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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it?#yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity.#couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was!#if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

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captianprices40thson · 5 months

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good morning good fellow could you write more about Graves x male!reader? I love your writing and 🫡🫡🫡 this american twink makes me feel things I don't like.

It's only right to think about the guy you love and hold him tight.

Warnings: None. Very fluffy. There is a little bit of internalised homophobia but that’s only if you squint and use a magnifying glass. A swear word or two. Not edited.

Requested: Yes!

Words: 1.5k

Pairing: Phillip Graves x M!Reader

Pronouns used: You/Yourself. Reader is male and receives masculine compliments.

AAAAA SORRY I’VE BEEN GONE FOREVER. School caught up to me (you know how finals are in my country.) But I’m nearly on break and will be able to write a lot more. Enjoy this extravaganza of bullshit and pain.

“Phillip-” You groaned as he dragged you through the home you shared, blindfolded. Of course, you knew where he was taking you, you had walked this path a million times before…but he still wanted you blindfolded.

“Almost there, handsome.”

“Why am I blindfolded?” You asked, curiosity getting the best of you. Sure, you didn’t ask any questions when he put it on you from behind, but it felt like he was dragging you around for a good seven hundred minutes.

“Because I have a surpriseee.” He responded and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. The American man continued to hold your hand with his own, which was surprisingly soft for a man like him who spent his days in gloves and handing things rather rough.

“Phillip, I have to cook dinner.” You mumbled, getting the slightest bit frustrated. Yes, you loved this man with all your heart, but he really needed to stop doing this shit when you had just gotten home after a long day.

“Okay, okay…we’re here.” He smiled and let go of your hand, leaving you in the darkness that was the blindfold. You were left alone for a moment, before his reassuring hands came from behind to remind you that you were not alone, and that he would be taking it off now.

“Surprise.” He smiled as the blindfold came off and your eyes scanned around the room. It was what was previously the living room, now turned into an assortment of pillows, blankets, a few stuffed animals that came from both you and him, and overall just a comfortable ass looking room. The TV and coffee table were not covered, although the coffee table had an assortment of food he knew you loved.

“I know you had a rough day at work and…figured you might just want to relax.” He continued, walking further into the room. He had taken his shoes off, revealing he was wearing cat paw print socks you had gotten for him ages ago as a joke. You were going to mention it, but he spoke first, handing you a pair of matching socks, although they were black and pink instead of his white and pink.

“Don’t think your amazing and totally cool husband would let things like a bad day slide. It's relaxing time, big guy.” He smiled and you felt like he could not have said anything more cringe. Though, that’s why you liked him. He was cringe and to be honest, so were you.

“Jesus Christ, Phillip.” You smiled, taking your socks off. “You’re so cheesy, you know that?”

“So are you? Remember what you did when I kissed you the first time?” He retorted, sitting down on the couch which was currently covered in a blanket with a stupid amount of pillows.

“Yes, I understand. I said crikey. I was seventeen. It was cool back then.” You responded, taking off your own shoes and socks in order to put on the pair your husband had given you.

“Was it though?” He asked, picking up the remote and turning the Tv on.

“Oh like you can talk, Mr ‘Totally straight until you met me.’” You smiled as you sat down on the comfortable couch next to him.

“Oh you know what?” He groaned and before you could say anything, he tackled you on the couch, ending up on top of you with his head in your neck. You both laughed, his body pressing on top of yours was comforting and felt like home. The weight of his body on yours was a reminder that you were very real and very loved.

“Wanna watch YellowJackets?” He whispered, knowing that you had a strange fascination with Jeff. When you had first watched it, you had thought that the man was your husband due to them looking so similar. He didn’t see it. You wondered if he had a twin named Warren that he either didn’t know or didn’t tell you about.

“Absolutely.” You mused, watching him sit up and lie down on the other side of the couch. He invited you over to lay next to him, your body pressed against his. You could feel his body pressed against yours, his arm snaking around your waist in order to hold you tight.

“This feels…out of character for you.” You told him, looking around at the pillows and blankets strewn all over the place. You were right, he would never usually do this for you…what changed? You turned your body over to face him, his features changing from resting to deep thought and finally, a loving look that said more than words. “I had a…realisation at work today. Nothing big but…my time with you is precious. I don’t want to constantly be Graves around you…I want to be Phillip. And Phillip doesn’t want his husband to come home to no comfort after what I heard was a shitty day.” He told you, moving his hand to hold your face, gently moving his thumb up and down your features. He was right, this was Phillip. Not Commander Graves that you knew so well...the Phillip who you married.

