#earl grey steve

[buckyalpine]

Did You Hear

Fluffyy crack fic and nothing else. Imagine Tony Stark's shy new assistant sitting at the kitchen island for breakfast, getting a cup of tea before heading to the lab. She's sipping from her steaming mug when a very pretty super solider walks in from his run and the heat rising in her cheeks isn't from the hot Earl Grey.

"Mornin' y/n" He gives you a polite smile while he makes his way to the fridge and you had to silence the squeak that nearly escapes your lips. He's in a pair of snug grey sweats which are resting sinfully low on his hips and his tight black t-shit showing off every divot and curve of muscle on his torso. You bite you lip as he bends down to grab a cold bottle of water, silencing a squeal with a sip of tea.

"Morning, Sergeant" You give him a smile and the lopsided grin he gives you as he goes on about his day leaves you giggling and kicking your feet. You were just about finished your cup when Nat walked in next, looking you up and down with a shake of her head.

"Bucky was here, wasn't he" She playfully rolled her eyes knowing the effect the brunette had on you. "What happened this time"

"Bucky has a cute butt" You giggled, while Nat snorted at your flustered state. "And slutty thighs"

"Do you ever plan on actually telling him"

"No!" You vigorously shook your head. That was out of the question for you; you were happy to admire the soldier from afar. The last thing he'd want is to have to deal with is the playground crush you had on him anyway, it was a miracle he even noticed you. "He doesn't even see me that way"

"Well, guess we'll never know" She sassed as you slipped off the stool to make your way to the lab.

"I'm happy to admire God's work from a safe distance!" You called over your shoulder while Nat shook her head, smirking to a third person you didn't see who was lingering near the kitchen, very happy to listen intently to the conversation that was taking place.

The one that was supposed to be a secret from Bucky's ears.

That wouldn't do.

-

"Did you hear?" Sam grinned, sauntering over where Bucky was sparring with Steve, both men panting after already going for a few rounds. "Word on the street is you have a cute butt"

"What" Bucky deadpanned while Steve smirked, watching the heat in his friends cheeks already starting to creep up to his ears.

"Mhm, that little tush of yours has been getting a lot of attention lately"

"From who" Bucky's face scrunched up in confusion, frowning when Sam cackled, clapping his shoulder.

"Tony's cute lil assistant" He says with a wink, noting the immediate change in Bucky's demeanor, his frown falling off his face, replaced with a very pink blush.

"You mean y/n?"

"Uh huh. Must've been those slutty grey sweats you've been running around in"

"Slutty?"

"Extremely. Especially with those thighs"

"And how do you know this" Bucky struggled to bite back a smile, not wanting to get his hopes up until he was sure. "There's no way she-

"Heard her talking to Nat this morning. She sounded real excited after seeing you and your cute butt" Sam gave him a swat causing him to yelp.

"Hm. Interesting" The soldier nodded already looking towards the showers so he could rinse off and find you.

"Yeah, yeah, go find your girl" Steve shoved Bucky off the mat with a grin. Bucky jogged off to the lab right after a shower, purposely throwing on a new pair of his snug joggers. He smirked as he walked in seeing you fully focused on a small creation Tony created, tinkering away without noticing him.

"Hey doll"

"Ser-sergeant!" You squeaked in surprise as he strode inside, dropping the gadget you were working on, "What can I help you with"

"Sam told me something earlier", Bucky shrugged casually while you stayed frozen in your seat, your heart rate picking up the closer he got. "Was wonderin' if you knew anything about it"

"What's-what's that" You fidgeted nervously, his baby blues staring at you intently, loving how flustered you looked.

"Someone said something about me having a cute butt"

"Oh" You looked like deer in headlights, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

"Oh?" Bucky smirked while you hid your face in your hands, ready to sink to the floor and hide under the table, he must have thought you were such a pervert. "And something about slutty thighs-

"Not just your butt! All-all of you is cute all over" You squeaked out before slapping a hand over your mouth realizing you were making it worse.

"All of me, huh" Bucky pried your hand away from your face, cupping your cheek instead, the cool metal of his arm soothing your hot skin. "So you do think I have a cute butt and slutty thighs"

His thumb came up to pull your bottom lip away from where it was caught between your teeth, smiling at the little nod you gave him, too scared to open your mouth.

"Well I'm glad"

"Y-you are?" You shyly whispered, nearly whining when he brought his other hand to hold your face gently, his lips brushing against yours.

"Mhm, means I can do this" You went limp in his hold, every muscle in your body turning into mush as he kissed your lips sweetly, the gentle peck feeling like he'd stolen your breath away. "Don't faint on me sweets" Bucky chuckled as he pulled away, seeing the dazed look on your face.

"Such a cute butt" You whispered to yourself, eyes growing wide when you realized you said that out loud. You buried yourself in his chest making Bucky grin, kissing the top of your head.

"Want to grab coffee with my cute butt?" Bucky tipped your chin up to look at him, "I'll even bring my slutty thighs" He threw in with a wink.

"Promise?" You giggled while he slipped in his hand in yours, leading you towards the door.

"Scouts honor, doll"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[pepperonijem]

x. you are in every line || all my love finale

You have been in every line I have ever read..." - Great Expectations; Charles Dickens

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Summary: Bucky has finally come to the answer to a problem he's been working on for months. It's love. Warnings:  none, some angst tho Word Count:  4.8k A/N: one year later... thanks for reading :) @calwitch thank you again for giving me the spark to upload the last chapter. Hope you enjoy!

previous chapter || back to library

Snow was falling gently on the streets, and people were hurrying home, their arms filled with wrapped boxes and paper parcels from toy stores, candy shops, and bakeries. It was Christmas Eve, and there was something whimsical in the air.

“Did we get everything?” You looked up at the boy next to you, his rosy cheeks hidden underneath a checkered scarf. He let out a breath that was visible in the chilly weather. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he confirmed, looking down at the many bags the two of you were holding. “We got cake, last minute gifts, gift wrap… that’s everything.” He smiled down at you as the two of you headed to the car, Bucky trying his best not to lose you in the swathes of people on the sidewalks. 

“Bucky, wait,” he heard his name from behind him and nearly panicked when he didn’t see you immediately behind him. He felt his heart settle back in place momentarily when he found you standing by the cafe window and sped back up when he realized he had been just looking at you with a dopey smile on his face. He shook it off and walked up to you, intrigued by the tired smile on your face. “Let’s grab something warm to drink,” you suggested, and who was Bucky to deny you?

He looked down at his watch, noting that there was still time to spare before the two of you were needed back at home. So he opened the door for you and followed behind you, welcoming the warmth and comforting smell of pastries and peppermint. When Bucky caught up to you, you were already waiting for him at the cash register, where the cashier was smiling at you. 

“Good evening!” The cashier greeted the two of you warmly. “Did you guys want your regular earl grey tea and coffee?” Bucky looked at you with a raised eyebrow as you shook your head no.

“I’ll have a hot chocolate tonight,” you replied with a sheepish smile. The cashier nodded in agreement before putting the order in, then turned to Bucky for his order.

“I’ll have my usual,” he replied before handing over his card as the cashier waved it away. 

“Don’t worry about it today,” she replied with a smile as she handed him the receipt. “Consider it a Christmas gift for two of my regulars.” You and Bucky thanked her as you made your way to one of the few empty tables by the window, taking note of the streets that were beginning to finally clear out.

Bucky looked up as you let out a heavy sigh as you sat down at the table and set your bags on the floor.

“Tired?” Bucky asked, although he had an inkling it was more than just that. 

His first clue came about a week ago – that night you came back from spending the day with Steve. He had planned to tease you about it, calling it a date, but when you answered passively and headed straight to your room without dinner, Bucky felt something shift .

Later that night, he found that he was unable to fall asleep. He couldn’t get you out of his mind. He had never seen you look so… lost, and he could feel his heart sink every time he pictured your face. So with a sigh, he stood up to go to the kitchen, to grab himself a warm mug of chamomile tea, his go-to cure for sleepless nights. He was shocked to find you, already sitting at the counter with your own mug and the same weary expression from earlier. 

“Can’t sleep either?” you asked him with a small ghost of a smile. Bucky chuckled as he shook his head. He walked over to the tea kettle, pouring himself his own mug of tea before taking the seat beside you. Without a word, you offered your mug out to clink against his as you took a sip. 

Bucky wanted to ask about earlier that day, the lost look on your face, but when you turned to face him and he saw the puffy redness that surrounded your glassy eyes, he decided against it. A question would turn into a conversation, which would turn into a sleepless night, and Bucky prioritized your wellbeing over his own curiosity. There would be more times to talk, but for now, all Bucky wanted was for you to rest. 

The sound of the waiter bringing over your drinks to the table snapped him back to the present. “Hot chocolate, with a little extra whipped cream,” he said before setting your mug down. “And a coffee with two pumps of brown sugar syrup. Have a happy holiday,” the waiter greeted before he left.

As soon as the waiter’s back was turned, Bucky watched as the smile slipped from your face. “How did you know?” you asked with a sigh, taking a small sip of your cocoa. “I don’t think I even realized how tired I’ve been.”

“Call it a hunch,” he replied, not wanting to explain all of the signs he had seen. “Also, you ordered a hot chocolate, which you only do when you’re upset.”

“I do?” you echoed. Bucky felt his cheeks and ears turn scarlet and brought his mug to his face as an attempt to hide it. When did he become so fluent in you? 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “After you finished reading Grapes of Wrath, I found you in the kitchen at 3 in the morning drinking cocoa and scribbling in your journal about how you hated the ending.”

You chuckled at the memory, and it made Bucky smile to see you laugh, even if only for a second. “So what’s up?”

“Steve’s going to France,” you answered, looking down into your mug and biting down onto your bottom lip. You paused before continuing, and Bucky watched your nostrils flare as you tried to blink back the tears that were starting to form. “He told me he loved me, that he always has.”

Bucky couldn’t hide his surprise at your confession or the way that he felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. He had no idea what to say to you, honestly, but his mind was running a million thoughts a minute. What am I going to do if I ask her what she said to him and she says she’ll run away to France with him? What if she realized she actually hates my guts because I’m a meanie. A meanie? Only she would call me that. Wait, why should I care if she likes Steve, it’s not like she probably still likes me anyway.   

But when he looked down to see you fidgeting with your hands and your sleeves, he realized that what he wanted most was to reach out and keep your hands safe in his. So he did. He reached out, pulling each of your hands into his and hoping you couldn’t feel the way his heartbeat was pulsing through his fingertips.

You finally looked up at him with a trembling smile. “Sorry,” you apologized. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” Before Bucky could tell you that you never had to apologize to him, or that he would yell at Steve for making you cry, or anything at all, you took a deep breath and slipped your hands out of his. He missed the contact immediately.

You wiped at your eyes, clearly done talking about the conversation, and although Bucky still felt uneasy, he waited quietly with one hand still on top of the table for you to continue. “Anyway,” you began with a cheerier smile that still didn’t meet your eyes. “I have your Christmas gift. I was gonna give it to you tonight, but honestly, I’m too excited to wait any longer.” 

Although he was still sure there was more to be said, he couldn’t deny that he was excited, especially after seeing your excitement. He watched as you reached into one of the bags beside you to pull out a package wrapped in brown paper with a red and white ribbon tied around it. He looked at the package with a smile as you handed it to him and pulled out your phone to record his reaction.

To: the world’s second best roomie.

From: the world’s first best roomie. 

