated moving forward.
Longtime crowd favorites (streamed at least three times) are marked with a single asterisk.
Why isn’t [specific actor/video] on this list?
The video is currently marked not for trade.
We haven’t gotten to it yet.
The footage does not exist or is too incomplete.
It isn't on a platform I can stream it from.
There's something particularly off-putting about the video or actor.
How can I get a copy of a video listed here?
There's a list of publicly available bootlegs here, and there are many other adaptations on the Phantom Retrospective channel. Otherwise, contact @glassprism (or another trader) for a possible trade, or check her website for info on which master(s) to contact.
For general stream info, please see the Saturday Streams FAQ.
On to the list!
Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera
1988 Broadway: Michael Crawford, Sarah Brightman, Steve Barton
1989 Broadway: Cris Groenendaal, Rebecca Luker, Steve Barton
1989 Los Angeles: Michael Crawford, Dale Kristien, Steve Barton
1990 Los Angeles: Michael Crawford, Mary D’Arcy, Reece Holland
1991 Los Angeles: Michael Crawford, Dale Kristien, Michael Piontek
1993 U.S. Tour: Franc D’Ambrosio, Tracy Shayne, Ciaran Sheehan
1993 Vienna: Alexander Goebel, Luzia Nistler, Alfred Pfeifer*
1994 Sapporo: Eiji Akutagawa, Hisako Hanaoka, Masayuki Sano*
1994 Toronto: Peter Karrie, Teresa DeZarn, David Rogers
1995 Broadway: Davis Gaines, Tracy Shayne, Ciaran Sheehan
1995 London: Ethan Freeman, Jill Washington, Simon Bowman*
1998 Broadway: Thomas James O’Leary, Tracy Shayne, Gary Mauer
1998 Los Angeles: Davis Gaines, Marie Danvers, Lawrence Anderson*
1998 San Francisco: Franc D’Ambrosio, Lisa Vroman, Christopher Carl*
1998 Toronto: Peter Karrie, Elizabeth DeGrazia, David Rodgers*
1998 Broadway: Thoms James O’Leary, Tracy Shayne, Gary Mauer
1999 Broadway: Howard McGillin, Adrienne McEwan, Gary Mauer
1999 Toronto: Paul Stanley, Melissa Dye, Laird Mackintosh
1999/2000 Mexico City: Saulo Vasconcelos, Irasema Terrazas, Jose Joel*
2000 Antwerp: Hans Peter Janssens, Inneke van Klinken, Michael Shawn Lewis
2000 London: Scott Davies, Meredith Braun, Matt Cammelle
2001 Hamburg: Ian Jon Bourg, Colby Thomas, Kyle Gonyea
2001 Hamburg: Ian Jon Bourg, Olivia Safe, Kyle Gonyea
2001 Hamburg: Michael Nicholson, Olivia Safe, Christopher Morandi
2002 London: John Owen-Jones, Celia Graham, Robert Finlayson
2003 Broadway: Howard McGillin, Adrienne McEwan, Jim Weitzer
2003 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Julie Hanson, Jim Weitzer
2003 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Lisa Vroman, John Cudia
2003 U.S. Tour: Brad Little, Lisa Vroman, Tim Martin Gleason
2004 Madrid: Luis Armando, Teresa Barrientos, Armando Pita
2004 Stuttgart: Thomas Schulze, Maike Switzer, Carsten Axel Lepper
2005 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Julie Hanson, John Cudia
2005 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Sandra Joseph, Tim Martin Gleason
2005 Broadway: James Romick, Marie Danvers, John Cudia
2005 London: John Owen-Jones, Rachel Barrell, Oliver Thornton
2005 U.S. Tour: Gary Mauer, Marie Danvers, Michael Shawn Lewis
2006 Essen: Ethan Freeman, Anne Gorner, Nikolaj Brucker
2006 Essen: Uwe Kröger, Beatrix Reiter, Lucius Wolter*
2006 London: Earl Carpenter, Rachel Barrell, David Shannon*
2006 São Paulo: Saulo Vasconcelos, Kiara Sasso, Nando Prado
2006 U.S. Tour: Gary Mauer, Elizabeth Southard, Jim Weitzer*
2006 U.S. Tour: John Cudia, Jennifer Hope Wills, Adam Monley
2007 Broadway: Gary Mauer, Jennifer Hope Wills, Jason Mills
2007 World Tour: Simon Pryce, Julie Goodwin, John Bowles
2008 Broadway: Howard McGillin, Elizabeth Loyacano, Jeremy Stolle
2008 Las Vegas: Anthony Crivello, Kristi Holden, Andrew Ragone*
2008 World Tour: Simon Pryce, Ana Marina, Alexander Lewis
2009 Australia: Anthony Warlow, Ana Marina, Alexander Lewis
2010 London: David Shannon, Gina Beck, Simon Bailey*
2010 London: David Shannon, Gina Beck, Will Barratt
2010 U.S. Tour: Tim Martin Gleason, Trista Moldovan, Sean MacLaughlin
2012 Broadway: Greg Mills, Marni Raab, Kyle Barisich*
2012 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Trista Moldovan, Kyle Barisich
2012 London: Marcus Lovett, Anna O’Byrne, Simon Thomas
2013 Broadway: Jeremy Stolle, Samantha Hill, Greg Mills*
2013 Broadway: Peter Joback, Samantha Hill, Jeremy Stolle
2013 Broadway: Peter Joback, Elizabeth Welch, Kyle Barisich
2013 London: Marcus Lovett, Sofia Escobar, Simon Thomas
2014 Broadway: Greg Mills, Mary Michael Patterson, Jeremy Hays
2014 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Sara Jean Ford, Jeremy Hays
2014 Broadway: Hugh Panaro, Elizabeth Welch, Jeremy Hays
2014 Broadway: Jeremy Stolle, Mary Michael Patterson, Jeremy Hays
2014 Broadway: Laird Mackintosh, Kaley Ann Voorhees, Jeremy Hays*
2014 Broadway: Laird Mackintosh, Sara Jean Ford, Jeremy Hays
2014 Broadway: Norm Lewis, Sierra Boggess, Jeremy Hays*
2014 Broadway: Paul Schaefer, Mary Michael Patterson, Jeremy Hays
2014 Hamburg: David Arnsperger, Lauri Brons, Nicky Wuchinger
2014 Hamburg: Mathias Edenborn, Daniela Braun, Nicky Wuchinger
2014 Moscow: Dmitry Ermak, Tamara Kotova, Evgeny Zaytsev
2014 Moscow: Ivan Ozhogin, Tamara Kotova, Evgeny Zaytsev
2014 U.S. Tour: Cooper Grodin, Grace Morgan, Ben Jacoby
2014 U.S. Tour: Cooper Grodin, Julia Udine, Ben Jacoby
2014 World Tour: Brad Little, Kristi Holden, Anthony Downing
2015 London: Geronimo Rauch, Harriet Jones, Richard Munday
2015 Moscow: Ivan Ozhogin, Tamara Kotova, Ivan Rak
2015 Prague: Marian Vojtko, Michaela Gemrotova, Tomas Vanek
2015 Prague: Marian Vojtko, Monika Sommerova, Tomas Vanek
2016 Broadway: Laird Mackintosh, Julia Udine, Jeremy Hays
2016 Moscow: Andrey Schkoldychenko, Elena Bahtiyarova, Evgeny Zaytsev (act 2 only)
2016 Oberhausen: Brent Barrett, Elizabeth Welch, Max Niemeyer
2016? Prague: Marian Vojtko, Michaela Gemrotova, Tomas Vanek
2016 Stockholm: Peter Jöback, Emmi Christensson, Anton Zetterholm
2016 U.S. Tour: Derrick Davis, Kaitlyn Davis, Jordan Craig
2018 Broadway (Sept.): Ben Crawford, Ali Ewoldt, Jay Armstrong Johnson
2018 Broadway (Oct.): Ben Crawford, Ali Ewoldt, Jay Armstrong Johnson
2018? Prague: Radim Schwab, Monika Sommerova, Tomas Vanek
2019 Copenhagen: Tomas Ambt Kofod, Sibylle Glosted, Christian Lund*
2019 London: David Thaxton, Kelly Mathieson, Jeremy Taylor*
2019 London: Josh Piterman, Kelly Mathieson, Alistair So*
2019 São Paulo: Fred Silveira, Giulia Nadruz, Henrique Moretzsohn
2019 São Paulo - Fred Silveira, Lina Mendes, Henrique Moretzsohn
2019 São Paulo: Thiago Arancam, Daruã Góes, Fred Silveira
