tushmore replied to your post “92 things you never thought you needed to know about me!”
curious lion???
Uh huh, I was minding my own business, with my back to the lion enclosure reading something, and he pounced at the fence! lol. Roared as well, kinda scary, but i reckon he wanted to see what i was looking at!! hehe :)
tushmore replied to your post:i saw this “cheesy fic tropes” 30-day-challenge...
ohhhh boy!! 25 or 11, or 13 either steve/bucky or someone with rumlow! which there is never enough of that isnt… creepy. lol just a nice cute one ^_^
alright so i accidentally 4,700 words? WHOOPS. this one really got away from me, but i had a ton of fun with it. thanks for the prompt! :)
(Set a few months after Cap2; warnings for light canon-typical violence, swearing, and terrible comic book science.)
***
Oh, god, not like this.
Steve cries out as the searing white light finally fades from his vision. It leaves spots at the edge of his sight, and an ache in his muscles and his mind.
Amora—
He slumps over onto the blacktop of the city street, trying to catch his breath. All around him, he hears people chattering, screaming, a cacophony of voices over the sound of fighting. Steve presses a hand to his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It feels like he’s burning.
“Steve,” Tony says, appearing at his side.
“Amora—“ Steve starts in a voice that sounds harsh, as though he’s been screaming.
“Taken care of,” Tony says. “She hit you with some spell – are you okay? God, you have to be, I’m not losing anyone else.”
Steve’s head snaps up, despite how it’s aching. He squints at Tony – it’s not like him to say stuff like that out loud, not to Steve.
“Tony,” he says carefully, “you’re not going to lose anyone else. We aren’t losing anyone.”
Tony gapes at him for a long moment before he swears.
There’s no fucking way I’m calling Strange, Tony continues, in what Steve assumes is his inner monologue, as he doesn’t see Tony’s mouth move.
“What do you have against Doctor Strange?” Steve asks curiously. Tony frowns.
Shit.
“Oh, god,” Tony groans, “you really can hear me.” This is going to end badly, he adds mentally.
After a moment of Tony’s thoughts at full blast, Steve scrunches his face up.
“Is that position physically possible?” Steve asks with consideration.
“Oh, Cap,” Tony smirks as he helps Steve to his feet, “this is going to be fun.”
*
It isn’t fun. At all.
At first, it isn’t that bad, just noisy. Steve can’t make out individual voices in the crowd of onlookers that the police have been holding back, and he doesn’t want to try. Tony doesn’t hesitate to quickly fly them back to Avengers Tower together, his busy mind providing Steve with strings of numbers, theories, and snippets of scientific nonsense.
The moment Steve steps into the common room with the other Avengers, the cacophony of voices fades out to just a few.
It’s almost worse.
–Come on, Hulk, take a little nap, let Bruce out to play, please? –
–The fault is mine, I should have dealt with Amora long ago–
–Try not to think about Coulson’s junk. Try not to think about Coulson’s junk. Try not to think about Coulson’s humongous–
–Then there’s got to be some kind of new energy that’s enabling his brain to pick up messages, and if we can find and extract it—
–Mary had a little lamb, her fleece was white as snow. And everywhere – fuck it, I can’t remember that one. The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out–
“SHUT UP!” Steve yells, clapping his hands over his ears.
“Captain—“ Thor starts as he steps forwards.
“Sorry,” Steve sighs, looking sheepishly at the ground. He takes a long, deep breath. “Can everyone take a few steps back, please? The closer you get, the louder it is.”
The team casts him a variety of looks before they disperse – suspicion, pity, worry – every emotion heightened as Steve feels their thoughts. Natasha retreats to the farthest corner of the room, still repeating nursery rhymes and song lyrics in her head, and Clint joins her, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.
Xavier’s on his way down, Tony thinks as his armor informs him that JARVIS has called Professor X for them.
“Thanks, Tony, ” Steve says without thinking. Clint winces.
“That’s kind of creepy,” he volunteers. Tony opens his mouth to reply.
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to tune out the sounds of But Hulk’s thoughts are Hulk’s, Don’t be an asshole Barton, Who’s strong and brave here to save the American waaaay?
