#grumpy!steve

[theallisonkeery]

The Necessity of the Soul

Pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of religion, mythological allegory Word Count: 1.2k (drabble) Summary: Sitting next to your hospital bed, Steve finds himself pondering the power of prayer. Taglist: @celestialbeings101-blog @nosferatu-official @sorryharrington @harringtonsdiary @xxreyofsunshinexx @sheisjoeschateau @moonstoneandmoonlight @that-one-red-head

Based on a prompt by @castielscaplan (reader is resurrected and comes back wrong) and inspired by the tragic tale of Orpheus and Eurydice <33

It was risky to be certain, but Steve and The Party were confident in their plan—so confident that they had named their mission Operation Flambe. And everything was going great until it wasn’t. They had planned everything out down to the smallest detail, though Steve wasn’t exactly thrilled when Nancy had suggested that it would be best for you to stay behind at the trailer with Dustin and Eddie. 

Looking back, Steve would say that the whole you staying behind thing was the first sign that this plan was fucked from the beginning. However, there was no real way they could have known how wrong things would go—”hindsight is twenty-twenty” and all that. In his current state of mind though, all Steve could think about were the ways in which he had failed you. The ways that he could have done better, been better. And now? Now, it was too late.  

Seeing you lying prone on the ground, Eddie and Dustin hovering over you in clear distress had nearly been his undoing. Pulling you into his arms, frantically searching for a pulse while your blood bathed the torn fabric of his clothes had easily been the worst moment of his life. The seemingly endless amount of time that it took to carry you out of the Upside Down and get you to the hospital? In that stretch of time, he had thought that you dying was the worst case scenario. But now? He knew that there were far worse things than death. 

Ever since you had joined their little group in the summer of ‘85, you had acted as the glue that held their group together. Somehow, no matter how dark things got, you always found a way to see the joy, to see the light. And Steve knew that your joy wasn’t always pure, that it was sometimes manufactured because someone had to be capable of seeing a silver lining, but he never once thought that he had taken your inner sunshine for granted. In fact, he often caught himself feeling grateful for your presence and the warmth you brought with you. 

He was, of course, even more appreciative of your special blend of joy when he’d finally grown the balls to ask you on a date and aptly more indebted when you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. You were his personal source of warmth and light, his beacon in the storm. And sitting next to your hospital bed while you fought for your life, he found himself desperately wishing that he had put into words how cold and desolate his life would be without you in it. He sat next to your bedside for days, waiting for a sign—any sign—that you would return to him. 

The final blow came on the third day of his bedside vigil; your team of doctors informed him that you were unlikely to wake, that he should come to terms with the concept of never seeing your eyes opening for him again, of never hearing your soft laughter caressing his eardrums, of never again feeling the flutter of your heartbeat underneath his fingertips. In the spirit of honesty, he didn’t understand a single word that was said after that. He just clutched your hand tighter and stared at your beautiful, beautiful face and willed with everything in him that you would prove the men in white coats wrong. That you and your sunshine would rage against death to return to his side. He watched the monitor with bated breath until they left and grew disappointed with each passing moment where nothing changed. 

Steve Harrington had never been a religious man, but in those days of endless silence, he tried his best to find God. He found himself praying silently and to himself at first. Then, he found himself with his head bowed next to yours, your hand held tightly in his grasp. By the third day, he found himself on his knees next to your bedside and pleading aloud to anyone that could hear him or change the prophecy that was rapidly developing before his eyes. Before that moment, he had never considered himself to be a bargaining man or one that would resort to desperation so quickly when faced with dire circumstances. However, he knew definitively at that moment as he sat kneeling on the cold tile of your hospital room that—if the gods could speak or offer him a solution to his eternal affliction—he would take it. 

On the fourth day, Joyce was able to sneak Eleven into your hospital room. The other kids had visited sporadically over the last few days, but it had been a challenge to slip a wanted fugitive past the hospital’s security detail. Steve watched as she held your hand and used her powers to try to locate you within your mind. He tried desperately to hold on to hope, even as the lights flickered and your heart rate spiked on the monitor. He held that hope tight in his chest as your heart rate dropped back into its normal range and the lights returned to their solid, buzzing state. He held onto his hope until the teenage girl’s tired eyes met his briefly before she looked down at her feet and wiped away the blood streaming from her nostril. He dared to hope as he asked her what she could do, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with him as she told him simply to wait. 