2019 São Paulo: Thiago Arancam, Giulia Nadruz, Fred Silveira
2019 World Tour: Jonathan Roxmouth, Meghan Picerno, Matt Leisy*
2021 Broadway: Ben Crawford, Meghan Picerno, John Riddle
2021 Broadway: Jeremy Stolle, Emilie Kouatchou, John Riddle
2021 London: Killian Donnelly, Holly-Anne Hull, Rhys Whitfield
2022 Broadway: Ben Crawford, Kanisha Marie Feliciano, Paul A. Schaefer
2022 Broadway: Ben Crawford, Emilie Kouatchou, John Riddle
2022 Broadway: Ted Keegan, Emilie Kouatchou, John Riddle
2022 Broadway: Ted Keegan, Elizabeth Welch, Bronson Norris Murphy
2022 Broadway: Jeremy Stolle, Emilie Kouatchou, Jordan Donica
2022 London: James Hume, Holly-Anne Hull, Matt Blaker
2022 London: Killian Donnelly, Anouk van Laake, Rhys Whitfield
2022 Sydney: Josh Robson, Georgina Hopson, Callum Frances
2023 Broadway: Ted Keegan, Emilie Kouatchou, John Riddle
2023 Broadway: Laird Mackintosh, Julia Udine, John Riddle
2023 Broadway: Greg Mills, Julia Udine, Paul A. Schaefer
2023 London: Earl Carpenter, Paige Blankson, Ralph Watts
2023 London: Earl Carpenter, Eve Shanu-Wilson, Connor Carson
2023 London: Killian Donnelly, Lucy St. Louis, Matt Blaker
2023 London: James Gant, Holly-Anne Hull, Matt Blaker
2023 Shanghai: Ayanga (various clips)
2023 Shanghai: He Liangchen, Yang Chenxiuyi, Li Chenxi
2023 Thessaloniki: Tim Howar, Harriet Jones, Nadim Naaman
Love Never Dies
2010 London: Ramin Karimloo, Sierra Boggess, Dean Chisnall
2011 London: Ramin Karimloo, Sierra Boggess, Dean Chisnall
2013 Vienna concert: Drew Sarich, Milica Jovanovic, Julian Looman (concert)
2018 U.S. Tour: Bronson Norris Murphy, Meghan Picerno, Sean Thompson*
2023 London concert: Norm Lewis, Celinde Schoenmaker, Matthew Seadon-Young
Other adaptations
1925 The Phantom of the Opera (film, Lon Chaney)
1937 Song at Midnight**
1943 Phantom of the Opera (film, Claude Rains)**
1962 Hammer Horror: The Phantom of the Opera (film, Herbert Lom)**
1974 Phantom of the Paradise
1983 The Phantom of the Opera (TV movie, Max Schell)**
1987 The Phantom of the Opera (animated film)
1989 Phantom of the Mall: Eric’s Revenge
1989 The Phantom of the Opera (film, Robert Englund)**
1990 The Phantom of the Opera (TV miniseries, Charles Dance)
1993 Yeston/Kopit’s Phantom (stage show, Richard White)**
1991 The Phantom of the Opera (stage show, David Staller)
1992 Tom Alonso’s The Phantom of the Opera (stage show)**
1993 Yeston/Kopit’s Phantom (Wichita, Richard White)
1994 Lamb Chop in the Haunted Studio (TV special)**
1995 Pantin’ at the Opera (Wishbone episode)
1995 Phantom of the Opera on Ice*
2000 The Tale of the Last Dance (Are You Afraid of the Dark? episode)
2004 The Phantom of the Opera (film, Gerard Butler)
2011 Spiritual Twist’s The Phantom of the Opera (stage show)
2013 The Phantom of the Opera (Ken Hill stage show, Tokyo)**
2019 Spiritual Twist’s The Phantom of the Opera (stage show)
2018 Yeston/Kopit’s Phantom (stage show, Takarazuka Revue)
2018 Yeston/Kopit’s Phantom (stage show, Seoul)
2020 Sasson’s Das Phantom der Oper (stage show, Germany, with Uwe Kröger)**
2021 Yeston/Kopit’s Phantom (stage show proshot, Seoul)
Miscellaneous
2017 Broadway: Prince of Broadway (in honor of Hal Prince)
Stolleboot (fan edit starring Jeremy Stolle as the Phantom, Raoul, Piangi, and Passarino)*
*Longtime crowd favorite (streamed at least three times)
**We’ve watched it, but it was technically streamed by another host I used to alternate with.
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stevetonyweekly · 6 months
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SteveTony Weekly - October 15th
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 Hi, all! I hope you had a spectacular week. Here’s everything I read this week--enjoy and be sure to leave comments and kudos for your writers! 
~*~ 
love and war by meidui
“Who the hell are you?” Tony demands as Steve stands up and instinctively gets between them, taking him in: Tony’s armour, but in his colours. His shield, but with Tony’s arc reactor in place of his star.
“I’m from Earth-TRN634,” he says. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to stop your Civil War.”
Shakedown by Sineala
The problem is, Captain America won't stop shivering.
Need A Hand? by KandiSheek
An unfortunate hand injury means that Steve can't jerk off for the foreseeable future. Tony is all too happy to lend a hand.
your kind of heaven's (been to hell and back) by complicationstoo 
Contrary to popular belief, Tony hasn’t done this before. He knows his own reputation, has enough self-awareness to recognize that not one single person would be surprised to find out he was doing this tonight, but all of them would be surprised to hear it was the first time. When you build a persona around being the charming playboy, paying for sex doesn’t seem too far off.
It’s definitely not the other guy’s first time being paid for it, though. There’s an easy energy about him as he casually looks around the penthouse between sips of the scotch in his hand. Tony wonders if he’s even drinking it at all, though, because the line of liquid never seems to go down no matter how many times he brings the glass to his lips. Either way he’s good at faking the nonchalance.
believe me by complicationstoo 
“So this is definitely one of the strangest situations I’ve ever been in,” Tony says, plopping down on the hard tile floor.
“One of?” Steve asks with raised eyebrows. “It’s troubling that you can’t lie to me right now, and yet you still aren’t saying it’s the worst.”
“Because it isn’t the worst,” Tony says simply, the honesty spilling out of him so easily even though he hates the way it feels on his tongue. “I wouldn’t even call it one of the worst. Doesn’t even crack the top five on that one, and please, don’t ask, because that’s a list I don’t want to say and you don’t want to hear. But strangest? It’s up there for sure.”
made your mark on me by complicationstoo 
It’s a Thursday, the first time that Tony walks into Steve’s tattoo parlor. Steve is behind the counter, passing the time between appointments by filling his sketchbook with new designs and reworks of older ones. He glances up at the chime on the door and has a welcome greeting on the tip of his tongue that dies at the sight of him.
He’s young, and if Steve had to guess he’s probably never been in a tattoo parlor before today, if the nervous look is anything to go by. His hair is dark and messy, falling in every direction as he takes a knitted hat off of his head and stuffs it in his pocket, while wide brown eyes look around at the designs on the walls.
