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idyllcy · 5 months ago

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cherry red pies, pretty pink skies

word count: 1.5k || pt2 of sparkling green eyes, dazzling green lines

summary: Damian's sweet baby has her first ballet recital

"Dami, can you—"

"Don't worry." He hums, showing you the pamphlet he had picked up earlier.

You never thought you'd be worried over ballet lessons. His sweet daughter was having her first recital, and he had cancelled a whole day's worth of plans in order to make sure that everything would go smoothly. You found it cute, though you were no less worried than he was. You could just never quite know what would go wrong in Gotham. The possibilities were endless... even with private security around the vicinity of the theatre.

You wonder if it's possible to be even more anxious than Damian.

"We'll be safe." He hums, hand reaching for yours as he runs his thumb over your knuckles, and you exhale.

"We'll be fine." You mumble. "We'll be fine."

"And if not then I get to shoot at Drake once."

"WHAT."

Damian doesn't elaborate more on it, but when you catch a blur of orange in the dark, you get the general idea.

Well, at the very least, you feel a little more at peace knowing that someone is taking care of security. You wonder if Tim's out on the roof only to hack the cameras, though.

"Is he?"

"No." Damian shakes his head, showing security the ticket. "Not this time."

You wonder just how worried Damian is over this entire situation, then.

"Are you worried that she'll mess up on stage at all?" You follow him to the center seats in the middle row, sitting down as he helps you down first.

"She's our blood. She's perfect even if she somehow does mess up. In that case, it would be improv, which we both know is something only the most talented can dream of doing."

You hold back at laugh at Damian's words.

"Besides. We've both seen her practicing. She'll be alright." His hand covers yours, tapping gently at your fingers.

"I think she'll be fine." Cass hums as she slides next to the two of you, small bouquet in her arms, Bruce following shortly after.

"She's going to do the best out of all her peers." Damian rolls his eyes.

You can only laugh.

In a way, Damian isn't wrong. Out of all those in her age group on stage, only your daughter somehow manages to remember the routine from start to finish, and when it's the end, you can barely contain your excitement to greet her. Damian follows after you with the flowers he had put in the trunk, small bouquet of congratulatory flowers in his arms as you pick up your precious baby girl and spin her around.

"You were great, baby." You grin, bouncing her in your arms.

"Thank you, mama." She mumbles. "Hi daddy."

"Hi, princess." Damian imitates a light curtsey, offering her the flowers. "Well done on your performance."

"Thank you, baba." She mumbles, cheeks flushed as she takes the flowers from her dad. "I didn't mess up."

"I know." He hums, holding her hand. "We're proud of you."

Your moment is interrupted when she spots Cass, eyes lighting up as she reaches from your arms for her. You hand her over with a gentle roll of your eyes, and Damian watches as she babbles nonsensical things that Cass entertains, flowers handed to her as she continues, thanking her in the same breath, going back to speaking.

"She takes after me for all that talking." You grin, patting Damian's hand as he rests it on your elbow.

"She's much more formal than her peers." Damian scrunches his nose. "Perhaps due to my influence."

"It isn't a bad thing." You wave as you watch Tim and Jason walk in. "You guys missed the whole thing."

"Oh, no we didn't" Tim shakes the camera in his hand, popping out the SD card and tossing it to Damian. "All on video with photos."

"Much appreciated." Damian nods.

You wonder if Damian's family adores your little girl a little too much. She greets the rest of her uncles with a grin, excitement that only a child can experience making her little body shake with excitement. At one point, Dick calls to let you all know that dinner was ready at the mansion, and you offer to take your little girl from Cass.

"I wanna stay with aunt Cass." She pouts.

"What if she's tired?"

"Baba will carry you." Damian opens his arms for her, and she leaves Cass' embrace reluctantly. "Good girl."

"Sorry about that." You laugh. "She was excited that you watched her perform."

"Thank you for inviting me." Cass hums. "She'll be great."

"I'm sure it's because she saw that photo of you doing ballet that one time while visiting Bruce. She's been enamored with the idea ever since."

Cass only hums, glancing to the side as she waves at your daughter — who's still looking at her.

"I'll take her off your hands tonight after dinner." Cass laughs. "I'll bring her back tomorrow."

"Well, it is her summer vacation." You sigh. "Baby, you wanna stay with Aunt Cass for the night?"

"Can I?" She blinks up at you expectantly, and you look up to Damian.

"Do you want to?"

"It would be nice..."

"Then yes." He hums. "Don't trouble her too much, alright?"

She nods, grinning at Cass as she smiles back.

You have dinner with the rest of the family, their soulmates all present, handing your daughter small gifts of celebration as she thanks everyone with a polite nod. She reminds you very much of Damian, and from what Talia had told you when he was a baby, your daughter seems to be the exact image. At the very least, you hope that she'll grow up without the trauma that Damian had to experience because of his blood. He does a great job at keeping her separate from his life in the streets of Gotham.

You wave goodbye to the family as your daughter gives you both a small kiss goodbye, promising she'll be good for Cass for the night. You have a feeling that means she's going to stay up past her bedtime practicing ballet with Cass again, but as long as she doesn't stay up too late, she'll be fine.

"How late do you think she'll be up until?" You mumble to Damian as he holds your door open for you.

"I'd argue anywhere around 11 to midnight." He nods as he closes the door for you.

"I hope she has fun, then." You chuckle, watching as the manor's doors close once more.

"We'll have our fair share of fun."

"Ugh, I can't wait to get a glass at home."

"Would you like to look through what just arrived? Drake dropped it off before patrol to me."

"You know, for someone who claims to just tolerate him, you sure do rely on him for a lot." You turn your head to glance at him, and he sighs.

"Siblings."

You found that Damian was highly sentimental after marriage. From the wedding invites to the clothes he wore first when he met you, he knows every moment and minor detail of you. In your room, other than the shelves of mangas he collected as a teen, he also keeps photobooks of the two of you through each year, and all six failed engagement ring attempts are framed on the wall in the living room. You are lucky, you think. Your hopelessness had paid off... or rubbed off. You hadn't known it was possible to be so enamored with someone. Maybe his brothers rubbed off on him.

"Do you want a snack with the wine?" Damian hands you a glass, lips curled upwards gently as you grin at the package.

"I'll be fine. You kept it in the delivery box?"

"You like opening boxes." He hums, settling next to you on the couch as you open the box to find a booklet.

"Oh, from our wedding?"

"These were the behind-the-scenes that Drake got." He hums. "I did not enjoy that he got to see you first on the day of the wedding, but he did give this to us... even if it is years late."

You smile, patting Damian's shoulder gently as you flip through it with him, humming as you point at certain photos, watching as Damian texts Tim to send him the digitals later. You raise brows at certain people, and he tells you each one's name, lips quirking up in amusement when you roll your eyes at some of your friends. You wonder if the development would have happened had you not taken the risk and asked him to be your plus one to the wedding so long ago.

You yawn at one point, and Damian's hand rubs circles on your back.

"Bedtime, habibti?"

You yawn more in response, nodding slowly as you cover your mouth. "Bedtime. Are you going to frame any photos from it?"

"Most likely the one in the back. We should get a family portrait sometime as well."

"Yeah?" You start getting up, pausing mid-way to yawn. Instead, Damian picks you up with ease, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, Dami."

"Anytime. Rest well, habibti."

"Mm... you too, beloved."