“Romantic.” You murmured, going in for a kiss. He reciprocated, holding you as your lips touched. It was a shitty day, but you were pretty sure this man could make anything better if he put the effort in. He was just like that.

____

Long after you had fallen asleep and he had turned the TV off, Phillip lay awake, still holding you close to him. You were facing him, so he was able to study your features. God, you were so handsome. In his eyes, there was literally no one else more beautiful than you (and he’s met Gaz so that is huge.) His eyes looked over your lips, your perfect nose, your closed eyes and soft breathing as you slept. Could he have anyone more perfect than you?

“I am so lucky…” He whispered, moving a hand to rest against your cheek, caressing your face.

“You are so easy to love…and I was not. And yet you loved me anyways…god, I don’t deserve you.” He mumbled, a small smile on his face as he spoke to himself. He wanted you to hear him say that…but he didn’t think he was ready to admit this stuff aloud. The Phillip you knew was still under a protective layer of Graves.

“You are also very easy to please…and you’re a great cuddler…you’re just…amazing.” He told you, almost waiting for you to open your eyes and reveal you were awake the whole time.

“And…I want to be there for you more.” He continued to whisper, the ring finger on his hand suddenly feeling a whole lot heavier than it did before. He took a breath, ready to say it aloud for the first time.

“I want people to know we’re married. I don’t want this to be hidden anymore…I want to tell my shadows, I want to wear my wedding ring to work…I want to be romantic with you publicly. I don’t want to hide you anymore.” He admitted, a small tear in his eyes forming. “Starting tomorrow…I will be Phillip…the Phillip that loves you and wants you to know. The Phillip that isn't scared anymore.” He affirmed, the tears now rolling down his face. You continued to sleep, you dumbass, not knowing that this man was confessing his heart out to you right now. But not in the way he did when you were both nineteen.

A small kiss on your forehead was felt, making your unconscious form form a small smile, before he wrapped his arms around you and fell asleep, feeling like he had gotten such a big weight off of his chest…and he had.

____

“I’m headed out. I'll be home late tonight so don’t wait for me.” He told you as you entered the kitchen, having gotten dressed into your own work clothes.

“M’kay. Love you handsome. Thankyou for last night.” You smiled, walking up to him and kissing him on the lips. He nodded, then turned to go and leave the house, opening and closing the door…and he was gone.

You took a sigh, holding up your wedding ring hand. You also took it off every morning before work. It was something you hated doing but…you understood it was not ideal to be queer in your work environment. You took off the golden ring, moving over to the small wooden tray in the kitchen where you both placed yours every morning. You placed it down next to…no. His wasn’t there. He had taken his own to work. A wave of serotonin rushed through you as you realised what he had done.

You picked yours back up, a moment of hesitance. Do you take yours with you as well, or put it back? If he was brave enough to do the act, why weren’t you?

A moment of thought, tossing the ring back and forth in your hands. Then, you made your choice.

HAHAHA SCREW YOU. CLIFFHANGER. This is like inception. It's up to interpretationnnnn~.

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #fanfiction #fluff #writers on tumblr #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #graves x male reader #phillip graves x you #graves cod #male reader #phillip graves x male reader #very fluffy don't worry #internalized homophobia but only a little bit guys #GAY #fiction

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xabura · 8 days

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Kataang shippers getting mad that Zutara shippers wish their ship was canon as if they don't always brag about how Kataang is canon and have been harassing the NATLA writers because they think they won't make Kataang canon.

#zutara #anti kataang #the hypocrisy with kataang shippers is unreal #i've never really cared if zutara became canon because i don't trust bryke with romance #some people wish their ship was canon while others don't and that's fine because different people have different approaches to their ships #like whatever bro #just don't attack real people over it #kataang shippers don't understand this since they're harrassing the natla writers right now and even doxxed people over fucking ships #remember that kataanger called japanese who had a blog called “badzutarafanart” which was literally dedicated to #reposting zutara fanart without permission and insulting it?#remember when kataangcaps was sending anon hate to other bloggers and then left tumblr when people were able to track her ip address #and find out it was her? lmaoo

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xsafronix-blog · 7 months

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"Do you believe in God, L.T.?" Soap asked slyly.

