Post-Wedding: Eric’s a little famous, but he’s not used to taking advantage of that status. Good thing he’s surrounded himself with people who don’t have the same hang-ups.
Beyoncé’s new tour dates are announced and not only is she playing Starbucks Arena, she’s playing in Seattle during a lull between a stretch of home games.
“I didn’t realize you were so into Beyoncé, Bittle. Isn’t that a little bit stereotypical?”
Eric doesn’t have time for Boomer’s casual homophobia, pre-sale tickets go on sale in three minutes and for once this miserable season, he’d like to get something he actually wants.
“I don’t know if anyone has told you, Booms, but I’m pretty fucking gay. And you know what else is a stereotype: sucking big, thick, hard –”
Boomer raises his hands and backs away from Eric’s table. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
Eric waves the d-man off while Carter slides out the chair beside Eric and drops his take-out box on the table, careful not to jostle the laptop.
“He’s getting better.”
“He’s getting his stall plastered with hardcore vintage porn is what he’s getting,” Eric mutters. “Swear to the Lord, you’d think I was a walking identity crisis –”
Two minutes. His card info is pre-loaded. Carter is chomping away on something that smells like curry. Eric’s blood is vibrating under his skin like he’s in overtime. He’s ready.
“Wait, why are you buying them yourself? I’m sure JoAnn can get some from the front office for us.”
Eric stares at the screen. 1:27. He doesn’t want to bother the team’s publicist over something like this. He’s an adult. He needed help with Hamilton tickets, he doesn’t need help for Beyoncé. He knows Beyoncé.
Maybe not literally, but still.
“Dude, let me call her. Just in case.”
“Leave her alone. She’s done enough for us this season.”
“Maybe we should –”
The waiting room clicks over and he’s in. Easy as pie. He selects his seats, nabs the VIP package, gets to the checkout screen, and…
“What the hell…?”
An error message pops up.
“No, no, no, no,” Eric clicks the screen, and when the page refreshes there’s nothing there. No seats. No VIP meet and greet. Nothing. A happy little banner pops up that reads ‘Thank you for participating in Citi Bank’s Presale –’
Eric’s stomach drops. “Are you kidding me!? It’s been thirty seconds!”
“It’s bots, man,” Bay shouts from across the room. “Those ticket resellers program these computers to –”
“I don’t give a good god damn if it’s a robot! I was right there! They were mine!” He drops his head to the table and whines. “I can afford them on the secondary market, it’s just the principle of the matter.”
“I’m so sorry, man,” Carter runs a sympathetic hand over his back. “Can I call JoAnn now?”
Eric shakes his head, content to wallow in his own sadness. “Everything I touch turns to death,” he moans.
“That sounds like a yes.”
Eric’s phone starts vibrating beside his head – the tap-tap-tap pulse he’s set for Jack – but before he can answer Carter’s tapped the call button for him.
“Hey, Zimmermann. You’re on speaker phone, your husband’s in a state.”
“Carter, um, thanks? Bits, you okay? Did you get your tickets?”
“…no,” Eric sighs, lifting his head to stare blearily at his phone. “The bots ruined me, Jack. I’m dead.”
“Your man is too proud to use his contacts, Zimms,” Carter snickers and elbows Eric in the side.
“That’s unfortunate,” Jack consoles, but Eric can hear something else in his voice. Something distinctly amused.
“Jack, I swear to god if you make me wait any longer –”
“I have two VIP passes sitting on my desk at home right now. I talked to my agent about it weeks ago. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Eric’s mouth goes dry and Carter shakes his shoulders roughly in excitement. He can’t make his voice work.
Carter leans in close, whispering, “Bittle, you crying?”
“Bits? Bud? You there?”
“No,” Eric breathes, composing himself, “I’m just, really happy I married my husband, and I get to meet Beyoncé.”
There’s silence across the line, then, “Bits, I know those things aren’t in order, and that’s okay. I love you, too.”
Today on twitter someone told me I should SUPPORT the shows and movies I’m talking about instead of just tweeting about it because “tweeting about it doesn’t get them views/money” and I’ve never, ever, encountered someone who so badly missed the point of my entire online brand. Wildest thing someone ever said to me.
In this first movie, the only times Steve refers to himself as “Captain America’ are when he’s making self-deprecating jokes.
"I’m Captain America,” he says to a group of doubtful POWs, trying to convince himself he actually has a chance at saving them.
“Are you ready to follow ‘Captain America’ into the jaws of death?” he asks his best friend, wondering why anyone, especially Bucky, would want to follow him at all.
“I’m just a kid from Brooklyn,” he says to the Red Skull.
He takes being Captain America about as seriously as he does his ability to punch Hitler 200 times. Steve’s smart enough to know his rank is just a gesture, and self-deprecating enough to feel he didn’t earn it.
When he wakes up in the future, even the President greets him with that old stage name: “welcome back, Cap."
Peggy is the only one left to welcome back Steve Rogers, and he gets to hear her do it over, and over, and over again.
falling in love with nolan and nico was a bad idea cause one is gonna go to the devils and ones gonna go to the flyers and im either gonna have to forget about them or take on two more teams into my realm of caring