#i need dc to age him up but STOP making him batman i am not putting that as a banner but bro looks tiny. he IS the baby i fear #☾.fics #damian wayne x reader #damian al ghul x reader #I just think cass would be a great aunt (i miss her)#also ik he hates Tim or like tolerates him but I'm a thorough believer that they r literally brothers (begrudgingly)#ok that came out wrong like in the way that they can always rely on each other but would rather die than admit it #dc #reader insert

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wickjump · 5 days ago

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lvl20 cross is my no.1 enemy btw. if i see him there will be an unspecified lethal weapon in my paws and it will be pointed in his general location

#slightly incomprehensible rant in tags #he was made by a pro which becomes obvious when you look into him At All #utmv #not tagging cross even tho i wanna cause like #neg stuff idk #character neg #i guess??#idk i just wanna be hashtag mindful #cw suggestive #in the tags #ive seen ONE SINGLE FIC where he was done well. ONE. ONE SINGLE FIC.#EVERYYYY OTHER ONE #HAS LIKE. DREAM BEING THE UWU HELPLESS BOY AND CROSS BEING GRR ALPHA MALE WHO PROTECTS HIM/SOME NEAR-RABID ANIMAL WITH A BIG DICK NOW IG??#lvl20 cross..... my ENEMY.....#my beloathed #people who make him into a character i can actually tolerate are god(toby fox)'s bestest angels #i fully believe there are tons of people out there that have done him well but after a while i just skipped over any fics with him in it #lvl20 cross could have been great #because like the horror that could come from when you breach a lvl no monster's body was built to endure #purely because you Killed Everyone In Your World #that could be fucked up cool stuff!!!! but no!!!! all he is worth now is to be led on a leash by dream i guess!!!!!!!!!#not a puritan in any sense of the word i have an 18+ account (which is painfully inactive whoops)#nothing wrong with sexing a character up or warping them towards sex appeal for the sake of 18+ content. i am fine with that #but like. lvl20 is just. blatantly brutalizing cross into big dick energy violent murderer guy who needs to be muzzled by dream #shakes you by the shoulders CROSS ISNT A SADISTIC MURDERER HES JUST EDGY!!!!!!!!!!!! HE FEELS SO MUCH GUILT!!!!!!!! COME ON!!!! HE WOULD NO #LIKE TO KILL PEOPLE PERIOD!!!!

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 2 years ago

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you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name.

i knew from the first note played i’d be breaking all my rules to see you. you smile that beautiful smile and all the girls in the front row scream your name. so dim that spotlight, tell me things like “i can’t take my eyes off of you.” i’m no one special, just another wide-eyed girl who’s desperately in love with you. give me a photograph to hang on my wall, superstar.

Eddie has three major rules when it comes to working with celebrities: 1. don’t flirt with the talent; 2. don’t hang out with the talent; 3. don’t, under any circumstances, fuck the talent.

He’s had enough rockstars’ managers kick him out of hotel rooms after waking up to an empty bed with cold sheets to have learned his lesson ten times over by now.

He doesn’t even think of adding a fourth rule: don’t fall in love with the talent. Has never even come close to needing a rule like that. Not until he meets Steve Harrington.

~*~

“Ed, I got a new one for ya, he’ll be here at two,” Eddie’s boss Murray says from the open doorway of Eddie’s office.

“Huh?” Eddie eloquently responds, mouth full of the banana he’d found in the office kitchen for lunch. “What?”

Murray rolls his eyes. He gets endlessly annoyed when it turns out no one can read his mind.

“New singer-songwriter coming in at two, asked for you specifically. Working on his second album, so look alive.” Murray tosses a demo in Eddie’s direction before departing the office and moving down the hallway towards his own. Eddie barely catches it just before the plastic corner gets him right in the eye.

This is the problem with Murray. He gives no details and leaves absolutely no room for follow-up questions. The other problem with Murray is that he waits until the last minute to spring shit on Eddie that he knows Eddie’s not going to like.

Eddie flips the plastic CD case around in his hand so he can read the words written in Sharpie on the front. ‘S. H. - 2’ is all it says, giving him absolutely no information. It’s already ten to two, so Eddie doesn’t even have time to listen to a single song if he wants to make it up the two floors to the conference room where he usually meets with the talent for the first time. Eddie scowls in annoyance; he hates being unprepared and he just knows Murray is conspiring against him somehow.

Eddie pushes up from his desk and leaves his office, heading for the elevator. He pressed the button for the 42nd floor. He likes to play this game where he tries to hold his breath for the duration of the elevator ride. Two floors is easy. The ride up to the 40th floor is a lot harder.

By the time Eddie makes it to the conference room, his appointment’s already in there. As he walks through the glass doors, he realizes that when Murray said “new,” he didn’t actually mean new. He meant, like, new to them.

Because sitting in the conference room at the head of the table is former boy band heartthrob Steve Harrington.

~*~

Eddie had never had Steve’s poster on his wall in high school or anything embarrassing like that, thank god. But he had kept one of the pages he’d ripped out of the library’s copy of Tiger Beat folded under his mattress for early morning daydreaming. And Eddie had certainly never listened to his music when he’d been in Teeny Boppers United or whatever the hell his band of cookie cutter boy-next-door types was called (he definitely knew).

Now, here Harrington is, sitting across the table from him, hair full of blond highlights and cherry lipgloss (Eddie thinks, imagines, hopes) on his lips.

“Um, hi. I’m, uh, Eddie. Munson. Eddie Munson,” Eddie holds out his hand for Steve to shake and Steve does. Eddie tells himself he’s imagining the way Steve’s eyes linger on him and how he takes just a second too long to pull his hand away.

Steve smiles, blinding and perfectly white. “Yeah, man, I know. My friend Robin has worked with you before? She had real great things to say,” Steve tells him and he sounds more sincere than a former-pop star asshole has any right to be.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks surprised, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, she’s been a huge help with my solo stuff. She co-wrote a few of the songs on my first album.” Steve drums his fingertips on the thick wood of the table.

“Huh.” The sound leaves Eddie against his will, as he’s trying to mask his surprise. Robin Buckley was talented and she had a sound that Eddie would never guess Steve Harrington would be into. She was indie, for sure, almost folk, bordering on a breathy country sound that Eddie thinks she’d deny if she heard him describe her like that. “I’m not entirely sure I’m what you’re looking for, to be honest with you.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He has no idea what Harrington’s sound is now that he’s broken free of the teenage bubblegum scene. But he’s always had a self-sabotaging streak a mile wide and he feels both relieved and disappointed to potentially have this out.

Steve frowns slightly, the crease between his eyes deepening. “Did you listen to the demo? I actually have this one song and I’m struggling with the bridge and, you know, not to, like, geek out or fan girl or whatever, but I’m, like, so into your sound and your lyrics and just the way you can construct a metaphor that seems so obvious when you hear it but is still so surprising in the context of the song it’s in and I think it would really complement what I’ve already started and…” Steve’s been gesturing wildly with his hands and must realize he’s rambling, because he trails off, blushing. “I mean. Did you listen?” He asks again.

“Honestly, Murray only just told me about this meeting about ten minutes before it started,” Eddie shrugs, but he feels bad about the way Steve’s shoulders fall.

“Ah, okay,” Steve pushes back from the table. “Yeah, okay. No worries.”

And Eddie feels, like, not great about this. He doesn’t like the disappointment he can see etched across Steve’s handsome features. So he reaches a hand across the vast wooden table, gesturing for Steve to stop.

“Wait,” he says, hand raised between them. “Listen, I’m… skeptical, to say the least. But. I’ll listen to your demo tonight, okay? And I’ll let you know what I think tomorrow. Is that… does that work?”

Steve nods quickly. “Yeah, dude. Yeah, that’s awesome. Thank you. Um. Do you… did Murray give you my number?”

“Here,” Eddie slides his notebook and pen across the table.