Ghost knew how much he liked to talk about meaningless things before missions, especially when he was worried.

"No, Sergeant, I don't."

However, now, when the enemy's machine-gun fire nearby penetrates the body with a shiver, and there is noise and rumbling everywhere, he returns to this moment again and again in his memories. And while his eyes are searching for only one person among the chaos, only one phrase freezes on his lips:

"God, let me save him."

#cod mw2 #ghost #ghost x soap #soapghost #soap x ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #Call of duty modern warfare #ghoap #ghostsoap #I'm not writer but this idea don't let me go #And i still love them #VERY MUCH

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ztmachine · 2 months

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I wish people would stop saying "written like fanfiction" when what they're actually trying to say is "this writing was bad and out of character". It obfuscates the actual criticism they're trying to make while, at the same time demeaning an entire genre.

#dear god if you think something is bad you don't have to demean the entire genre of fanfic. You can just say it's bad.#yes bad and/or out of character writing is more common in fic but that's not at all exclusive to fic #idk just stop calling something bad by comparing it to an entire genre of writing and implying the genre is inherently bad #zt adds something #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fic #criticism #book #books

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fictionadventurer · 9 months

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The more I learn about Civil War politics, the more I'm convinced that Lincoln's most impressive and useful leadership trait was that he never let his pride get in the way of doing his job.

Other people in Lincoln's position would have come to Washington with something to prove. They'd have resented the insults and tried to disprove them. They'd have tried to seize power and credit, rejected help, spent a lot of time trying to reach a certain level of respect.

Lincoln's response to, "You're just a backwoods lawyer with no executive experience who makes too many dumb jokes," was pretty much always, "Yeah. And?" He had no interest in petty personal power plays. He had a country to run. There was a war on. It didn't matter what people thought of him so long as the job got done.

He was aware of his personal shortcomings and was always willing to accept advice and help from people who had more knowledge and experience in certain areas. He presided over a chaotic Cabinet full of abrasive personalities who thought they were better and smarter than him, but he kept working with them because they could get the job done. For example: Stanton was absolutely horrible to him when they were both working as lawyers. Just incredibly mean on a personal level. But when Lincoln needed someone to replace Cameron, he swallowed his pride and appointed Stanton as Secretary of War, where Stanton proceeded to be mean to everyone in the world, but he whipped that department into shape and kept it running efficiently through a very chaotic war. Pretty much no one except Lincoln would have been able to put up with that. He could put up with people who were personally difficult if they could do the job he needed them to do--which he was only able to do because his own ego didn't get in the way.

Lincoln's example is a prime demonstration of how humility isn't underrating yourself--it's being so secure in your own abilities and identity that you don't need to attack anyone or defend yourself to prove your worth. He knew his shortcomings, but he also knew his strengths. He was willing to give other people credit for successes and take blame upon himself for failures if it kept things running smoothly. He was secure enough in his own power that he could deal generously--but firmly--with people who tried to undermine him. In a city full of huge egos, in a profession that rewards puffed-up pride, that levelheaded humility is an extremely rare trait--which is what made it so impressive and effective.

#history is awesome #presidential talk #so i went to a teeny backwater thrift store today #their tiny history book section just happened to have an old lincoln biography #i opened to the page about the cabinet #which describes the situation like 'seward was calling himself premier and lording it over everyone'#'blair was causing problems everywhere'#'welles was insulting everyone in his diary and especially hated stanton grant and seward'#'and stanton hated absolutely everyone in the whole wide world'#and as i was reading this i was internally kicking my legs with excitement and cackling with glee because this is the good stuff #i don't know why but i love these horrible petty men #they're like a bunch of raccoons fighting over territory in a dumpster fire it's so great #i read the whole chapter right there in the store #and it impressed upon me yet again how impressive lincoln was to put up with all these guys #(the writer was a bit simplistic and made a lot of these guys come off as worse than they were)#(like he made seward sound like a complete incompetent when he was a pretty good secretary of state)#(he had some grandiose ideas but the man deserves a lot of credit for keeping england out of the war)#(but for a one-chapter summary of these guys it wasn't exactly wrong and it was a ton of fun)#i very much did not want another book especially another american history book #but it was only fifty cents and i have a pouch full of spare change #and the writer's style was so much fun that i decided to take the book with me #i don't plan to read the whole thing (i'm sick of lincoln bios) but it's fun to dip into for things like this #and i had to talk to you about it

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