“Glad you don’t think I’m a terrible roommate,” Bucky said with a chuckle, smiling up at you. “Should I just…?”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes as you egged him on. “Just open it already.”

Bucky obliged and gently opened the present, unable to contain his excitement at the first peek of gold under the wrapping paper. “Is this–” he was shocked as he pulled out the book inside. “This is the peacock edition… of Pride and Prejudice,” his eyes went wide as he held the book in his hands. He looked back up at the camera and stuttered out, “How did you even find this? It’s so rare!”

Bucky’s heart was doing somersaults in his chest as he ran his fingers over the gold embellishments on the cover and spine.

“Open it,” you urged as Bucky flipped the cover open gently, treating the book with care.

Merry Christmas!

I know you already have a copy of this book… but this one was so pretty I just knew I had to get it for you anyway. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of getting a head start on scribbling in this book. I’ve underlined just a few of my favorite quotes, and I look forward to hearing about yours. I’ll give you a sneak peek though, because I’m so nice:

“I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice.” 

These last few months, I feel like I can truly say that I have been happy. And you’ve played a big part in that… so… thanks, for everything.

Happy reading,

The girl next door

Bucky looked back up to see you looking at him expectantly for his reaction. He remembered what you had told him before, about getting someone the right gift – the kind of gift that every time you saw it you can’t help but think of the person who gave it to you. He got it now, why you cared so much, because he would never be able to read this book again without seeing the smile you had on your face right now and he wanted to do the same for you. He wanted to be etched in between the lines of every book you read, just as you were to him.

“I…” He began. “I don’t know what to say.” He watched as your face quickly slipped into a panic and he rushed to clarify himself. “This is… this is the best gift I could have gotten. Thank you.” The comfort that rushed into your features was enough to satisfy Bucky as he took another sip of his coffee. He would definitely be up reading tonight, looking forward to seeing what you wrote on each page.

After downing the rest of your drinks, the two of you made your way back home through the dimly lit and snow-covered streets. Christmas music filled the car, and all Bucky could think about was the gift he had for you waiting on his bedside table.

The Barnes household was more lively than usual tonight. Your dad was here for the holiday and he had been cooking up a feast all day in preparation for Christmas Eve dinner. Typically, Christmas was usually just Bucky and his dad, a pizza, and Home Alone. However, when you explained to him your family’s tradition of waiting until midnight to finally eat dinner and opening up presents right after, he was surprised to say he was excited to adopt your tradition in place of his this year. 

As the two of you walked in, you were immediately greeted by the smell of roasted turkey and desserts baking in the oven and your stomachs both immediately grumbled in response. 

“You guys are home?” Bucky’s dad called from the kitchen, where he was helping your father out. Bucky confirmed as he removed his shoes and walked over to grab a cracker from the plate of cheese and crackers they were arranging. His dad slapped his hand away playfully. 

“Go get washed up and dressed first,” your dad told the both of you. “There should be a set of pajamas on each of your beds.”

You looked up at Bucky with amusement as the two of you walked up the stairs. ���They got us all matching pajamas?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “That’s one of me and my dad’s things.” He shrugged his shoulders as the two of you parted ways into your bedrooms.

Before Bucky changed into his pajamas, he sat down at his bed and once again looked at your gift to him, a smile immediately coming to his face. He picked up his old copy of the book as well, and pulled out the pink envelope that had been sitting unopened in between the pages of his book. He took a deep breath and opened it.

Bucky,

I’m… I’m honestly not sure if you even know who I am. We met once, and I don’t know if you remember… but I do. Freshman year, you stole a book from me at the library… and you also… stole my heart.

Bucky paused to laugh. The you that he knows now would probably bite her own tongue in half before saying these words out loud. 

I’ve been waiting for years to say this, so I’ll just say it. I like you. I like you a lot. You’re the smartest guy in our year, and you’re cute, and you have good taste in books. People say you’re cold… and that this would probably be the worst idea… but I feel like it’s not. 

To be honest, a few months ago… he would have agreed. That he was cold, and that getting a love letter was one his top 5 list of things he did not want. He remembers that day, that his friends all scolded him for not even taking the letter… It wasn't until he saw it in your room the night you sprained your ankle that he finally felt the urge to even take it, and not until today that he felt the need to read it. He wondered if you even noticed it was gone.

Speaking of books… has anyone told you you remind them of Mr. Darcy? Well if not, let me be the first. Well… that’s really all I wanted to say. I’m not expecting an answer or anything… I just wanted you to know. I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t tell you how I was feeling. Words unspoken now will be silence that I’ll regret later on.

Love, Sincerely,

An admirer.

Bucky folded the letter back up and put it back into its envelope. It had only been a few months since you wrote this letter to him and he wondered if you still felt the same way. Part of him wished you did, but the other part remembered that he’s not the only one who wished the same.

If anyone had told him that day that he would be harboring feelings for you, he would have scoffed in their face. Bucky wouldn’t say he fell in love with you, but rather, he walked into it. Like a morning stroll under falling leaves, he doesn’t know how long he’s been walking because all he could care to do was admire the colors of each leaf. But now, it’s as if he’s finally looking up to see you at the end of the road… with someone else calling your name beside him.

With a sigh, he set the envelope back on top of his nightstand, beside his gift to you. One day, he thought to himself as he got dressed..

As he stepped out of his room, he could hear the unmistakable sound of tears from your room. Feeling his heart rate pick up, he was ready to open the door to check on you until he heard your father’s voice. 

“Well,” he asked with a gentle voice. “Are you ready to let him go to hold onto someone else?” 

Bucky knew he should have walked away right then, that was the smart thing to do… the logical thing to do. But something about you made him abandon logic every time. So instead he remained in front of the door, firmly planted until he finally heard your reply after what felt like the longest few seconds of his life.

“Yes.” 

Despite his determination to remain firmly planted, he suddenly found himself stumbling down the stairs. Let who go? He thought to himself. Is she… going with him? Why is this affecting me so much? It’s her life. She can do whatever she wants. Bucky knew that he didn’t have the right to be upset if her heart had moved on since he was the one who broke it months ago. It didn’t stop him, however, from breaking his own heart.

For the rest of that night and the week after, he tried his best to act as if he hadn’t heard her talk to her father that night. And it was working, mostly. He found it generally easy, to laugh the same way at all your jokes, to tease you about this or that, but the hard part came at night, when he was alone with his thoughts. 

On New Year’s day, he found himself in his bed, staring at his ceiling and chastising himself for feeling the way he did. He let out a sigh and reached over to pull out the gift he didn’t give to you – his own personal copy of Great Expectations. 

He remembers the time you argued with him about the book, saying that you had read it for school and hated it. He argued that you just needed to give it a chance, that it wouldn’t be one of his favorite books if it was bad. You had rolled your eyes at him, relenting ever so slightly, and he had never felt so victorious as he did right then as he promised to get you a copy.

Bucky didn’t waste any time after that day. He bought a fresh copy of the book and was ready to give it to you until he thought to himself, maybe if I wrote down what I liked about the book, it’ll convince her to like it as she reads it. He held off on giving the book to you, opting instead to take notes throughout the book, highlight what was relevant and write down why it was. Before he knew it, his notes had went from mere observations to:

“She had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes that were very pretty and very good.” - Just like yours. 

As his own feelings for you evolved, so did the way he understood the stories he was reading. The story of Pip and Estella were no longer distant characters of a long ago time, but instead he saw pieces of you and him in the story. His notes became letters to you and everything he wished he could say was found in the margins of this book.

Tonight, he opened the book to the very back cover and pulled out his pen. He wrote out the quote that has been weighing heavily on his heart in the last week.

“You are in every line I have ever read.” – And in every line I will ever read. You are the hidden meanings in poetry, the secret love letters between the lines, and if ever you aren’t with me… I take comfort in knowing I’ll always find you here. 

He set the book back down and let out a heavy sigh. Why would I be writing this if I’m not even going to give it to her? Is it just going to stay here forever? He looked back over to where his book had sat for the last week and noticed the pink envelope that was on top of it had fallen to the floor. He picked it up and it was as if a light switch had flipped in his brain. 

If you can do it… so can I. He thought to himself as he stared at the words you wrote him. “Words unsaid now will be silence I’ll regret later on,” he read aloud. He jumped off of his bed and ran out of his room, ready to tell you everything but absolutely no idea how, deciding he would just say whatever came to mind in the moment. He had become a sudden master of not thinking.

He ran to your bedroom, knocking frantically at your door with the book secured in his other hand. He didn’t care if he sounded crazy, pounding at your door at 11 at night, he just needed to see you. He didn’t realize how long he had been knocking until his father stepped out of his room, rubbing his eyes as if he was woken up.

“Buck?” he asked groggily. “Why are you knocking so hard?” Bucky looked flustered as he could feel his own heart race in the palms of his hands. 

“I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to answer. “I need to see her.” Bucky’s dad raised an eyebrow at the seriousness in the tone of his voice.

“Oh?” he asked. He was amused, but didn’t show it. “What for?” 

“I have something to tell her,” he breathed out. His dad nodded in silence, contemplating his words.

“Well unfortunately you won’t find her here,” he said and Bucky felt himself slip into a panic. “She said she was going to be out late tonight, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Bucky asked, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. His dad shook his head no.

“She didn’t say,” he admitted. “But if you plan on going after her, bring an umbrella.”

Bucky nodded and ran downstairs, stopping only to put on his shoes and to grab a coat and an umbrella as his father suggested. He was still in his pajamas and the only umbrella left was an obscenely bright yellow one, but he didn’t have time to care about that. Upon entering his car, he pulled out his phone to make a call. He tapped against the wheel impatiently, waiting for you to answer. After a few more calls were sent to your voicemail, he decided to call Wanda, who thankfully answered after the first ring.

“Bucky?” she asked in concern.

“Do you know where she went?” He didn’t even bother with pleasantries, he was desperate.

“I think she’s at the airport… why?” Wanda asked.

“I have to tell her,” Bucky confessed. “Thank you.” was all he said before he hung up and began driving.

For the entire drive to the airport, Bucky found himself completely consumed with what he would say to you. Whether you rejected him and went to France with Steve, or laughed in his face, he didn’t really care. All he cared about was that you knew that he would let you go like that, let you leave him forever, as long as you knew he’d love you all the same.

He parked at a random spot in the parking garage and got out of the car, checking to make sure he had the book safely tucked into his coat, away from the rain that had suddenly begun to pour down. He did realize however, that he had absolutely no idea what area you were in. When he pulled out his phone to call Wanda again, however, Bucky saw that she had already sent the number of the terminal area, with a “good luck! :)” message attached. As luck would have it, he was exactly where he needed to be. 

Bucky, ready to head inside and run to the boarding gate somehow to find you, shut his umbrella closed. However, before he could even make it under the awning, he spotted a familiar face. After a week of feeling so distant from you, he finally felt like he could see you once again. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling relieved and feeling his heart tug him towards you. By now the rain was coming down heavily and the sound of the raindrops pounded in his ears. Or was that his heart beating? He walked to you slowly, leaving a little bit of distance as you finally noticed him. He was wearing silly Christmas pajamas with a heavy coat and a bright yellow umbrella, and he knew everyone was staring as they walked by, but all he could see was you.

“Bucky?” you were surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

Every bone in his body wanted him to just shout it out, “I’m in love with you.” But when he finally got a good look at your face, he decided to keep it in for just a little bit longer. You didn’t look nearly as tired as you did that night at the coffee shop, but he could still see the faint traces of sadness that had yet to disappear.