Even then, he can hear other thoughts, muffled from distance. They’re 10 floors, maybe 15 away from the closest human, a receptionist who’s worried about her girlfriend and a janitor whose shift is ending in ten minutes, and then he can go out drinking with the boys and –
“Call me when Xavier’s here. I’m going to go to my room,” Steve says weakly, ignoring the concerned looks that follow him out of the common room. He just needs to lie down for a few minutes. That’s all.
*
The apartment is small and run down, not unlike any of the places Steve has lived in before.
He stares up at the ceiling, tracing water stains with eyes before he realizes it is one of the old apartments he’d lived in, back in…1939? He and Bucky had shared the place for a few months, their first apartment, until the landlord caught Bucky with their daughter and—
Speak of the devil. The door opens and Bucky swings in, looking young and happy. Steve’s heart aches to see him like this.
“Honey, I’m home,” Bucky laughs, shutting the door behind him.
“Shut up, I’m not your housewife,” Steve frowns. His scowl draws another laugh out of Bucky.
“Are the kids all tucked in?” Bucky teases as he shucks his shoes off. Steve sits up on the bed. He’s too big for it, for once, and he never is.
“No, they take after their father, they’re stubborn as hell,” Steve huffs. It draws another laugh out of Bucky.
Bucky skips over to the bed and pushes Steve back onto it, roughhousing a little as he always did. Steve knows they’ll wrestle on the bed next, until Steve whacks Bucky with a pillow and Bucky lets him win, or he feels himself begin to wheeze.
Bucky always was rough with him, but gentle at the same time, like he didn’t want to treat Steve as though he was made of glass, but was still afraid of breaking him.
Bucky pins Steve down onto the mattress with ease, even though Steve’s bigger than him now, and Steve braces himself for the punch.
Instead, Bucky leans down and presses his lips against Steve’s.
“Hey – hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up.”
*
“Bucky?” Steve mutters as he opens his eyes. He blinks at the head swimming over him, but it’s Tony, not Bucky.
Did he seriously mistake me for a lethal cyborg assassin? Hey, two out of three ain’t bad.
Right. He was dreaming.
“Sorry,” Steve says, sitting up hastily. He’d fallen asleep on the couch on his floor. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“You were in someone else’s mind,” Charles Xavier says from the other side of the room.
Steve starts. He hadn’t realized Professor X had arrived. He looks around his living room, but no one else is there but Xavier and Tony.
“I asked them to keep their distance when I arrived,” Xavier says, wheeling his wheelchair across the carpet. Steve expects to hear his thoughts as well, but there’s nothing but Tony’s voice in his head.
“Right,” Steve says, holding out his hand to shake Xavier’s. “Thank you for coming,” he says politely.
“I wish I didn’t have to,” Xavier says with a friendly smile. “Mr. Stark has briefed me on the situation. It seems Amora’s spell has given you temporary psychic powers. Although,” Xavier says with a sideways glance at Tony, “I’m not sure why he hasn’t called Stephen Strange – this is much more his forte.”
So is fucking magic, and that’s why. And don’t you dare tell anyone I said that, Rogers.
Tony looks away awkwardly when Steve bites back a smile. Xavier doesn’t miss it, though.
“So, you can hear Tony’s thoughts,” he says with consideration. “You won’t be able to hear mine, and Miss Romanoff says she believes she has been able to keep you out by repeating nursery rhymes. Is this true?”
“For the most part,” Steve says. “I haven’t really tried to push.”
“Except, of course, in your sleep,” Xavier says. Steve’s brow furrows. “As soon as I entered your room, I could tell. Your consciousness was far away, visiting the mind of another. It seems you…wandered during your sleep. Who were you dreaming about?”
Steve feels Tony’s eyes on his face and knows that Tony knows exactly who he was dreaming about.
“…An old friend,” Steve says. “I don’t know where he is. Do you think he’s nearby?” he asks, a spark of hope burning in his chest.
“I cannot be sure,” Xavier says, to Steve’s disappointment. “What was the nature of this dream?” he asks. Steve refuses to blush.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says.
“Was it a fantasy? An entirely new world, or something more familiar? A memory? A wish? A random scenario?”
“A memory,” Steve answers, mouth going dry. He swallows.
