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stanknotstark · 4 years ago

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Curse Her (No Really)

So that’s the look i imagine is on Loki’s face when he’s like “Can’t know what?” Anyways I had this idea yesterday after thinking about how I grew into an allergy to acrylic. It started off as an idea to grow into an allergy to gold but then i was like NO what if Amora cursed you instead and just ran with it lol Also Uno is totally the Monopoly of card games, I play it with my friends online and there is constant back stabbing and yelling 😂

P.S. I nearly said pus-y but spelled it as pu$$y and just barely caught it holy cow that could have been bad 🤣

Summary: Amora curses you so you can’t wear gold anymore, the metal being Loki’s favorite type of jewelry to gift you and see you wear with pride. You don’t want to tell him because you’re strong and independent and can figure this out without him, right?

In hindsight you should have seen this coming, honestly.

You sit in the lab with Tony, you on his table, your legs dangling, and Tony in his seat looking over the holoscreen in front of him with a frown. Bruce is out of town being the humanitarian he is so Tony is left with the job of running scans on those who are affected in battle. You’re just lucky Loki joined the team and helped Tony and Bruce make machines that can scan magic.

“She cast a spell so you can’t wear gold anymore?” Tony says, his frown deepening. “That’s...a stupid curse.” Tony says looking a bit bewildered.

You let out a bitter chuckle. “She’s jealous that Loki is with me and knows that he loves to gift his sweethearts gold jewelry,” You tell the genius with a roll of your eyes. You look at the ground and sigh. “I suppose I should keep this a secret because if Loki finds out he’ll hunt down Amora and attack her. The last thing I want is Amora teasing me for not being able to fight my own fights.”

“That is a horrible idea,” Tony pips up looking at you sympathetically. “However, as the resident, number one placeholder of bad ideas, I say do exactly that if you’re really that turned off by some teasing.” Tony says, half heartedly trying to convince you to not follow through with this plan but knowing he failed by the pinched look on your face.

It only takes two days. Two. For Loki to realize you’re not wearing his jewelry.

You’re lucky he realizes while in the middle of a team bonding activity, card games.

“Darling, where’s your necklace?” Loki asks lightly as he watches Steve put down a reverse card so instead of being Clint’s turn it’s Tony’s. Clint responds by calling Steve a buttface causing Steve to laugh out of shock.

Your eyes flick over to Tony’s, whose eyes meet yours for a second before you’re both looking at the cards on the floor again. You don’t notice it but Loki definitely noticed the look you both shared but chooses to ignore it.

“I’m letting it soak, it needed to be cleaned and polished.” You easily slip the lie out of your lips. When you look at Loki you’re lucky he isn’t looking at you at first because he can usually read your lies. As he skims his eyes back over to you you let a soft smile slide over your lips to which the god answers with a tilt of his lips.

When he looks away you swallow, Tony catching your eyes and raising his eyebrows.

Tell him. Tony’s eyes flash.

Not right now! You push back through your eyes and a small shake of your head.

Tony rolls his eyes and that’s the end of that silent conversation.

The subject isn’t brought up again until the fourth day.

You know Loki has definitely caught on to the fact that you stay in Tony’s lab a lot recently but you’re thankful he doesn’t ask questions about it.

“Where are your rings?” Loki outright asks, grabbing your hand and rubbing over your fingers with his thumb, his face in a slight frown as he looks at your bare hands. He notes that you wear silver bangles instead of your usual gold.

You both are getting ready for a press release about Amora’s attack and usually you love to flash your jewelry to the public, as if yelling from the roof tops that Loki is yours when you’re adorned in his colors and gifts.

“I, uh, lost them,” You mutter out, playing it up and acting ashamed with your flushed cheeks and pulling your hand from Loki’s to hug yourself. “I’m sorry, I’ll find them though.” You bite your lip looking at Loki’s face. The god smiles tenderly and brings his hand up to caress at your jaw.

“It is fine. I will help you look for them when we have the time.” Loki tells you, his hand falling from your face to grab your hand and lead you from the room.