He smiled softly at you. “Let’s go home.” He waited for you to be securely under the umbrella before he began walking. His mind was racing until this point, but now with you beside him, he felt his thoughts begin to quiet down. The walk back to the car was still quiet, both of you wrestling with your own thoughts to the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement.

It wasn’t until you were both securely in the car that Bucky finally spoke. “Do you want to go somewhere with me?” You looked up at him as he felt his heart flutter at the sight. You nodded quietly, and the two of you fell back into a peaceful silence.

In just a few minutes, the rain had begun to slow down and Bucky parked his car at a local park right by a lake, still lit up with small warm yellow lights lighting a path. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggested before exiting the car and coming to open your side of the door with the umbrella open, inviting you to stand underneath it with him.

After a few minutes, Bucky once again broke the silence. “Were you with Steve?” he asked directly. Although he knew the answer, he was curious. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, both of you still looking straight ahead. “He left for France today.”  Bucky hummed in thought. He thought of what to say next, choosing his words carefully before continuing. 

“How are you feeling?” Bucky was unsure of what you would say, all the possible ways you could reject him all piling on top of each other until you finally spoke.

“Relieved,” you admitted with a small smile. “I thought it would be harder to let him go, but when I saw how happy he was to talk about France, I just felt relief.” 

Bucky took time to process your words. Let him go? So that means… as the pieces began to fall together in his mind, he felt his feet stop moving as things finally clicked.

You turned back around to check on Bucky who was staring ahead with an unreadable expression on his face, as if he just had an epiphany.

“Bucky?” you called out to him.

When he finally looked at you, he felt a rush of everything he’s been feeling for so long. He walked up to you, and breathed out three words. “I love you.”

“You–” you began, in shock.

“I love you,” he repeated in a firmer voice, unable to hide the smile that came to his face. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to finally get to the right answer, but I think I knew for a while and I just… I love you.” Bucky knew he had said it four times to you in the last thirty seconds, but he just couldn’t help himself. Now that it was out in the open, the words came to him like oxygen.

“You do?” you asked quietly, still staring at him. “Like for real?” Bucky let out a chuckle as he listened.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Like for real.” He stepped closer to you, tentatively reaching for your hand and smiling when you wound your fingers through his.

“Finally,” you smiled at him playfully, pulling him to you ever so slightly.

“Finally.” He agreed, coming to rest his head on yours. “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, you just pulled him in. He could feel you smiling against him, and he was sure you could feel the same.

As books go, Bucky had always believed there were only two constants: tragedy and endings. He believed every story had both of these, some books had more of one than the other. However, here, in this moment with you, he realized that in reality, there was much more to be found in a story. Here with you, there was only happiness and this was just the beginning.

taglist: @charmedbysarge @girl-in-the-chairs-void @eat-limes-bitches @morgthemagpie @romanoffjohansson @yeehawbiatch @cjand10 @kittybeansbarnes @antisocialwritingx @geeklife314 @sjsmith56 @mxlsmith @fangirlvoice @yellowcupcakes

[foottoe101001]

As someone who is at Starbucks every morning here’s what I think the outsiders would drink since I saw it going around

(don’t fw me I’m a basic white girl who orders everything plus I’ve had over 500 points😭✋)

- darry nitro cold brew or the vanilla one

- Steve chocolate cream cold brew.

- Johnny iced London fog latte

- Dallas brown sugar oat americano

- ponyboy mango dragon fruit or pink drink

(pink drinks are my favourite yummy coconut)

-Tim straight up coffee grounds

- angela paradise drink

- curly Earl grey tea

- sodapop chai latte

-two-bit mocha cookie crumble with extra whip cream and extra sauce and chocolate crumbles

(I’m going to Starbucks rn)

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 12

After we were done talking to Dr. Erskine and he told us to be at Camp Lehigh in two days, we went outside to look for Bucky. He was leaning against a lamppost, looking dashing in his uniform despite my reluctance to accept he was going to war. When he saw us, he sighed in relief. “So everything good? You were taking your sweet time in there.”

I made a split-second decision not to tell Bucky about Dr. Erskine’s offer. I didn’t want to burden him with the weight of uncertainty about what was waiting for us at Camp Lehigh. He needed to focus on what lay ahead, not be distracted by what might be.

“Well, we’re here now, so let’s go dancing,” I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. I felt a bit lighter, knowing that I could take action rather than just wait back here like a helpless bystander.

Steve shuffled and shook his head. “You two go. I’m exhausted, and I can’t dance anyway.”

Bucky pulled Steve into a tight hug. “Are you sure?”

Steve nodded. “Be careful. Don’t win the war until I get there!”

Bucky saluted him with a grin, and I gave Steve a quick hug, whispering, “See you in two days.”

The dancing venue was alive with energy, packed with soldiers like Bucky out for one last night of fun before shipping out. The place was a whirlwind of motion and music, the kind of place where memories were made quickly and fleetingly. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but for Bucky’s last night, I was willing to try.

We sat down at a small table for two, and I ordered a glass of red wine while Bucky opted for a whiskey. The music was lively, and not long after we settled in, Bucky stood up and extended his hand to me. “Shall we?”

I took his hand, and we moved to the dance floor as “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” by the Andrew Sisters filled the room. The dance floor was packed, with people swaying and twirling to the beat, and though there wasn’t much room for big moves, Bucky’s enthusiasm was contagious.

As the song ended, a slower, more romantic tune began. I started to sit down, but Bucky gently stopped me. “Just this one dance, doll,” he said softly.

How could I refuse? We stepped close, our bodies almost touching as we began to sway to the music. His hand was warm on my waist, and my hands rested on his shoulders. I could feel the pounding of my heart against my ribcage, and I was afraid he could hear it too. Bucky gazed at me with a tender smile, and I felt like I was melting under his gaze.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmured. “Every day I’m away, I’ll be hoping to come back to you.”

I was flustered, my cheeks burning and my palms sweating. I wanted to respond, but the words caught in my throat. “Buck... I—”

He interrupted me gently. “Let’s just enjoy this evening. Let’s make these memories last until I come back.”

I nodded, unable to find the words, and we continued to dance until the venue closed.

When the night was over, Bucky walked me home. I dragged my feet, savoring every second we had left together. Bucky matched my pace, and the ten-minute walk felt like a heartbeat.

When we reached my front door, he took my hand and kissed it, looking deeply into my eyes. My heart raced, and despite my best efforts to remain composed, I asked breathily, “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?”

He agreed, and that was the first mistake I made that night.

I unlocked the door and stepped aside to let him in, my hands trembling as I followed him inside. A cold sweat broke out on my skin, my nerves jangling as I tried to keep my composure. “So, what kind of tea are we having?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence.

“Uh, I have Earl Grey and peppermint tea,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

I busied myself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the overwhelming presence of Bucky behind me. My hands shook as I prepared the teapot, my thoughts racing. I could hardly believe that Bucky was here with me, in my apartment, alone.

Bucky came into the kitchen, offering to help, but I shook my head, feeling a strange mix of excitement and dread. As I dropped the teabags, he crouched down to pick them up, his eyes locked onto mine. He handed them to me but didn’t let go of my hand.

“I don’t like tea,” he whispered, closing the space between us. His eyes held mine, and I was paralyzed, unable to respond. His face inched closer, and he cupped my face in his hands before pressing his lips against mine.

At that moment, I should have been overwhelmed by shock or panic, but instead, all I felt was a surge of emotions I had kept bottled up for years. I clung to him, pulling him closer as he pressed me against the counter. His hands roamed my body with a hunger that mirrored my own, and his kiss was a fiery release of everything I had been holding back.

The sensations overwhelmed me—his touch, the taste of his lips, the heat of his body against mine. It was intoxicating, and I lost myself in the kiss, savoring every second of it.

Eventually, we had to break apart, breathless and flushed. Bucky held my face gently and whispered, “Tell me to leave, and I will.”

The thought of him walking out the door broke my heart, and I shook my head, unable to let go of this moment. I took his hand and led him into my bedroom, knowing that once we crossed this threshold, everything would change.

Next Chapter

[literatureatthebowofnails]

AN: I've really enjoyed writing this series. I'm deeply appreciative of all the feedback and reblogs. They've fueled my writing and truly made me thankful for each and every one of you.

Series masterlist

Summary: Our darling couple take the first step toward the rest of their lives

It's a cold November morning and once again FRIDAY is calling your name, dragging you from your precious sleep.

"Nooo," you grumble, nuzzling into Loki's chest and tugging the fur comforter over your head. It collides with his nose.

He snorts, pulling it back below his chin. "I'll take it from here, FRIDAY.

"Darling, you do need to get up." He shifts beneath you.

"No," you whine, your voice muffled by the blanket. "I want to stay like this forever." You reach your arm over his bare chest, squeezing it for emphasis.

"As much as I'd enjoy that," he chuckles, "your absence downstairs could cause significant upheaval. Not to mention the breakdown of our fearless leader.

"You weren't here when he went on his feeble-minded caffeine fast. There are beings in Niflhel far more pleasant than our dear Captain without his 'morning Joe.'"

"But you're warm, and...you smell good, and...and...I love you," you say between yawns, before peaking up at him with a pout.

"I love you too," he smiles and gives your forehead a peck. "That doesn't change the fact that it's Monday and you have to go to work."

You throw off the blankets with a dramatic huff. "Fiiine. I hate it when you're right."

Loki chuckles and grabs a robe as he stands, handing another to you.

☕

First things first when you get in the elevator. "FRIDAY, please preheat the ovens for kolaches and turnovers, then check the A-Team agenda and load orders for whoever's on call to the POS."

You can't fault Tony's design; two separate confection ovens, freezer and refrigerator on a vertical conveyor. The contraption stands in the back of your circular kiosk cafe along with a cooling/rising rack, sink, employee entrance, and ample counter space.

Nearest the lobby doors sit the POS station, espresso machines, grab&go fridge, and pastry display. In addition to base cabinets, there's bulk storage accessible via elevator to the garage level. With a voice command to FRIDAY, a central circle in the floor descends while a safety barrier ascends into the workspace.

Plenty of square footage for three people, and on a Monday you need all the help you can get.

Chrysa clocks in with a muttered "Morning" as you're reviewing the Avengers' order:

Medium red eye, black - 'Nat's home from her mission and there's a morning debrief.'

Large dark roast with a shot of DynaPep - 'Tony, apparently trying to kill himself after a night of post-mission "tinkering."'

Extra large cup of Joe, extra cream and an order of mixed pastries - 'Steve got his run in and feels guilty about the early debrief.'

Small cocoa with cinnamon and extra whip - 'Peter's going to be late for school. Really, Steve needs to put that kid's education first.'

Medium Dutch apple pie a la mode latte - 'Thor, making his way through the seasonal menu.'

Extra large dirty chai - 'Scott just got into town.'

You notice a distinct lack of Earl Grey with excessive honey - 'Loki went back to bed. Dick.'

The next few hours are busy, as to be expected. They have you, Chrysa and Dementy rushing around, baking, steaming, and ringing up customers as quickly as possible.

Things begin to slow by 9:30, and around 10 Wanda wanders down in sweats and clogs, a maroon hoodie covering her unbrushed hair.

You start on her turek as soon as you see her. "Hey, what would you like for breakfast? And weren't you supposed to be at the debrief this morning?"