How to Give the Best Blowjob He's Ever Had by BlossomsintheMist
Steve wants to give Tony as good a blowjob as Tony always gives him. Tony gives him some pointers.
in retrospect by welcoming_disaster 
Fresh out of the ice, Eve Rogers isn't happy about being stuck onto the Ultimates' roster; the team, in her view, is a shameless PR grab with no real talent. Her teammate, Tonya Stark, might change that.
The Fall and the Rise by Sineala
After the Great Society incursion, the Illuminati refuse to destroy another world. When the next incursion looms, they go to await their deaths in peace. Tony ends up on the doorstep of the last man who ever wanted to see him. At least he's going to die at Steve's side.
The Spark That Started the Fire by Sineala 
It started with two men. But it ended with two men, too.
(Or: A quiet evening on Battleworld, in which there are desert islands, campfires, apologies, and proposals. Also nudity.)
Bustin' a Cap by LonghornLetters
Steve and Tony have been together for a minute. Bucky and Rhodey have...concerns.
Body of Work by LonghornLetters 
NFL quarterback Steve Rogers has been invited to appear in ESPN's Body Issue. It's true, you know, every body has a story!
Those Secrets We Hold Dear by KandiSheek
Tony has been on suppressants for as long as he can remember. So when his body goes into an unexpected heat, he's more than a little unprepared. Especially because the person responsible for his body going haywire is halfway across the world and not on speaking terms with him.
It doesn't help that most of the world assumes that Tony is an alpha.
There is No Place Like Home for the Holidays by Lenalena
Steve is the first to come home to the tower after S.H.I.E.L.D. goes down. Then Natasha and Clint arrive. Tony doesn't mind, really, he's got the space. Except it's December and they insist on doing Christmassy shit. Who the hell has time for that?!?
Christmas 5 - Tony 0
be my best friend (until we grow old) by complicationstoo 
Everything about Steve Rogers is unexpected. How he enters Tony’s life like a cannonball. How he lingers there like he belongs.
It isn’t much of a surprise, though, to fall in love with him.
A companion fic to this is how you fall in love.
in restless silence and waking dreams by Areiton 
Tony trails his fingers over the ice, shivering at the cold that leeches into his hand, and stares at the man his father loved more than him, the man he’s loved and hated his entire life, the man who died to save the world and end the war. 
He sighs and says, softly. “You poor bastard.” 
one true thing by welcoming_disaster
Captain America, Tony has long learned, lives by a set of internal rules so convoluted and esoteric that he himself sometimes gets lost in them.
in my head by brucewaynery
Tony tells Steve about solipsism, the theory that everything is merely a figment of your own imagination, and Steve lets something slip.
for 'college roommates' on iron man bingo
now I worship a celestial sun by haemodye
The thing that gets Tony the most is how long it takes him to notice.
Not Steve, or even the other Avengers, but Tony himself. It takes Tony almost two whole weeks to figure out that he’s unable to disobey a direct order from Steve, which just- what the hell is that? What happened to the days when he flew off the handle, unable to play well with others, a notorious wild card?
“God, don’t tell me I’m getting old and predictable,” he says, rubbing a hand over his forehead. And then, “Fuck.”
  A mostly-comedic farce involving: 1 obedience spell, 2 pining Avengers, 1 long-suffering Sorcerer Supreme, and 1 single, extravagant Saint Patrick's Day float.
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hit-song-showdown · 11 months
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Year-End Poll #30: 1979
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[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: The Knack, Donna Summer (x2), Chic, Rod Stewart, Peaches & Herb, Gloria Gaynor, Village People, Anita Ward, Robert John. End description]
More information about this blog here
We have made it through another decade, everyone. As we reach the end of the 1970's, we are also reaching the end of disco. This is something that makes this genre stand out in a historic sense. Because while we've covered many genres tied to their decade (traditional pop with the 50s, doo-wop with the 60s, etc), those didn't necessarily end the moment the decade switched over. We're still in disco's peak (the dance party before the storm), and many of the songs and artists featured on today's poll are still considered classics. Fun fact, the original name for Chic's Le Freak was called Fuck Off!, which in my opinion is the correct way to sing along to it. The song was written after the band couldn't get into Studio 54, the disco hot spot of the 1970's.
Which brings us to the first crumbling pillar that will send disco collapsing. As disco became mainstream, the aesthetics of disco became less about marginalized people surrounding themselves with opulence and luxury as an escape, and more about...the opulent surrounding themselves with more luxury. The communities who had built this subculture were getting priced out of their own hot spots as the upper class and the celebrities flocked to the hot new thing.
But the disco backlash wasn't just marginalized people and disco purists frustrated with the gentrification and commodification of their subculture. In fact, I think it's safe to say that they were the minority. In reality, the disco backlash had two main prongs: the general music-listening public who was sick of hearing disco on every station, and/or bigots who would hate any kind of Black or gay music they heard no matter how commercialized it became.
So, let's talk about Disco Demolition Night.
July 12th, 1979, the rock vs. disco conflict reached its ugliest peak as tens of thousands of people stormed Comiskey Park in Chicago. Disco records were crushed, burned, and even blown up. The event soon broke out into a riot and thankfully no one was killed, but the demonstration still casts an unpleasant shadow over this moment in music history.
I don't want to diminish the ugliness of this event. As Craig Werner, a professor of African American studies at the University of Wisconsin put it:
"The Anti-disco movement represented an unholy alliance of funkateers and feminists, progressives and puritans, rockers and reactionaries. None the less, the attacks on disco gave respectable voice to the ugliest kinds of unacknowledged racism, sexism and homophobia." (A Change Is Gonna Come)
And to quote Chic's Nile Rogers:
"It felt to us like Nazi book-burning. This is America, the home of jazz and rock and people were now afraid even to say the word 'disco'. I remember thinking - we're not even a disco group."
So I don't want to imply that Disco Demolition Night wasn't a shameful moment, because it was. However, it didn't kill disco. I see a lot of music retrospectives use this event as the one climactic moment that killed the genre and forced music itself to change. And I get why; it's an exciting and narratively satisfying conclusion to come to. But I don't want to say that, because I don't want to give Steve Dahl, the anti-disco shock jock radio DJ who organized the event, the credit in taking down an entire subculture.
Commercialization killed disco. White executives and artists cramming disco into everything without appreciating its roots killed disco. Gentrification killed disco. Changing tastes killed disco. Homophobia and racism killed disco. Capitalism killed disco.
A radio DJ and his angry drunk white boy fans storming a baseball stadium didn't kill disco. But it was the symptom of a disease that was already coursing through the system.
And despite the genre's historic death, disco would actually continue to live on past this decade in a variety of ways. Much like most other genres, disco was able to change and evolve with the times -- it just couldn't do so under the "disco" label as even the name itself became poison.
Also, as I said I keep these polls focused on the U.S. charts because that's where I'm from so I have a better understanding of the musical and historic context. However, it seems like disco's death was mostly contained to this country. When I glance at the various European charts (and any European followers can feel free to correct me), disco didn't seem to drop off in the same way. This will become relevant when we cover some of the European crossovers in a few decades.
So as we celebrate/mourn the end of the seventies with its last dance party, we can all come together and agree that whether you're a rock fan or a disco fan, at least most of your music has aged better than talk radio.
See you all in the 80's.
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Note
What kind of relationship does Magneto have with Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and Namor?
So your choice of individuals implies that this relationship would be based on these characters' common experiences during WWII, but I feel compelled to issue a reminder that Max Eisenhardt/Erik Lensherr did not have his powers during the war and wasn't a combatant - he was an civilian who spent his teenage years in the camps, although he did participate in the Revolt of the Sonderkommando and was one of the lucky ones who weren't recaptured. So Max/Erik is significantly younger than Rogers and Namor - and I'm just going to overlook the weirdness of Barnes' age - and has a very different life experience.
