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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Stephen Strange - enough for you

A/N & WC - I am not trying to pretend I am Olivia Rodrigo at all: total credit for all songs and lyrics used here goes to her and her team. No disrespect is meant towards her. I do not own the songs, I also do not own the characters I’m writing these blurbs for. Please read the preface. It's long for this series: 2.3k.

Warnings - This is angled romantically towards Stephen. Angst, crying, talk of a breakup and broken heart.

The crackle of electricity splits the silent air all around me. I’ve been alone and waiting since Natasha left, and right on time, Stephen’s arrival is announced. A second later a glowing gold portal, spitting flame-coloured sparks opens up in a perfect circle and reveals him, shrouded in his cloak, head bowed, his single strand of grey hair distinctive, standing out against his harsh dark locks. He shakes his head slightly, inclining it towards me with the ghost of a smile as he straightens himself out. The portal snaps shut with a hiss, and Stephen takes a large step towards me in his chunky boots, reaching out to brush my arm. My own smile flickers and fades, and I see the conflict flash over his features as he internally debates it: his heart wins over his head as he steps forward and sweeps me wholly into his arms. My feet are lifted from the ground, his arms holding me tight, his lips brushing my cheek. I cling to him as though my life depends on it, inhaling deeply. He smells of citrus, fresh spice and something so distinctly Stephen. He feels like home.

“Hi Beanie,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

This is a huge emotional come-down, a crash, almost, compared to the excitement I had with Natasha. I’m glad to have calmed down in that time, so I’m tranquil enough to match Stephen’s energy. I settle into his warmth, and try to relax despite the anxieties nibbling at my nerves.

“Hey,” I breathe, “okay?”

“Course. You?” I nod. “What have you got to show me?”

I clear my throat, and begin to settle myself back down onto the floor, “A song.”

He lets me go, and strains his ears, dark eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

I stand taller and prouder this time, “A song.” I’m nervous to admit it, and avert my eyes: he’s had an inkling, but I haven’t told him about this project of mine.

I’m pleased to see his face light up, his hand flying to my hair.

“Really? Well, I’m all ears. Did you write it? Is it recorded or live?”

I shuffle over to collect my guitar, “You’ll see.”

I gesture to the couch, and just watch from the corner of my eye as I tune my guitar and loosen up my vocal cords. He settles down, closer to the one side, apparently expecting me to join him. In a moment of bravery, I forego the seat I set up for myself over the other side of the tidy glass table, and join him on the sofa, not too far but not too close: just enough for his knee to brush mine as we settle down. My cheeks instantly flush.

I start to pluck at my guitar strings, not daring to meet his eyes, but I feel his gaze on me as I focus on the notes forming the broken chords. My voice is shy and tentative to start with, breathy, but it works with the melancholy, andante feel to the song.

‘I wore makeup when we dated

'Cause I thought you'd like me more,’

Christ, if you could feel a heartbreak, this would be it. Reliving that night brings me to my knees. Stephen took my hand in his, not caring about the gnarled scars lining his fingers, and took me up to my room, sitting me down on the bed as he removed the layers of makeup I spent months hiding under, taking extra care with my panda eyes. He asked me why I’d started wearing it, because when he met me, I was au naturel, and according to him, beautiful. He tried to stop me wearing makeup for months, and I felt his soul rip in two when I told him I did it so a boy would like me more. I can feel it all over again, hear the hitch in his breath.

‘If I looked like the other prom queens

I know that you loved before.’

His hands knot in his lap at the memory I’ve evoked no doubt. Before this arsehole ex boyfriend, I was stood up for prom. Me: Y/N Stark, daughter of The Tony Stark, and I still wasn’t enough. I was given a choice out of the whole team on who I wanted to accompany me, and everyone expected me to choose Steve or one of the dark, smouldering anti-heroes we have in our midst. I chose Stephen without a beat, and I’ll never forget the look that illuminated his sullen face when his name spilled from my lips. He stepped up to the plate, took care of me and danced with me all night, and gave me a happy, enjoyable, memorable prom night after all.

At the end of the night, my date was making out with a prom queen nominee by the bleachers. Stephen shed his blazer, pulled me in tight, and held my hand until we reached the limo. Then he took me for fast food, and we watched the sunrise over the city from the roof of the sanctum. He did the same to cheer me up after all hell let loose, when the pictures were first released, but I couldn’t focus on the sun, instead bundling up into his side and staring endlessly.

‘Tried so hard to be everything that you liked

Just for you to say you're not the compliment type.’

“You’re everything for me,” Stephen whispers, so deadly quietly that his voice is carried away with the vibrations of my guitar strings.

I hear him, though, I hear every compliment he’s doled out to me. Whether just a passing comment in conversation, or boosting my confidence after a knock, he’s always been there to compliment me. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work out with my ex when I had Stephen calling me beautiful and giving me all the butterflies I sorely lacked. It wasn’t Stephen’s nature either, not his type, but he’s… soft when it comes to me, like those barricades he’s spent years carefully constructing can fall down should I say the word.

‘And I knew how you took your coffee

And your favourite songs by heart,’

Only now I’m out, only after hours with Strange, have I learnt that changing myself for a boy, altering every innate aspect of myself, wrecks you from the inside out. Something as simple as music taste makes a person who they are, so why did I feel the need to erase that?

‘I read all of your self-help books

So you'd think that I was smart.’

I hear a soft chuckle from beside me at this, and glance to my left to see Stephen’s crystal blue eyes twinkling with mirth. His despisement of self-help books is a running gag between us. I can’t even bite back a smile as his dimples appear despite his facial hair. I understand his hatred for them, though, as the majority of self help books are utter garbage and should be burned. I’m smart in my own right, something I’ll never allow anyone to make me forget again. Smarter even than Stephen, a fact I’ll never let him forget.

‘Stupid, emotional, obsessive little me

I knew from the start this is exactly how you'd leave.’

Stephen knew: he always knew. But he wasn’t willing to break up heart twice, not when deep down we all knew the truth.

“You’re not stupid or obsessive at all,” he tells me, his beard tickling my ear, “and your emotions make you whole. Don't demean yourself, darling, please.”

I nestle further into him, almost subconsciously, and try to ignore the fluttering of my heart while not daring to look at him, lest I melt into a puddle. I continue my playing, and lead with a slightly stronger voice into the chorus.

‘And you always say I'm never satisfied

But I don't think that's true.

'Cause all I ever wanted was to be enough for you.’

My relationship with Stephen is layered, and we’re more complicated than we’ve let anyone see from the outside. In all honesty, I knew something was there between us before my ex and I broke up. Stephen planted the seeds of doubt in my mind about my ex, because unlike him, I was always enough for Stephen. He’s satisfied with everything about me, even the small things. Like, even if I just got out of bed on a bad day, he’d be proud of me.

‘And maybe I'm just not as interesting

As the girls you had before’

I sense his heart speeding up, hear him shuffle on the couch cushions, feel him beside me. I can hear his thoughts, almost, the reassurances he purred in my ear as I bawled in his arms for hours upon hours. He promised me I was fascinating, the brightest, most enigmatic person he’s ever happened upon, and promised to spend his life reminding me of such if I ever began to doubt myself, compare myself to other girls.

‘But God, you couldn't have cared less

About someone who loved you more.’

Stephen’s trembling hand finds my thigh nearest to him. He knows I don’t love him anymore, but my heart belongs to another. Love is transactional, until you find the one. Although I loved my ex more than he loved me and he was undeserving of it in its entirety, I now know how to care for and love someone truly.

‘I'd say you broke my heart

But you broke much more than that

Now I don't want your sympathy

I just want myself back.’

A sob breaks from his lips, and my heart shatters just that fraction more. Tears, hot and stinging, begin streaming down my own blotchy cheeks. I’m still finding myself, still piecing myself back together after the unutterable brokenness that echoed through my entire body. His fingertips dig bruisingly into the flesh of my thigh, but I don’t mind. He’s grounding me without even realising so. Stephen’s sympathy is what got me through: his empathy, even. He held me together, picked up the pieces, and made me whole again. His knack for healing got me through the darkest days of my breakup, and I know he feels the unspoken bond between us strengthening as he captures my tears on the pad of his thumb.

‘Before you found someone more exciting

The next second, you were gone

And you left me there cryin', wonderin' what I did wrong’

His other hand snakes around my waist, and I’m tugged into a hug, his chin resting on my shoulder as I try to keep the wobble from my voice. My hands fall limp around my guitar, only the very tips of my fingers still working enough to play my song, and more on instinct than anything else.