"Hmm...a pumpkin muffin," she smirks. "I popped my head out, told the kid to keep his mouth shut, and bewitched Steve to think I was there before going back to bed.

"I'm not getting up after three hours sleep just to tell Steve everything went as planned."

"What about Nat and Tony?" you ask.

"Stark sent Mark 93 and Nat doesn't sleep half the time anyway."

☕

Wednesday afternoon finds you at a boutique with Nat, Wanda, and Hope, who's visiting for the annual gala. The latter, focused as always, has chosen six sleek, black, barely differentiated dresses and hovers with them hanging over her shoulder while the rest of you decide.

"I can't believe it's been a year since we met," you say as you hold a one-shoulder gown against yourself in the mirror.

"You should try that one on," Nat says, her sultry voice soft but insistent. "It has been a year, hasn't it? So this is a particularly special gala. Is that why you're only looking at dresses in Loki's colors?"

You grin down at the gold taffeta. "Partially. It's more a feeling he's going to do something especially dramatic? I don't know what, exactly, but I haven't seen him this cagy since my birthday. He sent half the people in Times Square to his pocket dimension because I turned down the street before the flash mob was in place."

Wanda snickers.

"You're kidding!" says Hope.

"No," Nat replies, "There was a huge fallout when Steve got back from his 'emergency mission.' Something about 'We don't know if pocket dimensions are safe for humans...that's abduction...what if someone had gotten hurt?!'"

"And don't forget," adds Wanna, "'If you're so concerned, Rogers, I'm happy to send you in there to create safety protocols. We could all use the break from your incessant nagging.'"

☕

You were going to spend Saturday lounging around the flat until you needed to get ready, but Wanda had different plans. She insisted you and the rest of the girls all have a spa day. Thus, in the late afternoon you're stepping off the elevator on your floor with goodbyes to Nat, Shuri, Wanda, Hope and Pepper.

You open the door to find Loki already dressed and pacing nervously in the front room. His curls are raked in lines from the many times he's run his fingers along his scalp. "Loki?" you say. He freezes like a child caught sneaking candy, a hand shooting to his breast pocket before he takes a breath to steady himself. "Is everything ok?"

"Yes," he attempts a carefree smile. "Of course, darling, everything is wonderful. I...uh, I was just concerned you might not make it back in time to get ready."

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his ironically poor lie. "You do realize we don't have to be downstairs for another two hours, right?" Cupping his cheeks, you pull him down to kiss him. "Whatever it is you're so nervous about, I promise it will be ok. God or not, no one is perfect, and I'm not going anywhere."

He calms a bit. "Right. Well, I'm just going to, ah, see if Stark needs any help getting things organized." He checks his pocket again before rushing out the door.

You do your hair and makeup, wandering around the bedroom in only shoes and panties as your gown simply isn't bra-friendly. You're unhooking the dress from its hanger when you hear the front door open.

"Great timing," you call out. "I'm going to need help with this zipper."

Loki enters the room. "Ravishing as always, darling," he grins at your bare chest. "I could help with a lot more than your zipper, you know."

"Says the god who was worried we'd be late?" You smirk.

"Right," he chuckles. "Let's get you into that so I can get you out of it later."

☕

The event space is nearly unrecognizable; Tony's modern minimalism nowhere to be seen.

The chrome columns are covered in black silk, green velvet held against them in sandglass form by thick gold cords. Grand chandeliers twinkle from the high ceilings, alight with five thousand candle flames. A brass quintet sits atop a raised stage opposite the bar, the dance floor spread between them.

"You weren't kidding when you said you'd help Stark," you smile, nodding at the decor. "It's very you." Standing on your toes, you give his cheek a peck.

"Thank you," he takes a steadying breath. "Shall we, er, have a drink? Perhaps some appetizers? Oh look! There's T'Challa and Shuri catching up with my brother. Why don't you join them while I find us sustenance."

You wander over to the group, letting your anxious lover gather food. "Hey," you greet, lightly grazing Shuri's shoulder as you siddle between her and T'Challa.

The king greets you with a tight hug. "It has been far too long. You have to come visit us in Wakanda.

"Okoye keeps talking about getting a Starbucks, but I told her there's better coffee to be had from international sources."

Thor lights up as his brother joins the group, handing you a cocktail and a plate of hors d'oeuvres. "Are you ready?" he asks Loki, a shiteating grin on his face.

"Will you desist?!" Loki says through gritted teeth, attempting to surreptitiously stomp on his brother's toes.

You pop a stuffed mushroom in your mouth and pretend not to notice while you listen to Shuri describe her latest invention. As your discussion of the device begins to dwindle, you hear the opening notes of a familiar waltz.

Loki clears his throat, his hand extended. "May I?"

You take it and he leads you to the dance floor. You can't take your eyes off him. His floor craft is perfection as together you dance smoothly through the other couples.

You know not just the steps, but how he'll take them, making reflexive shifts in your footwork to blend precisely into his.

His hands are comforting as he holds you, his natural scent like burning pine and fresh snow. His vibrant green eyes are full of awe of you and the glowing adoration reflected on your face.

When the song ends, he spins you to the center of the dancefloor. Your skirt settles and you find him kneeling as he holds your hand and a stunning emerald ring.

"Darling," he looks at you with batted breath. "Will you do me the honor of being my princess?"

"Loki, oh my god! Yes, yes, of course I will. Nothing could make me happier!" As soon as he slips the ring on, you pull him into a fervent kiss and the band strikes up the wedding march. You know that wherever you are, so long as you're with him, you'll be home.

Taglist:

@peaches1958 @javagirl328, @loopsisloops, @goblingirlsarah, @buttercupcookies-blog @cakesandtom , @ladymischief11 , @km-ffluv , @coldnique , @glitterylokislut , @eleniblue , @lokiprompts , @lokisgoodgirl , @muddyorbsblr , @princess-ofthe-pages @jennyggggrrr

Let me know if you wish to be added or removed

Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Now that it's complete, I'll be focusing on party asks. I hope you all take some time to join us and participate in this event! All my love 💗

[imfinereallyy]

But You'll Have This Place to Call Home, Always

available on ao3

June 2008

Peering through the window of Starlight café, Steve Harrington watched the lively streets of Hawkins' City unfold before him. Early morning commuters had begun to pitter out onto the pavement, their eyes tired, heavy even, but each of them walked with purpose. None of them noticed as Steve’s eyes followed them, familiar faces he couldn’t name, but he knew their routine. It was an easy rhythm to fall in a city like theirs.

Smaller than Chicago but bigger than the small suburban streets scattered across the Midwest, Hawkins City was its own little world tucked between the pages of the known and unknown. A name, though recognizable, was not something a person would put much thought to. Steve Harrington thought of himself like his city some days, a friendly face amongst the cranky customers—someone you say hello to but not someone you’d ask how they are doing. 

Steve flipped the closed sign to open; he could hear Robin puttering around in the back. She was probably looking around for her brand of Earl Grey—it wasn’t the tea they used for customers; it was from a gas station off the highway. The brand was cheap and downright awful, but he knew it reminded her of the time Steve drove them across the country to escape their parents. 

It was a small comfort on stressful mornings. Robin had been having a lot of those lately, Steve had noticed. 

“In the cabinet below the register,” Steve spoke over his shoulder, careful not to shout this early. 

“ Huh , I had more than I thought,” Robin mumbled as she thumbed through the box. 

She didn’t. Steve had gotten up early this morning to go to the gas station an hour out. He bought all six boxes they had left, the rest under his bed at home. 

When Steve walked over to the counter, a hot cup of green tea sat there for him. He looked to see Robin heating water for herself and took a sip out of his mug.

Tangy and lightly sweet.  

“Perfect,” Steve mumbled to Robin; she gave him a soft smile in return. 

This had never been the dream for them, stuffed into a small corner on a busy street, but it felt good. They had fallen into a routine, something Steve thought the two of them would never have. Years of trying to appease everyone, stretching himself thin, only to fall short, had taken their toll during his teen years. Trouble used to follow Steve wherever he went, and he had begun to think he was the trouble himself. 

Now, though, in a city very far away from a life they once knew, Steve was content in the safety of knowing what came next. 

The chime above the door rang as a grumpy Hopper entered the café. Steve’s hands were already working to make his order: a large coffee with four creams, two sugars, and whipped cream on top. Of course, it was in a to-go cup, despite Hopper always staying at least an hour in the shop after ordering. Steve knew it was because Hop didn’t like anyone to know about his secret sweet tooth. 

Steve had found it funny in the past few years how often someone’s order never really matched them at first glance. He had gotten pretty good at guessing the more he worked, and it was rare for anyone to surprise him. 

Hop’s order never changed; Joyce always ordered whatever new double-shot espresso drink we had. Max had a cold brew on her days off and a banana smoothie during her shifts. Dustin always demanded a frappuccino even though they didn’t make them. Robin drank tea first in the morning and an espresso shot at noon. And Steve himself was simple.

Always tea, never coffee.

A fact, to those who knew, that was constantly baffling. 

“Here you go, Jim.” Steve smiled as the older man grimaced.

“I know that most people usually insist on using their first name, kid. But how many times do I have to tell you it’s Hop?” 

Steve’s smile widened as Hop put a five-dollar bill in the tip jar like he did every morning. “You drink your coffee without a lid, and I’ll start calling you Hop.” 

Hopper didn’t argue but frowned into this cup as he walked over to the red couch against the wall. 

Steve chuckled and turned to watch the sunrise over the city skyline. The café was on the city's outer edge, and although it didn’t get as much traffic as it would if they were at its epicenter, Steve wouldn’t trade it. 

The sunrise made it worth getting up this early every morning. It made the inevitable ordinary day ahead special, even if it looked the same as the day before.

Steve pulled down the sleeves of his yellow sweater and adjusted the little “ Steeb :) ” nametag Robin made for him as he returned to the register.

Another chime sounded throughout the café; it was time to get to work. 

‧𓍢ִ໋☕ ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

At noon, Steve handed Robin her espresso shot, expecting nothing more than the usual grunt of appreciation to sound throughout the busy café. 

Instead, Robin let the cup slip through her fingers as the sound of a motorcycle rumbled outside the café's doors. 

“Shit.” Robin screeched as the hot coffee spilled over Steve’s fingers. 

He hissed in pain; he knew his skin would pay the consequences of the simple distraction. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve; I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Steve couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at her; despite the many cars that passed through the streets, no one drove a motorcycle around here, and those who had only ever passed through. The deep sounds of the engine parked in front of their shop were all kinds of new, and they probably brought a bad memory or two for Robin. 

“It’s okay, Bobbi, you couldn’t have known.” Steve looked up at the ceiling as he tried not to let his eyes fill with tears; it was just another scar to add to the list. No one would probably even notice it amongst the others. 

Distantly, he heard the sound of the door chime go off, but he paid no mind as he watched Robin run off to grab a clean towel from the kitchen to wrap ice in. 

A throat cleared from behind Steve, and a small rush of panic surged through him. They were in the café, with customers around ; now wasn’t the time to panic. 

Preparing a bright smile, Steve turned to the awaiting customer. “Hi, how can I help you?” 

Steve clutched his burning hand as he took in the man before him. Dark chestnut curls framed an unhappy face. The man was undeniably gorgeous, the kind of guy Steve once upon a time would go for, a guy that Steve now stayed far away from. The man’s eyes were set in a glare that felt wrong to Steve. Someone with big eyes like his should have delight in them, should be lively and maybe even kind. Instead, all Steve got was a burning heat behind his stare, one that Steve felt that if the man could use to set Steve on fire, he would. 

