#National Medal of Honor Day
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03/25/2024 is Holi 🌎, Freedom Day 🇧🇾, National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day 🌎, Dante Day 🇮🇹, National Waffle Day 🇸🇪, National Lobster Newburg Day 🦞🇺🇸, National Medal of Honor Day 🇺🇸, National Tolkien Reading Day 🇺🇸, Slavery Remembrance Day 🇺🇳, Detained Staff Day 🇺🇳
#holicelebration#freedom day#national cerebral palsy awareness day#dante day#national waffle day#national lobster newburg day#national medal of honor day#national tolkien reading day#slavery remembrance day#detained staff day
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The Valor Beyond Measure: A Comprehensive History of the Medal of Honor
The Medal of Honor stands as a beacon of valor and gallantry, embodying the highest ideals of service and sacrifice in the American military tradition. From its inception during the tumultuous years of the Civil War, it has been a symbol of the extraordinary courage and selflessness exhibited by its recipients. The origins of the Medal of Honor trace back to a legislative act introduced by Iowa…
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Marine Corps and Navy emblems adorn several panels at the Iwo Jima display in the National Museum of the Marine Corps. Each emblem represents a serviceman who lost their life during the battle.
March 26, 1945, marked the end of the 36-day long battle that resulted in over 26,000 American casualties, including 6,800 killed in action.
The battle for Iwo Jima also saw 27 Medals of Honor awarded to Marine and Navy personnel for gallantry above and beyond the call of duty.
#iwo jima#wwii#world war 2#usmc#us marines#us navy#usn#marine museum#eagle globe and anchor#miltary#history#museum#my photography
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IT'S TIME TO CELEBRATE! KING OF BABYGIRLS IS CHOSEN!
Let me contribute to this competition. As one of the people whose brain was rotten and taken over, let me be the (self-proclaimed) herald of victory.
First, a little kiss for Zagan, Sitri and Foras just because I’m biased and want to kiss my personal babygirls. Also, a huge kiss and a basket of delicacies served by the maids for Amon, and a salute to his nation. We carried out your will, my lord.
Now it's time to recognize everyone who deserves it! After hard battles and bloody fights, let's meet our winners.
Paimon stans, it was an honor to fight with you. Therefore, despite the lack of a podium, you deserve to be honorably mentioned.
Special mention - Paimon
"4th place? What a shaaaame." Paimon leaned in when you said you wanted to put an honorary sticker on his horn. "I'd rather keep it foreeever. Now I have to be caaareful when I wash my haaair! Maybe you can heeelp meee~"
It is true that the inhabitants of Hades are immortally loyal to their beautiful king. No wonder he is on the podium with us.
3th place - Leviathan
You give him a medal, definitely not saying he took third place, unless you want to hang from the ceiling and watch other competitors being hunted down by unspeakable horrors. “You called me what? What a ridiculous idea.” But obviously he likes it and hopes that in addition to a medal, the winner will also receive a kiss. At least.
One of the favorites from the very beginning. Deservedly, Eligos, one of the cutest devils, takes second place.
2nd place - Eligos
“Ohh, only second place?” You almost can't stand his eyes of a kicked kitten, so you gently pat his head and stroke soft hairs. His mood immediately improves, and he catches your hand with a sweet, mischievous smile. "Come on, you have to reward me now." A whole day of cuddles, shopping, eating and your undivided attention awaits!
And, at last. Kneels down. Allow me to pay tribute to our lord and ruler, the one and only sitting on the throne.
1st place - Andrealphus
You caught him off guard. He was playing with his phone, lying in bed, long hair untied and spread picturesquely on the sheets, T-shirt lifted over a chiseled stomach. You rarely saw this beautiful, lazy side of him, and almost forgot what you came for.
“I have a surprise for you, my king.”
He turned to you. Not that he has to, because he couldn't see you anyway, and yet always tried to face you.
“Me?”
“Let me serve you, as you shall sit on your throne.”
He raised an eyebrow in amusement and got up, but didn’t ask. Silky hair got tangled in the horns, so you parted it gently and placed on his back. Each time you scratched him a little harder. First between the shoulders, then you ran your fingers over the muscles that you couldn't see through the material, but felt under your palm.
"We had a little competition." You finally sat down on his lap so he could touch your face, feel your smile under his fingers. “Who among you, devil nobles and kings, is the greatest babygirl. It was a vote, several rounds, like a full-fledged cup. Hundreds of people took part!”
“Sounds like fun.”
“And you won.”
His facial expression didn't change for a bit.
“I what?”
“You won! We voted and cheered and were with you every round. Congratulations!”
You kissed him, but he needed another second to process what he heard. His eyes widened, and his fingers twitched on your face. He cupped your cheeks, stroking your lips and eyes with his thumbs, checking to see if you were joking.
“How? You said it was hundreds of people. We have never met.”
“But they know you in their own way. You're intelligent, kind and gentle… and you know what? Let's let all those who love you have their say. ”
You started reading comments, hashtags, and all the happy nonsense you produced during this time. At first, he couldn't believe it, but you wouldn't lie to him. He hugged you tightly as you scrolled through Tumblr. You were having such a great time, and he felt the warmth spreading more and more inside him. So many people. So many kind words. He, who never had family nor friends, who was not used to closeness, always lonely, always depressed, listened to so many praises and admiration about himself.
He was grateful that you included him in the vote. Victory? He would never have thought of it. So many people were with him. So many people loved him. He never knew them, never would, but he wanted to say thanks, to touch and know their faces, to hug each and any of them. All the emotions bottled inside felt down with tears of joy.
“I would like to repay all of you somehow.” His voice became hoarse with emotions.
Another kiss landed on his lips, as you brushed away long hair that had fallen onto his handsome face.
“Do not even think about it. It's our way of saying thank you for who you are. And that's all we want you to do for us. Just be, and be yourself.”
#whb#what in hell is bad#whb andrealphus#whb paimon#whb leviathan#whb eligos#whb most babygirl polls#yes I had it prepared beforehand and you see it only because Andrea won#long live the king!#it was so fun tho op had such a great idea
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THURSDAY HERO: Gino Bartali
Born in a small town near Florence in 1914, Gino grew up extremely poor. He escaped his difficult life by riding his bike from dusk until dawn around the hills of Tuscany. Building up exceptional strength and endurance, Gino started competing and winning races. Only a few years after his first race, he went professional. By the early 1930’s, Gino was a household name throughout Italy. Everywhere he went he was mobbed by fans. When he won the Tour de France in 1938, at age 24, Gino was hailed as the “King of Cycling.”
Gino wasn’t able to defend his title at the 1939 Tour because of worsening relations between Italy and France. He was drafted into the army and worked as a military bike messenger. In 1943, Germany invaded Italy and immediately began rounding up and deporting Italian Jews. A friend of Gino’s asked him to help save their Jewish brethren. Though married and with a young son, Gino did not hesitate. He immediately committed to doing whatever he could to save lives, whatever the risk.
Gino sheltered a local Jewish family in an apartment he bought with cycling money. He then embarked on a dangerous mission smuggling fake identity papers around Tuscany and Umbria, enabling Jews to assume false identities and escape deportation. Using his training routes between Florence and Assisi, Gino made 30-40 trips, saving at least 800 Italian Jews. He carried exit visas in his bicycle frame. Wherever he went, Gino was surrounded by fans, preventing German policemen from looking too closely at what he was doing. On the few occasions he was stopped and searched, Gino insisted that his specially-made bike was too delicate to be touched. A devout Catholic, Gino often traveled from Florence to Assisi and back in one day – a 200 km trip. In Assisi, Catholic clergy ran an underground railroad to hide Jews and provided them with Gino’s fake identity documents.
Gino was extremely modest and rarely spoke about his wartime heroism. He once told his son, “If you’re good at a sport, they attach the medals to your shirts and then they shine in a museum. That which is earned by doing good deeds is attached to the soul and shines elsewhere.” It wasn’t until after his death in 2000 that his family began speaking publicly about what Gino had done. In 2013, Gino was honored by Israeli Holocaust Museum Yad Vashem as “Righteous Among the Nations.”
For using his talent and fame to save hundreds of lives, we honor Gino Bartali as this week’s Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist.
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if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)
San Diego, California. November 2016.
It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)
The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.
It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.
It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.
He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.
He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.
“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”
Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.
He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.
“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.
“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.
“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”
Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”
Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”
“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”
“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”
Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.
“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”
Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”
“Yeah.”
They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.
“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”
It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”
“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”
“It makes sense.”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”
“Pretty fucking defeatist.”
Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.
Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”
“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”
Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.
Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”
“Bradshaw?”
“Who else?”
Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”
“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.
Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”
“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”
“But you lived.”
“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”
“He was a hero.”
“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”
“What, falling in love with heroes?”
“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”
“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”
Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”
There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.
When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.
Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.
He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.
#major character death#death#pete maverick mitchell#tom iceman kazansky#top gun maverick#top gun#icemav#top gun fanfiction#asks#sorry to start out my prompt fills with maybe the most soulcrushing thing ive ever written#ngl writing this yesterday fucked me up hard#sorry to sneak more pro-brandon propaganda in here but the parallel was too good to pass up#rip beau biden i guess#forgot to tag:#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin#hangster#soundtrack for this one is Judy collins’ send in the clowns
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HARRY BELAFONTE (1927- Died April 25th 2023,at 96.Congestive Heart failure). American singer, activist, and actor. As arguably the most successful Caribbean-American pop star, he popularized Jamaican mento folk songs which was marketed as Trinbagonian Calypso musical style with an international audience in the 1950s. His breakthrough album Calypso (1956) was the first million-selling LP by a single artist.Belafonte was best known for his recordings of "The Banana Boat Song", with its signature "Day-O" lyric, "Jump in the Line", and "Jamaica Farewell". He recorded and performed in many genres, including blues, folk, gospel, show tunes, and American standards. He also starred in several films, including Carmen Jones (1954), Island in the Sun (1957), and Odds Against Tomorrow (1959). Belafonte won three Grammy Awards (including a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award), an Emmy Award,and a Tony Award. In 1989, he received the Kennedy Center Honors. He was awarded the National Medal of Arts in 1994. In 2014, he received the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award at the Academy's 6th Annual Governors Awards and in 2022 was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in the Early Influence category and was the oldest living person to have received the honour. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Belafonte
#Harry Belafonte#American Singers#American Musicians#American Civil Rights Activists#American Actors#Actors#Civil Rights Activists#Musicians#Calypso music#Notable Deaths in 2023#Notable Deaths in April 2023
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denisewhite_eag This is much larger than an award on a stage. I have watched Christen Press fight this fight of gender equality and equal pay for almost as long as I have been working for her , which is near a decade. I have watched the countless hours , the fight , the long days , hard conversations , all while playing at a level that brought her two National Championships and a Bronze Medal at the Olympics ..The unwillingness to never give up in something she believes in . You all got to witness Christen Press and her teammates be awarded the honor of the Arthur Ashe Courage Award at the ESPYs but that moment was much bigger of a moment to me . A culmination of so much more .A moment rightfully deserved but the hard work to get there is what I'm most proud of her for . I'm beyond proud. This is why I love my job . The impact she has made on the history of women's sports is game changing ! Congrats to my ⭐️. Only you know just how proud I am .
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Black women have made important contributions to the United States throughout its history. However, they are not always recognized for their efforts, with some remaining anonymous and others becoming famous for their achievements. In the face of gender and racial bias, Black women have broken barriers, challenged the status quo, and fought for equal rights for all. The accomplishments of Black female historical figures in politics, science, the arts, and more continue to impact society.
Marian Anderson (Feb. 27, 1897–April 8, 1993)
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Contralto Marian Anderson is considered one of the most important singers of the 20th century. Known for her impressive three-octave vocal range, she performed widely in the U.S. and Europe, beginning in the 1920s. She was invited to perform at the White House for President Franklin Roosevelt and First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt in 1936, the first African American so honored. Three years later, after the Daughters of the American Revolution refused to allow Anderson to sing at a Washington, D.C. gathering, the Roosevelts invited her to perform on the steps of the Lincon Memorial.
Anderson continued to sing professionally until the 1960s when she became involved in politics and civil rights issues. Among her many honors, Anderson received the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1963 and a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1991.
Mary McLeod Bethune (July 10, 1875–May 18, 1955)
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Mary McLeod Bethune was an African American educator and civil rights leader best known for her work co-founding the Bethune-Cookman University in Florida. Born into a sharecropping family in South Carolina, the young Bethune had a zest for learning from her earliest days. After stints teaching in Georgia, she and her husband moved to Florida and eventually settled in Jacksonville. There, she founded the Daytona Normal and Industrial Institute in 1904 to provide education for Black girls. It merged with the Cookman Institute for Men in 1923, and Bethune served as president for the next two decades.