Stephen spent so long trying to convince me that I was enough, and anyone who left, it was their problem, not mine. I know I wasn’t perfect and that I made mistakes along the way, did and said the wrong things, but at the end of the day…

“You’re perfect,” he tells me earnestly, and I feel his words vibrate right through to my core.

‘Don't you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded?

Don't you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing?’

Stephen’s mere presence beside me tells me that I deserve the world and more, everything that’s unspoken between us.

‘But don't tell me you're sorry, boy

Feel sorry for yourself.

'Cause someday I'll be everything to somebody else.’

I am, to Stephen, as soon as I'm ready.

I let my final note fall off, my fingers toying with the strings in continuing broken chord formations, my mind dwelling on the future. The second I’m ready, I can jump into Stephen’s arms, and I know he’ll be waiting for me. My whole life is holding me close right now; all I need to do is take the leap.

‘And they'll think that I am so exciting…’

And you'll be the one who's crying…’

I’m all cried out now, and my eyes have dried. I can move forward now, because I'm content, and I’m excited to experience new things. My rubato is liberal here, which works well due to the fact my focus is weaning with his smile pressed to the pulse point in my neck.

‘You say I'm never satisfied

But that's not me, it's you,’

In all fairness, I’m a simple girl. A bunch of flowers here, a few compliments there: treat me right, and I’m yours. I was never my exes, but I’m definitely Stephen’s, and I couldn’t be more satisfied with that fact. My words hold a certain power, my voice steady and strong as I reach for a high note, supporting it with my diaphragm.

'Cause all I ever wanted was to be enough

But I don't think anything could ever be enough

For you, enough for you.’

There’s barely even a beat of silence between us before Stephen lifts me up off the couch, and has me slung over his knee, his arms wrapped around me with enough room for me to settle my guitar down.

“You’re more than enough. I can’t tell you how subliminally perfect you are, y/n.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, “I know that now. And thank you for everything, Stephen, I wouldn’t even be able to write this music without your support…”

“Anything for you. Anything.”

I smile. I grin. I beam with glee. “I know. And for you.”

“I’m so proud. That song… God, it moved me. You moved me, Beanie,” he says, his cerulean orbs boring into mine, “your words can do that.”

I don’t reply: I don’t have to, because everything that needs to be said is conveyed in the way our eyes meet, the way our noses brush, the way his arms hold me tight and vow never to let me go. I’m enough.

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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ANN'S EVENT MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION.

The Stolen Moments (Miniseries) - 4k Celebration Event.

↳ Gyllenhaal!Reader x Tom Holland. After a chance encounter in Central Park, fate seems to send your once-upon-a-time, almost-summer-fling barrelling straight back into your arms. Your dad still seems to see you as his little girl, despite your age, which leads to enough upset for the both of you. But will stolen moments with Tom be enough this time around, with your protective dad always keeping his eye out and ready to avenge you?

Chapter 1

↳ The City to Call Home - 3.8k words.

Chapter 2

↳ Tell Me Something Good - 2.4K words.

Chapter 3

↳ Confidence - 5.0k words.

Chapter 4

↳ My City Girl - 9.7k words.

Chapter 5

↳ Never Be Angry - 8.4k words.

Ann's 200 Taylor Swift Blurb Event.

Getaway Car x Bucky Barnes.

↳ ‘Well, he was running after us, I was screaming, "Go, go, go!” You were drivin' the getaway car, There were sirens in the heat of your heart. Don’t pretend it’s such a mystery...’

Stay, Stay, Stay x Dr Strange.

↳ ‘I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night, I threw my phone across the room at you. But you stayed. This morning I said we should talk about it... I think it’s best if we both stay.’

Don't You x Tom Hiddleston.

↳ ‘I heard she's nothin' like me, I'm sure she'll make you happy. But... Don't you smile at me and ask me how I've been. Don't you say you've missed me if you don't want me again.’

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things x Tom Holland.

↳ ‘I'm locking the gates. This is why we can't have nice things, darling, Because you break them, I had to take them away. But I’m not the only friend you’ve lost lately, if only you weren’t so shady.’

Ann's 3k SOUR Blurb Event.

Preface.

↳ Stark!Avenger!Reader writes an album to get over a breakup the team helped her through. Before its release, she plays a song for the Avenger who gave her the support for each part of the breakup that correlates to a song.

brutal x Steve.

↳ 'They'd all be do disappointed, cause who am I if not exploited?'

traitor x Tony.

↳ 'Don't you dare forget about the way you betrayed me, cause I know that you'll never feel sorry for the way I hurt.'

drivers licence x Peter.

↳ ‘I know we weren’t perfect but I’ve never felt this way for no one, and I just can't imagine how you could be so okay...’

1 step forward, 3 steps back x Sam.

↳ ‘Like, which lover will I get today? Will you walk me to the door or send me home cryin'?'

deja vu x Wanda.

↳ 'She thinks its special, but it's all reused. Do you get déjà vu when she's with you?'

good 4 u x Nat.

↳ 'And good for you, I guess that you've been workin' on yourself, I guess that therapist I found for you, she really helped.'

enough for you x Dr Strange.

↳ ‘I don’t want your sympathy, I just want myself back. Because someday I’ll be everything to somebody else.’

happier x Thor.

↳ 'And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen? An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean.'

jealousy, jealousy x Bucky.

↳ 'I'm so sick of myself I'd rather be, rather be anyone, anyone else, but jealousy, jealousy started followin' me.'

favourite crime x Loki.

↳ ‘It’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we do, and I was going down but I was doing it with you.’

hope ur ok x Team.

↳ ‘Does she know how proud I am she was created with the courage to unlearn all of their hatred?’

#ann's 3k sour blurb event #ann's ts 200 blurb event #avengers x stark!reader #avengers x reader #avengers blurbs #avengers imagine #Tony stark #Steve Rogers #peter Parker #Wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #Loki #Sam Wilson #bucky barnes #Stephen strange #Thor #Tom Hiddleston #Tom Holland

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Tony Stark - traitor

A/N & WC- I am not trying to pretend I am Olivia Rodrigo at all: total credit for all songs and lyrics used here goes to her and her team. No disrespect is meant towards her. I do not own the songs, I also do not own the characters I’m writing these blurbs for. Please read the preface. 1.1k.

Warnings - Tony being Tony, breakup angst.

“Am I next?” Tony asks, already standing and leaning against the opposite wall, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded over his waistcoat, his glasses balanced on his nose. “Come on, daughter, let’s see what you have to say.”

“How did you know?”

“FRIDAY,” he answers nonchalantly.

He walks through without me even having to ask, either not seeing or electing to ignore the barely concealed shock that flickers over my features. He’s settled on the sofa, happily reclined with his legs folded the same way Steve’s were, but dad just has this certain extra swagger when he does this. He flicks open his blazer, and gestures impatiently. He’s far too cheerful for what this song entails.

I pick up my guitar once again, snatching the mute pad from the table to slip beneath the strings. This song only needs a very subtle accompaniment due to the soft nature the vocal line carries. I dread to think how dad’ll react to these lyrics, but here I go.

I start off with light, almost ethereal vocalisations, strumming softly once the words pick up,

‘I played dumb, but I always knew…

I kept quiet so I could keep you.’

The exact things my dad taught me, spent years trying to train out of me. “Never change yourself for a boy.” And I did just that, downplaying my intelligence and status to protect his ego. And he left me anyway.

‘You betrayed me

And I know that you'll never feel sorry

For the way I hurt,’

The second we broke up, Tony said to me that my ex reminded him too much of his old playboy self. He knew I’d get hurt, he knew I’d be betrayed, he thought I’d be cheated on. He was right, and I didn’t listen.

‘Loved you at your worst

But that didn't matter

It took you two weeks

To go off and date her.’

A month until the pictures were released, but I knew. I knew far before. I live with spies and have access to top technology. It was probably less than two weeks: not that I can find any proof beyond what’s already all over the internet.

‘Guess you didn't cheat

But you're still a traitor.’

The chords begin to pick up around here, but I find I can’t look my dad in the eyes anymore, scrunching my own shut. There’s a pit of fire consuming his brown orbs, one full of threats to be fulfilled.

‘Show her off like she's a new trophy,’

As though dating a Stark wasn’t trophy enough. At least not enough to feed his testosterone and fragile masculinity. I wish I could slap the misogyny out of him, but I left that to someone else.