Steve’s smile slipped a bit as he took in the man’s slight frown; the stranger’s five o’clock shadow moved with the contortion of his lips. He caught himself and returned his customer service smile on his face.

 “Sir?” Steve clenched his hand before him; the man’s eyes followed the movement, and his frown deepened. 

“You hurt often, sweetheart?” The man finally spoke, his voice rough and low against Steve’s ears. 

Steve wondered what it would be like to hear it close to his ears. The words would have stirred something in his gut if it were for the man's tone. Condescending. Bored. Done with Steve's shit before even knowing him. 

Steve’s smile slipped completely; he didn’t bother to try to fake it. He felt a spark of anger he hadn’t felt in a long time, since the last time he spoke to his own parents, to be precise. 

With his eyebrows tugging and nose scrunched, Steve prepared to give the stranger a piece of his mind until Robin came running back over. 

“Oh my god, sorry that took so long. Jon was using most of the towels to clean down the kitchen, despite me having told him too many times we have set towels for that! And so I had to run into the bathroom under the sink—the employee bathroom, don’t worry, Steve–and then I had to make sure I didn’t trip and fall on my way back because we can’t have two injured employees on our hands! And then–”

“ Robin , rant.” 

Robin cut herself off and thrust the towel, now filled with ice, into his hands. “Sorry, I just was so startled because of the— oh, hello. Do you need some help?” Robin said, only noticing now that Steve had been helping the sorry excuse of a customer. 

The man’s lips curved into a slight smirk, and Steve cursed his only little heart for skipping a beat. Way to be a cliche, he whispered to it. 

“I was just waiting for,” the man said, glancing down at Steve’s nametag and raising an eyebrow. Steeb , to take my order, but it appears you’re both busy, so I can wait.”

Steve felt all his blood rush to his cheeks; he was sure his cheeks were the color of Max’s hair. Usually, Steve didn’t mind the nametag, but now he was silently cursing Robin six ways to Sunday. Steve glanced down at the menace herself, and she at least had the audacity to flinch slightly at the situation. Steve hadn’t even told her this guy was rubbing him the wrong way, but she already knew. 

It was sometimes creepy how well she could read him. 

“It’s Steve. And don’t worry about it.” Steve forced a smile on his face as he repeated a mantra in his head. Keep people happy. Smile. Don’t worry about what others think. In that order.  “What can I get you, sir?” 

Steve rolled his shoulders back; he could hear the cracking echo throughout his body. He had such stiff bones for someone who was only brushing twenty-seven. When she caught him sitting on the stool behind the counter instead of his usual standing, Joyce had told him once that it was because his aches told a story. Steve liked to think of his body that way. It was easier to believe all the pain was a part of a story rather than a meaningless torment. 

The man watched Steve’s face closely, most likely taking pleasure in the discomfort on Steve’s face, before speaking. “ Eddie . You can call me Eddie, sweetheart.”

“What can I get you, sir?” Steve repeated, ignoring him. 

Eddie’s smile bloomed in full across his face. Dimples appeared on his cheeks, and the lines beside his lips proved that he probably smiled often. 

He should , Steve thought; he had a pretty smile.  

Steve made a note to remind himself to think fewer thoughts like that in the future. There was no use in making the note anyway, considering he was more than sure a man like Eddie didn’t stick around places like Hawkins. He should save himself the trouble of wasting his time on thoughts about men like Eddie. 

Still, Steve couldn’t help but wonder what the man would order. He surely wouldn’t surprise Steve. He was sure most people had Eddie pinned as a black coffee type of guy; it was easy to assume so at first glance. But Steve knew better to judge by the surface of it all. Sure, the guy wore a leather jacket and had a nose ring, but it didn’t mean anything. No, Steve was almost positive the man was about to order something ridiculously sweet, with something insane in it, like whole milk.  

“Medium black coffee with two sugars.” Eddie voiced.

Steve froze for a moment. He hadn’t gotten an order wrong in over a year. But here he was, making an ass out of himself with his jaw slightly open as he stared at the man before him. Eddie ordered a black coffee . He was so thoroughly surprised by how unsurprising it all was. 

Eddie’s head tilted at Steve, which made him realize how silent he had been. Even Robin had begun to nudge his side. “ Seriously , just a black coffee?”

Eddie’s smile once again slipped into a devious smirk. “Don’t forget the two sugars. I like it just a little sweet. Sometimes you need something to soothe the bite….of the coffee, of course.” 

Robin moved her head back and forth between them, biting her lip from saying something Steve was sure would only make the situation worse. 

Steve put on his best customer service smile. “I’ll get right on that, sir; Robin here will ring you up. Thank you for stopping by Stardust café on your way through our city.”

“Oh, it’s been a pleasure. And I’m not passing through; I’m gonna be here awhile.” 

Steve dropped his smile and didn’t even bother responding as he walked away to make Eddie’s boring coffee. He could hear Robing ringing him up in the background, the chatter resuming within the café. 

Steve felt sick in his stomach. He hadn’t even realized everyone had stopped talking, which meant everyone had seen the interaction. 

Great. Fucking fantastic. Steve Harrington was once again nothing but a car wreck everyone couldn't help but stop and stare at. 

Steve heard the slight pitter-patter of feet behind him. “Not now, Robin.” He clipped as he began to pour the sugar into the cup. He scrambled to find the lid.

“You know that was pretty weird, dingus. And I have a high threshold for weird. Considering we’ve been friends for almost a decade now.”

Steve searched for a Sharpie to write the name on the cup, although he mostly did it to be petty since no one else had ordered in the past ten minutes. “ Don’t , Robin. I don’t need to hear it right now, and jesus christ, where is the damn marker!” Steve ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

Robin leaned forward and plucked something from Steve’s apron pocket. She held it out in front of him; it was the damn marker.

Steve sighed and snatched it from her hands. Ripping the cap off with his teeth, Steve grumbled. “I don’t have time to deal with men like him, Bobbi. He screams trouble. He had already stirred up enough with his damn bike. Plus, just look at him. He just screams trouble, Robs.” 

“Steve–”

“No, I know what you’re going to say. ‘ We don’t judge people like that, Stevie ,’ but you know what, Robin? Yes, we do. We gossip more than the church ladies back in Rose Hills. Especially when trouble like that comes our way–”

“But Steve–”

Steve placed the coffee on the counter, and as he saw Eddie approach, he whipped his head back toward Robin. “Don’t Steve me, Robin. You’re telling me that a guy like him doesn’t scream–”

“For the love of god, Steve!” Robin grabbed Steve’s shoulders just as Eddie scooped up the coffee. 

“What, Robin?” Steve blew out, exasperated. 

“Did you even see the name you wrote on the cup?” Her eyes widened in terror and, strangely, amusement. 

Steve glanced at Eddie, who was now reading his cup in amusement. As he saw Steve’s curious glance, he turned the coffee around, putting Steve’s handwriting into view. 

Steve almost died on the spot. Right there, in Steve’s loopy handwriting, was the word ‘ trouble .’ 

Eddie laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Guess I’ll make sure to bring trouble back around.” 

Steve knew at that moment he had stirred up more than sugar in Eddie’s cup.

‧𓍢ִ໋☕ ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

Read the rest of Steve and Eddie's story on ao3

A peek at my first contribution to @strangerthingsreversebigbang and contains lovely art made by my friend @sunflowerharrington

[dannyreviews]

Golden Age of Hollywood Actors Born Before (And Including) 1936 Still Alive

This only includes actors that had at least one credited role in a Hollywood feature film or short up to 1959.

Elisabeth Waldo (b. 1918)

Caren Marsh Doll (b. 1919)

Patricia Wright (b. 1921)

Jacqueline White (b. 1922)

Annette Warren (b. 1922)

Ray Anthony (b. 1922)

Tommy Dix (b. 1923)

Eva Marie Saint (b. 1924)

Anne Vernon (b. 1924)

Maria Riva (b. 1924)

June Lockhart (b. 1925)

Lee Grant (b. 1925)

Peggy Webber (b. 1925)

Lise Bourdin (b. 1925)

Brigitte Auber (b. 1925)

Kerima (b. 1925)

Terry Kilburn (b. 1926) 

Marilyn Erskine (b. 1926)

Bambi Linn (b. 1926)

David Frankham (b. 1926)

Tommy Morton (b. 1926)

Jill Jarmyn (b. 1926)

Marilyn Knowlden (b. 1926)

Genevieve Page (b. 1927)

Donna Martell (b. 1927)

William Smithers (b. 1927)

Peter Walker (b. 1927)

H.M. Wynant (b. 1927)

Betty Harford (b. 1927)

Cora Sue Collins (b. 1927)

Marilyn Granas (b. 1927)

Ann Blyth (b. 1928)

Nancy Olson (b. 1928)

Peggy Dow (b. 1928)

Earl Holliman (b. 1928)

Kathleen Hughes (b. 1928)

Colleen Townsend (b. 1928)

Marion Ross (b. 1928)

Gaby Rodgers (b. 1928)

Jan Shepard (b. 1928)

Walter Maslow (b. 1928)

Tom Troupe (b. 1928)

Sidney Kibrick (b. 1928)

Garry Watson (b. 1928)

Fay Chaldecott (b. 1928)

Mark Rydell (b. 1929)

Terry Moore (b. 1929)

Vera Miles (b. 1929)

Ann Robinson (b. 1929)

Liseotte Pulver (b. 1929)

James Hong (b. 1929)

Rachel Ames (b. 1929)

Olga James (b. 1929)

Michael Forest (b. 1929)

Vikki Dougan (b. 1929)

Steve Terrell (b. 1929)

Margaret Kerry (b. 1929)

James Congdon (b. 1929)

Betsy Gay (b. 1929)

Jack Betts (b. 1929)

Clint Eastwood (b. 1930)

Joanne Woodward (b. 1930)

Mara Corday (b. 1930)

Nita Talbot (b. 1930)

Taina Elg (b. 1930)

Robert Wagner (b. 1930)

John Astin (b. 1930)

Tommy Cook (b. 1930)

Mary Costa (b. 1930)

Lois Smith (b. 1930)

Will Hutchins (b. 1930)

Peggy King (b. 1930)

Lynn Hamilton (b. 1930)

Don Burnett (b. 1930)

Clark Burroughs (b. 1930)

Robert Hinkle (b. 1930)

Sheila Connolly (b. 1930)

Barbara Bestar (b. 1930)

Rita Moreno (b. 1931)

Leslie Caron (b. 1931)

Carroll Baker (b. 1931)

William Shatner (b. 1931)

Mamie Van Doren (b. 1931)

Robert Colbert (b. 1931)

Barbara Eden (b. 1931)

Angie Dickinson (b. 1931)

Claire Bloom (b. 1931)

Marianne Koch (b. 1931)

Sylvia Lewis (b. 1931)

Carmen De Lavallade (b. 1931)

Zohra Lampert (b. 1931)

Michael Dante (b. 1931)

Ann McCrea (b. 1931)

Jack Grinnage (b. 1931)

Maralou Gray (b. 1931)

Billy Mindy (b. 1931)

Sugar Dawn (b. 1931)

Joanne Arnold (b. 1931)

Joel Grey (b. 1932)

George Chakiris (b. 1932)

Felicia Farr (b. 1932)

Abbe Lane (b. 1932)