However, Max/Erik did encounter these men as an adult, once he had become Magneto - which becomes something of a complicated issue, because his time with them uncomfortably straddles the pretty severe personality retcon Magneto experienced between the Silver Age and the Bronze Age.
To give one example of what I'm talking about, in X-Men #6, Magneto tries to recruit Namor into his Brotherhood of Evil Mutants but Namor isn't particularly interested. So Magneto essentially tries to pimp out the Scarlet Witch to Namor to get him to change his mind:
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In retrospect, this scene is made doubly uncomfortable by the fact that the Scarlet Witch is (at the moment, I think) Magneto's daughter. More broadly, while this incident is still canon, it's not exactly compatible with the character of Magneto that Chris Claremont constructed between X-Men #111 and X-Men #161.
So if we confine ourselves to the latter-day Magneto, some interesting things emerge about his relationships with these characters:
Magneto and Namor don't really get along, in part because they're way too similar as people - they're both absurdly powerful individuals, they're both incredibly proud and touchy men, and they're both motivated by a sense of noblesse oblige to their chosen communities. They can occasionally temporarily ally, they can be civil for the duration of a Hellfire Gala, but they'll never be comfortable in one another's presence long-term.
Magneto finds Steve Rogers existentially baffling. Remember, Magneto's entire worldview is founded on the belief that violent struggle between the oppressed and the oppressors - whether that's the working-class and the bourgeoisie, the Jews and the Nazis, or mutants and humans - is inevitable and irrepressible, and that peaceful co-existence is impossible because the oppressors will always turn on the oppressed.
To his way of thinking, a flagsuit superhero like Captain America who claims to exemplify a nation, especially a nation like the United States with its rich history of oppressing minorities, ought to be a bastion of the kind of xenophobia he believes all humans feel towards mutants. And yet...
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Magneto and Bucky Barnes...haven't really interacted as far as I can tell, outside of some meaningless fights in Marvel: Civil War. I don't know what they think of each other, or if they even do.
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Tony Did Not Anticipate This
Summary: 
Tony Stark had fought aliens. He’d saved the world. Why was one teenager so stressful?
Peter snuck abord the Quinjet on a dangerous mission. In retrospect, Tony probably should have anticipated that. Then again, he'd never been very good at anticipating things when it came to Peter Parker. Like how much he actually cared about the damn kid. Or how this mission would go so wrong.
...Or that he'd ever be so thankful for Steve Rogers.
Chapter One 
Peter sneaks abord the Quinjet. The Avengers are confused, Tony is Tired™.
Chapter Two
"The way the eyes of Spider-Man's mask narrowed, the way his shoulders squared—like he was daring Steve to make him move—he knew there was no way he’d be getting Peter out of here.
Suddenly, he understood exactly why Tony recruited this fifteen-year-old kid."
The bad guys arrive, and it's all downhill from there.
Chapter Three
If all went well, the battle would be short. Peter would be out of the thick of it. Of course, as per Tony's luck, that didn't happen.
He should've dumped Peter in Yellowstone when he had the chance.
Chapter Four
Peter finally faces Tim. Tony doesn't know if he can get there in time to save him.
...Thank God for Steve Rogers.
Chapter Five
And there was Steve Rogers, sitting next to him. Tony spent the past several months running over and over in his head all the things he wanted to say to Steve—some of which he’d said since they’d resolved the Accords issues, many of which he hadn’t. But then, there was Peter—the damn stubborn kid—on the other side of the wall behind them, safe and alive. There really was only one thing left to say at this point.
“Thank you.”
(Maybe reconciliation was possible after all).
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krjpalmer · 16 days
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Macworld February 2004
This issue, unfortunately enough, isn't available on the Internet Archive; I found it elsewhere. The interview with Steve Jobs only took up half of page 62, though; the rest of the retrospective timeline in the cover story was backed up with comments from Adam Engst, Guy Kawasaki, John C. Dvorak, Andy Ihnatko, and Roger Ebert.
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visbiscuit · 2 years
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Whistle Stop ( steve rogers version, +18 )
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Vis’ Dump → Masterlist Original Version → Whistle Stop
I am NOT responsible for your media consumption. This blog is intended for a mature audience as are the stories on it. So if you are not at least 18, I suggest you read something else. If you recognize any name or characters, that means that I have no copyright on them, but their action in this work of fiction are mine as is the plot. This is a no-profit written work and I don’t condone republishing it or copying it. Please, if you want to support me, reblog/like or comment. Thank you :)
pairing: Thief!Steve Rogers x FemReader ( no description of ethnicity or body type ) … word count: 1k+ … warnings: this was written for ryan ackerman (you can find that on my profile) but i loved it too much so here i am changing the main male character. male receives oral sex. sort of sub!steve and dom!reader. if you squint, the reader plays with steve's ass (who wouldn't). praising. the thief part... does not exist, i couldn't concentrate enough because i wanted to write smut. IF YOU'RE A MINOR, DO NOT CONTINUE. this is not a work for people under eighteen years old, I don't care if you feel old enough to read smut. you're probably not.
you're welcome to reblog, comment and like!
That's why his former boss hadn't allowed anyone to meet his daughter. That woman... she was a menace.
"Shit."
Droplets of sweat beaded on Steve's forehead. The feel of her mouth around his cock had rendered him speechless. He was unable to formulate a meaningful sentence, the only thing he could do was thank the heavens for that unexpected gift. And she hadn't even started yet. Her lips travelled his length gently and with a feigned innocence. They bathed in his liquid and, like a barter, she spit on his cock every now and then and with a controlled gesture of her hand spread it around his size. Her knees must have ached on the wooden floor, but at that moment Steve was focused on something else entirely.
Her tapered fingers encircled him in an oh-so-delicious grip that made his inner thighs tremble. He hadn't entered that house with the intention of fucking whoever was there, certainly not, but he would never, ever complain about what was happening. His eyes were closed tightly, he knew that if he gave her even a glance, he would come after not even a second. If he had, he would have seen a smirk on the young woman's face and a look of complete hypnotization at the sight of his abs writhing with every breath he took. It had all happened so quickly; she had wasted no time in pushing Steve onto the leather couch and kneeling down like it was her favourite thing to do. Like she was born to do that. She had unzipped his fly with urgency and left a kiss on his member through his boxers. In retrospect, the fact that he was already sitting down had helped him, because that simple, pure kiss had shaken him to the point where he had let out a rough, still premature moan from the back of his throat. She had simply chuckled and gone to work.
When she had removed his boxers completely, she had spent a few seconds staring at him. Although his length was impressive, it was his size that had her mouth-watering, ready to sling herself at his cock. It wasn't like her to act this way, but the sight of Steve's body had turned her into a hungry animal. Her hunger could only be quenched this way.
She began softly, with gentle kisses all over his member until she enveloped the tip of his cock with her lips. A trickle of saliva wet her chin, but that was the least of her worries. Now what she cared about was the way he tried to stifle his moans in futile attempts that did nothing but make her even wetter. She didn't care about being fucked, as long as she could taste him in his entirety. She sucked the head of his cock vigorously, but didn't push herself any deeper. She wanted to be watched like the star of a movie, his eyes had to be on her to imprint an image in his mind that he would hardly forget.
With manicured nails, she pinched his inner thigh and his clear eyes stared at her with surprise and curiosity. "I want you to look at me, Steve," he shook his head, not thinking he'd be able to sustain her passion-filled eyes. "If I don't have your eyes on me, I won't continue" she told him ending the sentence with a squeeze to his balls that made him shudder. He took a big breath and nodded; he would do his best. "Good boy" she gave him a wink.
Then, with a gesture of exhausting slowness, she hollowed her cheeks around his large manhood and took him entirely inch by inch. She never took her eyes off his and contracted the muscles of her throat. Steve could hold himself back no longer and let out a choked moan that echoed through the walls of the living room. The woman ran all the way backwards along his cock, and then, like an expert, repeated the movement over and over again, with greater and greater intensity. Her hands were not still, one was cupping his balls and the other one was caressing his ass, occasionally grazing his anus. He had never allowed anyone to touch him there, but every time her index finger asked permission to enter him, he felt himself melting. He was ready to give to this stranger his most treasured possession if only she asked.