“Then we don’t have to worry that your mind will become trapped somewhere else,” Xavier says with relief, although Steve doesn’t know how he can tell.
“Can you tell me anything else?” Steve asks. “Could I…use this to find that person?”
“I’m not sure how you would,” Xavier says. “Dreams exist entirely in the mind. It would be very difficult to interpret them. The fact that you’ve been able to tap into a specific person’s mind, no matter the distance, is very impressive. Whatever spell has been cast upon you, it is quite powerful. Powerful enough to turn thoughts of this person into actions.”
Steve swallows.
“And, how long will it last?” he asks.
“I’m afraid this is where my expertise ends,” Xavier says with a glance at Stark. “You haven’t developed mutant abilities, and your powers are limited to readings only, without any conscious control. My apologies. I wish I could be of more help.”
Fuck. I am not calling fucking Strange. I should get JARVIS to run a scan and see if he can read the energy levels in –
“Thank you for coming,” Steve says with a half-hearted smile, shaking Xavier’s hand once more. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
“It was no trouble,” Xavier says kindly before he leaves.
Tony glances at Steve sympathetically. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Wanna come down to the lab? Maybe I can run some tests.” Or steal Magneto’s helmet. We could paint it blue and slap an ‘A’ on it.
Steve frowns. “Yes to the first, no to the second.”
*
They’re sitting on the beach at Coney Island, the water lapping at their feet. The sun shines brightly, but Steve doesn’t feel a burn. There are no calling seagulls, no screaming children. He knows it’s a dream. It’s gotta be.
It’s just him, Bucky, and a sand castle.
“What color banner will your castle wave, King Steve?” Bucky asks him, like they’re kids again. He looks up at Steve, but he’s as old as he was when Steve last saw him in person. His hair is longer, too, but his eyes are bright, his chin shaved clean.
“Bucky,” Steve swallows, drinking in the sight of him.
“Come on, Steve, play the game,” Bucky says petulantly. “You’re the King, and I’m your brave knight. I need a banner to wave.”
“Bucky, it’s me,” Steve says. His voice feels thick and heavy, like he’s trying to speak through a mouthful of syrup.
“Of course it’s you,” Bucky huffs. “Come on, if you don’t tell me what color, I’m gonna pick green. I know you hate green.”
“Where are you?” Steve asks. “Come on, Bucky. You’re dreaming, but this is me. Please, come back.”
Bucky stares at Steve for a long moment.
“I don’t like this game,” he says simply, and vanishes.
Steve sits straight up in bed as he jolts awake.
*
Point three eight nine five one one three four two, carry the eight—
“Are you sure about this, Stark?” Steve asks from where he’s hooked up to a cluster of machines. Bruce and Tony look up from their computers and cast him distracted glances. He’s been spending most of his time in his room and the lab for the past few days, stuck in a game of mutual avoidance from most of his teammates.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Tony says, waving his hand absently. “Now,” he says, turning to Bruce, “if we can calculate the density of the –“
—Particulate concentration and track its decay, we can predict how long it will take to dissipate from the brain, but we’ll have to take samples, Bruce continues in his mind, nodding furiously when Tony cuts off to check something on his screen.
Tony taps his lip with a stylus thoughtfully as he skims a lab report. Blood samples show no sign of energy, which means it’s purely psychic, fucking magic –
“We’ll need to take readings over a time period,” Bruce hums thoughtfully.
“Do I have to be in the same room as you two while you do this?” Steve asks, somewhat rudely. Both Steve and Bruce look over the lab at him. “You two finish each other’s sentences in your minds,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
Tony holds his hand up to Bruce for a hi-five.
*
“Bucky, you’ve got to listen to me,” Steve gasps as Bucky pushes him up against a brick wall and puts a knife to Steve’s throat.
“I’m not listening to you anymore,” Bucky grits out. “I won’t do it, I won’t. You can’t trick me again.”
“Bucky, you’re dreaming,” Steve says, even as he feels the pain of being slammed into a wall. “You’re asleep. It’s just me, Steve.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Bucky says, pressing the knife to Steve’s throat. It’s sharp, sharp enough to slice a thin line into Steve’s throat. He doesn’t dare swallow.
“It’s me, Buck,” Steve whispers. “I’m not gonna make you do anything. I just want to talk to you.”