‘And I know if you were true

There's no damn way that you

Could fall in love with somebody that quickly.’

“Baby, baby,” Tony says loudly, over the music. I stop playing with a huff, glaring at him. “It ain’t love. You’re too young. And boys like him… they can’t love. Don’t beat yourself up over his immaturity.”

“But, Dad,” I press my palm to the strings, a quiver in my voice, “that’s not the point. It’s the moral that counts.”

“Ok,” he concedes with a huff. “Go ahead.”

I begin to play again, picking up where I left off, bringing myself back to the moment and isolating away from him, lounging in the den of cushions.

‘Ain't it funny?

Remember I brought her up

And you told me I was paranoid.

I knew I wasn’t. Every single time, but that didn’t stop him from feeding me lies. It’s impossible to make an avenger paranoid, especially when they’re immune to Wanda and Loki’s mind-control tricks from a lifetime of training. But he wheedled his way into my heart anyway.

I sing the chorus, but it’s the bridge that I really need to focus on, the part that rips my heart to shreds. It was the first part I laid down after dad’s lecture. “May your heart remain breakable, but never by the same hand twice.” He understood it as best as he could, but was more realistic than sympathetic so early on, which deepened the sad emotions brewing within me, allowing me to write.

‘God, I wish that you had thought this through

Before I went and fell in love with you.

When she's sleeping in the bed we made—’

Tony’s brows raise, I can just sense it even though that's not my implication—'you made your bed, lie in it'—except I made hat bed, and she's the one lying there.

‘Don't you dare forget about the way

You betrayed me,’

I employ rubato for this part, elongating the syllables I want to, holding onto long notes, swaying the time so I can truly feel the lyrics. The room around me ebbs away, and it’s just me and my music where nothing can touch me.

'Cause I know that you'll never feel sorry

For the way I hurt…’

I play the rest of the song expressing every emotion I feel, and even hear a faint sniffle once I approach the final unaccompanied line.

‘God, I wish that you had thought this through

Before I went and fell in love with you.’

As my final note rings out, silence falls around the room, cushioning any tension that may have been strung. I hear my dad’s heavy breathing, notice the subtle attempt to remove his glasses and withdraw his handkerchief, and make my way over. A half sob bursts from him the second I’m by his side, and my dad wrests me into his arms. He hasn’t hugged me this way for a long time.

“I had no idea you were so heartbroken, butterbean.”

I scoff, pulling away and crawling back over the couch and away from him. “Of course I was, dad. It was my first break up, my first heartbreak, and everyone had my back more than you did.”

I don’t care if he was right. I wanted sympathy and he gave me nothing. Yet he still wonders why I go to the other Avengers instead of him. It’s not like my mom is around to do the sympathetic side of things, so he could’ve at least tried. This emotional reaction is too little, too late, I’m afraid.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“And so you should be,” I mutter, half-remorsefully, half-self-aggrandising under my breath. “But it’s too late now.”

“Sweetheart…” He tries to hug me again, and this time I concede, letting him bundle me up in his arms the way he did when I was just a child. “Don’t say that.”

I sigh, and pat his shoulder, my knees digging into the sofa, “We can move on now.”

“You sure?”

I nod my head with a hum of agreement, but he won’t let go of me for a while. I suppose this is okay. It will be, at least.

#ann's 3k sour blurb event #tony stark #stark!reader #dad!tony stark #iron man #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark fic #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Thor Odinson - happier

Warnings - Thor being a himbo, Thor being obsessed with Jane, break up talk, swearing.

“Ah!” Thor’s voice booms out once I manage to seek him out, still wiping my eyes. “Mortal girl. Why were you being so… noisy?”

“I was trying to find you,” I tell him, deadpanning.

“Ok then, y/n. Why?”

“For God’s sake, will you just follow me?”

He sighs at me rolling my eyes, but follows me. I ignore the hiss of wind and the way the flash of silver passing just inches over the top of my head dislodges my hair.

“I apologise for Mjolnir. He tends to…”

“I know,” I say, turning to meet his one-eyed gaze as we reach the living room, “I’m used to it. Make yourself comfortable.”

He’s still iffy about Midgardian furniture—probably since he’s broken multiple pieces of it during his time here—so balances uncomfortably on the very edge of the sofa with Mjolnir in his hand, the leather and metal of his fighting gear settling heavily against the cushions. I sit at the piano with my back straight, my shoulders squared, and my fingers gently curved over the notes.

“A-are you going to play for me, y/n?”

“That was the plan. I wrote a song I want you to hear.”

“Oh!” he exclaims, though I can’t tell whether it’s in surprise or disapproval, “ok.”

He runs one giant hand through his matted blonde hair, and hones his eyes in on my back. My fingers press the keys for the very first chord, Db7. The 6/8 time signature adds a swing waltz feel, unique to this song, unfamiliar with my usual compositional style.

‘We broke up a month ago

You've moved on, found someone new

One more girl who brings out the better in you’

Thor wasn’t grounded when I was going through the breakup, but returned by the photo leak, and hugged me so tight once he learned what had happened that I almost stopped breathing. He then proceeded to spend around ten hours telling me every small detail and every little passing emotion in a long winded retelling about his relationship with Jane. I won’t lie, it did help a little, and most certainly distracted me.

The part of his tale that inspired this song was about his return to earth during the convergence, when Jane was dating an Irish man who made Thor more jealous than he can recall being before in all thousand years of his life. When he took her to Asgard, he wished for her to only be happy with him. I don’t blame him one little bit.

‘And I thought my heart was attached

For all the sunlight of our past.’

For all of his chaos in recent years, Thor has his head screwed on straight. He can detach himself, be logical through heartbreak, and for all his recklessness, he’s… solid. He taught me how to separate myself from my heart so it wouldn’t hurt, how to watch my emotions from another perspective and weigh them up. We examined each and every one under the same question. Is it worth it? And a lot of the time the answer was no, so Thor sat by me as I let go of the happy memories. It… helped.

But she's so sweet, she's so pretty

Does she mean you forgot about me?’

Thor likes to ramble. He’s very good at it. I feel like I’m subjected to an inane lecture half the time, but the other half, he packs wisdom in his nonsense. Whilst rambling about Jane, he dropped a few quality bombs from their conversations. ‘I never forgot about you, or stopped hoping…’ ‘if you ever doubted my return, we aren’t meant to be…’ And then I realised that for the precise reason that I doubted him, it doesn’t matter if we forget one another, because we clearly weren’t meant to be.

‘Oh, I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go

So find someone great but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier’

Thor’s eyes are closed, and he’s swaying to the beat in his seat, his blond locks floating around him as he soaks my words in. His ego is the size of the nine realms most of the time, so he knows Jane won’t find anyone better, the same way I know my ex won't find anyone as good as me. Thor and I, though I always thought we were polar opposites, are exactly the same. We know how happy we can make people, we know we’re wonderful, we know we can be selfish at times, but that makes us great people to be around. He brought the oomph back into my ego, and for that, I smile at him as I tail off from the chorus, not that he can see me.

‘And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean

But she's beautiful, she looks kind, she probably gives you butterflies.’

Thor told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He was drunk, of course, and assured me it was platonic because he was in love with Jane, but it boosted my self esteem anyway, since my ex never said anything like that. I knew I shouldn’t be comparing myself to her, as Thor knows he shouldn’t compare himself to any mortal men that may take Jane’s fancy in the interim. Though misguided and rather conceited, I took his point in my stride. It’s complete bullshit, whatever my ex says, to me, to her, to whoever comes next and whoever has been before. Thor… he helped me increase my sorry Stark ego. Of course no one else in the tower was happy about this, but I was, because I was back to myself once he was done.

‘I hope you're happy, I wish you all the best, really

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier’

Vengeance seeps into my tone now as I experience the true meaning of the song. Thor, in typical golden retriever style, has his head cocked and his brows furrowed as he tries to visibly make sense of the lyrics. I’m fucking unforgettable, and I’ll be damned if he finds anyone better. I’m happier alone, but he’s so disgusting he wouldn’t manage it. There’s nothing more for me to feel fondly about, and I thank Thor in these lyrics for helping me recognise this.