A passionate philanthropist, Bethune also led civil rights organizations and advised Presidents Calvin Coolidge, Herbert Hoover, and Franklin Roosevelt on African American issues. In addition, President Harry Truman invited her to attend the founding convention of the United Nations; she was the only African American delegate to attend.
Shirley Chisholm (Nov. 30, 1924–Jan. 1, 2005)
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Shirley Chisholm is best known for her 1972 bid to win the Democratic presidential nomination; she was the first Black woman to make this attempt in a major political party. However, she had been active in state and national politics for more than a decade and had represented parts of Brooklyn in the New York State Assembly from 1965 to 1968. She became the first Black woman to serve in Congress in 1968. During her tenure, she co-founded the Congressional Black Caucus. Chisholm left Washington in 1983 and devoted the rest of her life to civil rights and women's issues.
Althea Gibson (Aug. 25, 1927–Sept. 28, 2003)
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Althea Gibson started playing tennis as a child in New York City, winning her first tennis tournament at age 15. She dominated the American Tennis Association circuit, reserved for Black players, for more than a decade. In 1950, Gibson broke the tennis color barrier at Forest Hills Country Club (site of the U.S. Open); the following year, she became the first African American to play at Wimbledon in Great Britain. Gibson continued to excel at the sport, winning both amateur and professional titles through the early 1960s.
Dorothy Height (March 24, 1912–April 20, 2010)
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Dorothy Height has been described as the godmother of the women's movement because of her work for gender equality. For four decades, she led the National Council of Negro Women (NCNW )and was a leading figure in the 1963 March on Washington. Height began her career as an educator in New York City, where her work caught the attention of Eleanor Roosevelt. Beginning in 1957, she led the NCNW and also advised the Young Women's Christian Association (YWCA). She received the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1994.
Rosa Parks (Feb. 4, 1913–Oct. 24, 2005)
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Rosa Parks became active in the Alabama civil rights movement after marrying activist Raymond Parks in 1932. She joined the Montgomery, Alabama, chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in 1943 and was involved in much of the planning that went into the famous bus boycott that began the following decade. Parks is best known for her December 1, 1955, arrest for refusing to give up her bus seat to a White rider. That incident sparked the 381-day Montgomery Bus Boycott, which eventually desegregated that city's public transit. Parks and her family moved to Detroit in 1957, and she remained active in civil rights until her death.
Augusta Savage (Feb. 29, 1892–March 26, 1962)
Archive Photos / Sherman Oaks Antique Mall / Getty Images
Augusta Savage displayed an artistic aptitude from her youngest days. Encouraged to develop her talent, she enrolled in New York City's Cooper Union to study art. She earned her first commission, a sculpture of civil rights leader W.E.B. Du Bois, from the New York library system in 1921, and several other commissions followed. Despite meager resources, she continued working through the Great Depression, making sculptures of several notable Black people, including Frederick Douglass and W. C. Handy. Her best-known work, "The Harp," was featured at the 1939 World's Fair in New York, but it was destroyed after the fair ended.
Harriet Tubman (1822–March 20, 1913)
Library of Congress
Enslaved from birth in Maryland, Harriet Tubman escaped to freedom in 1849. The year after she arrived in Philadelphia, Tubman returned to Maryland to free her family members. Over the next 12 years, she returned nearly 20 times, helping more than 300 enslaved Black people escape bondage by ushering them along the Underground Railroad. The "railroad" was the nickname for a secret route that enslaved Black people used to flee the South for anti-slavery states in the North and to Canada. During the Civil War, Tubman worked as a nurse, a scout, and a spy for Union forces. After the war, she worked to establish schools for formerly enslaved people in South Carolina. In her later years, Tubman also became involved in women's rights causes.
Phillis Wheatley (May 8, 1753–Dec. 5, 1784)
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Born in Africa, Phillis Wheatley came to the U.S. at age 8, when she was captured and sold into enslavement. John Wheatley, the Boston man who enslaved her, was impressed by Phillis' intellect and interest in learning, and he and his wife taught her to read and write. The Wheatleys allowed Phillis time to pursue her studies, which led her to develop an interest in poetry writing. A poem she published in 1767 earned her much acclaim. Six years later, her first volume of poems was published in London, and she became known in both the U.S. and the United Kingdom. The Revolutionary War disrupted Wheatley's writing, however, and she was not widely published after it ended.
Charlotte Ray (Jan. 13, 1850–Jan. 4, 1911)
Charlotte Ray has the distinction of being the first African American woman lawyer in the United States and the first woman admitted to the bar in the District of Columbia. Her father, active in New York City's Black community, made sure his young daughter was well educated; she received her law degree from Howard University in 1872 and was admitted to the Washington, D.C., bar shortly afterward. Both her race and gender proved to be obstacles in her professional career, and she eventually became a teacher in New York City instead.
#10 of the Most Important Black Women in U.S. History#Black Women#Black Women Matter#Black Lives Matter#us history
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3/25/2023 is Freedom Day 🇧🇾, Earth Hour 🌏, National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day 🌏, Dante Day 🇮🇹, National Waffle Day 🇸🇪, National Lobster Newburg Day 🦞🇺🇲, National Medal of Honor Day 🇺🇲, National Tolkien Reading Day 🇺🇲, Slavery Remembrance Day 🇺🇳, Detained Staff Day 🇺🇳
#freedom day#earth hour#national cerebral palsy awareness day#dante day#national waffle day#national lobster newburg day#national medal of honor day#national tolkien reading day#slavery remembrance day#detained staff day
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Mourning
Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader
Summary: The funeral of Dominik Vertov...
Ravka was in mourning. It was King Nikolai’s first decree after his coronation: the nation would observe two weeks of mourning for those lost during the Civil War. His second decree was that Commander Dominik Vertov would receive a state funeral. If not for Dominik and his sanctuary, the war would have been lost, and countless lives along with it. He was a hero, deserving of every honor, but beyond that he’d been Nikolai’s best friend, and the young King wanted to honor him however he could.
In the immediate aftermath of the war, Nikolai put on a mask. He had to be strong, he had to be decisive, he had to be brave. He oversaw the royal family’s–which consisted of himself and you, his Queen, now–return to Os Alta, he assembled his council, he signed pardon after pardon after pardon: all with his usual confidence, swagger, and smirk. But it was when he was alone, with you, that he crumbled.
No one saw how Nikolai shattered after Dominik’s death, how he clung to you and sobbed, how he was torn from sleep, the sight of his dearest friend dying in his arms haunting his dreams. There were the other nightmares too: of you dying, bleeding out, being torn apart by nichevo’ya, but as the day of Dominik’s funeral approached, the First Army Commander was heavy on the young King’s mind.
When Nikolai woke, he burrowed his way into your arms, wishing he could shut the world out. But you pressed a kiss to his forehead and coaxed him from your embrace. “Come on, my love,” you said. “I’ve got you.” Your maids and your husband’s valet entered soon after, assisting the two of you to prepare for the funeral. Your gown was simple: flowing layers of black silk and taffeta with sleeves that fell to your wrists. Elegant enough to denote your status as Queen, but plain enough for the occasion.
Nikolai wore an all black military dress uniform, the only denotation of his royal status the pale blue sash over his shoulder. He wore no crown, no medals, the only metal being his wedding band. When your maids and your husband’s valet left, you came to his side, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder. Nikolai sighed, resting his hands atop yours.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he said, and you kissed his jaw. “You can, Nikolai. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” You knew there was little you could say to comfort your husband right now, but having you with him was more comforting than any words could be.” Nikolai turned in your arms, pulling you close, and you held him tightly, swaying side to side gently. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesties,” came the voice of one of your guards. “The procession is about to begin.”
Dominik was being laid to rest in an oak wood casket draped with the Ravkan flag. Arrangements of flowers laid atop it: from his mother, his brother, and from Nikolai himself. The casket would be carried through the streets of Os Alta on an open carriage pulled by four black stallions. His family would walk behind: his mother and brothers, and behind them, Nikolai and yourself. You watched as your husband greeted Dominik’s mother and brothers, watched as the composure he fought so hard to maintain slipped a bit.
You took your place behind Dominik’s family, reaching for Nikolai’s hand. “I’m right beside you,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m always right beside you.” Your husband only nodded, but squeezed your hand back. With a striking drumbeat, the procession began, winding through the streets of the capital towards the chapel Dominik’s family had attended for years.
You knew that you should drop Nikolai’s hand, that protocol dictated that you walk a step or two behind him, but you would do no such thing, not when he needed you. And Nikolai did need you; he needed your resolve, your strength, your iron will, he needed his wife. His tears flowed freely now, and he no longer cared if anyone saw. His best friend was in a casket in front of him, he’d died a brutal death, a hero’s death, but brutal nontheless. Nikolai would cry if he felt like it.
People lined the street, gathered to pay their respects. Some crossed themselves as the procession passed, others bowed their heads, others saluted. Nikolai forced himself to keep his eyes forward, fixed on the back of Dominik’s mother’s head. You kept your grip on his hand, squeezing every so often, letting him know you were there. When you arrived at the chapel, you took your husband’s arm, kissing his cheek.
“You’re doing wonderfully, my love,” you said, and Nikolai nodded, clearing his throat. “If you don’t want to speak, I’m sure tha–” “No,” he said, voice rough. “I want to, I need to. For Dominik.” “Alright.” The casket was brought into the chapel and the guests followed: members of Dominik’s unit, the Grisha Triumvirate, the Generals of the First Army. It was a small service, at his mother’s request. Nikolai would give his late friend every honor, every piece of pageantry he could, but his family held the final say.
The pastor began the service, praying to the Saints to see their fallen soldier safely home, blessing Dominik’s family, praying for their peace, before calling on Nikolai. “And now, His Most Royal Majesty, King Nikolai, will deliver the eulogy.” You squeezed your husband’s hand once more as he stood, taking his place behind the pulpit. He despised the use of his title, he felt like the farthest thing from a King today–he was a man mourning his best friend.
Nikolai cleared his throat, resting his hands atop the lectern. “Dominik Vertov was a brave and valiant soldier,” he said, his voice trembling. “He was a just and fair man, and a kind and loyal friend. I first met Dominik when we were nine years old. I was a tyrant to my tutors, as difficult as that is to imagine–” the assembled guests chuckled, and Nikolai continued. “And Dominik was brought in in an attempt to rein me in.
“Suffice to say, it worked. From that moment on, Dominik and I were as thick as thieves. He was at my side when I took my first bullet, he had to drag me to the Healer’s tent, as a matter of fact. But the second he knew I was in good hands, he was back on that field, fighting. That was Dominik, always fighting for what was right, for what he believed in. To the very end, he fought, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
“Which is why, for his service to the Crown, to his King and Country, I posthumously award Dominik Vertov the Eagle’s Medal, the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a civilian. Taisiya, I know this can in no way make up for the loss of your son, but your family will also receive 20,000 valyuta each month to ensure you are provided for.” Taisiya, Dominik’s mother, dissolved into sobs, thanking Nikolai with every breath.
Your husband’s composure was slipping, and when he stepped from behind the pulpit to present Taisiya with the medal, he broke. For several moments, Nikolai knelt before Dominik’s family, clasping their hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. You rose from your seat and moved to him, resting your hand on his shoulder. Nikolai bent his head, his shoulders shaking, and he reached up to cover your hand with his own. After a moment, he rose, bowing his head to Taisiya and her sons, and followed you back to your seats.
When the service ended, a coach took you and your husband to the cemetery, where Dominik was laid to rest. Nikolai held tightly to your hand, his head on your shoulder, as his friend was lowered into the ground, as Taisiya wailed over his grave. He approached when the cemetery was empty, save for your guards, laying a rose on the freshly tilled soil. “Thank you for saving my ass, Dominik,” he said, a tearful smile on his face. “I love you, brother.”
On the ride back to the Palace, Nikolai laid with his head in your lap, hands fisted in your skirts. You carded a hand through his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp. “I love you,” you said, resting your opposite hand on your husband’s back. “I love you, my Nikolai. I’m here.” He shattered then, sobbing openly, not holding back. You only cooed softly, running your hand up and down his back, assuring him that you were there.
#nikolai lantsov x reader#shadow and bone fanfiction#nikolai lantsov x you#shadow and bone reader insert
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The Senses of Steve
Taste
Series masterlist
Previous part: Smell
Summary: With no one around, and nothing but a head massage to occupy your mind, you finally felt like you knew where you belonged.
Word count: 14,580
Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.