Steve picks up the pen, scrawling across the entire notebook page, before sliding it back toward Eddie. “My, uh, personal number.” Steve runs as hand through his highlighted hair. “I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Thanks, Eddie.” He reaches out again to shake Eddie’s hand and this time, Eddie knows he doesn’t imagine the way Steve’s fingers linger on his palm.

Eddie clears his throat. “Talk soon,” he says, smiling, before Steve is turning and leaving the room.

~*~

Eddie had gone to LA with stars in his eyes and big dreams circling his head. He’d had hopes of making it big, of thousands of people screaming his name. It had sounded so good back then, when he'd been trailer trash in the smallest, most close-minded town in the American Midwest. And it had kind of happened. He’d recorded an entire album, had even had a national tour. But he’d realized fairly quickly that it wasn’t what he’d really wanted. Performing was fun, but what he really cared about was the song-writing. The way a perfectly constructed verse could speak to someone, on a deep, intimate, important level. That’s why he cared about music, that’s why it had always been so important to him. It wasn't the performing or the flashing bulbs of cameras or the after parties filled with people who wanted to get close to fame. It was the songs. It was the words and the meanings behind them. It was what it all meant, down to the end of it all.

So Eddie had changed course. He’d begun song-writing instead, freelancing at first, selling a song here and a collab there. Until he’d been approached by Murray Bauman, who’d heard what he’d done on a Taylor Swift track and was impressed. Murray had offered him a job in New York, writing and producing, an office and a salary for the first time in his life. And Eddie loved what he got to do now, loved the tracks he produced for other people to sing. He’d thought it would feel strange, like he was missing out on something, but it didn’t. It just felt good.

That had been five years ago and now here he is, sliding Steve Harrington’s demo into the CD player in his living room. He presses play and crosses the room to grab a beer from his kitchen. Just as he's crossing the threshold between rooms, he hears the first three notes of the song and it stops him in his tracks. He tilts his head back toward the stereo.

Because the song isn't the sound of a boy band lead gone solo, belting out pop lyrics that would guarantee major radio play. This song is soft and melancholy, the poetic lyrics of a chorus crafted with vulnerability, a complicated bridge that ties it all together. The song ends and shifts, the guitar twang taking on a pop rock tempo, more upbeat than the last song. Steve's voice comes out, deep and honey-sweet, different than his boy band days. The lyrics are still sadder than Eddie would have thought and Eddie's impressed by the words juxtaposed with the upbeat instrumentals and the tone of Steve's vocals.

Eddie listens to all four songs standing there in the doorway between his living room and kitchen. Can't bear to tear himself away. And when the fourth and final song is over, Eddie crosses the room to click 'play' all over again.

~*~

Eddie waits to call Steve. He wants to call him immediately after his third listen, but he figures that it would be a bad idea to interrupt a client’s dinner or date or whatever former pop stars do on Thursday nights.

He spends all day at the office the next day listening to Steve’s first album on repeat. He thinks he can tell where Robin had helped with the lyrics, can see the ways the two of them have come together, and he can hear how their voices complement each other on the track she’s featured on. He listens to it on repeat for hours, before swapping it out for the new demo all over again. He thinks he can trace the way Steve’s voice has evolved since the first album, can see the places where his song-writing has matured. He spends the weekend deconstructing each song, finding the spots of vulnerability and the developed self-confidence that allows that vulnerability to take center stage. He feels a little guilty for not calling Steve, but he can’t imagine Steve’s sitting by the phone or anything anyway.

But the end of the weekend, Eddie knows he can’t say no to Steve Harrington. He knows that he has to be a part of this album, no matter what. That this project is going to be something magical, something unimaginable.

First thing Monday morning, Eddie calls Steve and makes a deal.

~*~

“Fuck, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you,” Eddie hears Steve breathe down the phone line. “I’m such a huge fan and hearing what you did with Robin… I was worried you were gonna say no, y’know? When I didn’t hear from you?”

Eddie smiles to himself, small and involuntary. He’d never thought he’d hear Steve Harrington sounding so earnest.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I was just about ready to say no.” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and then shifts his phone from one ear to the other. “But I gave your demo a listen and I revisited your first album and I gotta tell you, I think there’s something really special there. I’m excited to see what we come up with.” He’s downplaying this, he knows it, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager. He doesn’t want Steve to know that he’ll probably die if he doesn’t get to work on this album. That’s probably a little too over dramatic, even for Eddie.

He hears Steve suck in a breath, can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “Dude, thank you. I’m so excited. This means a lot to me. Thanks, man.”

“Alright, well, I’m gonna have my assistant call you in a few days to set up some meetings and get everything worked out, timeline-wise. I’ll be in touch soon.” Eddie has to get off the phone now, before he says something dumb as fuck.

“Awesome. Thanks again, Eddie,” Steve replies, before there’s nothing but a dial tone.

~*~

Eddie has Chrissy set up all the meetings, scheduling studio time and booking out the conference room.

For months, Eddie’s life revolves around Steve Harrington. All he can think about are what chord progressions will have Steve’s voice sounding its best, all heavy and sweet, or what rhyme scheme the chorus should have to enhance its emotional tenor in the way Steve wants.

They record together, Steve in the booth and Eddie at the console. Sometimes Robin joins them, happy to take on second guitar and suggest a new phrasing for a line that’s giving them trouble.

Steve enlists the same band he’d used on his first album and Eddie’s kind of impressed by how well they all seem to get along. How committed they are to helping Steve figure out the vision for this album.

Towards the end of recording—long months spent trying new things, taking out second guitar here, adding a keyboard track in there—Steve convinces Eddie to play lead guitar on one of the tracks they wrote together. It’s one of the unfinished ones from the demo Eddie had been so enchanted by, the one that Steve had said was giving him trouble on the bridge. They’d spent long nights in Eddie’s office ordering late-night pizzas and trying to figure out how to make the song work. Eddie was so frustrated he was about to suggest they just scrap the whole thing until Steve started drumming on one of the discarded pizza boxes, humming along with a switched-up melody, a reversal of what they already had, a dramatic shift from chorus to bridge and back again. Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare and then the words were coming, Steve finishing his sentences when Eddie stumbled searching for the right word. By morning, the song was finished.

Eddie agrees to play, if only because he loves the song so much, so proud of the work they’d put into it. It has nothing to do with the way Steve’s sweet smile spreads over his face or the faint pinkness Eddie can see rising in his cheeks. In the end, Eddie’s even convinced to lend his vocals to the song. He doesn’t let himself think about how good they sound together, Steve’s deep voice belting out the lyrics with Eddie’s softer cadence just underneath.

~*~

Steve goes out on tour almost immediately after they finish recording. The record label says there’s so much buzz around the album, so much anticipation, that they should strike while the iron is hot.

“Don’t forget about me out there on the road,” Eddie jokes, voice light and airy. He and Steve are at his favorite coffee shop, just down the street from his offices.

“Could never,” Steve tells him, smiling, tone just on the wrong side of serious. He takes a sip of his coffee.

They’ve been dancing around each other for months, probably since they’d started recording if Eddie’s really honest with himself. But Eddie has rules and he’s been burned before. So when they’ve finished their coffee, they part ways. Eddie wishes Steve luck on his tour and Steve says he’ll be in touch.

Eddie’s life goes back to normal.

~*~

They text sporadically. Eddie doesn’t mind. He remembers how chaotic and stressful tour had been when he’d done it and he hadn’t been nearly as huge as Steve is now. Eddie knows it’s an endless parade of meet-and-greets and sound checks and dress rehearsals, one day blending into another. He’s surprised Steve even reaches out to him at all.