He tried to hold on to her head to take control of the situation and delay the inevitable, but she wouldn't let him do anything and continued her assault on his intimacy. He was her puppet and she was the puppeteer. They had never met before, but it was as if she knew all his weak buttons and was ready to push them all without mercy. Usually, he was the one to take control, but he felt like pudding in her hands.
Her mouth was warm and wet, a place he would gladly lose himself for the rest of his days. The sensations blurred his vision and several times he had to concentrate to keep his gaze glued to her face. She was an angel who was dragging him to hell with her. A fallen angel with black wings. The way he moved her head up and down seemed simultaneously unrestrained and controlled in every minute detail.
He gave her no warning, not that he could have. His orgasm hit him like a runaway train. As unexpected as the whole situation. She was not at all unprepared, she swallowed every drop of his cum as if she needed it. Her thirst had finally been quenched, but she didn't stop moving on his cock. She touched it and stimulated it until he begged her to stop. He couldn't take it anymore, he felt he had no strength to get up or speak. His chest moved slowly, trying to regain its balance as she wiped her mouth of a few ribbons of cum she hadn't managed to catch. She had never stopped smiling at him. She felt proud of herself for making the man in that condition.
"I knew you were a good boy."
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saiilorstars · 1 year
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Go the Distance
T’Challa x OFC / Citlalli’s masterlist
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Looking back at it, he regretted how things happened. The ire he felt for his father's death sent him over the edge. He didn't 'explode' like others, but he recognized (now) that he did have his moments.
"Agent Del Rio!" He called angrily after her. She was striding down the hallway, her back to him. "Agent Del Rio!" Eventually, he caught up to her and with one swift movement, he grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. "We need to speak  now !"
Citlalli Del Rio was anything if not pretty stoic with her expressions. It was a habit she picked up a very long time ago as a means of survival — literally. "Would you like to continue screaming in the hallway with other agents around?"
T'Challa was no fool. She was testing him and how far he would go to get what he wanted, even if it meant getting her into legal trouble. Could he?
Unable to answer himself, he pulled Citlalli into the first open room and shut the door with lock. "You pushed it today, Citlalli," he said immediately afterwards. "I know what you did."
Citlalli walked up to the conference table, drumming her hands on the top of a chair. "I do many things. Care to be specific?"
The ire grew stronger and T'Challa stalked up to her, once again turning her around. "You know what you did! You gave the weapons back. How could you help the people who cover up a murderer? A mass murderer, I will add."
Citlalli stoically looked at him and detached his hand from her arm. "You don't care that he was a mass murderer. You only care that he allegedly murdered your father."
"Allegedly?" T'Challa said incredulously. "He  did ! It is public knowledge that Sergeant Barnes was in the same city when the Accords were signed."
"Oh, you of all people know how technology can be used to persuade many people," Citlalli said, tilting her head to the side. Her dark eyes softened on him. "And it is much easier to convince someone who already wants to believe it."
In retrospect, T'Challa now knew that he had wanted to believe it very much. The news forced the idea that the Winter Soldier had blown up the site of the Accords and he, filled with ire and revenge, believed it without a second thought. It blinded him.
"Yes, I did help them," Citlalli said firmly, straightening herself up to take the full blame. Her open confession wounded T'Challa more than he had expected.
He got word from the Dora Milaje about suspicious sightings of Agent Del Rio and when they communicated the sudden loss of the confiscated weapons of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, and the coinciding disappearance of Citlalli, he knew it was true. Still, knowing it and hearing it directly from Citlalli was different
"Why?" He was left to ask.
Citlalli heard the frailty in his voice, the betrayal. She subtly swallowed hard. "Because it's not as it seems. I grew up blinded by those who were supposed to all truthful and powerful. I have learned to look past all that shine. I see things factually and factually, things are not what the news says. I listened to Steve Rogers. I heard him."
"It's all lies, Citlalli," T'Challa argued, "Sergeant Barnes is his best friend! He would cover for Barnes!"
"Yes, perhaps in other things, yes. It is the nature of best friends," Citlalli agreed with him, "But in this—"
" No !" T'Challa snapped.
Citlalli lowered her head, drawing in a sigh. "You are not listening."
"I'm not listening?" T'Challa said incredulously. "I'm not listening!? You — you are not listening to me!" And it hurt him so deeply that the one person he trusted, the person he…
Citlalli raised her head again, meeting his eyes. It was like she could read his mind. "I do listen to you," she said quietly, but he scoffed, and hard. "I  do ," she reiterated.
He was blind and deaf, apparently. Looking back at things, T'Challa knew he should have listened to Citlalli more. He'd gone off on her after that, telling her how that had been the ultimate betrayal and that any kind of relationships they ever had were done. Granted, their relationship had always been professional but neither one would deny that there were moments where sometimes that line blurred.
He regretted it so much.
Citlalli never yelled back, never argued back, and most importantly never tried to convince him not to break things off. That hurt too.
Had she never cared for him at all? Had he imagined those close-call moments between them?
When he left that room, he left Citlalli for good. He wanted to be a man of his word, even if it hurt him like hell.
But when things turned and he discovered the truth about Baron Zemo, T'Challa had no choice but to admit his fault. Unfortunately, Citlalli was no longer available. When he reached out to Everett Ross about her, he was told that Agent Del Rio had abruptly turned her papers in and resigned from the CIA.
The shock had taken days to ware off and when it did, T'Challa felt the weight of the past come crashing down on him. He'd lost his father and now he may have just lost the love of his life (who didn't know she was the love of his life).
"You should have told her a long time ago!" Nakia all but smacked him. Not even his status as King of Wakanda would protect him from her fury. She shook her head at him, hands on her waist. "I cannot believe it took all this to happen for you to get this."
T'Challa felt like he should put his hands up in surrender. "It was always pretty clear that she and I were just friends." Nakia scoffed and because Okoye was also in the room standing guard, she did too. T'Challa rolled his eyed at the two. "I was not ever intending on ruining the job she loved. We were professionals."
"Fifty percent of the time, perhaps," Okoye muttered and Nakia pointed at her in agreement. "You two were so in love that neither of you saw how obvious it was."
"Idiots, that's why," Nakia said, "And now you went and lost her because of your rage."
"I don't need to know but I already know," T'Challa said with a huff. "If I am bothering with this embarrassment, it is because I thought you two would be more willing to help me find her."
Nakia exchanged a glance with Okoye. Yes, of course they would help.
It took a while to track Citlalli down. T'Challa learned bits and pieces of her the time they knew each other. She wasn't very forthcoming about herself but T'Challa knew that it wasn't just with him. She did not trust many people and even then those she did deem friends knew mundane things about her.
T'Challa knew that he was one of the few people who knew that Citlalli had been adopted. She came from a very troubled past and her roots lied in Mexico, not the States. T'Challa liked to think that he knew her most, and maybe that fact enabled those feelings to grow. He learned how as a child, Citlalli had to run from her old village because of invaders; he learned the trouble it took her to cross borders and how she almost died on several occasions. She had lost everything and still managed to climb up the ladder all over again.
An uncrowned princess turned agent turned vigilante.
Looking back at it, how could he not fall in love with her?fall in love with her?
Because even when she tried being stoic, she slipped…with him. With him, she smiled, she laughed, she even joked. T'Challa imagined that was what Citlalli used to be before everything was taken from her and for him to be able to get it out of her every now and then was a gift he valued very much.
He hoped she smiled wherever she was.
After months of searching, they caught a break. T'Challa honestly couldn't believe it never occurred to him before. Citlalli's life had been in Mexico, so it only made sense that if she felt threatened she would return to her land where she felt more in her domain.