Authors note: Hi besties! We’ve finally made it to the end :,) this chapter is currently un-edited because I wanted to push it out without you guys having to wait another day. I’ll be back to edit it and add proper content warnings tomorrow. Thank you for all your love and support on the series and dealing with the mistakes if you’re seeing this before the edit. I appreciate you all sm <3
"Here!" Steve announced as he walked into the room and placed a glass of freshly made iced coffee onto your vanity from behind you. "Drink this, coffee usually relaxes you, right?"
Your hair was up in a high messy bun and your makeup was only halfway done. You definitely looked a little crazy, but you kept telling yourself to trust the process. At some point you'd look like the best version of yourself, but right now... "Thank you, Baby." You smiled, dropping your eyeshadow brush from your hand to pick up the coffee.
He was right, vanilla cold brew was one of the most comforting tastes in the world to you. You drank it every morning without fail, sometimes you'd go for a second cup mid-day as a pick me up. Through good days and bad, you could always count on a good cup of coffee to wrap your senses up in a big hug and comfort you through any chaos life threw your way. One sip in and your nerves were slightly calmed, not enough to stop overthinking everything about the night ahead.
"Your dress is almost done being ironed, I'll grab it since I have to go get my suit anyways." He told you with kind eyes looking into yours through the mirror. "How are you feeling?"
His big warm hands gripped your shoulders, rubbing and squeezing away at the muscles to try and ease the anxiety. Tonight was a big deal, all of the avengers were asked to partake in an after award ceremony for the bravest men and women in the military. As a team you would smile, shake hands, and thank those for the sacrifices they've made after they were awarded with titles of great honor. Some people work decades for titles like these.
That in itself wasn't the issue, if it was just that you would have no problem attending.
The problem was that a few avengers let it slip that you would be receiving your own award tonight. The highest award the nation had to offer for gallantry, the Medal of Honor, all because you ran into that building with that bomb.
Oh, and your mom was going to be there receiving her own award.
Said mom you haven't spoken to since eighteen years old. Doesn't know anything about your life Mom.
"I don't understand why I need an award for doing what I signed up for." You huffed. "Oh you did the bare minimum? Here's a shiny medal!" you mocked, finding any and all ways to not show up tonight.
"What you did was not the bare minimum." Steve giggled at your antics. "You deserve the award, and you deserve to accept it." He kissed your cheek. "Stop deprecating the value just because you don't want to go. This is a big deal, we're going to celebrate our brave girl accordingly."
"Steve?" You questioned, he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder to get a better view of his favorite face in the mirror.
"Hmm?"
"Do you remember the year 1941?" You asked rhetorically.
"No, not at all." He shook his head with a mischievous grin.
"Oh, so you don't remember when you stood up the United States Senator in a room full of reporters and 10 members of the Parliament by not accepting your Medal of Honor?"
"Doesn't ring a bell" Steve giggled.
"Huh" You contemplated his lie.
"What can I do to make this easier?"
"Promise me we can leave right after it's over?" You begged.
"Promise." He agreed.
"Yeah? And what if the senator comes up to you and is like 'oh! Captain Rogers! It's so nice to see you! Let's have a fourteen hour long conversation about the political climate of our country that's so boring our partners are going to want to gauge their eyeballs out!' Hmm? Then what?" You challenged, earning more laughter from Steve.
"I'd say, sorry Mister Senator. My beautiful girl just got her Medal of Honor and has very important business to attend, I hope you have a wonderful night." He assured you.
A groan full of nothing but pure dread slipped past your lips as you slumped forward letting your elbows hit the vanity and your head fall into your hands.
"Baby, it'll be fine." His serious voice came out.
"I don't want to see my Mom." You complained fully understanding that you probably sounded pathetic to him. "I don't want to see my Mom, I don't want you to have to see my Mom, I don't want to hear anything she has to say, I don't want to have to fake a smile for a crowd as she walks across the stage we're on, I don't want to shake her hand, I don't want pleasantries, professional courtesy, and small talk where she pretends to care about anything I've been up to just because I'm an avenger now."
"What are the chances this is going to go poorly?" He asked.
"90 percent" You mumbled.
"That's a 10 percent chance that it'll go well." He raised. "We've made miracles happen with less than that, yeah?"
"I think the only thing worse than seeing her again going poorly is it going well. I don't want that." You lifted your head. "I don't want anything to do with her."
"Okay." Steve nodded in understanding, pressing a series of gentle kisses to your shoulder. "Then take it for what it is, okay? One night. Just a couple hours where you have to coexist in a room with someone who's a stranger now. You shake her hand once, you smile for the photo. Then when the time is right, you accept your award from all of us, we shower your in all the love and pride we could possibly give you, then we sneak out have some fun at the private after party, and the two of us will go to bed peacefully and completely relieved that the night is over."
"You missed a huge part" You reminded him. "Socializing, mingling. We're always expected to mingle."
"And I'll be with you the whole night" He grinned. "If she approaches, I'll do whatever I can to get you away. I'll make sure nothing terrible happens."
"How do you feel about tonight?" You questioned, trying to check in on his mind.
"Fine. Not too keen on meeting someone who caused you so much pain but getting to celebrate you outweighs all of that."
"You're too sweet for your own good, you know that, Rogers?" Your eyes closed and your face scrunched up with delightful giggles as he purposefully placed feather light kisses in the crook of your neck to tickle you.
"Remember how you got your dress altered?" Steve asked.
"Uh huh?"
"Took all that pretty fabric off the bottom cause it was too long for you." He smiled, still looking at you in the mirror. "I had them turn some of the extra fabric into a pocket square for my suit so we can match. Doesn't that make you like... a million times more excited to go?"
"A milliondy-trilliondy times more excited." Your smile stretched from ear to ear.
"It's going to be so great. Everyone in the room will know that the prettiest, bravest girl at the event is all mine cause I get to carry a little piece of your dress in my pocket."
"You're so sweet, I'd be lost without you." His arms wrapped around you from behind, and squeezed you generously.
"I'm the lucky one" The smile in his voice was apparent. "I'm going to the store really quick with Bucky, when I get back I'll bring your dress."
"Thank you" You appreciated his warmth for the last few moments with a big deep breath, lifting your hand up behind you and placing it on his cheek. The little hairs growing along his jawline were longer than you've ever seen or felt them since meeting him, it made you smile knowing he was feeling far too lazy to shave.
"Don't worry, I'll get rid of this thing on my face before tonight." He read your mind.
"I wasn't worried." You opened your eyes to read his expression. "I think you pull it off nicely."
"You know how much I hate shaving" Steve pouted.
"So why not grow a beard?" You questioned with a tiny bit of skeptical confidence.
"I don't think people want Captain America to be anything but clean cut." He admitted.
"I think Steve should be whoever he wants to be, and Cap is just going to have to be okay with that." You smiled as he nudged his cheek further into your hand. "You're perfectly capable of saving the world with a handful of hair on your face."
"I'll take that into consideration, beautiful." Steve giggled and kissed your hair once more. "I'll be back soon."
"Okay, have fun with your boyfriend!"
"I will" He laughed. "I love you, you're going to be fine."
"I love you too."
Steve came back about an hour later with your dress when you were finally done with your makeup and just finishing up your hair with a final run through of hairspray to keep all your hard work in place.
The both of you get dressed together and you couldn't help but to be endlessly thankful for him in those moments. He was helpful from cracking jokes to ease your mind, making you laugh as he cursed his three piece suit for being so confusing and having too many buttons, down to helping you zip up your dress and insisting on buckling the straps of your heels.
When you were both fully dressed, perfumed, and styled to the public's standard you took one final look at each other. Your shaky hands reached to straighten out the dark teal colored satin pocket square made of your dress, and centered his tie one last time before his hands caught yours.
He kissed the back of each one and professed that you were the prettiest girl he's ever seen, and in true Steve fashion, admitted that you were, in fact, so pretty that you still made him nervous.
Your love was so sickeningly sweet that the only thoughts that filled your head as you walked down to the event was questions of how you got to be so lucky, and what you could've possibly done to earn the life you had. The life where you were an avenger, and your boyfriend was quite literally the superhero of your dreams.
The same superhero tale that was told to you as a kid, the very one you dreamed would sweep you off your feet and provide you with the love you desperately needed and craved when you laid awake at night as a teenager, wondering what you did to deserve a dead father and a mother who didn't love you.
You had him now. You felt proud that you didn't need him to complete you. That teenager angst of two half's coming together to make a whole had been thrown out the window and been replaced with something so much healthier, and safer. You and your knight and shining armor were two wholes that enjoyed the luxury of love and affection. You could only hope that your growth shined through your posture and glowed through your skin with a golden, glimmering sheen.
You grew exponentially faster and larger than life since the last time your mother saw you. All you wanted now was for her to see it with her own eyes, and drink in the harsh reality that you were whole without her. Though not by choice, you were whole without your father. You are whole without your superhero, but a little extra shiny and radiant with him by your side.
You stepped through the large double doors into the luxurious and lively event room, a nostalgic wave of emotion overtook. It felt like parent open house night in elementary school, that after school event where your parents come to see your classroom, meet your teachers, and see some physical proof of your hard work.
This time your artwork didn't hang on bulletin walls with your name signed at the bottom with glitter glue, you weren't reading your poetry to classmates and their parents, your teacher wasn't praising you for being a joy to have around and a good example for your peers.
You couldn't help but to wonder if she felt the same- if your mother had grown and changed in your years of not speaking. Perhaps she bloomed and blossomed the same way you did, the harsh reality of life turning you both into diamonds. Maybe she was whole without you too, maybe she found the half of herself she lost with the passing of your father. There was a chance she was golden and glimmering, shining brightly with radiant wisps.
Steve pulled you out of your thoughts by squeezing your hand with excitement as he recognized a handful of friendly faces he hadn't gotten a chance to see in a while. You shared that joy with him when you finally worked up the nerve to look around the room too and being met with a whole bunch of old colleagues, mentors, and commanding officers you were more than happy to introduce to Steve.
Most of them reunited with you through kind words, congratulations, and praises higher than you thought you deserved. You accepted them modestly, mostly because if you didn't Steve would fight you tooth and nail until you did, then invited them to the private after party in the private sector of the compound.
If you didn't invite people to your own after party, then Tony would be the one to fight you.
As more familiar faces approached to reconnect, you soon found yourself in a bubble of love. The smile on your face never dissipated and laughter began to slip out as if you had nothing to be worried about in the first place.
The room continued to fill and more people began to take their seats in time for the ceremony to start. The Avengers were expected on the stage the whole time to take pictures and congratulate those who received their medals, so before they started their work, she wanted to loosen up a bit and start the night off right.
Steve was having a conversation with a group of people you didn't recognize, so you made a brave choice. When the moment was right as to not interrupt anyone, you let go of his hand and placed it on his upper arm to grab his attention. He leaned over a bit to hear you more clearly in the crowded room. "I'm going to grab a drink really quick, I'll meet you on the stage okay?"
His eyes became concerned and he continued leaning down to speak quietly in your ear. "You want me to come with you?"
"It's okay, Honey, it'll be fast." You reassured him. "Can I get you anything?"
"I'll have what you're having" he grinned and sent you off with a quick kiss to the crown of your head.
"Okay, I'll see you up there" His actions brought a smile to your face as you walked up to the bartender.
You waited in line before placing an order for two drinks, and as you waited for them, a hand landed on the curve of your waist.
"I made a promise to stay with you all night, I can't break it." Steve reminded you.
"Well I'm feeling better than I thought I would so it's perfectly okay if you do." You let him pull you close into his side, his big hand was keeping you warm.
"Is she here yet?" He questioned.
"Haven't seen her" You shook your head.
"Right now I think I might be more nervous than you are, I keep looking for features of your face in every person I talk to wondering if it might be her."
"Well, I've always been told I look more like my dad anyways." The bartender handed her the two drinks, she grabbed them both with a polite thank you and handed one to Steve. "these should help."
"Do you think she knows we're together?" He asked, trying to further understand the situation at hand like he was plotting the best way to fight a battle.
"Look at us" You giggled with a slight snort between your first and second sip. "Matching bracelets, matching outfits, I think the whole world knows we're together."
"...and that article was published in tmz last week" he thought out loud. "I'm just trying to figure out if she would approach me."
"Maybe." You shrugged. "But her opinion of you means shit to me."
Steve took a long sip of his drink, silently praying he would experience a miracle and maybe feel even a slight buzz from the alcohol. "I've never met any of your family before, even if you don't care I still feel like I care."
"Steve" Your hand found its way to his chest. "Everyone you've met tonight, the team, literally the people we both live with and see every single day are more like my family than my mother is. You have met my family, and news flash, they all love you. Everyone loves you. I love you."
"So if she hates me?" He asked.
"You get to join the club! She hates me too" You smiled, Steve bit the inside of his cheeks to try and hold back a laugh at your statement before shaking his head. "You're so handsome."