Light, almost heady vocalisations spill from my lips, feeling them in my nose as I hum and ooh and ahh. I let it all flood over me, emotions pooling around me as I attempt to sift through them for some conformation, but all I get is clarity. I’m happy, so fucking happy now. While I was tied down—without the help of my bloody witless Uncle Thor—I never would’ve figured out that he was the reason I wasn’t happier. Jokes on him. I repeat the chorus with a smirk etched upon my face.

‘I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.’

My final line is sung almost ethereally, lightly, with the slightest riff and inflection on the words as I breathe out on the final word, vibrato lacing my lyrics. I glance at Thor, his cheeks full of food he got from lord knows where so he looks like a hamster, wearing that stupid grin he often does.

He stands up, his posture impressive, and applauds me. The sound booms around the room despite it only being him, and I feel the vibrations of his claps in my legs as I stand, wobbling slightly.

“I liked that!” he exclaims. “Not the style, of course, but the words are lovely.”

I offer him a smile, shuffling over to perch on the arm of the couch, “I wrote the lyrics after your help through my break up.”

“Who knew I was a songwriter? I can add that to my list, hold on one moment…”

“Thor, no—” I start, but cut myself off. I’ll let him have this one.

“Well then, y/n. What is it the others call you? Baked bean? I can see it! Your eyes are all... they’re all splotchy like baked beans,” he laughs.

And now I remember why we aren’t usually friends.

“Well anyway, I liked your little song. Thank you. Should I leave now?”

“Yeah, um, you can just go,” I say half heartedly.

He smiles at me over his shoulder as he disappears, leaving the door wide open behind him. Typical Thor. But then again, sometimes family is difficult, and I suppose that’s what he is to me, why he helped me, why I put up with him even when he says the most pointless things. Hopefully Bucky has a bit more to say.

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Wanda Maximoff - deja vu

Warnings - swearing, Wanda being sad, breakup angst.

I search the tower for five minutes before finding Wanda, enveloped in a burgundy cocoon that hurtles me back like a forcefield when I get too close. She’s reading something, hovering above the ground, not noticing my presence until I call out for her. Instantly, said cocoon disappears in a puff of crimson smoke, and from behind a door, Wanda appears, bags beneath her eyes betraying her tired state.

“Are you okay?” I ask her instantly, dashing over to take her hand.

She nods, smiling sheepishly, “Studying. I had no idea it would take this much effort, I’m constantly tired.”

I don’t know what to say to her, I don’t know what to do. During the break up, I didn’t know how to act around her. My partner broke up with me, hers died. I squeeze her hand in what I hope conveys sympathy.

“I have something for you. Do you wanna come down to the common room?”

“Sure.”

She follows me down, and sits right beside me at the keyboard rather than on the sofa. I fetch her some tea before we begin, and offer a hug.

“Tell me to stop at any time, but I wrote this song after you helped me with the… y’know. It’s just a small thank you, I guess.”

The first true smile I’ve seen in a really long time tugs at her lips, “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s more for you than anything else.”

She’s beaming from ear-to-ear now, cupping my cheek affectionately,, “Thank you.”

I begin on the introduction, a treble heavy quaver accompaniment that only plays once before the lyrics begin.

‘Car rides to Malibu...

And trading jackets

Laughing 'bout how small it looks on you.’

This is the first thing I’m grateful to Wanda about, because he’d usually just get angry about nicking his jacket, and he ripped mine once. She augmented those memories to a certain extent to ease the pain at the time, but now, as intended, the illusion is wearing off, hence these lyrics.

‘Watching reruns of Glee

Being annoying, singing in harmony,’

Our voices sounded banging together, but he’d criticise if we hit a discordant bar, get annoyed at me and toss the blame, even if it was his line that clashed with the main melody. I smile at Wanda: she heard it.

‘I bet she's bragging

To all her friends, saying you're so unique.’

The first laugh I’ve heard from Wanda in a while bubbles over, and the gleam in her eye betrays her mischief. If we’re being honest, he was a generic, basic boy whom I have no interest in dating anyone similar to again. Nothing about him was unique.

‘So when you gonna tell her

That we did that too?

She thinks it's special,’

A sputtering laugh erupts in the silence, one I have to partake in also, laughing at my own stupidity. Just the way that I felt once upon a time, when it’s utterly undoubtable in my mind now that I was just another girl he’d run through so many of before. There’s always a stream of heartbroken girls behind dickheads like that, and it’s never ending, because us girls unfortunately never learn. Wanda had the right idea, falling for a robot. There’s a power in my voice, singing well and truly from the heart, as I broach the next line with a barely perceptible shake of my head.

‘But it's all reused.

Do you get déjà vu when she's with you?’

A burst of crimson red stars burst from Wanda’s fingertips, and eviscerate a moment later in a cloud of deep pink. Her devilish smirk tells of the diabolical things she did to him, unspeakable perhaps: all I know is that she went above and beyond what I asked of her. He’s haunted by the Scarlet Witch for the rest of his life. Maybe he shouldn’t have broken my heart.

‘Do you call her

Almost say my name?

We kinda do sound the same…’

At least in his mind we do, even with drastically different accents and elocutions, he’ll still hear me speak every time she opens her mouth. I beam at Wanda as I switch chords with slightly bent fingers: she’s an absolute wonder, and I can’t thank her enough, even if the next line does sting enough for me to retreat into myself just momentarily. Her breathing is steady beside me.

‘I hate to think that I was just your type.

Now I bet you even tell her

How you love her

In between the chorus and the verse.’

The brief recitative melody of this section flows beautifully back into the main verse, and then there’s a pause before I leap back into the chorus with Wanda jamming behind me quite happily. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her in the most candid spot I could imagine to photograph her, so natural and perhaps even happy, or at least living in a brief moment of joy. I’ll have to fetch the security tapes later so I can show her the smile on her face, the careless way she’s dancing around the room, her slender arms above her head, her ginger hair flying around her. I wish she could be this happy every day: as happy as she’s helped me become.

The bridge comes around quickly.

‘Strawberry ice cream in Malibu

Don't act like we didn't do that shit too

You're trading jackets like we used to do

Yeah, everything is all reused.’

The repetition I implement here is important. I relived every foul memory in my waking and sleeping hours after he broke my heart. They were an endlessly repeated movie in my mind. He reused things with me, now he’ll reuse the same things with her, and every girl afterwards, so why can’t I reuse lyrics in a song?

‘A different girl now, but there's nothing new

I know you get déjà vu.’

I feel like a bad bitch as I sing the final line, my fingers working effortlessly over the keys. He’ll forever suffer about me, but thanks to Wanda, I’ll never get deja vu. Karma’s a bitch, and apparently, judging by the surge of inexplicable power I feel as I finally exorcise the remnants of whatever he left with me, so am I.

I briefly forget I’m not alone, and am stirred by a sharp squeal from my left. I flinch.

“I love it!”

My shoulders sag in relief, realising her approval is more important to me than I thought it would be. I stand up from the chair, and flop onto the sofa beside her, enveloping her in my arms.

“Thank you,” I say, “that means a lot.”

“I know,” she giggles.

I roll over on the cushions as I roll my eyes, “Of course you do.”

Brushing an errant of hair from her flushed cheeks, I cup her jaw.

“How do you feel?”

“Honestly?” She sighs and flops sideways. “Okay. You’ve cheered me up.”

I don’t even mind the sharp elbow to my ribs, but take it in jest as I twine our fingers. “Love you, Wanda.”

“Love you too.”

#ann's 3k sour blurb event #wanda maximoff #wandavision #wanda maximov #wanda mcu #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda fluff #wanda x stark!reader #wanda fic #wanda blurb #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximov x reader #wanda maximoff x reader

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Natasha Romanoff - good 4 u

Warnings - Swearing, mentions of blackmail, breakup angst, mentions of bad therapy.

Thankfully, Natasha is wandering around outside, eating peanut butter bites, when Wanda and I are done.

“Nice song,” she comments easily.

I snap my head to her, “What? You heard?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, eating another peanut butter bite, “I’ve been out here for ages. I thought you might need me.”

“Well, conveniently, I do right now.”

“Cool,” says Nat, and she sashays into the room before I can even re-fluff the cushions or plug my guitar in. “What are you gonna sing me?”

“Hopefully the breakup anthem of the year, but that’s up to you.”

A playful smirk toys on her painted lips, a sultry undertone to her words. “Well now I’m excited.”

I keep her in my peripheral vision, sipping a fresh cup of tea she’s just poured as she nibbles on a peanut butter bite, lounging back on the sofa with an almost sensual ease. I have to try three times before getting the wire into my guitar. I tune it up on the speaker, and tune again after not having played my guitar for a few songs, but when I’m ready, so is Natasha; eager, almost.

