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Nope. Nope. I'm not writing that Dean/Cas fic I never finished. Not today, Supernatural. Not fucking today.
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I give up on real proper literature for a while. This shit, coupled with my quarter-life crisis, is stressing me out.
Instead I'm going to try to finish the Phil Coulson Roadtrip Story of Destiny and this fic about making your bondage fantasies work when your boyfriend has super strength. I think I'm going to call it "How to Train Your Super-Soldier ( Read more... ) -
Steve Rogers/Tony Stark: Status quo
The way Steve Rogers smiled always made Tony Stark nervous.
There was something so sad about it, practiced over and over for news reels and stage shows and war bond posters, trading cards and lunch boxes. (Tony knew that, because he had a few of those trading cards and lunch boxes back in the day, much to Howard’s pained displeasure, but he would ( Read more... ) -
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I got this text from my girlfriend tonight just after I got off work:
Someone just dramatically read some of your Tony/Steve fic at this Halloween party.
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Me: You know, that fic was about to get really dark originally. We were about to go into full-blown, Gary Mitchell-esque shame-spiraling here. Luckily I reeled it back in at the last minute and ended it with Tony and Steve being in love and shit.
My girlfriend: I'M SO GLAD YOU DID, JESUS CHRIST. I CAN'T HANDLE THAT. YOUR THREESOME STORIES MAKE ME ( Read more... ) -
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I'm legit lolling so hard over people who are honestly concerned about The Winter Soldier ruining their ships. Girl, please. I've said it all summer, and I'll say it again: There ain't nothin' a threesome can't fix.
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“So, I’m kind of dating Captain America,” Tony announced one Tuesday night in the lab, over a scatter of project files and Chinese take-out boxes. After four months of changing the subject and not-talking about Steve, it felt alarmingly good to blurt it out for once. “Just, you know, in the spirit of full-disclosure.”
From his seat on the other side ( Read more... ) -
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I.
It’s the summer of ’34 and even after dark the heat still sticks under their clothes. Steve is sixteen when Bucky first asks him, fingers already slick with spit, if Steve trusts him. With his shirt pulled up and Bucky’s hands at his belt buckle, it’s not much of a question but Steve still nods with conviction and takes a deep breath. They’ve ( Read more... )