"You're deflecting" he raised an eyebrow.
"No I'm not" you denied. "I'm simply distracted by your beauty."
"You know, I've been thinking about what you said earlier." Steve let you know.
"Oh no, I say a lot of things all day long."
"I think Cap is okay with trying a beard"
"But you just shaved like an hour ago" You pouted.
"Steve shaved what an hour ago?!" Natasha's voice rang from behind the two of you.
Steve scoffed like a disappointed dad at her innuendo. "My face."
"I'm trying to get him to grown a beard."
"You missed a spot" She reached up and poked his chin, naturally he looked down at where her finger was pointing and she took the chance to drag it up his face to annoy him like two children in the elementary school playground. "Ha-ha made you look" she taunted.
You let out another adorable half snort as you laughed at the banter.
"You're so lucky we're in a room full of people right now or I'd be chasing you around the compound." Steve stated.
"So scary" you lied and over exaggerated your words, throwing your hands up in defense to hype up Steve's words. "Natasha, I'd be scared if I were you."
"Yup. I'm terrified." She said flatly. "Anyways, I was told you needed to get your freshly shaved face up on that stage. You too, teal dress."
"Sure thing" Steve nodded, and offered you his arm to walk over together.
The two of you followed Natasha since the three of you needed to get to the same place anyways.
You took your spot between Steve and Sam, anxiously playing with the straw in your cocktail as you felt eyes on you from all over the room. Once the guest speaker started, you tried your hardest to keep your eyes down on your feet to avoid meeting the gazes. Sam caught on to your nervousness, and in attempts to ease your mind he subtly put his arm around you.
He grabbed Steve's wrist and booted his arm off of you, just to take the formerly occupied spot and pull you into his side. Steve looked over at him and quickly shot a questionable sad puppy dog face, and Sam used his free hand to motion for him to relax.
"See this woman in the front? Blonde hair black dress. I saw her trip over her own heel in the parking lot earlier." Sam whispered in your ear. "And the guy next to her, blue suit, tried to catch her but ended up falling on his butt."
You tried to contain the laughter as to not draw attention to yourselves, trying your hardest to uphold the Avengers respectful and professional reputation. To get him back, you gently nudged him with your elbow and stepped away from his hold.
Focusing on the speaker made time fly so fast, before you knew it they were presenting you with your medal. Since you weren't technically in the military anymore, and the avengers held a special place in the hearts of the nation, an exception was made and rules were changed so that the team were the ones to present the medal to you at this ceremony completely separate from the rest.
Tony was able to say some remarkably kind words about you before placing it around your neck, surrounded by the very team who you thought all deserved it more than you did. They were the ones who assisted you in that very moment, the only difference between them and you was being in the right place at the right time.
As it was placed around your neck, you had no choice but to look straight into the crowd of people who were clapping for you. Unexpectedly, someone stood from their seat.
It caused a ripple of everyone else following the lead, and before you knew it everyone was standing. You wish you could tell them to stay seated, you wish you could hand the medal right back to where it came from, but you were stuck.
Your eyes were now glued on the woman who stood first for you. Your own flesh and blood, aged a couple years, grey streaks littering the hair color you once knew, standing and clapping for you with a smile full of pride smeared across her face.
Maybe she did change, but your teenage defenses came flooding in and your felt yourself become small. You shrunk inwards, prepared to tiptoe quietly as to not mess up the smile on her face that was always so fast to disappear at the smallest of accidental disappointments. The chances of her getting better were slim, but the chances that she was smiling and clapping for you, her precious daughter, was all a show for her own peers in the section around her was larger than your life itself.
Steve sensed your drop in confidence the very moment it happened, and followed your gaze. When he saw her he didn't even need to ask for confirmation, because although you denied your similarities, he found a woman who shared your smile and nose.
Unsuspectingly, you started receiving hugs and congratulations from each avenger. When Steve left a quick kiss on your cheek and pulled you in for his turn, you took the chance while you had it.
"She's here." You told him quietly, pretending as though he was congratulating you again for the millionth time that day alone.
"I know, I see her." Steve let you know. "Are you okay?"
"Yep" you had to keep it short and sweet to stay inconspicuous.
You managed to hold it together regardless of your personal feelings. Steve was right, there was so much love and happiness to be spread around tonight surrounded by your colleagues that you managed to bite your tongue and swallow away the bitter taste her presence left in your mouth.
When it was her turn to shake hands and take pictures with the team, they all did you a solid by taking up all the available space surrounding her. You managed to get away with a disingenuous smile at the very end corner of the group photo you knew she was probably dying to post on social media to show off your success.
The same success she had no part in nurturing, no reason to be proud of.
Years of your professional life was spent perfecting a handshake that was firm enough to show confidence, and soft enough to come across as friendly. She got your absolute worst, a single shake with a flimsy grip.
Petty? Maybe. Immature? Possibly. But you made it through a night you were dreading for months, so you were just proud of yourself for getting through it.
The moment the event was over and your professional engagement was no longer required, all of the Avengers were ushered off the stage and into the back halls to go straight to the private after party.
As insisted, you were going to have a fun time and nobody was going to take any excuse as a valid reason to not let loose. The moment you made it into the room where the party was, Tony placed a shot in your hand, and you immediately took it.
The vodka shooting down your throat pulled your mind away from the icky feeling that lingered in your soul. Your medal was taken off your neck by staff you'd trust with your life and was placed in a safe locked box in your room.
Music started, heels came off, and more people arrived to fill all the empty and quiet places with nothing but love.
Bucky and Sam grabbed you mid conversation with your old commanding officer and you were flung over Sam's shoulder. More shots, so much dancing with whoever could get their hands on you.
Every once in a while you'd look around to find Steve, and he was always somewhere around the room being pulled in a million directions talking to someone new with a big smile on his face. He seemed to be having just as good of a time as you were.
A few hours and a few shots went by before you needed a break from the high energy on the dance floor, so you grabbed a water and sat at the bar next to a friend you were happy to catch up with.
You swore you chatted her up without a care in the world, fifteen minutes felt like three hours. She got up to go to the bathroom and you chugged down the rest of your water before another person approached you.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this all by herself?" Steve spoke smoothly like he was in an old time movie.
"Well you see, I'm not one to frequent a place like this, but it was dark and stormy out. I needed a warm place to go." You went along with the joke, your eyes did glance out the window to make sure it was, in fact, dark and stormy out. It was probably getting late but you had no concept of the time at the moment.
"Well, did you find it?" He questioned.
"Find what?"
"A warm place to hideaway from the storm?"
"Well, I certainly found a handsome fella to occupy my time while I wait for it to pass. With a face like that I outta' come around here more often." You shamelessly flirted with your own boyfriend.
"You found just the right man, Miss. You know, a beautiful dame in a dress like that in this part of town is quite dangerous. I'm going to have to beat everyone away with a stick." He smirked.
"Yeah? What would I have done without you?" You bat your eyelashes.
"Who knows." He shrugged.
"And what would those people have done to me?"
"They wouldn't appreciate you the same way I do." He shook his head.
You stepped closer to him and he took the chance to put his hand on the small of your back to keep you close. Feeling quite possessive of your sweet soldier, you claimed him too with a hand on his chest as you leaned in to make it a little more provocative.
"So, what would you like to do to me?" You blinked slowly.
His mouth dropped and cheeks flushed as you started pushing his buttons in a room full of people closest to you.
"Seems like you're not such a nice girl after all." He shook his head, eyebrows still raised and cheeks stippled with shades of pink.
He looked so cute like that.
"Never said I was, Captain." You instigated once more, definitely a little too drunk for your own good.
"Okay that's it" Steve laughed. "You're in for it now."
"No I'm not." You denied in a fit of giggles as you started taking big backwards steps towards the exit.
"Where are you going?" He questioned, taking large playful steps towards you. "You can talk the talk but can't walk the walk?"
"Oh you wanna walk the walk right now? In front of all of these people?" You questioned, getting ready to run. "Never knew you were such a... voyeur."
"Baby, you're bad." Steve laughed as you turned around to face forward and squeaked out a drunken giggle, running barefoot through people trying to lose him.
He followed as fast as he could to the best of his abilities until he saw you run right out of the party ballroom into the more calm and quiet compound hallway.
With no people in his way now, he was able to pick up his speed and catch you from behind the second you let your guard down. His arms around your torso allowed him to pick you up and twirl you around causing another eruption of laughter.
He couldn't help but to laugh at your chaos and take on your contagious smile when he spun you around once more to face him.
"If I'm so bad then why'd you run after me?" You laughed, very gently play punching him.
He did a very good job at blocking your punches just as gently as you threw them at him.
"You're so bad" he repeated, shaking his head once again. "And when you walk around looking like this?! Truly a danger to my health and well-being"
"I feel like you brought this upon yourself." You threw the tiniest of punches to his shoulder, but his hand caught your wrist. "Who let you think that Captain America in a three piece suit was legal? Hmm? You're killing people, Stevie."
"You're so drunk" Steve laugh rang out.
"You're not drunk enough" You bantered.
"I tried to match you, but it's not working."
"Well obviously you're not trying hard enough!"
"Have you eaten anything in the past few hours?" He asked, poking your sides to instigate your childish laughter.
"You're so pretty, I'm going to eat you" You caught his arm the same way he caught yours a few seconds ago, and took a big ol' pretend bite right out of his bicep.
"Maybe you need more water" He rubbed the part of his covered arm that you pretended to bite, unable to wipe the stupid smile off his face.
"Bucky!" You exclaimed as Bucky walked out into the hall.
"Are you trying to eat him?" Bucky asked. "I came to rescue Steve from the cannibal in the hallway."
"You can't blame me, he looks and smells so yummy." You defended yourself, lifting Steves arm up to Bucky. "You want a taste?"
"I'm good." Bucky laughed, grabbing Steve's arm and placing it back down to his side.
"More for me" you shrugged.
"Sam and Nat wanted to know if you would take another shot with them?" Bucky asked what he actually intended to come all that way for.
"I don't know if that's such a great idea, big guy over here thinks I should be eating more food and drinking more water." You shook your head with a smile.
Bucky gasped and wrapped his arms around you from the side, cradling your head in his metal hand. "Steven! You're trying to sober her up? On her big night? You monster!"
"She tried to eat me!" He defended himself, hands up in defense, cheeks starting to feel sore.
"He sucks" Bucky rocked you back and forth. "Another shot?" He asked again.
"Will you hold my hair back while I puke?" You questioned right back.
Bucky released you and stepped away. "Sorry, not my job. Steve can help you out with that"
"I'm trying to prevent that" Steve defended the situation.
"I don't know who I'm supposed to trust anymore!" You said dramatically. "You both wouldn't hold my hair back for me, that's so mean"
"I didn't say that" Steve denied.
"Bucky, I don't think Steve would love me if I was a worm" You told the other soldier.
"I'm sorry, Doll. I would love you if you were a worm even if he didn't." Bucky played along.
"If you were a what?" Steve questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"A worm, Steven." Bucky scoffed. "If she turned into a worm, would you still love her? Really, it's a simple question."
"Baby, if you turned into a worm I'd make you the worm house of your dreams and take care of you." Steve claimed your statement to be false.
"Ha! ...and Bucky wouldn't even hold my hair back."
"Which is exactly why you're my girl and not his." Steve proudly claimed you, following Bucky's actions and claiming you in his own arms after seeing you wrapped up with his best friend.
"Hey, give her back!" Bucky pouted.
"Nope, all mine" Steve denied as you laughed in his hold.
"I guess I should tell Sam and Nat no more sho-" Bucky started, but was cut off.
"Chameleon?" A fourth voice made you freeze in place, and the nickname you haven't been called since childhood made your once happy heart sink to the pit of your stomach.
You didn't want to look, you didn't want Steve to let you go, and you hoped that it was an odd coincidence from a stranger trying to pass through the halls.
Unfortunately, life doesn't always work that way. Steve slowly let you out of his arms, immediately fixing his tie and pressing down his suit jacket while standing tall.
Bucky cleared his throat, "Yeah, uh, I'm going to go find Sam and Natasha." He turned on his heels and walked right back into the event.
Steve didn't really know what to do in that moment, but you knew that you felt stone cold sober now and you wished you could go back to three minutes ago when you were having a blast annoying the soldiers.
"Captain Rogers, honor to meet you." Your mom appeared in front of you, reaching her hand out to shake his for a second time tonight.
For the first time ever, you saw Steve in a moment of being rendered speechless. He didn't know how to respond, if it was appropriate to congratulate her on success in the military, or if he should be yelling at her for being unauthorized in a high security building approaching a private event with no invitation.
He shook it, and opened his mouth hoping that something, literally anything would come out. Instead, she spoke once again.
