A/N Steve is an angel, and if you think otherwise….. bye
Summary: Reader is upset as Steve is either always off on a mission or with Sam and Bucky, almost never coming home until late at night.
Being Steve Rogers’ girlfriend wasn’t always easy, especially when he was gone on missions for long periods of time. And when he wasn’t on a mission, it seemed as if he was always with Sam or Bucky. You weren’t the clingy type, you needed your time apart from him sometimes, but with how much time you two had been apart, you began to get lonely.
You had always kept that to yourself, until he came home late after hanging out with Sam after being gone for a little over a month.
“I don’t understand, Y/N. You know that it’s my duty to help people!” Steve exclaimed.
“I know that, Steve.” You retorted. “It would just be nice if I saw you once and a while, you’re never home!”
You were a shield agent, you understood that when you were assigned a mission you had to go on it, but you also understood the dangers of going on said missions. Obviously, Steve was a superhuman so he had less of a chance of being severely injured, but he wasn’t invincible. You worried about whether or not he was aware of that, though.
Elements: I feel her most in Air, in breaths and lights and shadows; then, in Water, through the ‘down and North’ into the great unknown across the sea, and in the water of ice and snow. I also see her in the earth that holds our bodies, from which new life grows out of death and decay; lastly in Fire, which makes smoke and ash.
Stones: Hematite, larvikite, rose quartz, tourmalinated quartz, red (hematite inclusion) phantom quartz, black (carbon inclusion) phantom quartz, black tourmaline, moonstone.
Locations: Graves, undergrounds, keys, gates, doorways, thresholds, stairs, lights in darkness, mirrors, bricks, chainlink, knocking on doors (it’s the sound of your bones), cities (the older the better), abandoned buildings, old wood creaking underfoot, antique stores.
Devotions: Writing, reading, storytelling (words are how we survive and share down generations). Eating humanely, feeding the homeless, donating to food banks, feeding friends and family (food is sacred, served to all in her hall). Social justice work, sacred witnessing, active listening (all are equal in death). Hospice care, living wills, home funerals, green burials, grave-tending, cleaning roadkill, using all parts of an animal (death is a natural part of life). Ancestral practice, transition magic, death magic, spirit work, plant necromancy, dumb suppers, meditations on mortality and the value of life (honouring that which came before and will be again, becoming more intimate with death). Shadow work, mirror magic based in facing and knowing oneself wholly, healing our damages, analyzing the stories we tell ourselves, honouring both the death but also the living flesh, engaging actively in one’s own Becoming (uniting our ‘halves’ into our personal best self, living before dying). Blacking fingers for ritual as in frostbite; braiding braids with intention of life/becoming/death.
Smells: Roses, the smell of decomposition under wet leaves.
Season: Winter; also in the rot of autumn and the first burst of spring.
Colours: White; also black, burgundy, pale pink, red, ice blue.
I didn’t realize the grave robbing story was a meme?? I know I just talked about this, but I’m going to make a separate post because all the jokes about this kinda rub me the wrong way.
This isn’t a “haha tumblr is so weird and crazy” thing.
The grave robber actually lives in my city (though of course they’re not from here). This is actually a huge problem in New Orleans. We can’t bury people in the ground because the bodies float back up. Most of our cemeteries look like this:
They’re built like that to prevent exactly this problem. But some older and poorer (read Blacker) areas of the city have really old under ground graves. But like, let me reiterate how underpriviledged those people were/are to be buried without even a slab over the grave here. Tourists and transplant “witches” (which we have a lot of bc New Orleans and Magik and Voodoo right?!?) end up taking bones a lot. It’s serious deal here because after it rains, the bones from those underground graves just surface. What people doing this fail to understand is that families of those people still live here. And often in the same areas. Imagine finding out tourists and privileged “wiccans” are going to your family cemetery and taking your loved ones’ bones. That’s the reality of a lot of people here.
Fox photographer George Freston poses as a commuter on the London Underground, reading a copy of D H Lawrence’s novel ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’, on the day the book went on general sale, after a jury at the Old Bailey decided that the book was not obscene, after a 33 year old ban. Fox photographer Les Graves is on his left.