Steve is set to perform the last show of his tour at Madison Square Garden. Eddie thinks about showing up, grabbing the free tickets he gets as part of the job and surprising Steve. He thinks about it a lot actually, all five months Steve’s gone, fantasizes about how Steve might greet him, how he’d pull him into the green room backstage and…

A week before the show, Steve calls him.

“Hey, man!” Steve sounds winded and breathy. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, y’know, same old same old.” Eddie tries to sound as casual as possible, but he can’t control the grin that spreads across his lips.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, listen, I only have a minute, but I was wondering if you’d be open to, uh. Coming to my show at the Garden?” Eddie thinks he might be imagining the nervous lilt to Steve’s voice, the unsure way he poses the question.

“Yeah, man, of course. I’d love to be there.”

“Great! I’ll text you the details.” Eddie doesn’t even have time to say goodbye before Steve has hung up on him.

~*~

The night of the concert, Eddie shows up backstage, feeling just a little out of place. He’d bypassed the front of house, but he hadn’t missed the line of young women and girls snaking out of the venue doors and onto the streets of Manhattan. He had known Steve was big, but he hadn’t imagined it would be like this.

A woman with short blonde hair leads Eddie into the green room. Steve’s getting his makeup done, but when he sees Eddie in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes light up and he smiles, wide and goofy. He pushes up from his chair and crosses the room, moving to pull Eddie into a hug before Eddie can even say anything, arms looped around Eddie’s neck. Steve is warm against him, his muscles firm and soft—a strange juxtaposition—as Eddie wraps his own arms around Steve’s waist.

“So happy you’re here,” Steve whispers against his ear, breath hot. Eddie can’t even react before Steve’s pulling away, crossing back over to his chair and dropping himself into it. Steve looks at Eddie in the reflection, their eyes meeting. “I have a favor to ask.” Steve suddenly sounds hesitant, fingers fidgeting in his lap.

“Oh, no,” Eddie jokes, winking at Steve in the mirror. “What is it this time?”

Steve blushes. “I know you don’t really perform anymore, but I was hoping you’d help me out with our song? It’s the last song of the show.”

The words our song echo in Eddie’s ears and he can’t help his smile. Sure, he doesn’t really perform anymore, but, he realizes in this moment, he’d do pretty much anything for Steve. The thought should be terrifying, but somehow it isn’t.

“Dude, that’s awesome.” Eddie watches Steve practically sag in relief. “I’d love to.”

Before long, Steve is being rushed around, manhandled on his way to the stage, and Eddie is left to follow behind so he can watch from the wings.

Eddie had thought he’d known Steve. They’d written and recorded together for months, felt every emotion possible in the time it had taken them to complete the album. But watching Steve perform is something else entirely. Steve glows under the harsh stage lights, smiling and charismatic as he jokes with the girls in the front row vying for his attention. It’s magical to watch Steve perform the songs they’d made together, to sing words from Eddie’s own brain. Eddie is transfixed by the way Steve’s lips wrap around each note, like each word that comes out of his mouth is the most important word that’s ever been spoken. Steve is otherworldly on stage.

“For the last song, I have a surprise,” Steve stops in front of the mic stand as someone rushes to bring him his favorite guitar. He pulls the strap over his head. Someone on the side of the stage nudges Eddie, holding out a guitar that Eddie’s never seen before. If he’d known about this, he would have brought his own beloved sweetheart, but he’ll have to make do with what he has. No backing out now. “You’ve probably heard of Eddie Munson.” Steve smiles as the crowd cheers. “Yeah, he’s a huge deal. He’s worked with everyone from Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers to Bruce Springsteen and Metallica.” The crowd cheers again. “I worked really closely with him on this album,” Steve smiles. “And he took something raw and messy and made it so fucking great.” The crowd screams. “I always close the show with my favorite song off the album. It’s the one that took us the longest to write. We were so frustrated, I thought Eddie was gonna tell me to just forget it. We spent so many all-nighters stuffing our faces with pizza and cursing ourselves for ever even thinking we should write this stupid fucking song.” Steve laughs with the crowd. “But then, one night it all clicked. It all came together. It was like magic, sitting there with Eddie on some ugly couch in his office, just about ready to give up. We made magic together.” Steve looks out at the crowd. “So. Eddie’s here to help me share this song with you.” The crowd goes wild as someone pushes Eddie out onto the stage, but Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Steve, who’s smiling at him from under the lights, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Playing the song is easier than Eddie had thought it would be. The notes come to him like muscle memory, like he could play this song in his sleep. He can’t take his attention away from Steve where he sings into the microphone. It’s all too much for his heart to handle. He feels like he might die here, right on the spot.

Just as suddenly as it had started, it’s all over. The crowd is deafening and Eddie’s got a smile on his face so wide his cheeks ache. Steve waves to the crowd before taking Eddie’s hand and leading him off stage.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, pulling Eddie along down the backstage hallways back towards the green room. “That was un-fucking-real.” Steve’s smiling, cheeks red.

Eddie can’t say anything at all. All he can do is follow helplessly behind Steve, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His heartbeat so loud he’s sure Steve can hear it.

They’re back in the green room before Eddie can even blink. Suddenly, his back is pressed up against the closed door, Steve practically plastered to his front. He can barely breathe as Steve’s lips crash into his.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling back slightly. His breath is hot against Eddie’s lips. “Been thinking about you for months.” His voice is soft, barely there.

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie groans, running a hand through Steve’s hair, trying to pull him back in. “It’s so okay, Stevie.”

Steve lets out a groan of his own and then he’s kissing Eddie again, lips parting and tongue curling against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s not sure how long they stand there pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in hair, kissing each other breathless. All too soon a knock comes from the other side of the door and they jump apart.

“Steve?” A muffled voice calls out from the hallway. “You have a meet-and-greet in five.”

Steve looks at Eddie, laughing a little. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot,” he whispers, before raising his voice to respond to whoever’s outside, “Okay, just a minute!” He kisses Eddie one last time, soft and so sweet. “Come with me?” He asks.

Eddie nods and follows after Steve.

~*~

Eddie watches from the sidelines as Steve takes picture after picture. It’s kind of uncanny, the way Steve’s smile seems genuine in every photo he takes, the interest he seems to take in every person who comes to meet him.

The line has dwindled down when the next group of fans catch sight of Eddie in the shadows. “Oh my god!” One of the girls squeals, before turning toward Steve. “Can we get a picture with you and Eddie?”

Steve laughs, already nodding, before turning towards Eddie. “You mind?” He asks, holding his hand out for Eddie. Eddie slides his hand into Steve’s and has his picture taken.

~*~

After, Steve invites Eddie back to his fancy hotel room, but Eddie counters by inviting Steve to his apartment. Steve’s face brightens, clearly excited to see where Eddie lives. Eddie tries to mentally envision how he’d left his apartment, thinks it’s probably safe for world-famous superstars to visit.

They take Steve’s car, his driver dutifully ignoring whatever’s going on in the back seat, and by the time they make it up the six floors to Eddie’s door, they can’t keep their hands off each other. They crash through the front door, attached at the lips. They stumble down the hallway to Eddie’s bedroom and Eddie all but tackles Steve down into the sheets.

The next morning, Steve insists on making a homemade breakfast. Eddie rarely cooks, but by some miracle, he’s got eggs and bacon in his fridge. Eddie knows he’s got a dopey look on his face as he sits at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, watching Steve move around his space.

Later, when they’re curled up together on the couch and Steve is dozing against his chest, Eddie scrolls through his Instagram feed. He’s tagged in a ton of photos from the night before, up on stage with Steve, eyes fixed on each other as they play their guitars, crisscrossing beams of light all around them. He scrolls for a few more moments, before he sees the picture they’d taken together at the meet-and-greet, with the three girls who’d asked for a picture with Steve and Eddie. Steve’s blushing, his hand still holding Eddie’s, a wide smile on his face. Eddie’s just as flushed, eyes glassy, but he’s not even looking at the camera, face turned toward Steve instead. He looks lovestruck. It would be embarrassing, but Steve shifts in his arms, letting out a tiny little sound from the back of his throat.