Steve Rowland (b. 1932)

Jacqueline Beer (b. 1932)

Colleen Miller (b. 1932)

Joanne Gilbert (b. 1932)

Olive Moorefield (b. 1932)

Neile Adams (b. 1932)

Jacqueline Duval (b. 1932)

Edna May Wonnacott (b. 1932)

Richard Tyler (b. 1932)

Mickey Roth (b. 1932)

Leon Tyler (b. 1932)

Peggy McIntyre (b. 1932)

Christiane Martel (b. 1932)

Elsa Cardenas (b. 1932)

Claude Bessy (b. 1932)

Kim Novak (b. 1933)

Julie Newmar (b. 1933)

Debra Paget (b. 1933)

Constance Towers (b. 1933)

Joan Collins (b. 1933)

Kathleen Nolan (b. 1933)

Brett Halsey (b. 1933)

Robert Fuller (b. 1933)

Pat Crowley (b. 1933)

Barrie Chase (b. 1933)

Jackie Joseph (b. 1933)

Geoffrey Horne (b. 1933)

Tsai Chin (b. 1933)

Lita Milan (b. 1933)

Vera Day (b. 1933)

Diana Darrin (b. 1933)

Ziva Rodann (b. 1933)

Jeanette Sterke (b. 1933)

Marti Stevens (b. 1933)

Annette Dionne (b. 1933)

Cecile Dionne (b. 1933)

Johnny Russell (b. 1933)

Patti Hale (b. 1933)

Gary Clarke (b. 1933)

Shirley MacLaine (b. 1934) 

Sophia Loren (b. 1934)

Shirley Jones (b. 1934)

Russ Tamblyn (b. 1934)

Pat Boone (b. 1934)

Audrey Dalton (b. 1934)

Claude Jarman Jr. (b. 1934)

Tina Louise (b. 1934)

Karen Sharpe (b. 1934)

Joyce Van Patten (b. 1934)

May Britt (b. 1934)

Joby Baker (b. 1934)

Jamie Farr (b. 1934)

Myrna Hansen (b. 1934)

Priscilla Morgan (b. 1934)

Aki Aeong (b. 1934)

Robert Fields (b. 1934)

Dani Crayne (b. 1934)

Donnie Dunagan (b. 1934)

Richard Hall (b. 1934)

Charles Bates (b. 1934)

Marilyn Horne (b. 1934)

Marilee Earle (b. 1934)

Rod Dana (b. 1935) 

Pippa Scott (b. 1935)

Ruta Lee (b. 1935)

Barbara Bostock (b. 1935)

Johnny Mathis (b. 1935)

Leslie Parrish (b. 1935)

Salome Jens (b. 1935)

Yvonne Lime (b. 1935)

Jean Moorehead (b. 1935)

Marco Lopez (b. 1935)

Joyce Meadows (b. 1935)

Christopher Severn (b. 1935)

Richard Nichols (b. 1935)

Carol Coombs (b. 1935)

Nino Tempo (b. 1935)

Patricia Prest (b. 1935)

Dawn Bender (b. 1935)

John Considine (b. 1935)

Jerry Farber (b. 1935)

Clyde Willson (b. 1935)

Bob Burns (b. 1935)

Susan Kohner (b. 1936)

Millie Perkins (b. 1936)

Burt Brickenhoff (b. 1936)

Mason Alan Dinehart (b. 1936)

Anna Maria Alberghetti (b. 1936)

Lisa Davis (b. 1936)

Joan O'Brien (b. 1936)

Richard Harrison (b. 1936)

Tommy Ivo (b. 1936)

John Wilder (b. 1936)

Gary Conway (b. 1936)

Michael Chapin (b. 1936)

Carol Morris (b. 1936)

Fernando Alvarado (b. 1936)

[levans44]

chapter 4 - london fog, hot

Rain knocked on her shop window on a dull, cold Thursday as she sat behind the counter, chin in hand, listening to the tiny tv in the corner.

“… confirmed that Tony Stark, billionaire industrialist and former CEO of Stark Industries, has been spotted checking into New York-Presbyterian Hospital just last night. Mr. Stark seemed to be on a temporary hiatus this past month, and this is his first public spotting since a Stark Tech press conference in October. While witnesses claim he was not in critical condition, the exact source of his injury has remained undisclosed. Recent reports have linked his condition to the Avengers initiative and related S.H.I.E.L.D activity, an organization currently under the leadership of Director Nicholas Fur-“

The tv powered off with a click as she let out a loud sigh, stretching her feet.

Hearing the news about Tony felt strange. Somehow, that short meeting she had with him made her worry about him in a way she wouldn’t have before. This kind of thing was on the news all the time, public speculations about the most recent Avengers activity, but having met Tony it just felt more real.

In more personal news, it had been over a month since Steve came to visit. When he didn’t call or text within the first few days, she started to worry that maybe she had scared her off by giving him her number, or by telling him that she knew who he was.

By the second week, she was beating herself over it — could she have pushed him away by being too impatient?

But by the third week, she was angry. Could he seriously not have given her a text, a call, just to tell her he wasn’t interested? She thought he was different, or maybe she had just wanted him to be different. There was one brief thought that had passed her mind while watching the news about Tony — could his hiatus have something to do with Steve ghosting her?

Maybe they weren’t related at all.

Maybe it was just a bad coincidence.

Maybe he just didn’t want to call.

Pushing the thoughts away from her mind, she glanced outside, clutching tighter to her cup of London Fog — earl grey tea and lavender foam, a touch of vanilla syrup.

It was coming down even harder, and dark clouds were starting rolling over the sky even though the clock read just past 7. She wrapped the cardigan around her waist tighter, standing up to close up shop early.

As she reached the door, she saw a tall figure with a hoodie pulled low, quickly rounding the corner. Before she could expect the worst, she caught a glimpse of the face, barely visible in the dark.

“Steve?”

He seemed startled, lifting his head and coming to an abrupt stop in front of her. “Hi” his deep voice barely audible in the rain, she had to squint to confirm that it was him. 

“I… c-come in!” His clothes were soaked through, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He nodded in appreciation as she let him step in and closed the door behind him.

“Do you.. want some coffee, or a blanket maybe?”

Or a new change of clothes? He must be freezing, she thought.

“No no, thank you I’m good. I just…” He sighed, voice rougher than usual, face still tucked under the hoodie.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here… in a while.”

Yeah, a month.

“It’s just that I…” he glanced off to the side, hand rubbing the back of his neck — he was nervous.

But about what? Maybe he was here to let her down gently. Like ‘hey, sorry I ghosted you for a whole month after you gave me your number. I could have texted or called, but nope, I didn’t. Anyway, the answer’s no. Bye!’

“I’ve just been a bit… preoccupied these past few weeks. I should’ve called you but-“ Steve sighed, glancing up.

At that gesture, the dim cafe lights caught this face from underneath the hood, and she couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp at the sight.

His entire face was bruised black and blue — a huge, dark red gash on his cheek, a bruise and a small bump on the bridge of his nose like it’s been broken, and a split lip.

“Holy shit, Steve, w-what happened?”

A momentary look of confusion replaced by realization.

“Oh this is just a…” Steve let out a small laugh to himself. She didn’t get the joke.

“…an occupational hazard” He made it out to sound more like a question, but it clicked for her nonetheless.

Tony Stark, the most public figure out of all of the Avengers, withdrawing from any and all public appearances for the last few weeks, for the same amount of time Steve stopped visiting. The rumors about new Avengers activity. Tony Stark’s ‘return’ last night. Everything made sense now, and she felt a huge sense of relief wash over her.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

He had meant to call back.

“I…” she was still stunned, attention still mostly absorbed by how messed up his face looked. Still insanely handsome, though.

“I don’t mean to keep you for long. I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize for not calling earlier and…” A deep breath as she held hers.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tomorrow, with me.”

At the absolutely nauseating yet wonderful feeling in her gut, she was sure that her heart had dropped straight down to her stomach.

After a few seconds had passed, during which she stood there gaping like a silent idiot, Steve nodded, dash of disappointment flashing across his face, and turned around to leave.

“Wait, Steve” she all but yelled, hand frantically landing on his forearm in an attempt to hold him back. He looked back at her, her hand retracting just as quickly as she’d extended it.

“Uhm…” she fidgeted under his gaze. She was never good at this kid of stuff. Was she really going to do this?

“Have you… have you eaten yet?”

He shook his head out of the corner of her eye.

“I was just about to close. Did you want to get dinner… now?”

Steve smiled, about to nod his head, before his smile faltered. “I would love to, I really would” he said, seeming the most exasperated she’s ever seen him. “It’s just that. I can’t really go out looking like…” he gestured to his face and the rest of his ensemble, dripping-wet hoodie and sweats, sneakers squeaking unpleasantly from the rain.

At the frustration on his bruised face, she smiled.

“Who said anything about going out?”

(cap)puccino, w/ milk and sugar masterlist

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Ghostsoap but it’s the Steve/Bucky Cap America/Winter Solider dynamic…the angst of it all would just be 😙👌🏻

Anon, if there's one thing I love writing more than smut, it's angst. I had so much fun with this, you have no idea! It's sad boy hours, my friends! Let's make these men suffer 😈 ( also, don't come after me for the plot, it was just some half-baked idea I had about Makarov being like a hydra equivalent or something idk lol)

I Knew Him - chapter 1

Summary: Soap was never the same after he lost Ghost all those years ago. He still has nightmares about it. But when he learns Makarov is back after taking Ghost from him, he'll do anything to exact his revenge. Until he discovers Ghost was never really gone.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | AO3 link

It had been five years since Soap had last seen Ghost. Five years since he had seen him fall. And he was still plagued almost every night with dreams of him. Tonight was no different. 

Soap awoke with a start, heart pounding wildly in his chest, soaked in sweat. He sat up, drawing his knees to his chest, burying his face against his forearms. Goddammit. Would this ever end? He slowly looked up to get his bearings. Moonlight filtering in through the window cast the room in a soft silver glow. He was at home. The salt of unshed tears burned at the back of his throat, remembering the nights he had shared with Ghost in this very flat. In this very bed. Fuck.

After giving himself a few minutes to catch his breath he made his way into the kitchen, knowing he wouldn't be getting back to sleep after that one. He had been holding Ghost's hand this time, holding on as hard as he could, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't strong enough to pull him back into the helo. And then he was gone, disappearing down, down, down into a rising cloud of dust. 

The ending to the nightmares was always the same: Ghost falling and falling. But sometimes, like tonight, Soap was able to grasp his hand, to touch him one last time. It almost made it even worse. Because in the actual memory of it from all those years ago, Soap hadn't ever had a chance to grab on. 

Rubbing a hand roughly over his tired face, Soap padded barefoot to the stove. A headache was already beginning to form in his left temple. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as he started the kettle going. For a brief moment he considered something a little stronger than tea, but then thought better of it. He knew that the bottle of whisky in his cabinet only made him think of Ghost and getting black-out drunk at 3 o'clock in the fucking morning probably wasn't the best idea. 

He was numbly watching a bag of Earl Grey steep in a mug of hot water and checking emails on his phone when a text came through. It was Price. "Rendezvous at the base at 0500. New intel on Makarov."

Soap's heart plummeted. Well, shit. 