She was intelligent enough not to leave a trace of her leaving the United States so to anyone else it would appear that she was still in the States. Once they figured that out, their search became easier. Citlalli's old village used to reside not too far from Mexico City so it made sense for her to go somewhere near there. It became easier to spot the woman who had suddenly arrived in a small outskirt town who so decidedly wanted a job in or near a horse stable.
"It was so funny to me," Citlalli truthfully laughed. She sat with T'Challa on a bench only a few blocks from the CIA headquarters. "My adoptive parents had good intentions with their idea to bring me to a horse stable. They thought I should have some nature around me."
"I imagine in New York that's not very possible," T'Challa remarked, leading her to hum.
"So they bring me to this beautiful stable one day and they think that I'm going to be afraid of the horses. As if."
"As if…" T'Challa watched her laugh again. "So they made the mistake of assuming you weren't brave."
Citlalli's laugh subsided into a smug smile. "I don't know if 'brave' is the right word but they never assume anything about me again."
"Did you ride that day?"
"I did," nodded Citlalli, "and after that, horseback riding became one of my therapies. I don't have to think about anything when I'm on a horse. I don't have to remember anything either."
Even just talking about horseback riding made Citlalli look so at peace and that wasn't something T'Challa saw very often.
She rode the horse beautifully. Like an expert, and she was.
Citlalli had a deep affection for nature. She loved it and always lamented living and working so deep within cities. It was perhaps the thing she missed most from home.
T'Challa never told her but every time she shared her woes for a life closer to nature, he secretly thought about taking her away from New York. He was sure that she would love Wakanda, a place where technology was superb but never taking away the pleasure of the naturalistic simplicity of life.
And now it seemed like she had found her place again.
The stable was on a ranch and it was pretty decent sized. There were only workers, clearly not a place for the public. There were crops on one side and many other typical farm animals scattered around. It was all calm, the perfect place for Citlalli.
T'Challa honestly didn't want to interrupt Citlalli's obvious serenity but it was of no use trying to avoid it. On a turn of her horse, Citlalli saw him and abruptly stopped altogether. It took her a few moments to convince herself that she was not imagining him (again) and that he was very much real.
A few more minutes later and she was off her horse, walking it by its reign towards the stable. She didn't look back at the sound of footsteps drawing closer. She went directly to the horse's spot and ushered it in, closing the gate after it.
"It took you longer than I thought," Citlalli said, finally turning to T'Challa. His brows raised with surprise.
"I wasn't aware that I was being timed," he wasn't the response he was expecting from her. She didn't appear mad at him…
She certainly seemed less mad with that smile that marked her face. "Well, being the King of Wakanda should grant you some speedier tech, right? Or is it all Shuri's domain?"
Definitely not what T'Challa expected from her, and yet it had taken about ten pounds of nerves off his shoulders. "Uh, she does say that she's better at it."
"And she's right," Citlalli side-stepped him and walked towards the entrance of the stables. "So then, to what do I owe your grand visit? Should I expect to see Okoye's grumpy face somewhere around here?"
"I came alone," T'Challa said, following behind her. "I figured we needed to speak…if you're willing."
"Yeah, I'm willing," Citlalli glanced behind her shoulder, still smiling at him which he thought was plain weird. Why wasn't she yelling at him? Telling him to get lost?
Citlalli led him to a quieter place in the ranch - a bench underneath a shady tree. She sat down and patted the spot next to her. "Afraid of getting a little dirt?"
T'Challa couldn't help but roll his eyes. This was more or less their typical way of being. It was strange to say he missed it too. He sat down next to her, leaving a decent gap between them for obvious reasons. "I like this place," he remarked, gazing out at the scenery.
"Me too," Citlalli let out a relaxed breath as she leaned back on the bench, "I am just not a city girl. I thought this would be the perfect place to lay low."
"Lay low?"
Citlalli nodded. "There were some suspicions after Rogers and his crew got away. I gave my statement and quietly slipped away."
"There aren't - Citlalli, there are no accusations filed against you," T'Challa said, knowing it for a fact since he had spent a lot of his time searching for that verification.
"Even if there had been, I wouldn't be there," Citlalli said, flashing a small, yet smug, smile. "I don't intend on ever getting caught. I'm a good adapter. I'm more of a chameleon than a serpent, I guess."
"I think you're both," T'Challa said, "You hide very well, but anyone should watch out if they dare to do anything against you."
"Did you come all the way here to complement my skills?" Citlalli was already looking at him when T'Challa turned his head at her. His eyes softened albeit with guilt. Citlalli knew it well - she could read him so well and he didn't even know it.
He had no idea where to start. He had come all the way here to apologize and he had no idea where to start. He spent the next couple minutes in silence trying to figure out his words so when Citlalli laughed, he was more than dumbfounded.
"I can see the wires in your head short-circuiting," she said, tilting her head at him, "Don't bother. I already know."
"Know what?" he frowned.
"What you want to say."
"N-no you don't. How could you know?"
Citlalli's smile broadened, her eyes growing kinder by the second. "Because I know you. You're too noble not to come all the way over here to apologize about Barnes. I'm just glad you realized he wasn't behind your father's murder."
T'Challa lost his breath for a moment. How could she read him that easily? That correctly? He looked at her completely mortified and yet relieved that she had taken the words out of his mouth.
Citlalli's smile still didn't wane. She looked out at the ranch, ignoring the warm flush on her face. "I hope you know that I'm not upset, and I really didn't need the apology either."
"How could not be upset?" T'Challa asked quietly. "I said so many things I shouldn't have. You were right, I should have listened to you…but I didn't. And you have no idea how terrible these months have been for me. A punishment, I suppose, for what I did."
"You were hurt," Citlalli said, "And trust me, we do many things while we are hurt."
"But not to you," T'Challa shook his head, "I would never want to do anything to you. You have no idea how important you are to me. I felt like I lost you, and it was all my fault." He lowered his head, absolutely guilt ridden. A few seconds later, he felt a warm hand come rest over his. He looked at Citlalli but she was gazing straight ahead.
"You could never lose me," she said, her fingers just barely sliding between his fingers, "I know you too well to fall for some mediocre argument. You're my friend. I would never let something like that get between us. The only reason I didn't reach out is because I knew that you needed your space and you would eventually find me."
"How? How could you know all that?"
"Because I know you, my dear," Citlalli finally looked at him, smiling widely. It was so unlike her. "Bits and pieces - I know you whole."
T'Challa's heart swelled with the feelings he kept bottled up. The certainty in Citlalli's voice - the confidence that she was right - made the ache in his heart grow because how could she trust him that much and he couldn't do that with her before? "I don't deserve you," he mumbled, turning his hand under hers and interlocking his fingers with hers. "The faith you have in me is the same faith that I should have had in you. You saw the truth before I did, and instead of trusting you I accused you."
"It's alright—"
"No, it's not," T'Challa shook his head.
"It really is—"
"It's not because how could I do that to the woman I love?"
Citlalli could only be so subtle at a confession like that. The confidence she had spoken with had definitely waned in those first seconds. "I…well…"
Somewhere in all the misery he felt, T'Challa found a moment to chuckle. "I don't think I have ever seen you speechless before." He took pride for being the one to do that to her. "You didn't see that coming, did you?"
Citlalli blinked a few more times and, with a clearing of her throat, looked away. "Honestly, no." She had been well aware of her feelings a while ago but with those feelings came the reality check. She was once of a noble family which meant she knew exactly how royalty worked. And no matter how super progressive royalty claimed to be, there was always going to be something that would separate them (and that was assuming that T'Challa would actually reciprocate her feelings). He was the King of a whole country, and she was a CIA agent (ex-agent now). There was no way that would ever work. So she settled for a silent love and hoped that with years to come, she would move past it.