Eddie screenshots the photo and saves it to his camera roll.

~*~

@thecaptainsgingersnap gave me “dealer's choice lyrics from Superstar” :)

This turned out waaaaayyyyyyy longer than I originally planned, so I probably should’ve split it into two posts, but here we are. Hope you enjoy it!!

#in this universe eddie munson co-wrote tolerate it #i know what song they wrote together but I’m keeping it to myself lol #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fluff #steddie fic rec #steve harrington x eddie munson

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the-music-maniac · 4 days ago

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I've never been able to get over stories where the abused becomes the villain. True of any media that has this trope, really, but especially true of Sephiroth. He makes my heart hurt.

Created to be nothing but a weapon, abused and manipulated and experimented on from childhood. Sent to go fight Shinra's wars for them, desensitized to killing from a young age, but still managing to hold onto his kindness somehow. They made him into a legend larger than life for their propaganda, while simultaneously de-humanizing him in the worst ways, isolating Seph to the point where no one around him, not even his closest companions, even realized that he needed support. There's hints that no one around him really knew his background by the things they say - the only one who was aware of the extent of his mistreatment was his abuser. He was a high functioning individual - who would be arrogant enough to assume that The General could need help? Who would dare?

And I don't blame Angeal or Genesis or Zack for not realizing. Along with them simply not knowing there was an issue that needed addressing, Sephiroth probably kept it from them on purpose - whether by choice or necessity or outside influence or self preservation.

Sephiroth just wanted a normal life too. He didn't like having his picture taken, but endured because he had to, and because other people wanted it of him. He didn't really care to compete for the title of hero with Genesis, even though Genesis didn't seem to believe it. He took care of his troops, and we see in that one cut scene where he failed to save a soldier, that he still got upset over stuff like that. All those years of killing and losing his men to Shinra's missions and he hasn't truly become numb to it.

And then nearing the end, after first being told he's a monster by one of his former friends, and then later spending a week in that library not eating or drinking or sleeping, left alone to his devices because who would assume that the most competent general of their time can be in a vulnerable state, and shouldn't be left alone right now?

After learning the "truth" about his origins, and after a lifetime of systematic abuse, no longer believing he's even human anymore. And then the only person offering him a hand in his darkest moments is the one he shouldn't have taken. But at that point - could you blame him? Whether or not the post nibelheim Sephiroth is truly him or just a puppet for Jenova I'm uncertain about, but the end result is that from start to finish - Sephiroth never manages to break free from the whims of those who wanted to use him.

And because he gave into his worse demons - he won't receive a happy ending. He won't be saved. There's no comfort for him, no opportunity to rest and heal and grow. His childhood wish to live a normal life will never come to pass.

Watching Sephiroth's story unfold is like watching someone drown in front of you while surrounded by a crowd of people. And the one drowning doesn't even scream for help because he's been conditioned to believe that the suffocation is normal.

I will NEVER get over him. It doesn't excuse what he did after Nibelheim, I'm aware of that, but I can't help but remember that people only ever had praise for him while he was burning villages down in Wutai on Shinra's behalf.

It doesn't excuse his actions. But I will NEVER be able to forget all the ways the world failed him first.

#final fantasy vii #sephiroth #this is why i obsessively read fixits for Sephiroth #i say i'm a sefikura shipper but to be honest i have very little tolerance for the seme/alpha type personality a lot of ship fics give seph #no. i want him to be saved. i want just one person from the future to have the benefit of hindsight to go back and stop all of it #the most likely candidate is Cloud. but i would take anyone.#i just want him to have a fighting chance #i just want one person in his life to have realized and been appalled enough to try and help in a way that mattered #I just want one version of Sephiroth's story where love and support was enough to stop all of it #just one timeline where someone had given that child the love he needed and deserved #Sephiroth is my fav character for a reason #i know a lot of people assume it's because he's hot #no. i simply will never be able to get over his story and that's why #ff7 #angeal hewley #zack fair #genesis rhapsodos #sefikura #ff7 spoilers

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arkhamknightz · 2 years ago

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TOLERATE IT

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary; in which, spencer starts to get distant from you, and all you can do is sit and wonder why - part 2

warnings: age gap (just a few years, not specified but mentions of him being older) no happy ending, lots of angst, reader is angry and i mean very angry reader, sad spencer at the end, spencer before prison

notes: criminal minds obsession comes back every year and its on its annual visit rn! anyways I know reader kinda goes after him in their fight but I’m venting. i’m open to writing a part 2 with a happy ending if anyone wants it!

You sat on the other end of the couch while Spencer sat with his legs up reading a book, a small frown on your face as you watched him. He had suddenly become distant in the last few weeks. You had passed it off as a rough case, but usually his odd behavior never lasted this long.

You had asked the team if he had been doing alright, but to them nothing had been out of the ordinary, he was still the same Spencer at work that he always was.

You woke up next to him the morning after, and sat and watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful, but you couldn’t help but notice you didn’t wake up with your head on his chest or with his arms wrapped around your waist like you did before.

You sat and watched him for a while, savoring the morning. You knew things weren’t gonna be as peaceful when he woke up. He stopped waking up early to read to you at the kitchen counter while you made him a coffee before work, and he stopped rambling to you when he got back.

He stopped doing all the little things you loved, but you patiently waited for him. You waited for things to go back to normal and for him to stop treating you like you were some ghost in the house. It never happened. He started going to bed earlier, leaving the house later, avoiding your questions about what was going on with him. He stopped holding you at night and started facing away from you.

You laid on your back, facing up towards the ceiling. A million thoughts swarmed through your head at once. It wasn’t a secret Spencer was older than you. But had that started to bother him? He was much wiser than you were, even despite the fact he was a genius. Had you become too needy? Had something happened at work that none of them thought was appropriate to tell you about?

Spencer always told you when he was coming back from a case. He would always give you little details, not commenting much on the contents of it. He liked to keep you away from the horrors of his work, not wanting to subject you to such things. You would wait by the door and as soon as you heard the knob turn your face would light up like a kids in a candy store.

You stopped waiting for him. He stopped telling you when he was coming home. You turned your head, seeing he was still asleep. A small tear rolled down your cheek and you got up out of bed before getting changed and leaving the house. You walked to the small book store the both of you had met in, and you sat by the window.

You had put in effort to spend time with him, laying the table with your best dishes, his favorite food, but he brushed it off claiming he ate with the team. You made efforts to get him new books, make him coffee in the mornings before work, do his laundry and so forth. He never addressed it, never a thank you, you could hardly even remember the last time he said he loved you.

You thought it was all in your head, that maybe you had read things wrong and he was just having a really rough time. But his hard exterior hadn’t faltered in a while. Usually he was able to brush things off, talk to you after a few days and things would be okay. But there was this unsettling feeling in your chest, an ache. Things didn’t seem like they were gonna be okay.

You picked up a book off the coffee table of the bookstore. It was one of his favorites. You looked at the cover with a sad smile on your face. You used to greet him at the door like he had been gone for months, a hug and dinner waiting for him inside.

Now all that’s left were snarky comments when he got home, a bitter attitude and grumbles under his breath when you tried to talk to him. You sat and listened while he would poke at you after a long day, passive aggressive comments flying out of his mouth as you did dishes.