“Shut up,” Bucky growls.
“No,” Steve says firmly. “I need you to listen to me, Bucky. Please.”
Bucky catches his eye and holds his gaze. Steve stares into his eyes for a long moment before Bucky backs away, releasing his hold on Steve.
When Steve looks around, he doesn’t see much other than a dark alleyway. It’s blurry around the edges, like Bucky hadn’t thought up a street outside, or anything other than two walls and shadows.
When Bucky follows Steve’s gaze down the alleyway, a dark street grows before Steve’s eyes. It’s quiet.
“Talk,” Bucky says suddenly. He watches Steve carefully.
“Do you remember me?” Steve starts, because he doesn’t know what to say. It’s funny – he’s dreamed of what he’d do if he found Bucky, but now that they’re face-to-face, he has no idea what to say.
“I fought you. On the – on the helicarrier,” Bucky says, giving Steve a troubled look.
“You knew me before that,” Steve tries. “A long time ago.”
“That’s…not possible,” Bucky says, shaking his head.
“Bucky,” Steve steps towards him. Bucky takes a startled step back. “We were friends,” Steve says quietly. “Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. We were best friends. I’ve known you since we were kids.”
“You were a mission,” Bucky says tonelessly.
“I’ve told you before,” Steve says softly. “We were friends, once. We lived in Brooklyn. Remember our first apartment? There was a stain in the ceiling, you said it looked like a star. We got kicked out, ‘cause you—“
“Got caught necking with Suzy Morello, and her father threatened to knock my skull in,” Bucky finishes. He swallows.
“See, Bucky?” Steve says. “Please, try to remember. For me.”
Bucky startles as a car’s backfire echoes through their alleyway. Steve catches one last glimpse of him before he opens his eyes to the darkness of his bedroom.
“Damn it,” Steve swears into his pillow.
*
“From what we can figure, you’ve got about a week before the psychic energy wears out,” Tony continues. He flips his tablet over to Steve to show him a reading that Steve can’t understand.
And one week before I can go back to thinking dirty, dirty thoughts about –
“A week?” Steve asks, his brow furrowing.
“Give or take,” Tony shrugs. “As far as I can tell, Amora’s spell was meant to overload your mind, drive you insane. Instead, your super-soldier brain absorbed the psychic energy and has been using it, converting it into usable energy. Basically, she gave you temporary psychic powers.”
And, hell yes, there is a scientific explanation to it. Suck on that, Strange.
“So, I have a week to find Bucky,” Steve says with a nod. “Thanks, Tony.”
“No problem,” Tony says awkwardly, cutting off his technobabble.
God, Tony thinks as Steve leaves the workshop, he sure has got it bad.
*
When Steve fades into the next dream that night, he’s ready. He takes quick stock of his surroundings. His eyes scan the landscape.
Bucky is nowhere to be seen.
For a long, tense moment, Steve wonders if maybe he’s the one dreaming. He could be in anyone’s dream, really. He’s lucky that his mind has sought out Bucky’s these past few nights.
“Bucky?” Steve calls. He begins to walk forwards.
As he walks, he feels concrete beneath his feet. The air around him is misty and dark, filled with harsh smoke and dust. Steve sees a light at the edge of his vision. With nowhere else to go, he follows it.
The light gets closer slowly, then all at once, revealing an open doorway. Yellow light spills out from a London pub and onto the wet street. Steve knows exactly where he is.
The pub is empty. It’s warm inside, though, the room lit by warm lamps, with cigarette smoke hanging heavily in the air. Music is playing, a low Billie Holiday song that crackles over the familiar sound of a record player. Steve follows the sound through the pub and around to the bar, where he finds Bucky.
Bucky is dressed in his uniform, just as he was on the day Steve met him in this bar, before they headed out to war together. He’s dancing by himself, twirling around in the smoke-filled air as he kicks his heels around. He turns, and smiles widely when he spots Steve.
“Steve!” Bucky says cheerfully. “Care for a dance, soldier?” he jokes, grabbing Steve’s hand. Before Steve can protest, Bucky’s got a hand on his waist and is threading his fingers through Steve’s.
“Bucky,” Steve says breathlessly. Bucky twirls them around to the beat, pulling Steve close.