So, he waited. And prayed. He waited and prayed next to your bedside for nearly a week. But each day as he watched your body growing weaker and frailer, he felt his hope abating. Without your eternal optimism, he felt his convictions shriveling inside of him like a rotten thing. And his newfound sense of religious devotion? That also gave way to the darkness. So, without even realizing his deviation from his routine, his prayers began to take on a new shape. They were without direction, without clarity. What his prayers lacked in these areas, they made up for in desperation. The kind of desperation that breeds mischief, the kind of desperation that invites only the most spiteful of the gods. And had he the mental capacity to remember or reflect on the mythology he had learned in his youth, maybe he would have taken pause. As it were, however, the boy forgot this crucial aspect of his prayers: the gods demand a sacrifice. 

For that matter, it had also seemed for all intents and purposes that he had also forgotten the age old adage, the one that states that death takes a toll. Only, there was no reality in which Steve Harrington could have imagined that—in the case of him and his beloved sunshine—Death would be personified. 

For, when at last, your eyes finally fluttered open against the dying light of day streaming in through the blinds, Steve immediately felt the air in the room begin to shift. He felt the happiness that had begun climbing his throat from his chest turn sour. He felt the air turn into ice as it met his skin. When your eyes met his, he stilled because he knew without a doubt that his sunshine was gone. Choking back the grief in his throat he realized that, in all of his desperate and pleading prayers for the return of your life, he had forgotten to ask for your soul.   

[oneshot-twoshot-redshot-blueshot]

The Warm Glow Of The Lights

*Steve Rogers-centric

Tagging: @fandomless-advent-challenge

Prompt: Looking at Lights Together

Steve rounded the corner, tucking his chin to his chest. The bitter New York wind was cold, even to the supersoldier. He hated the cold as it was all too reminiscent of his… long nap. He was about to cross the street to make his way into Stark Tower when he noticed a familiar figure standing on the sidewalk opposite the hulking building. “Y/N?” 

You glanced over at him, giving him a smile and a small wave, before turning your attention back skyward. You were dressed in only a hoodie and leggings– if Steve was cold despite being bundled up, you must have been nearly frozen. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, stepping closer. He stamped his feet slightly, trying to keep some feeling in them.

“Tony’s putting the Christmas lights up today.”

Steve turned his attention upwards. There, soaring around the tip of the tower, a blur of red. “Yeah, that’s what this tower needs, more lights, more attention. It’s not like it’s an eyesore already or anything.”

You pulled your attention away from the decorating. “Don’t be a party pooper. Didn’t they have Christmas decorations back in your day?”

“Of course, we did. But…”

“But?”

“It was much more toned down. Today’s stuff is so… garish.” Steve nodded up at the tower. “I can only imagine what Tony’s put together.”

“Okay, Grumpy Gus. Sorry I brought up such a touchy subject.”

Steve sighed slightly. He hadn’t meant to snap, but the cold was making him grouchy. “Come on,” he said, uncrossing his arms to place a hand on your back. “Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.” With gentle (but firm) pressure, he guided you across the street and into the lobby of Stark Tower. The two of you rode the elevator up to the living quarters. Soft Christmas muzak played through the speakers.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the large central living room that all of the Avengers had access to. The sight before you was a surprise to you both.

Thor was standing in the middle of the room, shouting directions at Hulk. “No, Banner, to the left! The left!” The Asgardian waved his left hand, pointing in the direction he wanted the large green figure to move the oversized tree. Hulk growled slightly, picking up the tree and shuffling to the left. “A little more… a little more… almost there… perfect!” 

You swore the ground shook slightly as Hulk slammed the tree down.

Wanda was standing off to the side of the room, using her telekinesis to hang strings of multicolored lights around the room. The lights were alternating at a lazy speed– red and blue bulbs, then green and yellow.

Natasha had cleared off one of the large ‘catch-all’ tables and was busy covering it with tiny ceramic buildings. The collection reminded you of your grandmother’s Christmas village that you’d always loved looking at when you were a child. 

You’d just noticed Clint standing in the corner when he let loose an arrow, flying directly to the tree. Steve had also noticed his teammate and was also concerned about the weapon. “Hey! What–”

The arrow hit the tree and exploded into a small burst of tinsel, the silvery strands draping themselves over the branches. You saw Clint smile to himself as he notched another arrow. ‘Leave it to Tony to create a festive weapon,’ you thought to yourself. 