"You two seem to be comfortable with each other!" She enthused. You knew where this was headed, and you immediately wanted to cry. "And my gosh, my little chameleon, you've become not so little anymore. I hardly recognized you, you've grown into yourself so well... an avenger? Wow."
"Is that so hard to believe?" You questioned, speaking your first words to her since 18 years old.
"Do you remember that photo of you that your dad took when you were 8 years old? The one where you were running around the back yard with a plastic Captain America shield?"
"Mom" You warned, already feeling embarrassed enough to want to fall through the floor.
"I still hear that tiny voice screaming loud enough for all the neighbors to hear that you were going to save the day. And here you are." She looked from you, to Steve, then back at you with judgmental eyes. "Yeah. It's a little hard to believe."
There was no super hero in the grand scheme of the entire multiverse that could come and save you from being belittled in front of Steve. You knew he couldn't cut in unless she was being downright disruptive, and he couldn't leave and live with himself for breaking a promise to you.
"And why is that?" You shrunk into yourself and glued your eyes to the floor, suddenly remembering your bare feet.
You were no longer glowing or radiant, you didn't feel quite as big as you did all those years away from her. You knew now what she saw, a drunken disappointment in the hallway, an imposter, a mess with no shoes taking advantage the only man who could fill the broken void of your childhood.
But you never thought of Steve that way, and certainly that's not why you fell in love with him. Standing in front of her and next to him, you had never felt so insecure.
Did you subconsciously fall into the lap of this relationship to heal parts of yourself that therapy couldn't? Was it weird or morally wrong to be romantically involved with Steve? Did you trap him with a sob story and make him feel too bad to leave?
Holy shit. Did you have do defend this behavior and your relationship in front of your mother?
Maybe it was time to retire this career and start a new one somewhere else. Something small and simple, maybe a barista in an independently owned coffee shop, or a florist spending your day with your nose deep in the flowers.
"I guess when you were a kid you were just so focused on yourself and so... heartless... it's hard to imagine you living a life revolved around selflessness and empathy." She spoke so casually you almost accepted those words as true.
You could hear Steve take in a big breath, he squirmed in place, visibly uncomfortable with the situation and upset by her words.
"Heartless" you repeated quietly. The room spun around you but you weren't sure if that was the anxiety or the alcohol. "Selfish. How? How are those the only two words you could think of to describe me when all I did with my life before adulthood was take care of you?"
"Take care of me?" She scoffed. "You know how hard I had to work every day to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head?"
"That's the bare minimum you sign up to do when having a kid." You mumbled.
"After all these years I thought that maybe you would've changed your mind about me being some sort of villain."
"You've done nothing to change my mind. No apologies, no effort to mend our relationship..."
"Maybe it'll take you having your own kids to understand how hard it is to be a mother." She cut you off. "But seeing as you can't treat your own flesh and blood with respect, you aren't fit to be one yet."
"I think you've mistaken this event as an open house, and I think you're here way past your allotted time." You finally spoke up.
"And this continuing to be your behavior even under today's circumstances and in front of one of the most respected men in the world is disappointing." Her voice got louder to undermine the fact that yours did too. "Imagine explaining this to your 8 year old self. What would she think? I know your father would be disappointed at best."
"What exactly are you here for, ma'am?" Steve instantly snapped when she tried to weaponize his very existence using her dead father.
Your vocal cords were tied tightly into a knot, nothing could come out, you could barely breathe, and a single tear fell down your cheek. In attempts to not let her win, you wiped it away as quickly as you could.
"I wanted a chance to congratulate my daughter, but I'm not so sure she deserves that anymore." She spat venom at you. "You know, a flashy title and a medal around your neck means nothing without a family to love you."
"She does have a family that loves her, they're all in that room right now." Steve proudly wrapped his arm around you and pointed to the party. "There's a reason why you aren't allowed in there, so I suggest you leave. Especially because I'm sure your commanding officer would be disappointed to hear that you're continuing this dishonorable behavior in front of one of the most respected and remarkable women in the world."
You couldn't even help the sob that escaped the back of your throat before covering your mouth with your hand and hiding your face into his side. He could've used his own title and authority to scare her off, but instead he picked you up off the floor she held you down on and placed you on a pedestal above her head.
She tried to make you feel small, perhaps that's how she always saw you, but Steve always thought you were larger than life. His actions and words continued to prove that in every difficult situation.
He was always so soft and kind around you that you forgot that he even had such a stern and commanding bone in his body.
"She is my daughter." You mother stood her ground.
"You do not own her. Leave." Steve practically growled.
The silence was loud as she scoffed and walked off with a stomp in her feet, hands balled into fists.
Steve left you for a moment to tell the nearest security to escort her out and make sure she actually exited the premises this time, and by the time he got back and placed his hands on your shoulders to console you, he was nothing but soft again.
Your hands hid your face, too embarrassed to even speak to him at the moment. Overwhelmed, ashamed, consumed by anxiety on the brink of a panic attack, you couldn't step foot in that room again.
Not with tears streaking your mascara and the hem of your dress bunching against the floor due to your lack of heels.
Steve felt his heart squeezing in his chest when you couldn't even open your eyes to look at his face, he could only imagine you were feeling belittled and embarrassed. He would do anything to take that weight off your shoulders, make sure you knew that you had nothing to be ashamed of, but no words would break through the barrier you had to build in order to protect yourself.
You needed your own time and space to break that down, and you would. You were brave enough to do so. Just not right now, not when you desperately needed a bulletproof casing to keep all of the harsh words and criticism out of your mind.
"Baby" Steve's hands traveled from your shoulders up your neck and onto your own hands that hid your face. "You're okay, I love you. It's okay"
"I have to go" Your voice shook.
"That's okay" His thumbs ran along the backside of your hands. "I know you need some alone time, but would you like me to walk you home or are you going to be okay getting back on your own?"
"I'm fine." You inhaled deeply and rubbed your face once more before dropping your hands and crossing your arms over your chest tightly. "I'll be fine."
"Alright" Steve kissed the top of you head. "I'll come check on you in a bit."
It was hard for him to let you walk away by yourself when all he wanted to do was make sure you got home okay and tuck you in tightly under your blankets, but letting you go alone was what you needed in that moment so he forced himself to take that step back.
He walked back in that room and explained the situation to Tony and Bucky, and stayed a little while longer acquainting himself to all the important people in your life who loved you so deeply.
About an hour and a half later, it was well into the middle of the night and guests started leaving so he took the opportunity to sneak out and contemplate his next move on the walk back.
He didn't want to bother you or make you feel pressured into being around him if you still felt defensive, but the thought of you sleeping in a cold bed alone all night when you were already so sad made him want to cry a little bit.
He decided that the best thing to do was to change out of his formal wear and into some sweats before going into your room to check on you. Maybe some extra comfort would be beneficial to the both of you.
Unlocking his bedroom door and stepping through, he kicked off his shoes and ran a hand through his styled hair before noticing the lump under the covers of his bed. It made his heart beat a little faster before it melted into a puddle.
He changed into sweatpants and a hoodie as quickly as he could, as he brushed his teeth he took note of how you turned off the soundproofing to hear the rain putter against the roof and floor to ceiling windows.
Once he was ready to submit to the night, he walked over to the side of his bed you were sleeping on. Normally it was his side, but he could tell you planted yourself there for a reason, and who was he to disturb that?
He kneeled next to the bed, and only when he tucked your hair behind your ear did he notice that you were sound asleep.
All the makeup you worked so hard on was gone without a trace, your eyes were swollen and your nose was stained pink. Although you were sad, he couldn't help but to smile. He thought you looked just as beautiful this way.
Realizing he didn't want to wake you, he planted a feather light kiss to your head before walking back to the other side to slide in next to you.
Though he tried his hardest, you woke up to slowly being engulfed by your favorite strong arms, and pulled against your favorite warm body. You shuffled backwards a bit to meet the front of his body with the back of yours, one of your hands intertwined with one of his while the other held onto his forearm that was keeping you safe and secure. You brought the back of his hand to your mouth before kissing it and tucking it into your chest close to your heart.
"I'm sorry" you sleepily mumbled, feeling a pang of physical pain as he held you so tenderly.
"I'm not allowing you to apologize for something that's not your fault." Steve denied. "None of that has ever been your fault."
"You shouldn't have had to hear that, or see me like that. So, I'm sorry."
"You shouldn't be." Steve settled, his chin nuzzling into the top of your head. "I'm sorry you've been treated like that for so much of your life. You deserved so much better."
"I'm not allowing you to apologize for something that's not your fault" You repeated his words. "Thank you for sticking up for me, that's the first time anyone has ever spoken up to her."
"Anytime, Princess." He squeezed your hand. "I hope you know that you aren't the one your father would be disappointed in."
You nodded, feeling the tears rush back to your eyes. If you speak another word they would flood the gates and flow until you got yourself to sleep again.
"He would be proud, so so proud of you. I'm proud of you. Everyone in their right minds is proud of you, and the world owes you an un-payable debt."
"I didn't even do anything that special" Your voice accidentally jumped an octave higher in your losing battle against your tears.
"Yes you did, and I'll shout it from the rooftops until you understand." He squeezed you a little tighter. "I think the whole world of you. No matter what your role, daughter, avenger, friend, girlfriend, maybe even mom one day if you want to be, you hit the ball out of the park. You exceed all expectations, and if someone can't see that, that's on them. That's not on you. I'm the luckiest man in the universe to have the privilege of loving you."
"I love you so much" You told him, squeezing your eyes shut to try and stop the tears.
"I love you too." He calmly exhaled. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need a snack or some water?"
"I'm okay, I think I just need to sleep." You slowly flipped onto your other side to face him.
"Okay." He let you dig your face into his chest as he held you tightly in his arms to hide you away from the world that had hurt you tonight. "Wake me up if you need me, alright? Sweet dreams, sweet girl.
"Sleep tight." You mumbled into his chest.
He woke up pretty late the next morning given that everyone had been awake until 2am the previous night. The sun was shining aggressively bright through the large windows and hitting his eyes, he could hear birds chirping and the hustle and bustle of whatever was going on outside. You weren't with him in bed, but he could hear the sounds of cookware in the kitchen, the unusual whirl of the mixer being used.
He got up and stretched, not even bothered to fix his hair before dragging his feet all the way to the common area that was oddly empty except for you.
You could hear him coming, the shuffling socks on the hardwood was a dead giveaway. He stopped and looked around before blinking slowly at you in confusion.
"Where is everyone?" He questioned sleepily, sitting down on a stool at the island and letting his head and back slump forward onto his elbows.
"Deployed." You answered, measuring out powdered sugar to add to the butter and vanilla in the mixer.
"Really?"
"Yep" you popped the P dramatically. "Literally everyone but us two got put on emergency last night around 4. They must've heard what happened and decided to cut us some slack, we have the whole place to ourselves." You grinned with amusement.
Your dimpled cheeks were so refreshing to his worried and busy mind.
"Hmmm" he hummed, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander for a while.
After a few minutes, you placed a cup of coffee in front of him just how he liked it before rubbing his back and kissing the adorable blonde mess on top of his head. "Still sleepy?"
"I'm getting old, baby. I stay up late for one night and I feel like I have to sleep for two days to recover." He complained, perking up at the smell of coffee.
"Well, you can sleep all day if you want and nobody is here to make fun of you for it." You noted, stopping the mixer once your frosting was nice and smooth.
"Sounds so nice" Steve yawned after taking down some coffee and letting his head fall again.
As you put the frosting into a piping bag with a metal tip on it, you mind couldn't escape last night. You were trying your very hardest to disregard all the weird thoughts your mom planted into your head, especially the ones about your relationship with Steve.
You never questioned the dynamic before, no one has ever brought it up, but now you were clouded and fogged by worry.
A morning alone with him should feel domestic and happy, a small glimpse into what the future could hold if you chose that for yourselves.
Rain falling outside, both of you bundled up in your coziest clothes, your extra lazy boyfriend falling asleep slumped over the island with a hot cup of coffee, homemade cupcakes that were begging for some frosting.
People would kill for moments like these, and you couldn't even enjoy it through your racing heart and even faster mind. Your mom made you question your intentions with your sweet boy with one single glance, and now you couldn't help but to feel like he deserved better all over again.
You should've been brave and stood up for yourself. You should've told her how you really felt, aired out all your dirty laundry, screamed it from the top of your lungs, but instead you mumbled and muttered and cried.
Brave, mighty, strong, none of those words seemed to suit you. Maybe this really wasn't the job for you, and that feeling of uncertainty you had the first few weeks here was more of a gut feeling you weren't cut out for this.
