Oh Captain, You May Sleep Now, But Who Did Your Shield Truly Protect, Them Or You? A.w.

oh captain, you may sleep now, but who did your shield truly protect, them or you?                                                                     — a.w.

exactly

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

STEGGY WEEK 2021: Favorite Moment ↳ Steve and Peggy Finally Getting the Life They Always Deserved

SIMU LIU at the premiere for Marvel's Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

Fuck I can't! This was beautiful and I have no other words for it. It has me speechless. Poor Steve, I can't help but cry my eyes out for him. And Grace, shit her and Steve that made me smile. That was so adorable. Oh what I would give to see Steve Rogers holding a baby 🥺

But seriously, this was a angsty masterpiece. I think this has to be my favourite series. Thank you so much for writing! 💙

Show Me the Path of Love to Take (S.R.)

Type: A dad!Steve standalone or a part of the Melting Hearts ‘verse

Melting Hearts series (part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4) with Avenger!reader AU.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (in absentia)  Word count: 3900

Summary: His whole focus was on the little movement of his fingers, the sensation of the chain and most importantly, the smooth metal of the ring. The engraving.

The only battle worth fighting …is the one fought together.

If that’s the truth… how do you fight the battle alone? 

Warnings: mention of violence and death ( of the reader during labour, slightly graphic!) angst, talky talk, a baby, language 

A/N: Yep, this one is angsty, not gonna lie. Can be read as a standalone, but will also be followed by two more dad!Steve standalones from the same ‘verse. If read as a part of Hell Froze Over, remember that it’s a flashforward.

Previous part (from Hell Froze Over/Meting Hearts verse)

────── ·❆· ──────  

He didn’t leave their room for days.

Hell, he barely moved. He knew he should shower. Shave. Leave his damn hideout. Go see literally anyone – and one person in particular. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He could have felt the thirst or the hunger. The stiffness of his muscles caused by being in the same position too long. He was pretty sure that he would have been able to smell himself.

But his whole focus was on the little movement of his fingers, the sensation of the chain and most importantly, the smooth metal of the ring. The engraving. The last word of it, brining fresh tears to his eyes every so often.

Together.

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