Bruce had calmed himself and was stepping out from around the tree. “Oh. Hey, guys.” He grabbed a shirt from the couch and slipped it on. “Come to join the party?”

“Is that what this is?” Steve grumbled. 

Bucky walked by, a large tub with the word ORNAMENTS scrawled on the side in marker. “Come on, Steve, don’t be a cold fish.” He shot you a look. “We always have to rope this guy into the fun, huh?”

You smiled but felt it melt away as Steve turned and disappeared down the hall. “Why does he hate Christmas?”

“He doesn’t. At least, he didn’t.” Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I think… I think he just gets homesick this time of year. Not for a place, necessarily, but for a time. He’s a really nostalgic guy and the way holidays are celebrated today… they don’t really feel the same.”

You nodded. “He did say something about the decorations being ‘garish’.” 

Bucky set the box down and took off the lid. You watched as he studied the contents before carefully plucking out an ornament. He held it up for you to see. It was a gorgeous teardrop-shaped piece of glass that even from a distance looked fragile. It was a vibrant shade of emerald that was just light enough to see through. “See, this is the kind of stuff Steve and I grew up with. Simple, colorful, delicate.” Bucky leaned down again, pulling up another ornament. He flicked a switch on the bottom and the bauble began to chime out Jingle Bell Rock, tiny red and white lights flashing from it. “This,” he said with a slight grimace. “Is the kind of stuff that covers every tree and house in the city. Festive, sure, but…”

“But not the same.”

Bucky nodded, silencing the singing ornament. “Steve likes modern advancements, at least the ones he can understand. But it’s never going to feel like home to him.”

“Buck-Buck!” Thor called across the room. “Where are the ornamental decorations for the evergreen?”

“‘Buck-Buck’?” Bucky repeated with a slight scowl. “Who the hell told him…” He turned his eyes to you. “Y/N?”

“Bye, Buck-Buck!” you called over your shoulder as you darted down the hall.

____________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, when the sky had turned dark, Tony made everyone traipse back out to the street for a grand ‘building-lighting’.

“Get ready to have your little minds blown,” Tony said as the group stood around, shivering. He flicked one switch and all the lights surrounding the tower went out. He flicked another and the tower lit up, blindingly bright. The lights flickered, appearing to move like a wave around the cone of the building. The ‘s’ and ‘r’ in STARK were now red, the ‘t’ and ‘k’ green, with only the A remaining in its traditional white.

“And now,” Tony said. “The grand reveal.”

Another switch and images started playing amidst the lights– snowmen throwing snowballs, reindeer flying across a night sky, presents piling up under a tree. 

“This is quite grand!” Thor said. “Good job, man of iron.”

“That’s not all, Point Break.” One more switch and music began to play from hidden speakers. The lights began to change color, the bulbs going out and turning on in time to the song, appearing as if they were moving across the surface of the building. You’d seen similar displays on YouTube but nothing near the size of this. You had to admit, it was breathtaking.

“How are we supposed to sleep with all that going on, Stark?” Steve asked. He’d bundled up this time– his eyes could barely be seen between the edge of his stocking cap covering his brow and the edge of his scarf covering his nose. “All of these are going to shine directly into our windows. Not to mention, the volume of the music.”

“Calm down, Capsicle. I’ve installed blackout curtains in all your rooms, and the music will only play on the hour and the half-hour from 5 pm until 10.” The billionaire turned towards him. “After all, I know how much you need your beauty sleep.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Steve’s grumpy attitude lingered over the next few weeks. He was able to tamp it down, keep a neutral expression (sometimes even a soft smile!), but occasionally, you’d look over to find him scowling at the tree, the lights, the gingerbread village you, Natasha, and Wanda had made (Thor had helped, too– his disaster of a building was displayed proudly).

One night, as the group gathered in the living room to watch Christmas movies, you pulled Steve towards the door. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Y/N, I don’t really feel like–”

“You really want to listen to Clint and Tony say every line of Christmas Vacation in tandem with Chevy Chase?”

“Let me grab my coat.”

And so, all bundled up, the two of you took the elevator down to the street, stepping out into the frosty evening. A few inches of snow had fallen recently– while that on the street had been cleared, lawns and rooftops still glittered white. You stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and stuck your arm out, hailing a cab. Despite the modern versions of travel, Steve still liked having a big yellow car pull up and whisk him away.