You mindlessly piped frosting onto the cupcakes and got halfway through the dozen before Steve's head popped up in realization and pouted.
"You're baking?" He asked.
"Mhm" you nodded quietly, eyes fixed on the cupcake you were working on.
"Not feeling very talkative?"
"Just a little tired, that's all." You tried to convince him you were okay as to not inconvenience him any more than you already have.
He didn't do much in response to that, and it made your heart sink. You fully convinced yourself that he had given up on you.
You officially annoyed him and pushed jokes too far while you were drunk last night, you shouldn't have let Bucky hug you the way he did, maybe you should've found a different color dress that matched your complexion a little better.
"Oh my god!" You squeaked in surprise when you were lifted up and placed sat on the counter. "What the heck, man?!"
Piping bag still in hand, cupcakes pushed out of the way, Steve stood between your legs. You didn't even notice him get up or hear him coming.
"I love you, do you not understand that?" Steve questioned with all the seriousness in the world dropping from his tone.
"I'm confused" You cocked your head to the side.
He took the bag of frosting out of your hand and placed it on the counter. "You only bake when you're sad. I can tell your mind is running away from you, and you're shutting me out."
"I didn't mean to shut you out" you admitted sadly, your gut already telling you what's coming.
"You don't have to lie to me and say that you're tired instead of saying what's actually wrong. You know I can tell the difference."
"I'm sorry, I- it's just tha-" you scrambled to try and explain what what going on in your head. "I'm trying to process. That's all."
"You still won't even look at me." Steve told you, coming your hair through his fingers. "Why?"
You made it a point to look at his face, and all you saw was golden honey, the sweet angel who you've grown to love with all your heart.
You sighed and slumped.
"You can tell me the truth" he reminded you sweetly.
"My mom takes my self esteem and crushes it into tiny little pieces" You let the words leave your mouth. "Right now, I'm trying to convince myself that everything my brain is telling me is a lie and that I deserve to be here with you."
"Look at me" He grabbed hold of your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to direct your head back up. When you looked him in the eyes, he continued speaking. "I love you. All of you. Everything about you. If you need me to say that a billion times to believe it, I'll do it."
"Do you want a cupcake?" You offered, picking up a frosted one off the counter.
"I love you"
"There's no sprinkles yet but I can put some one really quick"
"I love you"
"It's vanilla cake with american buttercream" you started unwrapping it.
"I love you"
"I know you like cream cheese frosting but we were out of cream cheese so this was the best I could do."
"I love you"
"Steve" You complained.
"Hmm?" His hand rubbed your thigh while the other remained on your back.
"Will you please eat this cupcake before I lose my mind?" You pleated.
He took it from your hands and put it to your mouth prompting to take a bite first, and once you did he took one too.
"Oh my god" he thew his head back. "So fucking good. Another reason why I love you so much."
"Steve"
"What?"
"I love you" You told him.
"I know you do" He set the other half of the cupcake down, taking note that he would definitely finish it later. "Quite honestly, I'm a little offended that you don't know that I love you. Means I'm not doing my job right."
"I know you do, you're doing your job very well." You told him, he pulled you forward so he could touch just a little more of you.
"But?" He raised an eyebrow.
"But... how I'm feeling right now is not your fault. You shouldn't feel a responsibility to fix it. I'll be okay, I just need some time."
"Can I have more frosting please?" Steve asked politely.
Too wrapped up in your own mind to verbally respond, you grabbed the piping bag next to you, and squeezed some onto his finger that he had held out and waiting.
He quickly smeared the frosting onto the tip of your nose before his cheeks turned pink and a laugh escaped.
"Oh you suck" You but the inside of your cheek to try and contain the smile you didn't want him to know you had. "Jokes on you, you didn't even get to eat anymore frosting. Let me help you out with that"
You squeezed the bag as hard as you could over his lips, he turned his head to try and get away but it ended up smearing all the way up the left side of his cheek.
His mouth hung open for a moment in surprise before swiping it off his face and into his mouth.
"Just as delicious when I eat it off my face" He stated, then boldly licked it off the tip of your nose. "And yours"
"You're crazy" You said while wiping your nose with the back of your hand with joy that seemed to be breaking through the thick barrier of sadness. "And still so handsome, even with frosting face"
"Yeah?" A lopsided smile poked through.
"Yeah"
Steve grabbed the sides of your face before going in for a steady kiss, lengthy and impassioned. Just his lips alone were telling you everything you needed to know, like he was speaking to you through through physical touch. Just when you started to feel like you needed to catch your breath, he pulled away and let his forehead settle on yours.
"However you feel, however she makes you feel is not your fault." He whispered against your lips. "But what I'm never going to let her do is dictate the way you feel about yourself, and let her get into your head about the way I feel about you."
In a moment of lust and desperation to not have to process the hard emotions that came with the words he was speaking to you, you initiated another buttercream flavored kiss. Vanilla and sugar tasted oh so sweet on his tongue as his hands traveled down to your hips. Once again, the unfortunate human need to breath to survive got in the way of your plans to shut him up.
"I've never doubted your ability to keep up. You are your own toughest critic. I've never met anyone more capable of being here and being mine." He continued, planting a few quick pecks to your silky smooth lips. "I thank the universe for you every day, and I love you."
"Damn it, Steve." You dramatically flailed your arms before running your hands up his back. "How do you always know what to say and do to make any situation better? How are you this perfect?"
It started becoming a little hard to speak between kisses, and even though you were now glued to his front and latched onto him like a koala, you still couldn't seem to get close enough.
"I just thi-"
"Will you stop for a second and just keep kissing me?" You spoke against his lips. "I can't get enough of you."
"Yes ma'am" He nodded with shades of pink quickly stippling across his cheeks before following strict orders.
Passing time was a concept that completely dissipated as the two of you entangled yourself. Seconds, minutes, hours, none of it mattered. Not when your mouths tasted like cupcakes and your bodies were so warm to contrast the winter rain hitting the windows.
Your hands were never shy to roam and dance around his incredible body, you loved gliding your hands over all the smooth bumps and ridges of muscle. As you snuck your hands up the back of his hoodie, they found their rightful place on his shoulder blades. He physically shivered and you could feel goosebumps raise on his skin causing both of you to giggle into each others kiss.
"You know the good part of the whole team being gone is that we get to eat all the cupcakes by ourselves" Steve spoke again now that he found a natural break in the heat of the moment.
"I'm sure you'll have no issue accomplishing that" You agreed with him.
"And you know the other good part of the whole team being gone?"
"Hmm?" You questioned.
"I get to take my time with you." He kissed the very corner of you jaw right under your ear. "Savor every square inch of you" working his way down your neck, he made it to your collar bones. "You get to be as loud as you need, and I get to take you right here, right now."
His words got you worked up embarrassingly fast. The crimson headache flooded all of your logical reasoning, and every single part of your body was aching to get him closer, take him deeper, crawl into him. It was intoxicating.
"People eat on this counter, baby" You tried reasoning with him, though you were a little more than excited for what was about to come.
"I'll clean it" He pulled your sweater over your head just to be visibly annoyed by your tank top underneath. Attaching your mouths in a steamy kiss dialed up a thousand degrees, more worry filled your head.
"The cameras" You wined feeling like there were too many obstacles in the way. "What if someone hears us?"
He had never been this risky or adventurous before, it had your head spinning and your center throbbing with need. "Friday" Steve called out to the artificial intelligence controlling the building while working off his own sweatshirt.
"How may I assist you, Captain?" She responded just as he got it over his head and tossed it on the floor.
"Turn on private sector soundproofing, and turn off visual and audio recording" He had to practically pry you off of him as you started making advances on him, your hands wandered down the front of his stomach while you kissed his shoulders in attempts to get his pants off.
He caught your wrists in his hands and shook his head before attaching your lips together hungrily as Friday assisted in the necessary steps before the two of you could shed more layers.
"Request complete."
"This isn't about me, so don't even try it." He informed you, voice husky with arousal. "I want you to feel how loved you are, so all I want you to do is relax, feel good, and take it. Okay?"
"That seems a little unfa-" He cut you off by attaching your lips and grabbing the bottom of you tank top to pull over your head.
"Okay?" He asked again once you were in sweatpants and a bra. It was less of a question and more of a demand.
"Okay" You released a shaky breath and a semi-nervous nod.
No matter how many times you found yourself in this position with him, you never found yourself to be less nervous about it. He always made you feel comfortable, cared for and so so good, but he was just so incredibly beautiful and commanding.
It was like ravenous butterflies exploding out of your stomach, and flooding upwards into your racing heart, tingly lips, swarming in your brain. Just looking at his blown out pupils and fast breathing made you feel needy and restless until you got exactly what your body needed.
He pulled your body closer once more, kissing you as one hand unhooked the back of your bra and the other held the back of you head steady. You shrugged it off and he tossed it onto the floor.
Steve couldn't help the satisfaction as you began to take off your own pants for him, so quick to trust him and allow him to make you feel good that you did the work to get him exactly where you needed him as fast as you could. All while his hands massaged your boobs, nipples between his thumb and forefingers, and his lips sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin on your neck that always left you whimpering.
"You looked so beautiful last night" he stated as his hands made their way to your hips, they squeezed gently before they removed the last remaining piece of fabric from your body leaving you completely bare for him. "I thought, wow how could anything be more beautiful than my girl right now? Then I woke up and saw you, and somehow I'm having those same thoughts all over again."
He kissed slowly down your body while pulling you forward to the very edge of the counter, and just as his lips made it to your lower belly, he stood back up and kissed your lips. He used his own body to encourage you to lay back onto your elbows as his hands massaged you thighs, they squeezed and moved in appreciation, celebrating how strong and soft they were. A risky movement occasionally sent a finger too close to where you needed him, and when his mouth attached to you right nipple, you almost saw stars.
Steve pulled his favorite sound out of you, tiny whimpers traveled from your throat, into his ears and right to his dick. Pleasuring you was his greatest form of gratification, nothing made him harder more than knowing you felt good.
"Baby" You complained, obvious need dripping from your voice.
"What's wrong, honey?" He pouted at your whine, almost mocking you.
"You're such a tease"
"We've got all day" He devilishly grinned, more fingers grazing your center. "So much time"
You felt so needy, throbbing beyond comprehension you couldn't even help yourself. You needed something, anything. "Please" you begged.
"How would you like me to please you?" He asked, just the idea of getting to choose made you let out a little noise.
Steve knew that you were completely oblivious to the way your hips were subtly rocking back and forth to try any feel anything at all, your thighs squeezed together to try and create friction. He wasn't having that, so he spread your legs apart and stood between them again so you physically couldn't close them.
"Something, anything" Your head spun.
"I just love you so much that I want to kiss every inch of you." He justified his actions. Holding onto your wrist, he kissed all the way down your upper arm to the back of your hand. Grabbing the piping bag once more, he squeezed frosting onto your two dominant fingers before shoving them into his mouth to lick it off and letting them linger while he coated them the best he could. You were speechless and so turned on that you we're convinced the pressure in your pussy would make you explode if you didn’t do anything about it soon.
"I want you to love yourself as much as I love you" He popped your fingers out of his mouth and guided your hand downward, making you touch yourself. "And since you're feeling too desperate to let me warship you the way that I want, you're going to practice some self love."
You couldn't even control yourself as you ran your fingers through your folds before adding pressure and drawing little circles around your overly sensitive clit. Letting out a moan, you couldn't believe how good you felt. All of this behavior was so new to Steve, it was naughtier and dirtier than your very private and vanilla prince ever let on. The whole scenario added to your pleasure as your mind ran laps around how hot it was.
"There you go" he sighed, finally feeling like you could both have exactly what you wanted.
Usually you'd feel a little self conscious under anyone's watchful eye, let-alone someone who looked like Steve, but his eyes were telling you that he wanted to devour you whole.
More moans continued to slip out past your mouth as you pleasured yourself in front of him, and he massaged, nipped and sucked anywhere he could get access to.
"How does that feel, princess?" He questioned, kissing you before you even got the chance to answer. "You making yourself feel good?"
"Mhm" You moaned out something close to a response.
"You look so pretty like this" He spoke into the shell of your ear. "Is this what you do when we're away from each other?"
"Yeah" you squeaked. “Miss you too much when you’re gone”
"When you send me all those naughty pictures when you know damn well there's nothing I can do to help myself?" He teased. "It's even more beautiful in person- watching you get off and I'm not even doing anything to help."
"Steve, please" You moaned, his words carried you a lot further than you'd like to admit.
"Nuhuh. Nope" He denied. "I'm not even going to think about touching your pussy until you give yourself all the love you need. Make yourself cum, then I'll consider."
New mission in mind, you started working towards your goal. Slipping in two fingers, one after the other while continuing to play with your bud made that fire in your belly burn even brighter.