“’Course I remember you,” Bucky laughs, the sound like a sharp edge in his voice.
“Bucky,” Steve says carefully. “You’re dreaming again. This is a dream. Remember what I told you, before?”
Bucky gives him a long look. “Why should I believe you?” he asks. His fingers dig into Steve’s waist.
“I don’t know,” Steve sighs. “But I want to help you, Buck. I won’t lie to you. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’d like to believe that,” Bucky says, stepping closer and pressing his forehead to Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t pull away, even though he knows he should. “That’s why you’re saying it. They always do. I just wanted a dance.”
“Then, we’ll just dance,” Steve sighs. “For now. As long as you’ll promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Hmmm,” Bucky says as he buries his face in Steve’s shirt – his dress uniform, too, he realizes suddenly. “Maybe.”
They slow dance until Steve opens his eyes the next morning and finds himself, sadly, alone in his own bed.
*
Steve corners Natasha outside the bakery a few blocks over that he knows she likes, even though the chattering thoughts of New York gives him a migraine. He hasn’t seen her around the Tower lately, and he knows why.
“If I were trying to get a message out to Bucky, so he could see it,” he asks desperately, “how would I go about it?”
Natasha chews on her lip for a moment, Do your ears hang low do they wobble to and fro, before she smiles.
“Put a personal ad in the papers,” she says. “He’ll be checking them, if he hasn’t entirely shaken his programming yet. They’ll have put orders in there for him.”
Can you tie ‘em in a knot can you tie ‘em in a bow?
“Which papers?” Steve asks.
Can you throw ‘em over your shoulder like a supersoldier?
“All of them,” Natasha shrugs.
Do your ears hang low?
*
MALE 95, ISO old friend, M 96. Been dreaming: I’ll Be Seeing You. If you want.
*
Steve sleeps dreamlessly for four days. By the fifth, he’s getting desperate – is Bucky sleeping at different times? Is he sleeping at all? Is he hurt?
He starts to wonder if it’s the dissipating psychic energy, and briefly entertains the idea of finding and provoking Amora. He doesn’t have to, in the end.
Steve wakes up to the familiar feel of three lumpy couch cushions underneath him, a too-thin blanket pulled up to his chin. He opens his eyes slowly and finds Bucky lying on his side in his tiny bed. He looks even bigger in his childhood room – even Steve feels like he’s too big for this place, like he’ll break something just by moving.
Steve sits up quietly, as he always did when he was trying not to wake Bucky after he slept over, but he realizes that Bucky’s awake. He’s watching Steve quietly, never tearing his eyes away.
“So, I thought that HYDRA might be on my tail again, so I head to South America, keeping my head down, traveling at night. I take my first nap in two days, and I had a dream I was being chased by giant purple cats across the surface of Mars,” Bucky says casually. His eyes still bore into Steve. “And when I finally get some more shut eye, I dreamed that I was late to Ms. Ingall’s eighth grade class, and I showed up in my underwear. You weren’t even there to laugh at me.”
“I think that really happened,” Steve says with a smile.
“Shut up,” Bucky laughs. “So, then I realize, when I flew over from Europe, I changed my sleeping schedule. So we haven’t even been sleeping at the same time. No way for your magical dream travel to work.”
“You’ve been thinking about this,” Steve says.
“I got your personal ad,” Bucky says. The smile drops from his face. “That was stupid – doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves that this is real,” Steve replies.
“Does it?” Bucky scoffs.
“Yes, it does,” Steve says stubbornly. “’I’ll Be Seeing You’ was playing when we danced.”
“You meant a lot more than that,” Bucky says. Steve feels the weight of his gaze as he gauges Steve’s reaction.
“I’ll admit it,” Steve shrugs. “Come back to New York, Bucky,” he says. “Please. We can work this out together. You and me.”
Bucky swallows. His gaze falls from Steve and focuses instead on the window. When Steve turns to look, the skies are blue outside. It’s a perfect day.
“I wish I could stay in here,” Bucky says quietly, so that Steve has to strain to hear him. “You and me.”
“We can’t,” Steve says. “I wish I could do that for you.”
Bucky turns back to look at Steve. “You would, too,” Bucky says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really would.”