The two of you shuffled into the backseat and you gave an address to the driver. It didn’t sound familiar to Steve, but that didn’t mean anything. You had a knack for finding locations off the beaten path– pizza joints, bars, antique stores. 

The cab drove off. Steve watched the city streets pass by in a blur– businesses with painted windows, holiday animatronics, artificial trees of every color (very few green, though, he noticed). The streets grew darker as the cab moved from the business district to neighborhoods. Finally, the car pulled over and you handed the driver his payment before stepping out onto the curb. 

The cab pulled away and Steve looked around. Nothing here looked familiar– it was just a bunch of houses with small yards packed with inflatables and roofs covered with LED lights. “Where are we?”

“Almost there.” You started walking, heading for the next block over. Steve caught up to you in a few steps, eyes darting around to make sure nothing was hiding in the shadows. It always amazed him how you would stride about the streets of New York so confidently– barely a care that someone not-so-nice might come across your path and hurt you or snatch you up.

You turned the corner and stopped somewhat abruptly. “Here we are.”

Steve looked around– again, none of the buildings stood out to him as important. But as he looked around, he noticed a distinct difference in these houses. Gone were the inflatables, the overly bright lights, the larger-than-life figurines. The houses on this block were decorated but modestly. Single strands of colored lights edged roofs; paper snowflakes were taped to windows. Occasionally, an exterior tree was decorated with ornaments, but all he could see were large, solidly colored orbs. There was no music, no flashing lights, no sense of commercialism or overconsumption.  

“What is this place?” he asked, taking a few steps down the block.

“One of the older neighborhoods in the city. A lot of these houses are considered historical and the people who live in them take that to heart. So, while the neighboring streets might go overboard with their holiday decorations, these homes lean more towards the decorations of the past.”

Steve stopped in front of one house. Through the large picture window, a tree could be seen. It was fluffy and full, a deep green color– definitely real. It was decorated simply, with the kind of ornaments Bucky had said were familiar to Steve. A few strands of tinsel, as well as some ropes of popcorn and cranberries, could be seen among the branches. A young boy, probably no more than six, popped up next to the tree. An action figure was in one hand and even from this distance, you recognized the stars and stripes it was wearing. The boy spotted you and Steve standing in front of the house and waved. Steve smiled, gave him a salute. The boy’s eyes widened, dropping down to the toy in his hands. He began to bounce excitedly, turning and calling for someone else in the house to come look.

Quietly, you and Steve stepped down the block, admiring the other houses. 

“I get it, you know,” you finally said. “Christmas… it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Granted, my Christmases growing up were in the 90s, so they were probably pretty different from yours.” Steve grunted slightly– he always felt a little odd when you pointed out just how many years existed between the two of you. “But,” you continued. “I look around today and… something’s changed. I don’t mean the technology or the price of gifts or anything… although those have certainly changed. But when I was a kid… there really was something magical about the Christmas season. It was exciting to decorate the tree, to bake cookies, to watch silly cartoons. I looked forward to getting to wear my holiday dresses and the shirts with my favorite cartoon characters wearing Santa hats. Staying up on Christmas Eve was the best, always hoping to finally see the big man himself. It was…” You shrugged, unable to find the right word to describe the nostalgia that had just filled your mind. The smallest of tears pricked your eye. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s just what growing up is. You lose the magic of the holiday season.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t make our own.” Steve reached down, slipping his gloved hand into yours. “Thank you for bringing me here, Y/N. I’ll admit, I might’ve been a bit of a… I believe the word is ‘grinch’--”

“You were definitely a grinch.”

Steve’s mouth flattened slightly. “But,” he continued, trying to get back to the point he’d been making. “But this… this feels like… what I’ve been missing about Christmas.” He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you against the puffy jacket across his chest. “Thank you.” 

The two of you stood there for a few moments, bathed in the warm glow of minimally decorated houses. “What do you say we go home,” Steve whispered, his tone shifted from warm and fuzzy to hot and desirous. “And I let you unwrap a very special present?”

Your cheeks flushed redder than the Christmas bulbs.

[galeemdoesart]

heyyyy long time no see! Sorry, college has been kicking my ass there’s just so much to do and learn ughhh

anyways, have some doodles (some new, some old)