"I was horrible to you the last time we saw each other so the only way to solve it is to make a fool out of myself," T'Challa decided to say, shrugging his shoulders.
Citlalli looked in his direction again. "A fool?"
"Because I came all the way over here with the intention of apologizing and hoping that you would forgive me but instead I'm sharing my deepest secret with you hoping you won't throw dirt in my face." T'Challa looked down at the ground, partly in shame. If he had been braver before, he would've done this in a much better way. A way that Citlalli deserved.
Citlalli tilted her head at him, trying to figure him out. "You're not very King-like, you know."
"I've heard," T'Challa said, "Shuri likes to point it out a lot. But maybe that's better right now. For your amusement, of course. Here's the King declaring his love for a woman he already lost."
Citlalli couldn't help it; she laughed. "Whether you're the King or not, you're still so clueless. Do you know why it is that I know you so well?"
"No?"
"Because when you fall in love with someone, there's an innate desire to know everything about them." Citlalli gripped their interlocked hands. "And I have wanted to know everything about you. Every single detail about you, whether big or mundane, is in my heart. So when you were upset, I knew you'd eventually come back from it. You always do. You're a fair and just man."
Her sincerity got him again, only this time he couldn't help it. The instinct was beyond him. He pulled his hand out of hers then grabbed her face and kissed her.
It was perhaps the one thing that Citlalli had not expected. She could not lead how she usually did with just about everything else in her life. And it was fine. She was perfectly content following the most amazing man and his wondrous lips. They parted slowly and even then remained with their foreheads against one another's.
"...it's not very king-like to kiss the commoners either..." Citlalli breathed in.
That sounded exactly like something Citlalli would say, and yet it still made T'Challa laugh. He lowered his head, shaking it as he tried to get himself together. "Agent Del Rio, aren't you ever serious for one minute?"
"Don't blame me...the King just kissed me. What ever am I supposed to do with myself?"
T'Challa raised his head to see Citlalli feigning a shocked expression. "You are not funny," he pointed at her.
"I think you'll let me be whatever I want to be on account of this long-term argument," Citlalli said, quickly growing serious. "I may love you but you still owe me for this."
T'Challa laughed again. She could play the role of seriousness so well that anyone who didn't know her would actually believe her. "Can I try to apologize say, in Wakanda?"
Citlalli's eyebrows raised, her 'seriousness' thrown off. Ultimately, she gave up the game in favor of reality. "Of course I forgive you. You don't need to make any grand apologies. I didn't runaway because of you. I needed to protect myself in case something happened, and it did. I know Rogers is on the run with his little merry gang. And truthfully, I don't regret helping him."
"I don't expect you to be regretful," T'Challa clarified first, "You were right. I only wish that I had listened to you back then. You should know that there are no formal accusations against you. I verified it."
Citlalli smiled lightly at him. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that, though."
"I did," T'Challa nodded, "Because I should have been with you at that moment as well." He reached for Citlalli's hand and gently wrapped his fingers around it. "If I had been with you then, you would already be in Wakanda with me."
"Can you imagine? Me in Wakanda?" Citlalli chuckled. 'I don't think your mother and sister would like that very much. Besides, what am I supposed to do there?"
"Be with me," T'Challa said bluntly enough to startle Citlalli. It was hard scaring Citlalli and T'Challa honestly couldn't remember a moment where he successfully managed to scare her. "I love you, Citlalli. I have for a very long time and I should have said it a long time, shown it, and I failed. I don't want to do that again. I don't want to go home pretending like it doesn't hurt to leave you behind. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," Citlalli answered softly, "I do." She could see his sincerity in his eyes, the fondness he held for her was right there...just for her.
"I know how you feel about 'home', and how you haven't really felt like America was your home. I know this place" — T'Challa made a nod towards the field — "feels closer to you but I don't want you to be alone. I don't want to be without you. Come to Wakanda with me, and we can make it our home. But I promise that it can become your home as well. You just have to be there to give it a your touch."
Citlalli actually considered the idea for a moment. Going to Wakanda sounded completely insane at a first glance but then she thought about it again, this time 'going to Wakanda with T'Challa' and it sprung a whole lot of butterflies in her stomach. "It's...it's crazy, isn't it?"
"Why?" T'Challa challenged her for a good answer. "You already left the States anyways. What's a little further anyways?"
"We're talking about a whole sea!" Citlalli chuckled. "And...well..." she sighed, "Who am I kidding? I could never go back to the CIA. Everett Ross would never hire me again."
"You'd be surprised," T'Challa said, shooting her a pretty confident smile.
Citlalli stared at him a couple minutes, getting the feeling she was missing out on something.
"If you want to go back to the CIA, then do it," T'Challa said, "But I will not leave you again. Do you want to go back to the CIA?"
Citlalli's head lowered at the question. "Honestly?"
"Always."
Licking her lips nervously, Citlalli answered very clearly. "No." She lifted her head and met T'Challa eye. "I only ever joined to build connections and networks. It's so tiresome, T'Challa. I don't even like the CIA..." She laughed sourly, "Bureaucratic knots everywhere. I like the freedom — there is no freedom in the CIA."
T'Challa listened to her attentively. He cupped her face, leaning close to her. "If that's the case, then come with me. You might find your freedom in Wakanda."
"The idea of going with you is, admittedly tempting, but I know how royalty works. This isn't some 'be my wife, aka the Queen or be my mistress' is it?"
"Look at me and tell me if that's what I would offer you," T'Challa promptly requested. Citlalli only looked at him for about two seconds before shaking her head. "When I say 'come with me', I mean it as in...fly back with me and...see what happens. You can stay for as long as you'd like. Decide what you want to do next."
"I don't know what I want to do 'next'," Citlalli admitted, "But I do know that I missed you so much. Watching you leave again is...it's not on my to-do list."
T'Challa started feeling something in his chest — anticipation. He knew what was coming...
"I don't want special treatment," Citlalli said, confirming what T'Challa already knew. "And you better tell Nakia to knock it off with her jokes because I know she'll have them."
T'Challa laughed lightly. "I can certainly promise to try and dissuade Nakia from any jokes but I'm not sure I can do much about the first thing you asked for."
"Why not?" Citlalli frowned.
"Because I certainly won't be able to treat you as if you were the same as everyone else." T'Challa grinned proudly about himself. Before Citlalli could fully react, he slid his hands over his face and kissed her.
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bedlamsbard · 1 year
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Just under 1K written today.  Today was a very Friday Friday, which means that I did the thing I had scheduled for the day and then my brain went “thank you, we are out.”
Dugan and the other Commandos shifted a little from foot to foot, too polite to come out and ask, but clearly less interested in encrypted mystery communiques than in Steve Rogers.
Peggy asked for them. “Do you know where –”
“They’re all up in the gym, along with half the staff who want to catch the show,” Rose said.  She gathered up a armful of folders.  “I gotta take these to Mr. Stark and the colonel anyway, I’ll go with you.”
“I wouldn’t mind catching the show myself,” Falsworth said, sounding contemplative. “I’ve rather missed it.”
Rose put her hand on Peggy’s arm and Peggy looked at her, a little surprised.  “They’re all up in the gym,” she repeated. “Including Mrs. Rogers.”
Peggy felt a muscle in her jaw twitch while everyone else looked studiously down at the encrypted Typex printouts, pretending not to listen. “Steve’s a grown man and we never made any promises to each other,” she said.  “If he wants to marry the first pretty girl who drops her knickers for him, that’s his own prerogative.”
“Not the first,” Morita muttered, then said, “What?” when they all looked at him. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Um,” Rose said, looking like she regretted mentioning it.
In retrospect, Peggy decided wearily, she should have made certain she knew what the unofficial SSR story was about Steve’s mysterious appearance, since the time travel tall tale was need-to-know only.
“Never mind that,” she said.