Steve could tell you were getting closer, all he could do was prey that you'd climax soon because he's never wanted to please someone more than in this moment. You just looked so helpless, but that was something you'd have to get through all on your own.
"Besides, I'm enjoying the show a little too much to put an end to it yet." He smiled.
Although he was putting on a front, he wasn't a complete asshole and he still wanted you to feel his love stemming through every moment your bare skin was under his hands, so he continued to play with your nipples to deliver as much gratification as he could without touching you where he vowed not to.
More moans flowed and each one was louder and more worked up than the next, that pressure kept building and that fire kept burning hotter and hotter but it never snapped.
Thoroughly frustrated, you babbled out what you think was along the lines of "ugh,baby, I can't. I can't- please"
"Yes you can" Steve reassured you. "Come on, sweetheart, make yourself cum."
You thrusted your fingers in and out of your hole a little faster, rubbed your clit a little harder, and felt all the more frustrated.
"You make such pretty sounds, my love." He cooed in your ear. "We've got so much time, why do you want to cum so fast? Hmm?"
"I want you to fuck me" You cried out.
"Wow, all this just for me?" He asked. "Can't even imagine how pretty you'll sound when I finally touch you."
The pressure built and built...
"I've never wanted to make love to you more than I do right here, right now. Cum for me, let me make you feel good honey." He whispered.
His lips met yours once more then...
Snap.
You gasped and moaned a little louder than usual, Steve smiled against you.
"There she is!" He exclaimed proudly as you painted and tried to catch your breath. "How was that?"
"So dirty." You finally giggled, feeling a million pounds lighter with release. “I love it when you’re naughty like this.”
“You left me no choice” Steve tucked your hair behind your ear. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Oh, I feel great” You nodded with a tired attempt at a smile.
“Yeah? You wanna keep going?” He questioned searching for a genuine response. “This is all about you, my love.”
His genuine concern for your well-being during sex always made you want him even more.
“Please.” You nodded before reaching your hands around his neck and pulling his bare torso against you and attaching your lips. All you wanted in that moment was to feel his skin on yours.
“Need a break?” He offered.
“Steve”
“I love the way you say my name” He admitted, kissing your nose.
“Will you please just fuck me?”
“I will” He reassured you. “…eventually.”
You closed your eyes and accepted that you would get what you wanted with time.
“But for now, I have other plans.” He stood up to his full height, never allowing his hands to remain still against your skin. “Just relax”
“It’s a little hard to relax with you between my legs” You admitted.
“That sounds like a personal problem” he stated before sinking to his knees, and his hands finally making it to your pussy. His thumb very gently started working your clit again until he felt like you were ready to take his fingers. After sliding one in and curving it slightly upwards, your beautiful sounds came back to warm his soul. “Poor baby, you’re so wet.”
“Wonder how that happened” You sassed, eyes remaining closed to try and allow yourself to actually relax and concentrate on the sensation he was providing to your body.
With no warning, his thumb disappeared and was replaced by his mouth. His tongue explored for a few moments before his lips attached and started sucking and licking your bud.
It pulled a heavenly moan and you rocked your hips before falling back onto your elbows, your fingers lacing in his hair. Steve’s head popped up in a small moment of concern.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?” He asked, hands roaming the curves of your hips.
“God no- that felt so good” You shook your head, opening your eyes to look at him. “Keep going.”
“Okay, let me know if something hurts” He said, you knew he was always scared of not knowing his own strength accidentally hurting you. This conversation happened a minimum of once per every sexual interaction you two had.
"Darling... I'm not made of sugar" You reassured, caressing his head in your hands.
"You sure do taste like it" He retorted before attaching his mouth again.
His mouth was so warm creating a lovely contrast between the cold marble counter you laid on and his fingers made good work of that spongy spot inside your hole that he loved to call his best friend.
“Holy shit” You gasped, trying to bring back lost air from your lungs. “Oh fuck, yes, right there, keep going” you exclaimed as his mouth deliciously worked your clit in tandem with his fingers. That fire came back and burned bright with a vengeance.
You tried your hardest to keep your hips still, but the feeling was so overwhelming you couldn’t even control your movements.
Steve loved it when you started riding his face because he knew he was doing his job right. He was rewarded with your fluttering walls gripping onto his fingers, you dripped down his chin and coated his mouth deliciously.
“C-an you even breatmmmmm holy fuck” You cried out.
Quite honestly, he could’ve cum in his pants just from the noises you made alone. If he wasn’t so entranced by the taste of you on his tongue, and focused on making your mind think of nothing but him and his mouth he would’ve told you that he didn’t need to breathe, and that he could always catch his breath after he died of suffocation.
If that’s how he left this world, he would have gone a happy man.
“Right there, right there” You moaned out, completely unsure of how he even knew how to make you feel this good in the first place. “Just like that”
Since he was a smart man, he kept doing exactly what he was doing. His mouth continued licking and sucking as his fingers remained at the same pace.
As you panted and babbled out words and sounds that no longer made sense, he couldn’t help but to focus on the way you tightened around his fingers. You were so warm and wet his cock was twitching desperately in his pants, impatiently waiting for its own turn to please you.
Apparently, his mind ran so far away from him that he didn’t even notice the way you shuttered and bucked your hips right before your second orgasm crashed over you so hard that your legs shook and you couldn’t even squeak out a sound if you tried.
It pulled his mind right back to you, and he continued the motions with his tongue, licking up every last drop until your head lulled to the side and your body went limp.
You managed to produce a few pathetic whimpers as he continued going, it was becoming a little too sensitive to bare so grabbed his face and pulled him up. “Okay, okay, holy shit”
“Wanna taste?” He asked before hungrily attaching your lips.
It was intoxicating what he did to you. Your body felt limp and spent as if you could sleep for two weeks without a single care, yet when he attached his soggy face to yours and the taste of buttercream was replaced with your own essence, you found the energy to sit yourself up and kiss him until you were the one suffocating.
You reached for the band of his sweatpants, and he was two steps ahead of you trying to kick them off without having to remove his grip on your body.
Pulling them down for him, he was able to step out of them while keeping his mind and body focused on making out with you. You did the same with his boxers, and when his dick sprang free all you wanted was to take it into you hands.
It was his turn to gasp as you reached between your bodies to stroke him. He was hard as a rock, already twitching and leaking out in anticipation.
Just looking at it had you gushing all over again, completely unable to grasp how you could possibly be the one making him so pathetically hard without a single touch.
“Do you see what you do to me?” He questioned, taking himself into his own hand and pumping while you spread your legs in anticipation.
You nodded and gulped down a mouthful of drool, just wishing he would let you taste it but you knew that wouldn’t slide in this very moment. “Please, let me feel you.” Your arms found their way around his neck.
“You sure?” He checked in one last time just to make sure.
“Are you going to make me do it myself?” You asked desperately, only moments away from sticking it in for him.
“I’m all yours” He told you before stepping towards you one last time to close any distance, then slowly slid in the tip.
Watching your face warp with pleasure was the most beautiful sight and it gave him the butterflies every single time. As he kept slowly pushing his length into you, it felt better than a physical connection. It was always more than that.
It felt like intertwining your souls, becoming one being together. And when he was fully sheathed, he never failed to be incredibly loved by you. You gave him so much of yourself, so much of your body, so much of your trust that he felt a responsibility to do the only thing he could- make you feel just as loved in return.
No matter how hard he had to fight the urge to move, he always waited until you moved first. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth parted as you gave him the physical green light to start rocking his hips.
He started slow until he could feel your body relax around him, then he thrusted faster. “There you go, you’re taking me so well Honey”
You felt absolutely ethereal, letting go of every single thought that wasn’t Steve in that very moment.
As he continued to thrust into you, he laid you back util you were fully laying on the counter with your legs crossed around his back. He leaned over you and cradled his hands under your head to hold you close and make sure you were comfortable.
He kissed you passionately, sweeter than sugar as your hand roamed his back and the other squeezed the back of his neck.
You moaned into each other’s mouths as he found that sweet spot inside of you once more, and your mind went completely numb. He detached your lips but kept his face close to maintain eye contact.
“You’re absolutely decadent, my sweet Angel” he panted, and although his thrusts were slower than his normal pace, it felt overwhelmingly good. He was conveying his message perfectly, this was nothing but making love. “Nobody could ever make me feel the way you do, you know that?”
He continued hitting your sweet spot over and over again, making your eyes squeeze shut and your waist curve up off the counter.
“Open your eyes, sweetie, let me see your face”
You listened to his words, and he smiled when he saw your eyes again. His face was full of pleasure, and the thought of him feeling just as good as you were made your walls squeeze tightly around him.
“Holy shit, baby.” His head dropped into the crook of your neck as he savored your warmth, but it quickly popped back up again to look at you. “I love you so fucking much”
“I love you too” You moaned, running your fingers through his messy hair.
His thrusts turned into deep, long strokes that had you seeing stars.
“Oh my god, oh my- jesus” you gasped, fluttering around him.
“You feel so fucking good” he cried out. “Only you. You are the only one who could ever make me feel like this. Do you understand how incredible you are?”
You whimpered some more, holding onto him for dear life, “Steve-“
“I know, baby.” He kissed you, and when he attached his lips to your mouth he felt you fluttering even more.
So, he kept kissing you and trying to hang onto the pressure building in his own stomach as his balls twitched with every thrust.
You two stayed like that for a while, holding each other in your arms, kissing until you couldn’t breath, basking in the pleasure of each others bodies while he tried to fuck the very concept of your own greatness into your hard head.
Nothing but the sounds of moans, breathing, and skin slapping filled the room while you opened your eyes and looked up at him again.
Your heart skipped a beat or two as the realization of what he’s been trying to tell you finally sank in. Tears filled your eyes as you really looked at his sweet face, and his love clouded all of your senses.
You looked deeply into his blue eyes that held nothing but admiration for you, they were turned slightly upwards, desperate to make sure you understood the gravity of his true feelings. He touched your body in all the right places to make you feel all the right things, but at the same time he touched your heart and connected your souls. You could hear verbal affirmation of your effects on him. Heavy breathing, heavenly moans, and constant declarations of love. He genuinely meant and believed in every single one of them. The smell of his fresh cologne and your bodies mingling filled your nose, with the occasional whiff of vanilla cupcakes. But you were okay with that, vanilla always reminded you of him. When you tasted the product of your sacred love on his lips, it all seemed to make sense. You loved him, and he loved you back.
It really was that pure. It really was that simple.
So when there was physical evidence that you finally understood his point, and you made love to him so decadently, the efforts of his love washed over you once again.
A big physical release, along with a big mental release of all the self doubt you had been harboring since the moment you met him in that hallway.
His love spilled into you as the euphoria set in your brain, and you held him as close as you could. Sitting up as his movements became still, your arms locked him in tight, and your face shoved into the crook of his neck.
He left little kisses on your shoulder as he pulled out. He could’ve been speaking words to you, but you didn’t hear them. All you cared about was soaking in this moment.
Especially when he picked you up in his strong arms and you wrapped around him like a koala. He brought you into his room and got the two of you snuggled up in his bed for maximum comfort.
He could always clean the two of you up later, and the clothes on the kitchen floor weren’t going to run away if he didn’t immediately retrieve them, but right now was a moment that needed to be savored.
The two of you caught your breath together amongst the soft blankets against your bare skin.
Your arms squeezed him nice and tight before your body went limp against him. Snuggled up to his side with your head on his shoulder, legs tangled, your hand on his chest and his hand playing with your hair.
You intertwined your free hands, they rested comfortably on his stomach and your eyes focused on the matching friendship bracelets that have seen better days.
With no one around, and nothing but a head massage to occupy your mind, you finally felt like you knew where you belonged.
It was a place where you didn’t have to change yourself as a defense mechanism like a chameleon.
You didn’t have to put yourself under so much pressure that you shifted into something completely different like carbon into a diamond.
You didn’t need to save the world and all the people in it to prove your worth.
You were already worthy.
You belonged with Steve.
“I love you” You told him sleepily and spent.
“I love you too” You mumbled back, kissing the top of your head.
He smiled knowing that this time, you genuinely believed him.
#steve rogers#captain america#captain america fluff#steve rogers fluff#captain america x reader#chris evans#mcu x reader#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x reader#chris evans fluff#senses of steve#five senses#taste#smut#marvel series#marvel smut#chris evans x you#chris evans smut#steve rogers smut#captain america smut#marvel#marvel x reader
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CORONATION PART 2: THE PROCESSION
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: "At 10:00 AM the gates of Buckingsim Palace opened signaling the monarch is ready to depart. The balusters will be lowered just before the royal guard approaches. The Procession is about to begin and will follow a direct route to the Abbey."