I debated a dozen times over putting this in F# minor, but nothing else seemed right, especially based off the bassline that begins this piece and carries throughout, almost a walking bass. After plucking the first C#, I wince. The reverb is all wrong. I’m surprised at Natasha’s patience while I readjust, but she’s at full attention when I recommence with a quaver and semiquaver bass idea. C#, F#, F#, F#, E. C#, F#, F#, F#, E.

‘Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily

You found a new girl and it only took a couple weeks

Remember when you said that you wanted to give me the world?’

She was appalled to see the new girl. “She’s a rip off you! Look at her hair, oh my God…” I couldn’t help but laugh at her blatant appal, even in the worst times when she came to me with the first instalment of pictures, the original news. I’m glad she was the one to break it to me, as I don’t think I could’ve handled that from anyone else, even if I already knew deep down.

Aunty Nat told me to only go for a boy I thought could give me the world: no one could’ve guessed that’d be my downfall, and despite her reservations, she didn’t think he’d be a liar and not even give me an increment of what he promised. She said she’d find me a man who could, and good for her, she needs to look no further.

‘And good for you, I guess that you've been workin' on yourself

I guess that therapist I found for you, she really helped,

Now you can be a better man for your brand new girl.’

I gave him Steve’s number and feel no remorse over it. He went to one session, and Steve made him cry: we don’t speak about it. He went to another with Bucky’s crap old therapist who taunted him constantly… It's safe to say, from Bucky’s spying in sessions where he constantly compared me to his new girlfriend, she was just as bad a therapist for him, not that he deserved much else. Her sympathy was nonexistent: Natasha smirks, and begins to bop her head as the beat picks up at the chorus.

‘Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me

If you ever cared to ask.

Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby

God, I wish that I could do that.’

Natasha’s smiling now, beaming with a toothy grin, perhaps at the level of painful truth in my lyrics, or maybe at the unexpected growl my voice takes in the last line. Surprise flashes over her face, I’m glad to see: it’s not often you can catch an elite Russian spy by surprise.

She nursed me secretly back to health and joy after so many expected me to be ok: not that anyone asked.

‘Well, good for you, I guess you're gettin' everything you want

You bought a new car and your career's really takin' off

It's like we never even happened,’

I mean my career’s great, and I have everything I want back now, but he doesn’t have to know that: I’m okay despite him, he’s ‘successful’ because of me. I got a new car, not that I bought it. My dad got me one: I trial all of his new cars to see if they’re nice drives before he tinkers around with them, and take Nat for spins in them since her driving in normal cars and not on high speed chases is less than adequate. We find songs like these to belt throughout the journey, but I don’t think we ever anticipated this to happen, that I’d be writing our next car karaoke song, but Nat is now bopping her head, her ginger hair flying everywhere, only for it to stop abruptly, plastered over her head, when my guitar playing stops for an unaccompanied line.

‘Baby, what the fuck is up with that?’

I’m shocked when Natasha makes a loud cheer, as though she’s at a concert, but I’m not complaining. She always works wonders on my confidence. Next thing I know, her tea is pushed aside and she’s looking riveted, on the edge of her seat as my melody speeds up, and my face becomes more animated.

‘Remember when you swore to God I was the only

Person who ever got you?

Well, screw that and screw you!’

Natasha’s standing, now, for a very powerful, almost shouted last line that gives me more catharsis than I’ve felt in a very long time. It’s good to scream: not about the heartbreak, but about the anger of everything. I thought it had subsided, but I guess not if I can pack so much emotion into a song that even Natasha is up and celebrating with me, feeling the power simultaneously.

‘You will never have to hurt the way you know that I do!’

I’m standing for this last line of the verse, stomping my feet on the final two perfectly enunciated syllables, and I begin to jam in the chorus, my whole body moving with the power of my strums, the reverb shaking the room as Natasha jumps up and down.

‘I've lost my mind, I've spent the night

Cryin' on the floor of my bathroom

But you're so unaffected, I really don't get it

But I guess good for you.’

She lay with me while I cried in the bathroom night after night, no words, just silence, until I got over it. Now I’m the unaffected one—good for me.

At the end of the second chorus, I notice Natasha vibing, even singing some lines with me. she ‘s picked up on it pretty easily. I used ‘good 4 u’ as the title, because that’s what Natasha wrote when she emailed him the pictures from an anonymous account, taunting him with the fact his secret was discovered so shortly after our breakup. She’s coined the phrase, I just hope she lets me use it.

I hit a guitar riff to go with the head-voice vocalisation to pave the gap between the chorus and bridge. I repeat the bridge, though, the second time feeling and tasting the true venomous bitterness in my words. Nat shies away a little, but keeps listening intently.

‘Maybe I'm too emotional

But your apathy's like a wound in salt.

Maybe I'm too emotional

Or maybe you never cared at aaaaall.’

The guitar part hollows out, as I broach the final chorus, nervous at Nat’s reaction, anticipating my voice to break on the high note. I gulp down as much air as I can.

‘Well, good for you, you look happy and healthy, not me

If you ever cared to ask

Good for you, you're doin' great out there without me, baby, woahhhhh.’

One final aggressively passionate chorus nearly brings me to my knees, but I bare it, and can’t help but feel my belly do flips at the glee written in every line of Natasha's body. She’s actually enjoying this, her reaction isn't just sympathetic. And that’s what gives me the courage to strum my final chords.

‘Well, good for you, I guess you moved on really easily.’

Natasha barely waits for me to wrestle the guitar from around my body before she’s barrelling towards me and knocking me to the ground in a bear hug. I don’t quite know how to react… She's one of the least affectionate people I’ve ever met. Feebly, and I suppose more on instinct than anything else, I pat her back with one hand and stroke her hair with the other all the while desperately trying to gulp down air back into my lungs.

“I love it. It’s incredible, brilliant,” she gushes, and plants a kiss on one burning cheek. “Definitely a hit. Who knew you were so badass?”

I turn to her with a deadpan face. “I’ve been an avenger for almost half my life, and you’re only just noticing my badass-ness?”

She rolls her eyes, saying, “I just mean I never knew you could write such powerful words and sing with such power. You’re like Taylor on Reputation just ten times angrier.”

“Well I’ll take a Taylor comparison any day,” I giggle.

She takes a deep breath, and holding my face in her hands, tells me whole-heartedly, “Bean, you’re an absolute star.”

#ann's 3k sour blurb event #natasha romonova #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem reader #black widow x you #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow x reader #black widow x hawkeye #black widow imagine #natasha romanova x reader #natasha romanova imagine #natasha romanoff blurb #natasha romanova blurb

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Loki Laufeyson - favourite crime

Warnings - slight Loki spoilers? but not really, just allusions. Please don't debate Sylki/Lokius here. Talk of heartbreak and breakups, mentions of murder and crime, crying.

Loki snatches me from Bucky’s arms when FRIDAY notifies him of his required presence. They share the solemn nod that only broody old men with similar mindsets can, an unspoken agreement between them as I’m passed over like a parcel. I don’t mind, it happens a lot.

“My darling,” he purrs, “I would love to hear your song. I won’t hinder you, just take your time, get yourself ready, I’ll keep my questions to myself.”

He lets me stand on my own two feet, but takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing me chastely on my knuckles before letting me tune my guitar. My cheeks are already burning, I can feel it, not because there’s anything between us, but more just because of how he treats me. Like a proper lady. Even though I was born into money, my dad isn’t exactly high society, so I wasn’t a debutante or anything. I’d contemplate doing it now, though, with Loki. He puts me in Asgardian gowns that make me look like a princess.

“I wrote this song… after you took me home. And pampered me. And talked to me about my breakup. I’ve never felt as accepted as I did then. I couldn’t have written this without you sharing your experiences with me, and listening to my own worries. This song is to thank you, Loki.”

He bows his head out of respect, and only after I gesture that he can does he sit down on the blue couch.

“You remember what I said to you. Despite my past, despite my reputation, I’ll be here for you…”

“Always,” we say in sync.

He settles as I begin to pluck at the strings. The feelings I felt when writing this song hit me like a truck: I haven’t played it since I finished transcribing it. Loki feels it too, his power palpable in the air.

‘Know that I loved you so bad

I let you treat me like that

I was your willing accomplice, honey.’