All you could do was just sit and listen. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t pull yourself away from your activities to be upset with him. You found yourself giving him the benefit of the doubt and more often making excuses for his behavior rather than addressing it to him directly.

It was getting a bit dark outside, the sun was starting to set and so you left the bookstore, the memories floating through the air as you left the shop. It felt like you left part of yourself in there somehow, you walked into the door of your shared apartment, dread seemingly started to fill your body.

“Where were you?” He spoke, his voice was quiet but you could tell he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t worry either, you know what he sounded like when he was worried. “I went out.” You put your keys down and walked past him, he turned around. “For hours? I woke up and no note, no texts, no calls, nothing.” You scoffed. “So you can do it but suddenly when I leave without saying something I’m the bad guy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You shook your head. “You know what that means Spencer. Don’t sit and play dumb with me.” You looked over at him as he rolled his eyes. “Its my job.” “You know what else your job is?” He looked at you, waiting for you to continue. “To actually fill your title as my boyfriend. You stopped telling me when you’re coming home, you stopped talking to me completely. I feel like a ghost in this stupid apartment Spencer!”

You laughed bitterly. “I mean come on, why do you care I was gone for so long? You can hardly keep eye contact with me anymore. Why’s me leaving the house any different huh? Like I leave you alone all day by my OWN choice this time and you still find a reason to be mad?” Spencer furrowed his brows at you.

“Are you kidding m-“ you slammed your hands on the table, eyes brimming with tears. “No! No I’m not fucking kidding. Why act like you suddenly care about where I was when you’re the one pushing me away? Mind you, you didn’t make any effort to ask me where I was all day anyways. My phones been on the whole day so don’t even make some excuse that you called or texted me and I didn’t respond. So don’t sit and fucking ask me if im kidding.”

He seemed surprised by your outburst. But oh you weren’t done with him. “I mean come on? ‘Are you kidding’ like do you hear yourself? Spencer I have been nothing but patient with you for the last what, 2 almost 3 months? What happened to the man who would throw blankets over barbed wire hmm? What happened to him? Because you’ve done nothing but avoid me and shut me out. You’ve barely spoken 5 whole sentences to me in the last 2 weeks! Two!”

Spencer interrupted you. “For the love of god can you stop talking!” Tears of frustration were falling down your face. “No! No you don’t get to do this to me. I have spent so long giving you nothing but love for you to turn around and shut me out completely. I’m practically begging for you to even pay attention to me for more than 3 seconds. So what is it hmm? Did I start taking up too much space and time in your life? Because clearly it’s not work. I’ve asked repeatedly if something had gone on that I didn’t know about and they said you were acting fine so what is it?”

He said nothing and you scoffed. You walked away and went into your shared bedroom before grabbing a suitcase and shoving clothes in. He followed in behind you, seeming panicked. “What are you doing? No no stop packing talk to me please.” You shook your head. “I did. You said nothing.” He shut your suitcase and spoke, his voice cracking. “Please we can talk about this.”

That only made you angrier. “Talk about this? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve had 3 months to talk to me about whatever’s bothering you and you still haven’t. I’ve tried my best I really have and that’s not enough for you apparently. I know you hear me crying at night. You’re a god damned profiler for crying out loud and you didn’t notice I’ve been trying to hold myself together in hopes you decide to care about me again?”

“I do care.” You opened back up your suitcase and stuffed in more clothes. “You didn’t think I’d leave? Spencer I love you but I’m not putting myself through this. When’s the last time you said that to me hmm?” He shamefully spoke. “2 months, 3 weeks and 5 days ago.” “Exactly my point.”

You went into the bathroom, Spencer pleading in the other room. You walked out with your stuff and put them in a backpack before gathering any other items you wanted to take with you. “I know my love should be celebrated. But all you do is sit there and tolerate it. I know I deserve better than to be shut out by you, I’ve tried my best to be patient, I really have. When you decide that you’re done dealing with whatever’s going on that you won’t tell me about, or you decide to let me back in call me. Otherwise don’t bother reaching out.”

“Where are you going?” He looked at you with tears in his eyes, voice shaking. “To stay with a friend. I love you Spencer, I really do. More than anything. But I won’t wait in this house any longer. Not when all you’ve done is shoot snarky comments at me when I’ve done nothing but care for you. I wont.”

You grabbed your bag and walked out the apartment. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you heard the door open back up. Not bothering to turn around. Spencer sat there and watched you walk into the elevator. A small whisper of his voice. “I’m sorry.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler angst #spencer reid #spencer reid taylor swift #tolerate it #evermore #taylor swift songfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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sandwichsapphic · 3 months ago

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mr jeeves is exploding him with his mind

#jeeves and wooster #i haven’t drawn any close ups like this in forever so it’s kind of. ugly #but i happen to know the author of the p&p fic i don’t think they’ll mind #bertie wooster #reginald jeeves #jooster #j&w #fanart #pg wodehouse #perfectly tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt ME #also you can visibly tell i got bored doing bertie’s clothes #that’s ok #redraw of shots from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film

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idksmtms · 2 months ago

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Tolerate It scratches my brain in a way nothing else has in a while. You are so talented thank you for blessing us with your work. I do have a question though so do you foresee reader supporting Rhaneyra’s claim or do you think she would side more with Alicent? Like would she stand by her sister because at the end of the day it’s her sister or would she see Alicent as her greatest support and gravitate towards her? I was also wondering about what reader and Rhaneyra’s relationship is like. Thank you again!!!

This might be the best compliment I have ever gotten. You absolute sweetheart Anon... I'm sending you all the love in my heart, all the love in the world, and will appreciate you until the day that I die. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Firstly, I love this question, you've made me think really hard, but I'll start by answering what reader and Rhaenyra's relationship is like. Be prepared for a long ass yap session.

Their relationship is very complex (as I feel all familial relationships are) but I would definitely not describe them as close. Their entire lives have been a constant series of things left unspoken to the point that they drifted apart and were never able to find each other again. I also think that being witness to the contentious relationship between Viserys and Daemon probably made them both subconsciously wary of having sibling relationships.

On top of that, the way I viewed Rhaenyra in season one was someone who is a little bit selfish (no shade, she was young and grew and bla bla bla) and I think this would also have a negative effect on her relationship with a sibling, especially a sister considering all the pressure there was for Viserys to have a son.

Aaaaand then, their mother died so the one tether that was probably holding them together was severed and they weren't really given the psychological tools to repair their relationship. Plus the dynamic they would probably have had with their parents, older being favoured versus younger being doted upon, which sister is generally considered more pretty, and the eventual focus on Rhaenyra as heir definitely didn't help.

In culmination, I find them to be fundamentally different people and there were instances in their lives in which they disagreed to the point of simply stepping away from each other and considering each other a sort of awkward acquaintance you are forced to like but don't know enough about to form a definitive opinion.

Ok, deciding on who reader would like to support is actually so difficult, and I think reader would feel the same way. And it's not just about her choosing between Alicent and Rhaenyra but choosing between convention versus change, choosing between siblings (because I thoroughly believe Reader views the TargTower children as an opportunity for her to actually have siblings she will love and dotes on them when they are babies).

So, I believe she would support Rhaenyra, but it would be a hugely difficult decision for her and here's why:

I think she would support Rhaenyra simply because Rhaenyra is her full sister and one of the canon values it seems in HOTD universe is family (obviously in different ways but still). She isn't close to Rhaenyra, frankly probably doesn't like her very much either, but Viserys named her heir and it is her duty to support Rhaenyra

She would support Rhaenyra because Daemon, her husband, supports Rhaenyra, and I see reader as someone who is too adherent to canon gender expectations and would support Rhaenyra simply because her husband chooses to and she must be in line with her husband.