It was still dark out when Soap walked into the base to meet with his team. He had showered and shaved, but still felt tired way down to his fucking bones. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep. Before Ghost fell, that’s when. The headache in his temple started coming back and he groaned, digging in his pocket for the small bottle of ibuprofen he kept on hand. He tipped a couple back onto his tongue and swallowed them dry, then made his way into the conference room to find Price already there, cigar in his mouth, waiting. 

The rest of the team filed in slowly and when everyone had taken a seat, Price stood. Soap watched wearily as Price loaded a military brief onto the giant flat screen on the wall. “Morning, gentlemen. Let me get right down to it. We received classified intel of an attack being planned by Makarov in downtown D.C. happening twenty-four hours from now. And we have been tasked with stopping it."

A murmur swept across the room.

Soap sat forward in his seat, unchecked anger simmering just under the surface. “I thought we bagged that Russian prick after…” he stopped mid-sentence because he knew the next words out of his mouth were about to be after I lost Ghost. He cleared his throat and started again, “after Kyrgyzstan.”

Price shook his head, not quite meeting Soap’s eyes, and looked back to the screen. “Negative. Intelligence indicates that while we did get a positive lock on his location and obliterated his base, he escaped to a hidden shelter. He’s been operating underground for the last five years, working on a new secret weapon -- a weapon he’s planning on using in D.C.” He sighed and ashed his cigar before putting it back in his mouth. “We thought we were done with him, but he apparently wasn't done with us. The details have been sent to all of you. We rendezvous at the meeting point in two hours. Let’s nail this bastard once and for all. Dismissed.”

Everyone began leaving the room. Soap stood slowly on legs that were not quite steady. Price’s news made him numb, forcing his mind to relive that day with a heartbreaking clarity. The mission, the missile making contact on Makarov's compound, the helo taking a hit, Ghost. They were never able to recover his body. Soap never even got to say goodbye. It was just so fucking unfair. 

Soap was so lost in himself he hardly even processed Price saying his name.  

“MacTavish, a word.” 

Blinking, Soap nodded and made his way across the empty room to Price. He stood before him at parade rest. 

“Soap, I know you and Ghost were close.” Soap swallowed against a lump that formed in this throat, but pushed down any other emotion trying to show on his face. Price continued, “It wasn’t easy on the 141 when we lost him, but I know it was even harder for you. Will you be able to carry out the duties assigned to you in this mission, Lieutenant?” 

A tic bunched in Soap's jaw and he straightened his back. "Aye, Captain." His voice was hoarse. "There is nothing I want more than to bring this motherfucker down for what he did. And what he plans to do.” For Ghost.

Price’s mouth set in a hard line and he studied Soap for a moment. Finally he said, “All right. Let's get this done, then.”

Soap nodded sharply once and left the room. His breath left his lungs with a whoosh. He found the nearest empty office and closed himself inside. Leaning back against the door, he slid slowly to the floor, blinking back tears. A mixture of emotion battled within him. Shock, grief, sorrow, anger. The anger ultimately won, though, as it usually does. He held onto it, allowing it to simmer hotly deep in his chest, burning up everything else but the raw demand of bringing Makarov down. He owed Ghost that much.

The next two hours passed in a blur. Soap operated on instinct alone; cleaning his guns, sharpening his knives, packing a rucksack. He tried his best not to dwell on much of anything at all except to prepare himself for what was to come. It was an effective technique apparently because he soon found himself at the rendezvous point at the airfield with no real recollection of how he got there. He joined up with the task force on the tarmac as they loaded themselves into the awaiting C-130. And they were off to D.C. 

Soap’s exhaustion finally caught back up to him on the three hour flight and he was actually able to sleep for most of it. He, thankfully, had no dreams at all. 

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

After touching down, the 141 wasted no time in gathering in a caravan of SUVs and heading toward the location they received from Laswell’s intelligence brief. They were just about to exit off the Roosevelt Bridge when they were ambushed by Makarov's team, who seemed to come out of fucking nowhere. Straight adrenaline took over Soap’s whole body on the first collision of the Hummer behind them that slammed them sideways into the concrete barriers on their right. Another Hummer drove the wrong way up the highway, weaving between oncoming traffic, firing out the passenger window with a high caliber rifle. The second shot took out Soap’s driver who immediately plowed into the car in front of them, bringing them to a shuddering stop. 

Soap’s heart thundered in his chest, but a lethal composure doused the fear rising up inside him. This was Makarov’s doing. And that bastard was going to fucking regret doing it. Ducking down in the back seat, Soap quickly dug his AK from his bag. He waited for a break in the rapid fire then exploded out of the vehicle in a hail of bullets. He found cover behind an empty utility truck. It was all out chaos with people running and screaming, gunfire cracking from all angles, and the remaining men of the task force shouting orders. 

Soap peeked around the corner of his cover, taking out three of Makarov’s soldiers in a row with perfectly placed shots. Gaz, hunkered down behind him, took out a few more. For a moment, it appeared that they were gaining the upper hand. But then a man, hulking in height, dressed in all black with a hood shrouding his face in shadow, grasping a Kastov-74u in a gloved hand, exited one of the Humvees. Soap felt a chill shoot straight down his spine. 

Sweet screaming Jesus

Soap emptied the last rounds of his last clip at the man but it did not slow him down in the slightest. He was blazing a path straight at Soap, like he had a personal vendetta against him. Fuck. The hard set of his broad shoulders, his imposing gait, all seemed to light up some forgotten memory in Soap's brain that he could not quite put his finger on. He surely couldn't even try to remember with the utter fucking bedlam happening all around him

"I'm empty," Gaz shouted at him.

Soap looked back over his shoulder. "Aye, same here!" This was going fubar faster than he was ready for. 

His attention returned to the enemy stalking up the highway toward him. The man popped off two rounds, drilling into the truck right next to his head. 

"Fuckin' hell," Soap gasped for breath. Then he heard the click of a dry fire and knew this was his only chance to bring this fucker down. 

Securing his blade in hand, Soap made a run for it, swiping at the assailant fiercely with his knife. The man blocked the incoming attack but not before Soap was able to get a couple brutal slices to his forearm. The other arm was impenetrable though, surprising Soap momentarily. It was made of some kind of metal, something Soap had never seen before. 

He looked up at the man with wide eyes, then tried sweeping his feet out from under him. The man was unmoveable. A feral growl rumbled up from the man's chest and Soap knew he was well and truly fucked. 

He lunged at him, ringing his hands around Soap's neck, picking him up off his feet and throwing him back against the concrete barrier behind him. Pain shot up Soap's lower back when he connected with it but it was the furthest thing from his mind. All he could think was shit shit shit. 

Soap scrambled up from the ground, knife still in hand, and slammed it into the man’s metal bicep. It sparked momentarily before the man knocked the knife from his grip. It went sliding across the pavement. Soap tried for hand to hand combat but it too was quickly shut down. The man was too fast, too strong. Still, Soap gave it his all. 

It just wasn't fucking enough. 

Snarling, the man picked Soap up by his flack jacket and attempted to hurl him up and over the bridge. Soap grasped for something, anything, as he fell over the edge and was able to grab his assailant's vest, holding on for everything he was worth. It tipped the man enough off balance for them both to fall over the precipice. 

Soap squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact, almost hoping for the end. But it was only about a six meter plummet onto a grassy berm that led down to the river — enough to knock the breath from his lungs as he managed to land on top of the man currently trying to kill him. He rolled onto his feet, ready to keep going, ready to fight for his fucking life. The man gained his feet too, but this time with his hood pushed back, exposing his eyes. The lower half of his face was still obscured, covered by a skull mask.

Soap straightened abruptly. Everything came crashing to a halt. He knew those eyes. He knew that face. Even if it wasn't completely visible. His heart contracted painfully in his ribcage at the realization. 

"Ghost?"

The man's chest heaved, but he paused. His brows were drawn together, like he was just asked the most complicated question in the world. "Who the fuck is Ghost?"

Soap stared at him in disbelief. He took one small step forward. Was this really happening? Or was he trapped inside another nightmare?

He wanted to rush forward, to pull Ghost into his arms, to ask him how any of this was possible. “I thought I lost you…” he began, but before he could reach Ghost, an explosion rocked the bridge behind him. Soap looked back over his shoulder, but when he turned back Ghost was gone.   

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

Later that night, Ghost was sitting in a chair in Makarov’s underground bunker while a man in a white coat repaired the gash on his robotic arm. They were surrounded by armed guards in the small room, but Ghost knew there was no point to them. He could clear the whole room of every breathing person within a matter of minutes if he was given the order to. 

He was bare from the waist up, ambivalently watching the glow of the tool as it patched the defect caused by the knife held by the man on the bridge. Something gnawed at him, deep inside. Some memory that was just out of his grasp. It made him uneasy. He remembered falling, he remembered the man from the bridge, reaching, screaming for him. He remembered darkness and pain. And more pain. But the memories were fractured, hazy.  

Ghost heard Makarov walk into the room that led to the one he was currently in. He was talking to the handful of men that followed him wherever he went.

“He’s unstable. Erratic,” one of Makarov’s men said. 

Ghost didn’t look up when they walked in, only continued staring at the man working on his arm. He was trying to dredge up long forgotten memories, but it was so hard to focus. 

“Mission report,” Makarov barked, coming to a stop before Ghost.

Ghost looked up at him slowly. The barest hint of a memory sparked in his mind of the man from the bridge. They were laying in a bed together. He was holding the man’s face. The man had his eyes closed and he was smiling.

A confusing emotion knotted up his stomach and he only stared at Makarov, not really seeing him, trying to pull more of that memory out of the jumbled mess of his brain. 

“Mission report, now!” Makarov ordered, bending closer to Ghost’s face.  

Ghost didn’t hear him. He blinked owlishly. A bed. The man on the bridge. Smiling so softly. 

He was suddenly pulled out of his trance by a swift backhand across his face. The pain of it stung across his cheek, but he barely registered it. He looked up at Makarov slowly, his brows drawing together as he tried so hard to remember. 

“That man on the bridge. Who was he?” 

Makarov was quiet for a moment. “You met him earlier on another assignment.”

Ghost shook his head. He knew that was a lie, but his memories were so clouded, he didn’t know if he could trust his own mind. “I knew him,” he said softly. 

Makarov sighed and pulled up a stool to sit at Ghost’s eye level. “Your work has been a gift to mankind,” he began, but Ghost immediately tuned him out. The memory was just out of reach. If he could just remember the man’s name.

Makarov finally stopped talking. He looked at Ghost expectantly. Ghost felt a wave of sadness crash over him for the life he couldn’t remember. “But I knew him,” he said again with a shaky voice. 

Makarov frowned and stood abruptly. He began walking away. “Prep him.” 

One of the white coat men stopped him. “We can’t do that, sir. He’s been out too long.”

Makarov turned toward Ghost, looking him up and down with a disapproving glare. “Then wipe him and start over.” 

Ghost’s heart rate jumped at those words, even if he didn’t really understand what it meant. In the back of his mind, deep, deep down, he knew he had been through this many times before. 

The white coat men pushed Ghost back into the chair while Makarov’s soldiers all watched. And then a rubber dental guard was being shoved in his mouth. Fear flooded his senses as he was locked into the chair and he fought to drag in oxygen. The man on the bridge. His soft smile. The tender press of his lips on mine. Ghost replayed the only memories he had, holding on to them, trying not to forget this time. Please, don’t forget this time! 

The plates came down over his face. They were cold against his skin and had an electrical scent to them. Terror immediately swept through him. Don’t forget don’t forget don’t forget. And then there was only pain and the echo of Ghost’s scream as he fell and fell and fell. 