“’Course I would,” Steve says earnestly. Bucky laughs fondly.
“What if I told you I didn’t remember everything,” Bucky says. “Just…pieces. Fragments. And most of it isn’t good. Would you still promise me the moon if you knew how many people I’ve killed?”
“I don’t care,” Steve says. He pulls himself up off Bucky’s couch cushions and sits beside him on the tiny bed, the springs giving under his weight. “You still deserve the moon.”
“I don’t,” Bucky says, bowing his head and closing his eyes.
“Bucky,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s hand between his and holding it tightly. “Meet me at Coney Island on Saturday. Underneath the Cyclone. I’ll come alone. This dream stuff isn’t going to last – I’ve got a few days left. We’ll talk. No strings attached.”
“Sounds like a trap to me,” Bucky replies.
“It’s not, I promise you, Buck,” Steve says. “I’d never do that to you.”
“Of course it’s a trap,” Bucky sighs, tilting his head sideways at Steve. “If I see you again, there’s no way I’ll say no.”
Bucky’s hand fades out of Steve’s grip and he awakens, his hands clutching at empty air.
*
Steve doesn’t dream of Bucky again. The psychic energy disappears almost as quickly as it came, and, finally, Steve can emerge from his self-inflicted quarantine.
When Saturday comes, he spends most of his day standing around the Cyclone, regretting not giving Bucky a time to meet. He eats too many hot dogs and sticks of cotton candy and ignores suspicious looks from passing policemen who see him hanging around.
He doesn’t see Bucky anywhere in the crowd, but that doesn’t mean anything. Bucky knows how to hide, now. He could’ve stood in line and rode the damn rollercoaster five times by now without Steve noticing.
It begins to get dark, but still, Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve lingers as long as he can, until a security guard tells him the park is closing.
Steve throws away his empty lemonade cup in an overflowing trash can and heads towards the exit of the park. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket and tries not to be disappointed. He had no proof that the dreams were real, or that Bucky really was getting them and remembering. He didn’t blame Bucky for not trusting his dreams.
“Hey, man, you dropped this,” someone says, jogging up to Steve and handing him his wallet.
“Oh, thanks,” Steve says with a frown. “Didn’t even realize I –“
He stops in his tracks, because of course it’s Bucky who’s standing there, smirking to himself.
“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky says. “Because I pick pocketed it from you like five hours ago. Come on, Steve. You need better situational awareness.”
“I was a little distracted,” Steve protests. “I had a date, you know, but he never showed up.”
“A date?” Bucky whistles. “Wow. I didn’t know you were going on a date.”
Steve feels his cheeks getting red. “You know, I’m not the one who dreamed—”
“I’m messing with you,” Bucky says flatly. They stand underneath a street lamp together, eyeing each other warily in the harsh light.
“Bucky—“ Steve starts.
“So, where’s this Avengers Tower of yours?” Bucky says quickly. “I’ve heard it’s pretty impressive. Do I get a tour, or do I have to stand out on the street like a tourist?”
“Someone’s pushy,” Steve says, starting to walk down the sidewalk so they can get a taxi. Bucky follows him, tucking himself into the dark black hoodie he’s wearing, even though it’s not that chilly.
“I’m not the one that’s been pushing my way into other people’s dreams,” Bucky snorts.
“Well, you know me,” Steve smiles. “Had to find you somehow. And if there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Bucky only meets his smile for a moment before he looks down at his shoes. Steve gives him time.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Bucky says, his voice a little muffled. “There might be a will, but I’m not sure where to go from here.”
“It’s alright,” Steve says, stopping Bucky with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”
It might be a spark of residual psychic energy, or maybe it’s something in the back of his mind, something that whispers, Hold him.
Steve steps forward and slowly wraps Bucky in a hug, holding him close. After a moment, Bucky’s arms open up, sliding around his waist and up his back. He buries his face in Steve’s shoulder.
Bucky holds Steve tighter and whispers in his ear, “I’m so glad you’re real.”
tushmore replied to your post: tushmore replied to your post: I’m nev...
these are the two publishers that i am currently with, hun dreamspinnerpress.com/s… lessthanthreepress.com/… Generally depends what theme/genre you write?