I also think she would support Rhaenyra because she seems the lesser of two evils. While reader loves Alicent and her children, she is very observant and can see the flaws they all carry. She sees the power Otto wields over Alicent and his little machinations to get his descendants on the throne and simply his power-hungry behaviour and she does not like it. And though she loves her younger siblings, she sees how Alicent's neglect has turned them into people not fit to be making decisions for others. Aegon gets drunk all the time and is desperate for approval and wholly unsure of his own identity and place in the world. Helaena doesn't want to have anything to do with a life outside her dreams and bugs and would only be a queen in name through marriage or someone forcing it on her so they could use her as a figurehead and control everything behind the scenes. Aemond's seeming apathy and almost heartless quality doesn't sit right with her (especially as someone who puts kindness high on her list of desirable qualities) so he's out of contention as well. That really only leaves Rhaenyra as someone who would be the best of horrible options. (I also think she wouldn't mind Aegon as king but what she minds is all the people pulling the strings behind him and controlling him).

She is also a firm believer that Viserys would not have changed his mind because of how he began favouring Rhaenyra after she was named heir.

And in the end she values loyalty and commitment and the kingdom decided on Rhaenyra as heir, going back on their word is betrayal (and we know this hits a certain spot inside her...)

Sorry for the really long answer but I got way too into it!

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here-but-forgotten · 8 months ago

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tolerate losing me. /Valeria/wife!reader.

part one | fight. toxic yuri. emotional not goodness. mentions of infidelity. Alejandro mention. a bit toxic.

this was the only time you were wishing she would ignore you— ever intense eyes peering to meet yours. The kitchen light is off. They’re all off. And she stands there— the woman who used to make your heart flutter like a childhood crush, who pulled you from your pain like a savior, whose eyes used to soften when they met yours like a too perfect love novel,

“you’re losing me.”

You repeat, your eyes at the counter. Her hands resting on the counter. her body leaning forward. The counter separating the two of you. and it was still.

everything was. is. valeria. you. the night. the house. the house she tried to claim was a home. but it wasn’t still like water, not like a safely ignored puddle that floated little leaves like a lake, no. it is like a too-tight sweater that would choke you if you moved wrong, a mouthful off too much food that would choke you, water going down your throat wrong.

“I know, I never give you enough time,” Valeria starts— slow, poisonous, cold— “I know it’s always my fault.”

“I never said it was.”

“You don’t have to say it, you act like it. I know you act like this whole life I’ve given you has been a waste. I know all my time I gave you has been a waste in your eyes. I know I can’t do enough for you.” Snappy. Cruel.

“I know my pain is an imposition,” You murmur.

Your eyes stay on the stone.

“I’ve slaughtered men to give you this— do you think i’ll just let you leave?” her voice cracks, words too rushed to be confident.

“Maybe it would have been more efficient if you married them.”

She breathes in, a sort of shocked sound.

“You’re actually serious?”

“You’re just never here, and when you are, I feel like I’m just a burden, like a chore you don’t look forward to.”

“With you acting like this, you are.”

Your chest twists, like pulling your leg in the wrong direction.

“I wouldn’t have married me either,” You whisper, “And I wish you hadn’t.”

Still. Again. Air thick. Night dark. Eyes locked on stone like it would be something to save you, something to get you out.

You breathe in, a shaky breath, lip trembling,

“I know you don’t understand, and I don’t really expect you to anymore,” You try to keep your voice even, throat scratching.

“You’re right, I don’t understand how you’re acting like such a brat after what I’ve given you. I’ve given you everything you could have wanted— you have money, you’re safe, you can get whatever you want— and you still bitch and whine like I don’t do anything for you.”

Your lip wobbles.

“I just wanted you. I wanted to be yours, and I wanted you to be mine. I just wanted to be your equal. I gave you the best version of me. I tried,”

You breathe in deep, finally gazing at her hands,

“I tried to be your strongest, I tried to be the best little me, I tried to take up as little space, I tried to give you all my empathy,”

You shift on your feet; her empty ring finger is tapping impatiently on the counter,

“I know I loved you. And i convinced myself you loved me. But I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

“I’ve come back in fucking stitches for you.” She hissed, seething.

“Did you tell him that too?”

“I did that for my job—“

“But you lied about that too.”

“I love you and this is what I get,” Valeria lowers her voice, speaking through her teeth.

“How can you say you love me when you haven’t noticed anything wrong?” You ask, voice soft. Small.

That’s how she makes you feel. Made you feel. Small. She takes your being and she crumbles it down until she can fit you in her pocket and forget about you long enough to forget what’s digging into her skin.

“You’re always moody.”

“I mess up and I know that, I don’t know why you can’t admit you mess up sometimes too.”

“I’m not here long enough to need to do that.”

“I know.”

Your heartbeat is the only noise for a while. Beating in your ears. If you had counted the rhythm, maybe you would have known how much time had passed.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Valeria snaps, a little too quickly.

“Why were you with him? What about ‘work’ would need you to be with him?”

“There are things you don’t understand—“

“I fucking know that, that’s why I’m asking,” You snap, a little too quickly, the words leaving you before you had the chance to catch them.

Valeria stops. And normally you would pick your words back up, hide them again, try to tell her you didn’t mean it, yet,

“I don’t know anything about what you do. I know barely anymore about you. I know what you have crafted for me, but that’s it.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe, but if you want to get yourself killed—”

“—I don’t know how fucking your colonel is a part of that—”

“—Then i’ll let you do it.”

Her words fall into place in your head after a moment, your eyes stinging.

“What?”

Valeria is quiet.

“You want me to die?”

“No— I didn’t mean it like that—“

“How else do you mean that?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Why do you even keep me around then? Just to be convenient? Just to be able to have someone to talk at?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Do you just want a toy? To keep around?”

Valeria is quiet.

“You’re losing me and you don’t care to fight for it.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to say that, you act like it.“

Valeria is quiet.

You might just have dealt the final blow.

“I’m only here when you want it. Some days I get two sentences out of you before you go away again. If i’m lucky I get a ‘good night’. I’m lucky if I get to see you on the weekend. But I normally don’t.”

Valeria is quiet.

“You left your phone here. One of them.”

Valeria shifts.

“You seem to be able to talk to everyone except me.”

“It’s not like that—“

“I don’t know how flirting with a man you’re not married to, who is your superior, who you’ve apparently known your whole life, how fucking a man you’re not married to because you asked him to, isn’t like that.”

“Why would you invade my space like that?”

“It’s not invading when you’ve given me explicit permission. I suppose I just found the one that was the worst to find.”

She shifts again, turning away from the counter.

“It was for work.”

Her voice is finally soft. Not commanding. Not booming. Not snapping.

“You can flirt for work but ignore your wife for years?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“What would you call it then? Not paying me any attention no matter how much I reach for you, no matter how much I beg, no matter how much I strip myself back into the most raw, vulnerable pieces of me, no matter what I do not being good enough for you— what else is that?”

“It’s ignoring you.”

That’s an argument you wish you hadn’t won.

“I knew you had a couple of phones, for work,” you start, moving away from the counter, “But I didn’t know about that grey one.”

Valeria goes still.

“Who is Judith?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m not too scared. You’ve already killed me.”

Valeria sighs.

“She has nice tits but she’s not who you’re married to. Unless this whole ‘married’ thing was a lie. I might believe you if it was.”

Valeria is quiet.

“Please just fucking say something.”

“I loved you.”

You nod, to yourself. She isn’t looking at you.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to keep around. But I wish you had let me go sooner.”

“you were enough.”

Your lip trembles. Again.

“I don’t believe many of the words coming out of your mouth anymore.”

“Did you tell Alejandro?”