There's no point lying about the fact I bawled when he told me about his partner in crime. A beautiful person, he told me, as hell bent on vengeance as he was, more cunning and hedonistic than him, but with a heart of gold. Only for her to break his after all the time crimes they committed together. He did anything for her because he loved her, and if you ask me, he still would.

His long fingers flex, knuckles cracking as he endeavours to focus on my words and not the memories. Mine instinctively flex on the strings.

‘And I watched as you fled the scene

Doe-eyed as you buried me

One heart broke, four hands bloody.’

This was the way I felt after the fight that ruined us. No literal blood, but enough painful words and accusations hurled between us that the metaphorical blood stained like Lady Macbeth. Loki made those metaphors real, let me see the damage we’d done. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. He ran after he left me in that state? I already felt six feet under, but Loki wiped my eyes and showed me fireworks and made me feel ok.

‘Those things I did

Just so I could call you mine

The things you did

Well, I hope I was your favourite crime.’

I broke myself down to nothing, changed every innate part of myself on an aesthetic level just to be more pleasing to him. I did things, said things I never would’ve otherwise. And at the end, he didn’t even want me. I didn’t want me.

Loki shifts around on the cushions, drumming his fingers on the table with the beat. He somehow matches the song and my heartbeat all at once.

He did some terrible things to me, so awful that Loki claimed it on his level of, y’know, murder. Maybe it’s him being overprotective, but he promised he’d kill for me. I said no. He said it’d be his favourite crime to commit and worth the repercussions, ‘saving’ me from that wanker, but I’m not on the same level.

‘You used me as an alibi

I crossed my heart as you crossed the line

And I defended you to all my friends.’

Even when I came back bawling before the breakup, just after a fight or after he turned on me for no reason, I defended him. To every Avenger, every family member, I was fine, we were fine, he was an angel. Except Loki. The second time it happened, he broke my trust and entered my mind. I’ve never been so glad he did, because he shared a memory of his back. We made eye contact over the crowded room, his crystal eyes pooling with remorse, but we had an understanding. We weren’t alone. And after that, since I still wanted to keep up the façade, he became my alibi after I was already used up.

‘And now, every time a siren sounds

I wonder if you're around

'Cause you know that I'd do it all again.’

I wouldn’t necessarily: Loki would. He’d go back to them in a heartbeat, and after what he’s told me, I wouldn’t blame him. Sirens haunt us both, different sounds that echo through our dreams and wake us in the small hours. Even if my ex isn’t around anymore—not that he ever really was in the first place—I know Loki is.

His smile sustains as I sing through the chorus once more, but I see the tears forming, ready to spill down his flushing cheeks. A single one falls as I take a deep breath for the last chorus line.

‘I hope I was your favourite crime…’

I sustain this final word and leap into the bridge in one breath, the complex melodic idea scrambling my brain. I only strum lightly at my guitar, eyes squeezed shut as I focus on my words and melody, but I can feel Loki all around me, his presence like a magical hug.

‘It's bittersweet to think about the damage that we do

'Cause I was going down, but I was doing it with you.

Yeah, everything we broke, and all the trouble that we made,’

I feel his power ripple through me as I gulp down more breath to complete the bridge, high notes and all. He offers me love, support, breath all in one wisp of power. He shares my heartbreak, dissolves the memories of my descent into trouble and self-loss. The damage I caused to myself, my life, my relationships is irreparable. Trouble-making is only fun, I’ve learnt, when I’m doing it with the God of Mischief.

“Love should never be bittersweet,” Loki’s voice growls into my mind. He winks, I smile.

‘But I say that I hate you with a smile on my face

Oh, look what we became.’

After the high notes, I tail off and swallow as much air as I can, leaping into the final chorus with more vigour, ensuring Loki can see my heart, the memories we shared, how he consoled me.

‘All the things I did

Just so I could call you mine.’

My voice cracks, my heart breaking.

“Y/n…” he whispers.

I shake the cobwebs away and pick back up, my voice light and airy, the emotions flowing out of me, the pat becoming me as I finish the song unaccompanied.

‘All the things you did

Well, I hope I was your favourite crime

'Cause baby, you were mine.’

His head is bowed, his ebony hair hanging around his angled, white face. He reaches out for me without meeting my gaze, one slender, vein-lined hand, decorated with a single gold band on his middle finger. They gave it to him, and he let me wear it when he had to leave me once. I entwine my fingers with his, and let him hold my hand.

“Always?” he whispers, his voice full of hope.

“Always,” I confirm. “We’re safe now.”

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Peter Parker - drivers licence

Warnings - swearing in the lyrics, minor crying, breakup angst, driving, Peter is 18+.

I got a box of tissues out ready for this one. Peter’s due back from patrol any minute, so I open the window once my dad has left, and wave out to him. He spots me and swings straight over, clambering through. His feet thud as he lands skilfully. His agility is astounding.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“I wanted to play you a song I wrote.”

“Oh!” His cute, joyful face lights up. “What’s it about?”

“The part of the breakup you helped me through. Is that ok?”

“Of course,” he says, shrugging off his suit beneath the clothes he's tugged on that I bought through for him to save time.

He takes a seat on the sofa, and looks up at me expectantly as I ready myself by the piano, gently curving my fingers over the introductory notes, breathing deeply. I’m not scared for this one, not in the least, because Peter is such a darling that I have nothing to be worried about around him.

“I like this bit,” he says.

My light chuckle leads me perfectly into my first line, perhaps a little more jovially than is intended for the sombre tone of the song.

‘I got my driver's license last week…’

Pete did, actually. I helped teach him, and that’s what inspired this. It was the best distraction I could have wished for. I’m better at teaching than doing, as Steve frequently told me with a shake of his head.

‘But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around.’

Yet Peter was, and he was the one to lace his fingers with my own as my heart stuttered at the thought of my misspent youth, my heart broken from our stupid drives. It’s a reclamation.

‘And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me,’

The spies caught them together before any paper could. I can’t say I’m surprised, he always did favour the leggy blondes with tiny waists and no scars, the malleable ones who would bend to his will so easily, the way you had to force yourself to.

‘She's everything I'm insecure about

'Cause how could I ever love someone else?’

There’s shuffling over on the sofa, and glancing over my shoulder I see that Peter, in typical Peter Parker fashion, can’t keep still. Since it’s a reprieve from the melody, a change of chords to shift into the chorus, I smile over at him, catching his pleading, molten chocolate eyes.

“Okay?” I ask him,

He nods briefly and clears his throat, “Yeah.”

I pick back up with a changed focus, ‘And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one,’

The incorrect grammar makes us both wince, but I move on.

‘And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone.

Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street.’

Only in the early hours.

The rustle of cushions and thud of feet rouses me before recommencing with the second verse, only to shift my chair away and find that he’s now sitting on the arm of the couch, his legs dangling, his head tilted to the side with a certain intensity, intent on hearing every word I have to sing. My gently curved fingers find the keys with ease, and the lyrics pour effortlessly from within me.

‘And all my friends are tired

Of hearing how much I miss you,’

My only friends are the Avengers, and I must concede that by now they’re sick of it. Even Peter, probably. In his own little way, he was trying to get us to break up for a while, and he was willing to be there for the fallout.

‘But I kinda feel sorry for them

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do.’

I leap back into the chorus, allowing every emotion from love to hate, from wistfulness to a stinging bittersweet melancholy, to seep into my words, climbing a repeated quaver idea to the high end of my range. While I’m singing, I feel his presence sidle up beside me, not touching me, but just his abnormal body warmth emanating from beside me. I chance a smile at Peter, turning briefly to brush a peck to his forehead. He nuzzles into my shoulder at this.

I mimic a drumbeat with my hands on my thighs, honouring the N.C markings on my sheet music. Then I’m all in, with the most power from my diaphragm that’s been needed thus far in the song. My entire posture shifts.

‘Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe,’

I vocalise between these lines almost ethereally, shifting to my head voice in a vertiginous shift, only to switch straight back, but Peter’s presence is unfaltering.

‘Sidewalks we crossed

I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

Over all the noise

God, I'm so blue, know we're through

But I still fuckin' love you, babe…’

I almost can’t help the break in my voice, the timely fall off, and the only thing to ground me from the sobs about to wrench from my chest, Peter’s arms wrap around my waist, joining around my stomach. I’m calm enough, just from this, to begin the final chorus.

I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone,’

I implement a riff here that I was unsure of when first writing, but feels right, especially judging my Pete’s surprised gasp.