Shon Gableton [SNN]: "Live at Westsimster Abbey, Hallie Howell is awaiting the arrival of the Royal family."
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: "Hallie, how is it?"
Hallie Howell [SNN]: Hi, Shon and Cameron! It's glorious here! There is such a feeling of newness in the air. It's palpable.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: "We can feel it!"
Shon Gableton [SNN]: "The balusters were just lowered at the palace, and the Queen's procession is in view. Let's head back there."
- - - - - ROYAL PROCESSION - - - - -
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Royal Guards lead the King's State Coach, carrying Queen Katherine I and Rainier, Prince consort. The coach is being pulled by 4 white Stallions.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: The King's State Coach was first used at the coronation of King Albert I in 1784 and has since been used to transport every monarch to their coronation. The coach has taken the longer route from Buckingsim Palace, down The Mall, since the coronation of King Edward I in 1888.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Rounding The Lara-Leigh Memorial, the Queen and Prince consort wave to the adoring crowd.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: This is our first glimpse of Her Majesty wearing the State Diamond Diadem, made in 1820 for King Albert I. Since King Albert I, the Diadem has only been worn by Windenburg queens, whether they reigned or were consorts. It was first worn by Queen Isabella, consort to Albert I, in 1830 after the Kings death.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Just behind The Queen's coach, in The Rolls Royce State Limousine, is The Queen Mother, The Prince of Brindleton Bay, and The Princess Grace. The little prince was expected to be amongst Royal Pages but insiders say The Queen preferred Maids of Honor.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: 136 years later, history is made as Queen Katherine I travels down The Mall preparing to be crowned this nations first Queen!
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Let's head to Westsimster Abbey as the royal family arrives. Hallie?
Hallie Howell [SNN]: Yes, Cameron. The Royal Family has just arrived! The crowd erupted in a loud roar upon seeing four black Rolls Royce's, bearing the royal flag, approaching carrying senior members of the royal family.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: Guards stood at attention while the Queen and Prince consort's procession passed.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The tomb of the unknown soldier sits underneath Memorial Arch, and is the central location for Remembrance Day observations to honor armed forces members who have died in the line of duty.
Hallie Howell [SNN]: Back at the Abbey, the Duke and Duchess of Kent are the first to arrive, showing their roles as the most senior members of the royal family. Their Royal Highnesses also arrive in formal robes. The Duke wearing his Order of the Garter robe while the Duchess wears the Royal Edwardian Order mantle, reflecting her status as a Dame Grand Cross of the Royal Edwardian Order.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: "King George I named her a Dame Grand Cross of the Royal Edwardian Order, the highest possible rank, in 2007."
Hallie Howell [SNN]: He did, indeed!
Hallie Howell [SNN]: The Earl and Countess of St Peters followed. Prince Louis, heir to the dukedom of Kent, donned not only his Queen Katherine I Coronation medal but his Royal Edwardian Order, which were bestowed upon His Royal Highness last month. The Countess, wearing a green @sentate dress, wore the Royal Family Order of George I.
Hallie Howell [SNN]: Third to arrive is the younger sister of Queen Katherine, Princess Lara, Countess of Boykins and her husband Anthony, Earl of Boykins. The Princess is wearing a traditional coronation gown and tiara, along with the Windsor sash and the Royal Family Order of George I.
Hallie Howell [SNN]: The Duke and Duchess of Hastings arrive also in formal robes; equal to that of The Duke and Duchess of Kent. The Duke was invested as a Knight of the Garter in 2020 while the Duchess was invested as a Dame Grand Cross of the Royal Edwardian Order in 2022.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: "You can see the slight difference in their robes."
Hallie Howell [SNN]: Yes, the robes of the Edwardian Order features a red stripe along the border. In a statement just released from the palace:
"At the request of the Queen and Prince consort, Dukes and Duchesses both are wearing formal robes and mantels for the [historic] occasion."
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: So, now we know attires have been well coordinated for the senior royals. Just like the royal guardsmen in the Queen's gorgeous procession, having just passed Memorial Arch.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: Yes! Her Majesty's procession is making its way down Parliament Square Street.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: Crowds cheer as Queen Katherine and Prince Rainier pass.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: At the west door of the Abbey, Officers of the Order of Knighthood descend from upstairs to begin the Coronation Procession. It will be a procession composed of elements of both the Church and State, the Spiritual and Temporal life of our land.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: Representatives of The Knights of the most noble Order of the Garter make their way down the naive first, in their blue robes. They are followed by representatives of the most honorable Order of the Protea, in robes of green.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: The rich blue carpet spreads down the aisle of the sanctuary, which hides the black and white checkered floor of the choir of the Abbey. The beautiful contrast of colors inside the abbey is on full display.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: Once again the color changes and there comes the most ancient Order of the Iwé, in scarlet robes.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: After a brief gap, the Prime Minister of Brindleton Bay along with the Prime Minister of Sulani follow. Behind them, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, the Rt. Hon. Sir Linwood Keller, Knight of the Garter.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: Immediately behind the Prime Minister is the Dean of Westsimster. He leads the next procession through the screen under the orchestra and the organ and out into the brilliance of the choir. We see them now, high above the alter, as the Cross of Westsimster is born by the Rev. Hilliard.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: Following the dean are Representatives from the churches of Windenburg and Brindleton Bay, showing the processions transition from State to Church.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: The Church of Winenburg representatives include the Lord Bishops who end the first part of the coronation procession.
Cameron Dorly [SNN]: After a brief pause, we see a glimpse of the Heralds in their full splendor. Four Windenburg heralds followed by one Brindleton Bay herald stand as trumpets play announcing The Queen.
Shon Gableton [SNN]: With the sound of the trumpets anthem, The Queen and Prince consort's arrival at the Abbey has been announced.
Previous | Beginning | Next - continue Heir Ascent (story)
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#simshousewindsor#simshousewindsor ts4#ts4#sims 4 simblr#ts4 royalty#sims 4 royal family#simshousewindsor monarchy#sims 4 story#sims 4 monarchy#simshousewindsor coronation#ts4 coronation#simshousewindsor simblr#simshousewindsor queen katherine i coronation#simblr#ts4 simblr#simshousewindsor tumblr#simshousewindsor royalty#ts4 news#SNN has the tea#simshousewindsor on snn#simshousewindsor story#simshousewindsor news#ts4 royal simblr#the sims 4
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On March 26, 1945, the island of Iwo Jima was finally declared secure. The 36-day long battle resulted in over 26,000 American casualties, including 6,800 killed in action.
A total of 27 Medals of Honor were awarded to Marine and Navy personnel for gallantry above and beyond the call of duty during the battle.
Pictured above: A close-up view of Marine Corps and Navy emblems, each one representing a serviceman who lost their life during the battle of Iwo Jima. This display is located at the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Quantico, Virginia.
#iwo jima#wwii#world war 2#marine museum#museum#usmc#us marines#us navy#usn#military#history#my photography
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and there are some days when i think that, somewhere, you're watching - the blue au
universe: the blue au
warnings: cancer, grief, sadness, the usual with anything to do with the blue au's premise lol
title: "chemtrails" by lizzy mcalpine
word count: 1.1k
author's note: lol hey!! there are a million other wips i should be working on but here we are! if you haven't read at least the first part of this au yet, you probs should for context. we are also manifesting here all three hughes brothers make it to the olympics. inspired by the beautiful players tribune article kevin hayes wrote for his late brother jimmy. i thought a lot about which brother would write something like this and ended up settling on quinn <3 enjoy and let me know your thoughts!
*****
The Ones We Play For
for The Players Tribune
by Quinn Hughes
Written February 4, 2026
I’ll never forget the first time I put on a USA jersey for an international competition.
It was for the 2015 World Under-17 Challenge when I had just turned 16. I didn’t think much of it at the time. The only thing I thought about was playing well, but it was an honor nonetheless.
Every time you get the opportunity to represent your country in any way, it’s an honor. I know everyone says it, but it’s true. The whole nation is looking at you and cheering you and your teammates on. The playing of the anthem means more than ever. You look at the jersey and feel like you’re part of something bigger.
Next week, hockey at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milano-Cortina will begin. I’ve always dreamed of being about to play at the Olympics, but now that it’s actually here, it’s surreal.
The team is great, and I feel lucky to even be here. As I look around at my teammates, I feel confident that we can bring home a gold medal. But it’ll take hard work. That’s nothing that we don’t know though.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to put on the jersey and who we wear it for. Of course, I think I speak for every single person at these Olympics when we say we wear it for our country and the fans watching us, whether here in Italy or back home.
But we’re all playing for someone in our own support group. The village that has brought each of us here.
First, my parents, who have been there since the very first day. My mom, who taught me how to skate and my dad, who taught me how to see the game. My extended family: my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and family who aren’t technically family but who might as well be. Everyone in my life who’s always offered support and encouraging words, who has sat in cold rinks and watched me play. Whether they’re here in Italy or watching from various parts of the world, I’m playing for them.
I’m also playing for my brothers, who will be on the ice with me. That’s still crazy for me to think about. We never could’ve imagined this when we were playing mini sticks in the basement as kids. Of course, we dreamed about it. But to see it come to reality? I feel very grateful. In the locker room, I look at Jack on my right and then Luke at my left. We’re playing for each other.
But most importantly, I’m playing for Miguel Sandoval.
I don’t talk about Miguel often, but he was one of the most important people in my life. Still is. He met my parents before I was born and automatically became a second father to me. To be honest, I don’t think I talk about him often because it still hurts to think about.
Miguel was one of my biggest cheerleaders from the beginning. The fact that he’s not alive to see me take the ice next week is, well, it’s a lot of things. Sad is the first word that pops to mind. Unfair is another. The one who was at the rink next to my father in the stands before I even really knew how to play hockey isn’t alive to see me play in the Olympics? There’s no words to describe how devastating that is.
He never got to see me play in any USA jersey, even though he was always confident I would put one on eventually. He died of pancreatic cancer on New Year’s Day, 2015.
It’s been over 11 years without him, but he’s still in everything I do. A huge part of the reason I wear 43 is because of him — his birthday is April 3. I still remember his boisterous laugh and his kind eyes. He wrote Jack, Luke and I letters before he died that were specifically addressed to be given to us on our draft days. I still carry mine with me on every road trip. That’s how long and how strongly he believed in us. Somehow, he just knew that we would be drafted long before it happened.
I have every word of that letter memorized. Sometimes, I trace over his handwriting with my thumb, and it feels like he's still with us.
During his brief battle with cancer, even when his body had almost no strength left, he always greeted us with a smile and an enthusiastic greeting. Even when he was advised not to, he made it to the games he could until his last days. To the very last day, he lived life with the biggest smile on his face.
If anyone should be here to see his “talented boys” take on the ice, it’s him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have someone like Miguel who loved them so unconditionally. I’m grateful for the time I had with him, even if I desperately wish it was more. We weren’t his sons by blood, but he treated us like family. But sometimes life is unfair, and we have to hold on to the fact that everything happens for a reason.
Here’s a reason: Miguel’s wife, Maeve, who is like a second mother to me, will be watching from Boston. Maeve is the best, always keeping it lighthearted and reminding me that life is supposed to be lived to the fullest. She has this youthful energy that’s just so infectious. She’s the one who always reminds me that hockey is supposed to be fun. I wouldn't be half the person I am today without her support.
And then their daughter, Clementine. Clem, I call her. Jack calls her Clee and Luke calls her Clemmy. Clem’s my best friend / older sister — the universal older sister, to be honest. It doesn’t matter if our last names aren’t the same. She’s been there for me ever since I could remember. Even when we were states, sometimes countries, away, I knew that if I called her, she’d always pick up. Currently on the journey to becoming a doctor, Clem is the kindest, most intelligent, most selfless and strongest woman I’ve ever met. She was the one who lost her father, but she made sure that all of us were okay. Even now, she can’t ever seem to take off the big-sister hat. But I wouldn’t have her any other way.
Miguel, wherever you are, I can tell you a few things. First, I promise that we’re taking care of your wife and daughter as best as we can. We’re gonna try our best to get to the final rounds of this tournament so that they can fly out and watch us play. We love them and they’ll always be family. Second, whenever I feel a bit lost or need to be grounded, I think of you and your calm demeanor and bear hugs. I wish I could have just one more hug. Squeeze you one more time.
Miguel, when I put on that USA jersey and step on the ice, I will be playing for you. Jack, Luke and I will all be skating for you.
We miss you.
We love you.
This is for you.
Yours,
Quinn
#the blue au#k writes#quinn hughes#jack hughes#luke hughes#hockey fanfic#hockey writing#hockey blurb#quinn hughes fic#nhl#nhl blurb#nhl writing
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