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I don't pay attention to MCU anymore, and honestly, I only really like certain aspects of it in retrospect, such as the Steve Rogers's stuff. I think about how outrageously wrong the writers were for writing him having sex before marriage (fornication). First of all, considering the character and values Steve had throughout the entire Infitnity Saga prior to Endgame, it comes off as widely out-of-character for him to having done that before. I'm (not) sorry, but Steve has a massive "I'll have her home by 8, sir. Don't worry." energy to him that I highly doubt he would've even been comfortable with the idea of sex outside of marriage. Steve is a correct type of man, and he'd very probably see it as disrespectful to her for him to do that. He's the type to stop before they go any further, actually, because he feels and knows it's not right. You have to add the fact that he was very probably raised as a Catholic. I don't care how you headcanon him and how much times have changed, Steve is a "by-the-book" kind of guy when it came to that and other things. Was he perfect? Of course not, but I'm (not) sorry, he would've waited until marriage. This isn't even just a baseless headcanon given how it's pretty in-character for him.
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typhoidmeri · 2 years
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things are getting strange, I'm starting to worry
If Darcy was the kind of person to make plans for her life, she'd be in the middle of law school. Instead she’s sitting in a rental car covered in flower petals and ash.
Five weeks ago she left the academy. Three days ago she was digitising batshit files in a basement.
“So, how much trouble are we in for…”
“…setting fire to the town, breaking at least three federal laws, and unleashing an ancient fertility deity?” Special Agent Rogers says.
In retrospect the file on a demonically possessed Fiji Mermaid seemed rather tame. “I didn’t shoot anyone?”
“I did.”
…..
Darcy Lewis Bingo
@darcylewisbingohq
drabble prompt: taxidermy
moodboard/graphic prompt: barn
title from Mulder and Scully by Catatonia
Headcanon: First of all this is all @aenariasbookshelf’s fault. Second, the X-Files will always own real estate in my heart as my first true fandom as a teenager. In my head, in this universe anyway, Mulder and Scully exist but ignore all that revival bullshit, Mulder is a supervisor or AD, Scully is happy teaching at the Academy. Steve, Clint, and Nat are sidelined into the newly reopened X-files because they’re all trouble in their own way. Okay maybe not Nat, but someone has to be a grown up. Darcy’s a baby agent, and while she great on paper…well, you know how it is. The bound deity/goddess is taken from Apostle (I think it was on Netflix) which is definitely worth a watch.
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darsynia · 1 year
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I have thought long and hard. I think you would get along so damn well with Sam Wilson, honestly, like you two would be a *terror* out on the town, just so much energy. I cannot pick a romantic ship for you that isn't Tony though, and it feels obvious? but also...somehow not the perfect fit? in a good way?
since you've described your hubs as a kind of steve rogers-esque personality, maybe he should get an honorable mention?
idk, gurl, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be...
I enjoy a swerve, and Sam is very Steve-like while being more Tony than Steve (because yes, my husband is essentially the unholy combo of Vision and Steve Rogers, relentlessly moral and deeply, embarrassingly good. I do not deserve him in the slightest and am so delighted to get to love him), if that makes sense.
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Sam and I would be constantly giving each other hell, whichever the romantic version of a pun battle is without the puns. We'd end up constantly making dinner for a week as a part of a lost bet or wearing revealing panties under our day clothes as a result of a WON bet. At the same time, I think we'd be able to have a really loving supportive 'do the right thing, yeah, even if it hurts, I'll be there to help you feel better' thing. Lovely choice thank you!
And yeah, Tony and I might be TOO alike in various ways? Like if we were both Going Through It, that could get ugly REAL fast, for sure.
As for Steve, I feel like in some ways the person I am now is influenced by the core of Steveness in Husband's personality; I always hated lying, I always wanted to do the right thing, but standing up for that in ways that could lose me friends has been something I've felt empowered to do because I know he'll back me up. So in a weird way, I've become more of the kind of person Steve Rogers would be happy to be with as a result of loving someone very much like him.
And uh, frustrating Steve is something I would definitely do, and it would be so sexy um.
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Edit: I do think you intended the Sam one to be platonic in retrospect but either would be fine! I just liked the journey of figuring that out, and the man is sexy as hell so whoops :D
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star-girlzz · 1 year
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You said that Cherry was designed after Barbie, now I wanna know what the others are designed after. Especially Xaje, her brother, and Afia
Xaje was designed to be a bit of a mysterious female character with short hair, I had a specific trope in mind but I don't really have a name for it. Also, for her visuals, I wanted a black-and-white contrasting color scheme. I also wanted her to mostly appear to be soft. Xavier basically piggybacking off of that idea but also like the opposite. Where Xaje was soft, he was rough and sharp. It's also why he's relatively tall since she's pretty short. He's lost some of his edge from his character concept because I've grown entirely too fond of him. Afia's design went through many changes as she initially was not in the same story as Xaje. Her character concept was definitely always brown. Her clothing style was soft as well but flowy. I couldn't decide if I wanted her to be black or south Asian (Indian specifically) which is how I decided she should be both. Later I decided she'd have a religious aesthetic with influences from charlie brown and late '50s to '70s fashion. Lee Ann has far too many inspirations for me to count tbh but she was designed after an idol/sex worker concept that was supposed to be bright and make use of neon colors. So she bares a lot of resemblence to the memes from MEMEME!/GIRL protagonist, Kami-Sama. Her red star earrings are a direct reference to Jerrica Benton/ Jem from Jem. For Artemis, there were a lot of concepts for him but his design idea was that he'd wear a fur coat smoke cigarettes, and have long hair. He was supposed to look a bit tired and unkept. As his character evolved I decided id really exaggerate his hair and make it longer. The night I first drew him I also spontaneously decided to give him blonde tips based off of the musician Towkio. Morris's character concept was entirely to feed into the character archetype that was being poked fun of at the time which was the man with blonde hair and blue eyes who you have to guess if he's: a) Jack Morrison aka Soldier 76 (Overwatch), b) Joseph Christiansen (Dream Daddy Dating Simulator), or c) Steve Rogers aka Captain America (Marvel, duh). Though I will also say his concept started with the main character of the dating simulator, Coming Out On Top's main protagonist, Mark. The main idea is he is a clean-cut white guy who's gay. Caesar, who was pretty much created exactly around the time as Xaje bc I wanted two characters to come in a pair and be a duo, the concept was probably a mix of a lot of things. His design and personality take a couple notes from Fuyuhiko from DanganRonpa 2. but the idea for him was that he'd be aggressive but not necessarily burley or tall. In fact, I liked the idea of him being baby-faced. What's been pretty consistent in his design though is that his clothing style is a bit flamboyant and that he should look like he's made of gold. I’m not sure when I decided Joyce would have long silver hair? To be honest it was something I probably decided when I was making her look for this post  but Joyce was supposed to have a very distinct look every time you saw her but eventually I wanted to make her character more relevant and fashionable so I decided she’d have an insta baddie/ influencer look to her more than anything. Evol and Etah were based in appearance after  Aikurō Mikisugi from Kill la Kill (in both his nudist form and his everyday form) but honestly I’m glad they got a race lift because I’m not very fond of that character in retrospect. They’ve had many appearance references in the past years.  Travis was based off of someone who used to run this tumblr blog I followed a long time ago. They’ve long since left the site. I definitely wanted him to be a trans masc character who didn’t entirely fit everyone’s concept of masculinity since he shouldn’t have to! My decision to make him blasian was also in reference to an old OC I had that I’ve since retired. Clarrissa’s appearance takes inspiration from seductive characters and old comics of the like. Her idea was that she was a promiscuous character with a vintage aesthetic that was definitely rooted in rockabilly and pin-up art. Clover’s was based on the art of Kiwi-Byrd and their OCs. I’ve been a long time fan of their work.  Ferris was based off an older concept I had from a character which i suppose means his design takes cues from what alternative or indie men of color were wearing back in 2015.
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