[ilenissu]

I'm so sorry for this but megamind au.

The phone rang just as Eddie put his guitar down. He sighed, reaching for it and smiled at the name on the screen.

"Hollo?" He purred.

"It's 'hello', sir," Eleven whispered, tapping his shoulder hesitantly.

"Right- Hello?"

There was a sigh on the other side. A deep one.

"Hey. I know you're planning on kidnapping Steve, again, on the third of December, but I happen to have plans for that night so if you could-"

"Postpone-?"

"No, make sure he takes his meds before sleep. He can't eat gluten, so keep that in mind around supper. Oh, and he likes his tea black with no sugar. Got it?"

"I-"

"Okay, cool, awesome, bye, Megamind!"

And with that the line cut off. Eddie stared at the phone for a moment longer, blinking slowly.

"Should we reschedule the kidnapping for the seventh, sir?" Eleven asked, voice quiet and calm.

"N- Yeah, no." He cleared his throat. "Buy earl grey and gluten free cereal when you're out, okay?"

"May I-"

"Yeah, get yourself your waffles."

[revscarecrow]

Here's a collection of cats from my local cat Colony I take care of. I will list their names

Mr business: big black cat

Karl: small black cat

Tortie: tabby with white chest

Polly: smaller tabby

Custard: big orange

Steve: little orange

Mr nasty: the grey one making stank face (called Mr nasty cause he's nasty and had bot flies)

And Earl Grey: the other grey one. Despite being named Earl she is a little lady who is currently pregnant.

The last one looks like a live cat reaction to a cat.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 2

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you're not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Loki glowers at the people around him as you approach. You have to resist the urge to turn and run away. Thor helps in that. You know he won’t let you turn back. Not to mention the man who sent you. 

He looks over as Thor calls his name and slaps his arm, “told you, not very long at all.” 

“Mmm,” Loki narrows his eyes and his lips thin. He sends you a cursory sneer. “You came all this way for... Stark’s minion?” 

“I believe her title is Executive Assistant,” Thor corrects him. 

You give a helpless look. A pursing of your lips that must look painful. Loki doesn’t look at you again. His cheeks tauten and his eyes roll towards the ceiling. 

“Right, um, this isn’t very easy to say so... um, Mr...” You look at Thor and he just shrugs. “Loki, erm, alright. So the thing is--” 

“Oh, you know, there’s a cafe I’ve been wanting to try. Steve, you know Steve, he recommended it. Why don’t we sit down and discuss?” Thor claps your back and nudges his brother. You grimace and Loki looks less than impressed. 

“Be out with it.” 

“Oh brother, don’t be rude. Come. You could do with a bit of a treat. You’re in a foul mood.” Thor reproaches. 

“I wonder why that would be,” Loki hisses. 

“Well, as I was saying, I saw they have a special on. A turtle donut? Turtle on a donut? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he rambles and drags you both across the lobby. 

“It’s not... well, doesn’t matter,” you let the murmur drift off. 

You don’t have much of a choice, or the strength to resist him. You’re ushered out of Stark Tower and towards the cafe you pass on your way in. You stopped in once for one of their holiday lattes but you don’t often get the time to have coffee outside the stale breakroom brew. 

Loki shakes off his brother and follows behind. Thor lets you in first and holds the door. He makes his brother go ahead of him and you join the queue around the counter. 

“What would you like?” Thor asks. 

You bob up and down as you search the cafe. You flinch as you realise he’s talking to you. “Oh, I’m fine--” 

“I insist. Now please, coffee or tea? A late?” 

“Latte,” Loki corrects him. 

“Yes, that.” Thor laughs at himself. 

“Well, I’ll just have a small tea. That’s fine. Um...” you look up at the menu, “Earl Grey is fine.” 

“Black tea, large,” Loki starts before you’re even done speaking. “Since you’re being generous.” 

Thor grins and leans over to look inside the display case. “No sweets?” 

“No thanks.” You answer. Loki doesn’t acknowledge the question, instead glaring at those who stop to stare at his brother. Several lenses are aimed in Thor’s ambivalent direction. 

“May as well find a seat,” Thor stands as the barista motions him up to the cashier, “I’ll find you.” 

You glance over at Loki as he ignores you, rather pointedly as he lifts his nose. You shuffle away and go to an empty table in the corner. You sit against the wall and twiddle your fingers over the table.  

To your surprise, Loki sits across from you. You fidget as your eyes continue to wander around him, never landing on him. He sighs and you chew your lip. 

“Get on with it. I am not in the mood for socializing, especially not with... whatever you are.” 

You tilt your head and your mouth. Right, this is not going to be fun. He has the right idea of it though. It’s best to just get it over with. 

“Okay, uh, right, Loki, sir,” you twist your hand around your finger. “Prince?” 

He blinks dully. You nod, egging yourself on. 

“Mr. Stark sent me to tell you something. And I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this but--” 

“Tea.” Thor booms as he drops into the chair next to his brother, nearly dropping his armload.  

He doles out the cups and gleefully unwraps his donut. You’re sweltering as you notice the audience behind him, entranced by not only his size but his fame. Loki’s cheeks pinch in irritation as he peeks over his shoulder. 

“So let me just get it done with. Um, you... you...” you frown and your eye brows dip down then pop up. You struggle to find the right way to say it. There really isn’t on. “You cannot stay on earth.” 

Loki spins back to you, his chair scraping on the floor, and Thor chokes on his mouthful of chocolate, pecan, and dough. Both of them make confused noises. 

“You’re being deported. I... I’m sorry.” 

“Deported? Who says I cannot stay in Midgard? Who would make me leave?” Loki scoffs. 

“It... it wasn’t my decision. I was only sent the paperwork and I tried to give it to Mr. Stark--” 

“No doubt he had a hand in it. How can this be? I am a refugee. It was to my understanding that the status guarantees me safe harbour.” He blusters. 

“Brother, please, don’t be angry at the little one. She is merely the harbinger.” Thor coaxes. 

“I’m sorry,” you begin, squirming as your body’s encased in flame, “I understand it’s not ideal but--” 

“You understand?! You understand nothing. My home was destroyed.” He snarls. “How is it I am to be dejected and my brother is free to stay?” 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I wasn’t... I didn’t...” 

“Brother, please, she cannot be held responsible--” 

“Don’t tell me who or what!” Loki shoves him away. “Curse this planet and curse Stark.” 

A green flash has you flattened against the back of your chair and your vision speckles. You blink as only an empty chair remains next to Thor. He shakes his head at it and takes another bite. He looks at you and shrugs. 

“Let him have his tantrum. We’ll simply have to try again.” He breaks off a piece of his donut, “you must try this. It doesn’t even taste like turtle. Much sweeter.” 

[shieldslingera]

jotting a few thoughts down about steve and food–

steve’s both a “snack throughout the day” and "eat 3 massive meals" kind of guy. it's the super soldier metabolism. he’ll have meals regularly and they're pretty much always high in protein but then have fruit, nuts, yogurt, etc. throughout the day for snacks. and also carbs. so many carbs.

he’s also, generally speaking, not one to waste food. if he buys it–or it’s bought for him–he’s going to eat it. meals are always finished and the refrigerator, when left on his own, is typically only full of a few staples–milk, eggs, lunch meat–or things that won’t go bad very quickly. he does have a decent supply of canned goods.

is not, nor has ever been, a picky eater. he had to have certain dietary restrictions and necessities before the serum–he was prone to stomach ulcers and tended to eat a lot of beef liver for some of his illnesses–but otherwise, would eat whatever was put in front of him. his father tended to spend money on alcohol first, and after his passing, his mother was never quite able to recover their finances enough to easily feed the both of them without struggling week to week.

loves chain restaurants. thinks it’s super neat how you can go to any of them and get pretty much the exact same thing as you would anywhere else. likes that he can just have a regular order and not have to think about the menu too much. favorite “splurge”/special event restaurant is sizzler.

but also eats local in new york. it’s kind of hard not to, especially when some of the mom-and-pop stores are the ones most likely to serve him and other avengers in-costume, post-mission, while they’re bloody and gross.

loves sesame seed bagels

prefers earl grey tea over coffee

best hotdogs are found at baseball stadiums

[scarlet-witchery]

✨surprise! weekly tag wednesday✨

@softmick @samantitheos and @guinguin1984 and i actually have the energy to do it today! let's gooooooo

About ME

name: leinth (pronounced lay-nth)

age: 33, gonna be 34 in a few months tho

starsign: cancer

your first language: english

second language: like...the barest bit of japanese?

favourite lip product: cherry chapstick idk

the best food dish you can make without a recipe: grilled cheese and tomato soup, i am NOT a cook

If you drink tea, what kind?: earl grey if i ever do

If you drink coffee, what roast do you usually get?: coffee makes me sleepy so i don't drink it

favourite thing to watch on youtube right now: ask a mortician, probably

favourite thing to watch on youtube in 2012: honestly i can't even remember, i've slept since then

favourite item of clothing right now: probably my black shirt with the wide lace sleeves from torrid, it looks amazing on me

favourite item of clothing in 2012: the fact that i could actually get dressed and not be in pajamas all the time in 2012 was impressive, i was having a mental breakdown for most of that year

fandom

three movies you recommend: 1917, jurassic park, and glass onion

your favourite concert: definitely roger waters' "the wall". changed my life completely

have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?: yeah, but not for a while, i usually manage to find decent people with good opinions

have you ever left a fandom because of the fans?: supernatural was partly due to the fans

the best tv show you watched last year: greatly enjoyed watching shameless for the first time last year

do you have a fancasting you just can't let go of?: gwendolyn christie as rule 63 steve rogers, i will live and die by it

a ship you've abandoned: dean/cas used to be my ride or die otp

on a scale of 1-10 how willing are you to share your ao3 history?: 10, i have no shame

do you have a fandom tattoo? not yet, but i definitely have plans to do so

what fandom do you wish was bigger?: uuuhhhh the old kingdom series and the eagle of the ninth

has a finale ever ruined a show for you?: haven, definitely, but I still love the early seasons

have I...

swam in an ocean?: the atlantic

been vegan/vegetarian?: nope, i like meat too much

gone skinny dipping?: noooooooooope

gone skiing?: i am way too uncoordinated and scared of heights to do anything like skiing

been to a convention?: a couple of times way back in the day, yeah

tagging anyone who wants to do this!

[mangle-my-mind]

Get to Know Me Tag Game

Thanks @ineffableobikin for the tag!!!

1. top 3 ships: Gentlebeard, The Berlin Polycule from Velvet Goldmine, McLennon (I have an old post somewhere where I talk about my heebie-jeebies around rpf, but regardless McLennon is a love story for the ages)

2. first ever ship: probably Curt/Arthur? Not sure tho

3. last song: “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene", Hozier

4. last movie: "Parting Glances", Bill Sherwood. I am in love with Steve Buscemi now

5. currently reading: ooooof currently not reading. I am partway through a bunch of books but haven't actually made any progress lately :( the last book I read was "Good Omens" as a reread!

6. currently watching: I finished "Reservation Dogs" this week and OW

7. currently consuming: Earl Grey tea

8. currently craving: Peach Snapple

9. tag 9 10 people you want to know better (no pressure tho): @holy-loki @holzerisms @didntyoubelieveinme @footnotesnake @monstersandheartache @moonage-xx-daydream@silverfactory@beatle-capaldi@v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e@all-rock-and-roll-is-homosexual