'Cause you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

Yeah, you said forever, now I drive alone past your street.’

At last, I end on an unfinished chord, and let my hands fall away from the piano, nuzzling into Peter’s grip. He made good use of the tissues, it seems, currently dabbing one around his tearful eyes, pushing his mussed brunet locks off his forehead. I don’t even have to ask what he thinks, he’s that intuitive.

“I loved it. You’re so talented!” he exclaims. “Thank you for teaching me how to drive.”

I laugh, almost in spite of myself, “Thanks. And you’re welcome.”

“Where should I go now? Can I download that track?”

He steps away and stands his gangly form up, giving me space to do the same, and we make our way to the door, “Soon.”

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Bucky Barnes - jealousy, jealousy

Warnings - self deprecation, allusions to body dysmorphia, insecurity swearing.

He arrives like a ghost, his presence unannounced, unnoticed until I turn on my heel and spot a shadow. His metal arm catches in the dimming light. He’s holding a tissue, dabbing his forehead with it, and I assume he’s just been sparring with someone in the training room.

“How did you—”

“Sam. Steve. FRIDAY.” I nod knowingly. “I was waiting through Thor’s session. He’s a bit…”

“Of a himbo? Yes,” I agree, smiling. “How you doin’ James?”

His sigh shifts the cushions around him, so he makes himself comfy with some shuffling, and only moves forwards when I begin to pour him a mug of tea. I shake my head; he smiles gratefully.

“I’m ok… takin’ it day by day.”

“That’s all you can do, Buck.”

My fingers skim his as I pass him a mug, settling beside him on the couch. Leaning into his warmth is instinctive.

“What about you? How’re you holding up?” he asks, his voice a little gruff.

“I’m…” I trail off, my eyes fluttering as I ferret for the right word before deciding he’d rather know the truth, “great. I mean I’m still healing, but I wrote these songs, and that really helped me. I just wanna help you how you helped me.”

He smiles sadly, his flesh hand snaking around my knee. His next words are a broken whisper. “I know about you and Stephen.”

“But Bucky… you don’t like me that way.”

“I know.” His Brooklyn accent slips back into place when he’s talking from the heart. I’ve heard it a lot recently. “But I care about you. I just want you happy after the shit he pulled on you.”

“I am. I will be,” I promise. “This song… it’s one of them that isn’t exactly about the break up? But more about our shared mentality, everything we’ve gone through. It’s called ‘jealousy, jealousy.’ I hope you like it, because without you I wouldn’t have been able to write it.”

His dimples spring tears to my eyes. “If you wrote it, I already love it.”

He sips his tea, and lets go of me, allowing me to shuffle back to my seat, and collect my guitar. He’s patient while I plug it in and tinker around with the bass and volume knobs.

Once ready, I begin to pluck out a staccato quaver idea in the key of Bb minor. I’m not saying I hate this key, but I do wish I’d written it in D minor instead, to erase five flats from the signature.

My lyrics pick up on the second repeat.

‘I kinda wanna throw my phone across the room

'Cause all I see are girls too good to be true

With paper-white teeth and perfect bodies

Wish I didn't care.’

Bucky’s breathing is already faltering despite his superhuman strength. He had a small crisis after getting a smartphone, realising he was… chunkier than some of the bodybuilders plastered all over his instagram. He’s still not convinced he’s as handsome as they are, and he’s still concerned he doesn’t have the perfect masculine aesthetic body.

After my ex went to her, with the perfect hourglass silhouette and flowing, glossy blonde hair, too much money spent on orthodontics and plastic surgery, I went to that dark place within, doubting my own surface attractiveness before realising I’m drop dead, fuck off gorgeous, and it’s his loss if he can’t see that. I wouldn’t have been able to overcome it without Bucky and his openness, though. I owe a lot to him.

‘I know that beauty is not my lack

But it feels like that weight is on my back

And I can't let it go.’

When Buck is constantly compared to the American symbol of masculinity and attraction for the past eighty years, a heavy burden falls on his shoulders. Sure, maybe he isn’t as lean or quite as tall as Steve, but he’s a stunning man. Tabloids make articles studying his muscle mass, comparing him to sightings of the Winter Soldier over the years. How can anyone let their insecurities go with that happening? Everything about my own turmoil pales in comparison.

He sips from his mug thoughtfully.

‘Co-comparison is killin' me slowly

I think, I think too much

'Bout kids who don't know me.’

A lot of my fears, as I expressed to James, stemmed from what his friends used to say about me, comparing me to their girlfriends. Before long, I was doing it to myself. I spoke to him about it before the breakup but only afterwards did he open up to me about his feelings and insecurities. The people who scrutinise him don’t know him, and the girls I compared myself to don’t know me. Looks aren’t everything, and without Bucky, I might still be stuck in a superficial rut.

‘I'm so sick of myself

I'd rather be, rather be

Anyone, anyone else

But jealousy, jealousy

Started followin' me.’

I implement a riff on my final word to draw the syllable out. My words ring true, though, and I see Bucky's blue eyes twinkling, his head shaking in recognition. We drank together until early morning, deprecating ourselves, expressing elements we hated, the jealousy haunting us until we fell asleep for the rest of the day, only to find, once we woke up, that we didn’t hate ourselves as much anymore. Bucky started to accept himself, stopped wanting to be someone else as much. I may get sick of myself, but never of Bucky and the ways he’s helped me.

‘And I see everyone gettin' all the things I want

And I'm happy for them, but then again, I'm not

I can't stand it, oh, God, I sound crazy.’

I know I’m a Stark, I know I’m a spoiled brat with more money than God, but I still have problems, I still get my heart broken. And Bucky, growing up through the war not well off, losing years of his life and being subjected to only God knows what. He has no reason to be happy for others if something doesn’t go his way, and I’m glad he told me about this when it mattered most. Perspective is key. He taps his forehead twice, and between lines, I do the same.

‘Their win is not my loss

I know it's true

But I can't help gettin' caught up in it all.’

Bucky said that to me once. “Their win isn’t your loss, Doll. Don’t get caught.” and it was before everything kicked off. His wink carries a sad undertone, signalling that he’s only just understanding how much his words have stuck with me. I want to say something to him but I don’t. I just continue plucking at my strings as I repeat the chorus, and head into the bridge.

‘All your friends are so cool, you go out every night

In your daddy's nice car, yeah, you're livin' the life

Got a pretty face, pretty boyfriend, too

I wanna be you so bad, and I don't even know you.’

His metal arm is the fuel to Bucky’s fire of insecurity, something I could never imagine. He hates having a prosthetic, and the body image issues it gives him are indescribable. The only fight Bucky and I have ever had is when he said those exact words to me when I thought my problems were the end of the world. He apologised afterwards, but I told him resolutely not to, because I needed some perspective. Everybody does. So even if I get jealous and insecure at times, I know I’m ok, thanks to Buck.

‘All I see is what I should be

Happier, prettier, jealousy, jealousy

All I see is what I should be

I'm losin' it, all I get's, jealousy, jealousy.’

We’ve both carried a hell of a lot of jealousy for a long time, and I feel as though we can only shoulder past that, and come to accept ourselves, with the help of each other. His time in HYDRA won’t go away easily, but I’ll be his friend until he’s happier, and knows how loved he is, and that he shouldn’t be anything more than he already is.

A recitative type melody projects from my diaphragm, a shouting nature to my lyrics, carrying power both in word and emphasis. I feel like the repetition adds impact, my eyes closing and my fingers working on the strings from muscle memory alone as both Bucky and I sink into the emotions of the final chorus. I add ornaments: trills, glissandos, vibrato, riffs, just to vary the melody, some of the really high notes sung in head voice rather than belted at such a crucial part of the song. This pianissimo softness reaches a supported belt, though, by the very final line, my guitar strings vibrating. This contrasts with the final line, low and unaccompanied.

‘Started followin' me.’

His mug clinks on the glass table the second silence falls. That soft, Labrador-reminiscent, lopsided grin breaks out over his face as he holds his arms open for me, making grabby hands. I unplug my guitar and launch myself to him, sinking my fingers into his silky chocolate locks.

"'m proud-a you."

I cock my head at him, my brows knitting together. His laugh rumbles through me as his arms tie around my back, keeping me close.

"For never finishin' your verbs."

It's my turn to giggle, my head falling to the crook of his neck, listening to his heart beat.