“Who?”

She sighs.

“The man.”

“I wouldn’t know his name. I just found out about it.”

She sighs.

“I don’t appreciate the accusation but, I suppose that type of thing doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I know I talk to you everyday like you need but I do care about you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” You murmur, soft, “I don’t need everyday, I just needed more than twice a month when you’re horny.”

She scoffs, but doesn’t say anything.

Valeria is quiet.

You are quiet.

The house is quiet.

“I need to go out,” Valeria finally says, moving towards the door, “I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone.”

“I’m used to it.”

“I don’t need your snark.”

“That wasn’t snark.”

She stops for a moment, pulling something out of her pocket, resting it on the counter with a soft clink.

“You… I want you to keep this place,” She whispers, her voice wobbling, “And you can burn all my shit. I won’t come back… if you don’t want me to.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” Her voice turns towards you, your eyes lost in a corner of the room, “I get ‘okay’?”

“I’ve already done a lot of talking.”

She pauses.

“I suppose you have.”

She steps, pulling the door open silently, slamming it behind her.

A pot on the wall jumps, hitting the wall.

And the house is quiet.

And your heartbeat has softened.

And it is quiet, as usual, but there’s a weight lifted.

You move, walking through the house silently—

“Burn all my shit— you already took it,” You murmur to yourself, finally turning on a light, warm light filling the room. There was nothing of hers left. Nothing that mattered. A pair of socks. An undershirt. A receipt. One of her burner phones. Moving without thought, you pick the phone up; caller id’s in Spanish or code, nothing particular sticking out, only that the man seemed to have had the same fight you just did. There’s a couple of angry voice mails. In Spanish. A mans voice. You hear the name Valeria but don’t listen too hard. A lot of aggressive “¿Que?”’s thrown in there. You put the phone down, looking at the rather dumb caller I.D. “CAV”. One word. All caps.

But you listen. You throw the clothes outside. You throw the receipt in the trash. But you keep that phone. And you watch it. And the pain sets into your chest— hollow and painful, twisting, like an open gash where the blood is only making it worse.

The phone is in terrible condition. Looks like it went through war. The screen is partially shattered, only being held together with a screen protector and a layer of clear tape. Dust. Gun powder, probably.

I don’t know why there would be gun powder. She didn’t make her own bullets. She never filled her own cartridges

You adjust, a moment of.. calm, taking over your mind. Finally. After so long. Just calm. No nagging. No words echoing. Just quiet in your head.

Why would she take her phone into active areas? Can’t you easily track a phone?

You watch the phone, opening it again, the settings set for most tracking permissions.

That’s a stupid decision. A deadly one, really.

You place the phone down. The screen lights up.

I.D.- CAV.

#valeria garza x reader #valeria cod #angst #valeria mw2 #valeria x reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza #valeria call of duty #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod #these have been my vent fics #and yes CAV is colonel alejandro vargas #tolerate it.

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gothamite-rambler · 9 days ago

Text

Roy stood anxiously in front of Jason, who was seated in on the floor of his apartment with a sewing kit and a wine glass. Jason maintained focus while carefully stitching a stab wound on his hip.

Roy: Jason, I’m begging you, go to a doctor!

Jason (not looking up): I’m sorry, is this our stab wound? No? So stay out of it.

He grabbed a bottle of Neosporin spray and haphazardly sprayed it on his wound, letting out a scream of pain for a few seconds before stopping. He cleared his throat and takes a casual sip of wine.

Jason (calmly): We should get wings tonight.

Roy (horrified): You and your family scare me.

Jason: I’m sorry, do I need heroin to heal the wound?

Roy crossed his arms and turned his back to Jason in frustration. Jason smirked as he applied a bandage to his wound.

Jason: I love our dynamic.

Roy: Mm-hm, and if we get wings, we’re getting them delivered. You’re not going out with an obvious wound.

Jason rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed by Roy's concerns.

Jason: Whatever you say, sweetie.

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anonymityisfunwriter · 8 months ago

Note

It's me, hi, I'm surprised you haven't written a fic inspired by "Tolerate It" yet, it's me.

it's me, hi! will you guys ever get tired of my scheming bc i'm honestly so surprised, too! seeing tolerate it live was life changing and i'm not even being dramatic about it. but i think everyone agrees, it needed to be done (okay, i promise i'm done with the anti hero references). it must be exhausting always rooting for this author (okay, now i'm done) thank you for the ask and i hope you enjoy! 💛

tolerate it.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader summary: you tolerate his faithless love as much as he tolerates you.

Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

you sit and watch him. he reads with his head low, you're almost positive he doesn't even realize you're here.

you're a ghost to him.

he sees right through you.

you lift your hand to the flickering chandelier hanging above the table. you half expect to see right through your skin. all you see is his mother's ring, the ring that promised forever and always. it never once occurred to you that forever would look like this.

you look to the mirror behind bucky. you touch your cheek. you feel the warmth of your cheeks. you see the flush of your flesh in the dim light. you're still there. you're not a ghost. so why does it feel like you're haunting him?

you weren't sure when it happened. how it happened. from one day to the next. or a slow trickle as his cup ran over. perhaps a bursting dam.

your forever didn't always look like this. you were sure of it. this wasn't the man you made your mural, your temple, your sky. this wasn't the man you built your life around.

he's perfect for you. he was perfect for you. in a world of boys, he was the gentleman you yearned for.

he took you away from it all. he laid blankets over your barbed wire. he pulled you closer to him even at your worst. he was your fairytale ending. you were so sure of it.

he loved you. he loves you, you correct yourself.

you tried to be as perfect as he was. as he is, you correct yourself again, as perfect as he is.

you polish plates until they shine like his eyes once did. you lay the table with your fanciest plates each and every night. you wait by the door for him every night, you don't mind if he's an hour or three late, you greet him with a battle hero's welcome either way.

you look at his dinner plate, nearly finished with his meal. you look down at yours, you've barely touched any of your meal. he doesn't notice. your untouched meal. the fancy plates. the plate settings. the candles you light for him each and every night. the dinner you spent hours on.

he used to love it. he used to tell you how much he loved the home you built from an empty, withered house.

he used to love you, too.

"what would you do?" you ask in a breathless whisper.

he finally looks up at you, "huh?"

"if i wasn’t here," you calmly muse, swiping your wine off the table. "if i didn’t wait on you hand and foot. if i didn’t lay the table with the fancy shit each and every night. if i set myself free."

"i could do it, you know? i could do it!" you angrily cry, the frustration of a lifetime of being tolerate bursts forth. you stand up, your chair smacking the wall behind you, smashing your wedding china on the ground as your chest heaves with desperation. you trail around the table, lowering yourself to his eye level, "i could leave you and find someone who does more than tolerate me! i bear the weight of you, the weight of us, i could lose it! i can!"

he sits there, gaping at you.

"tell me... tell me it's in my head," your voice softens, your anger melting into desperate pleas to him, "tell me that we can fix this. tell me you love me."

but you don't say any of that.

after all, it's all in your head.

you've got it all wrong. he loves you. he'll love you night after night. and you'll sit and watch him night after night. this is your forever. he is your forever. he is your mural, your temple, your sky.

you'll use your best colors for his portrait for the rest of your life. you'll never allow yourself to see him as anything other than your savior. he'll be nothing less than the man you worship. you'll never be left empty as long as you hold on to your blind faith. your own personal false god.

you clear your throat, smiling in a chagrined, loving manner, "i said, how did you like dinner?"

"it was fine."

and you do. you'll sit before him, wondering how he can't see you breaking before him.

you tolerate it as much as he tolerates you.

that's all you do. it's all you can do.

you sit and watch him.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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