“Thank you, Bean,” he whispers against the juncture of my shoulder and neck.

His words echo through my body like a prayer, “Thank you, Buck. You’ve helped me so much.”

He pulls away, his hair tickling my cheeks before cupping one in his flesh palm, warm and rough and so human. “You’ve helped me too. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” I tell him. “I won’t.”

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Sam Wilson - 1 step forwards, 3 steps back

Warnings - swearing, talk of unhealthy relationships and therapy, angst, slight fatws spoilers.

“You wanted me?” Sam says with that suave, natural charm, appearing beside me almost silently.

I startle a little, surprised by his twinkling rows of teeth and winning smile. I do want him, but he’s five minutes late. It doesn’t usually take FRIDAY that long to alert people.

“Yeah. Do you mind coming in for a minute? I have tea.”

He claps his hands, swagger in his step, making his way into the room before I’ve even invited him. This no longer surprises me: his surface confidence is admirable. By the time I’m inside and settled at the piano, he’s drawing long sips from the mug.

“You’re gonna play to me?” he asks, an inflection of surprise lifting his final word.

“I was planning on it,” I say, tilting my head. “Is that ok?”

“Of course, bean.”

I start with repeated D chords, and a changing, descending bass, switching between D, A and G, creating a soft waltz rhythm, fitting for the 6/8 time signature that fits with the dotted rhythm throughout the verses. My voice begins with a soft lilt.

‘Called you on the phone today

Just to ask you how you were

All I did was speak normally,’

“No you fucking didn’t,” he snorts. God, he knows me too well, that my tone often gets the best of me even in situations I don’t mean for it to.

I smile in spite of myself, a chuckle breaking my voice as I start the next line.

‘Somehow I still struck a nerve

You got me fucked up in the head, boy.’

Sam took a practical approach with my breakup recovery, trying to get to the nitty gritty of what happened so he could help me heal in typical counsellor fashion. He recognised and validated the emotional and psychological turmoil I was subject to, and gave me ways to believe in myself and my pain… As it turns out, I’d been gaslighting myself for half of the relationship. Sam helped me get around that in his own way.

Never doubted myself so much

Like, am I pretty? Am I fun, boy?

I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff

“Never give a boy power over you, bean.” Sam once said to me, a while ago now, before I was even dating, but every day he saw me after the breakup, he repeated it. He gave me that power back with a simple mantra. He’s saying it right now, I can hear it between clinks of china on his mug, can feel the semi-disapproving quirk of his eyebrows, can sense that he’s got one ankle resting on the other knee, leisurely sprawled on the sofa as he awaits the chorus. He’ll like this: the lyrics are very therapy-ish, and there’s a swinging undertone to the accompaniment, with F#m chords.

'Cause it's always one step forward and three steps back

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad.’

“Yes y/n!”

‘It's always one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand.’

“And you shouldn’t be expected to,” he tells me, speaking over the chords that bridge the chorus and the verse, “boys minds are messed up, let me tell you. I’m a man and I got two little nephews, I was in the army!”

He’s making me laugh at the worst times in this song, but it’s enlightening to have his sensitive, cheerful presence so calmly beside me after such a period of tension between us.

‘And maybe in some masochistic way

I kinda find it all exciting,’

Sam tuts, but I ignore him, sighing derisively and laughing bitterly as I go into the next line, the taste of venom fresh on my tongue as my ex’s multitudinous personalities and moods slip back into my mind.

‘Like, which lover will I get today?

Will you walk me to the door or send me home cryin'?’

Even after the snap, when it seemed my relationship with Sam was irreparable, he still took the chance to laugh at me and joke about my boyfriend when I came home sad. It always cheered me up. When he was around and not in Louisiana with his nephews, at least. I understand his annoyance towards me for a while, but I’m glad this can ease some of the tension between us, having a good laugh even about something so… heartfelt. I even forget about the pain this song is supposed to be carrying, and focus instead on his expressive face, betraying every reaction. I repeat the chorus again, and as I broach the bridge, I incorporate blues elements in the accompaniment, even some syncopation to fit with the vocal line.

‘No, it's back and forth, did I say something wrong?

It's back and forth, goin' over everything I said

It's back and forth, did I do something wrong?

It's back and forth, maybe this is all your fault.’

I hear him draining his tea to the dregs, reclining against the cushions, and then clearing his throat. I cast a glance over my shoulder, smiling as the pedals do all the work for me. Instead of saying anything, though, he just raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in such a conspicuous way that it conveys his message loud and clear. It is all his fault: not mine.

‘Instead it's one step forward and three steps back

And I'd leave you, but the roller coaster is all I've ever had’

I thought Sam would knock my dad out when I told him about, well, everything. “No wonder you went for such an idiot,” he said. The up and down is what I based my life around, so healthy relationships haven’t exactly been in the foreground of my life. Sam appreciates this, and has a little chuckle to himself that adds a gruff bass to the soft, lilting outro of my song, my voice filled with rubato and grace notes.

‘Do you love me, want me, hate me?

No, I don't understand.’

The final note hangs in the air between us for a moment before I release the keys and turn around on my chair, standing up, striding towards him, and perching myself on the arm of the sofa.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s great, Bean. Too Taylor Swift for my taste, but it’s still good.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too Taylor Swift’.”

He tilts his head back laughing, “Shut up. But I thought it was good, and I’m glad you took some of my very valuable advice.”

Now’s my turn to laugh, joking, “Now it’s your turn to shut up.”

He pokes me. I poke him back. And maybe things could be going back to normal, but then he stands abruptly, his empty mug falling over in his haste, and dashes from the room without a second glance. Or maybe not.

#ann's 3k sour blurb event #sam wilson #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson angst #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x f!reader #sam wilson x female reader #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson blurb #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x stark!reader #sam wilson x avenger!reader #sam wilson fic

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Ann’s 3k SOUR blurb event - Preface

A/N - Before I start this whole thing, I just wanted to explain what I’m doing here. My page has become really popular recently, for which I am extremely grateful, but I’ve had no clue what to do to celebrate such milestones. This popped into my head as something different, but evolved into this. I hope you all enjoy this small celebration for the progress my blog has made. Weirdly enough this started as a 1k celebration, and since then I've hit 3k followers, so that's what this is for. Thank you endlessly for the support.

I am not trying to pretend I am Olivia Rodrigo at all: total credit for all songs and lyrics used here goes to her and her team. No disrespect is meant towards her. I do not own the songs, I also do not own the characters I’m writing these blurbs for. I’ve seen a lot of people so SOUR events, but never like this, so I apologise if it’s been done before.

Warnings for this mini-series will be posted with each blurb. From today, 1st August, to next Thursday, 12th, there will be a new upload for this event every night at 8pm GMT unless stated otherwise. Normal uploads will resume on Saturday 14th August. It may also become apparent throughout that I’m a music student, so I apologise if it gets technical.

There was another thing I wanted to broach about these songs before I go into it. A lot of them carry problematic messages. You shouldn’t change yourself for a boy, you shouldn’t use the word sociopath as a throw-around insult, and more. I don’t want to endorse these messages, and please remember that the views and opinions I write aren’t necessarily mine. Please keep this in mind when reading the blurbs.

I glance anxiously around the living area of the compound, cordoned off upon special request for my secret plans today. My guitar sits in the stand with my keyboard on the sideboard the stool pulled out and positioned for me to sit on, the sofa in front of me covered with plush cushions from various rooms around the compound, a packet of tissues and a pot of tea on the glass coffee table.

Eleven finished songs. Ten incredible people who helped me write them. One number to bring them all to tears.

Six weeks since the break up, four weeks since the photo leak, one week since I had the first draft of my first album. Despite being an Avenger, a part of this incredible team, I have other dreams. I always have. I just needed the right outlet. Through some violent, exquisite happenstance that brought me to my knees, I found a voice, but I couldn’t have done any of it without the rest of the team. Each one of them came to sit with me, helped me through another day of heartbreak, and brought me the inspiration that saved me.

This is me opening my heart to them the way they opened theirs to me, sharing their own worst experiences to prove I wasn’t alone in the desolate darkness that consumed my heart after it all. There’s no going back now.

I take a deep breath, craning my neck, cracking my knuckles, rolling my shoulders, hoping for the best. Then, I open the door.

#ann's 3k SOUR blurb event #avengers imagine #avengers fan fiction #avengers fanfiction #sour album #avengers x reader #avengers x stark!reader #stark!daughter #stark!reader

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