You totally miss the disappointed frown that passes over Loki’s face as you pass the dresser in the room and he sees the rings laying there.

By the sixth day Loki hasn’t said anything else about your missing jewelry. However, yesterday, a day after the press release, Loki had left your rings on your night stand without another word about them.

You can tell Loki is pulling from you, putting up walls that you had worked so hard to demolish. He seems more standoffish and irritated now if his scathing remarks to the team are a tell. You really should just tell him what’s going on but you’re stubborn.

Today, you sit with Tony in the lab hoping he’ll find a way to make this stupid curse just disappear. While you could wear the gold it would leave you with a noticeable rash within a few hours and if worn long enough pockets of pus appear. If Loki noticed that he would start asking questions you can’t, or rather don’t want to, answer

“I think we need to tell him, I’m honestly lost,” Tony says swiveling in his chair to look at you. “Magic isn’t my forte, it’s Loki’s.” He explains as if you don’t know that.

“Tony, Amora will never let me live this down. She will always belittle me for being weak and having to ask for help to figure this out.”

“Technically you’ve already asked for help...” Tony points out hesitantly.

“This is different. She will call me dependent on Loki, like I wasn’t a threat before he came along and I’m his little damsel in distress,” You say letting out a frustrated growl and covering your face with your hands. “I don’t know how to explain what I mean, ok, I just can’t tell Loki.”

“Uh...” Is all Tony says as you failed to notice someone else came into the lab.

“Look, I love Loki but he can’t know.” You say with finality, letting your hands drop.

“Loki can’t know what, exactly?” Loki asks in a smooth but dangerously low tone.

You gasp, jumping a little in your spot on Tony’s work table. Your eyes are wide as saucers and you’re sure you can feel the blood from your face leave.

Loki stands a few feet away with his arms crossed and a pissed look on his face.

The room is incredibly silent, the tension able to be cut with a dull butter knife. You’re lucky Tony comes to save you.

Tony sighs, brings a hand up to rub through his hair and looks at Loki with a grimace as if dreading to tell Loki a, false, secret.

Wow he was a great actor, shouldn’t be surprising considering he grew up under the paparazzi’s thumb but to see it in action? It’s shocking.

“She wants me to build her some armor. Says she feels inadequate next to all of us since she doesn’t have powers or anything cool other than pistols.” Tony, falsely, admits.

Loki frowns at Tony before his eyes slide over to you looking to see if Tony speaks the truth. You quickly make yourself believe Tony’s lie, putting on your brave face as you look at the God of Lies in the eyes.

You know you’ve succeeded because Loki drops his arms and walks over to you. Tony moves away to tinker with something else in his lab, giving you both space, and quickly flicking the holoscreen he had been looking at away before Loki gets a close look at it and it reveals your secret.

Loki spreads your knees so he may stand between your legs and brings a hand up to grip your chin and make you look up at him.

“You will never be inadequate. You deserve a spot on this team, powers or not. You are a formidable warrior and I’m honored to be able to fight by your side,” Loki tells you, his voice strong and confident, his eyes filled with love. “Why would you hide this from me?” He then whispers, his eyebrows stitched together in a hurt look.

You swallow the lump in your throat and consider telling Loki the truth as you look into his eyes and see how much he truly loves you. How much it hurts him to know you’ve been lying to his face.

“I-”

Suddenly the tower’s klaxons are roaring to life and causing the moment to be broken. You, Loki, and Tony stand at attention.

“Sir, Amora has breeched your defenses, she is fighting Mr. Rogers and Odinson on floor 84. I believe they have it handled though.” Jarvis supplies you all.

You and Loki quickly make your way to the floor, Tony lagging behind to put on his suit.

When you get there Steve and Thor have Amora bound with magic resistant cuffs as she kneels on the ground between them. When she sees you her eyes light up at the fact you are without any jewelry and gives a dark laugh.

“You haven’t rid yourself of my curse? I figured Loki would break it within 24 hours. You’re losing your touch aren’t you, mage?” Amora says looking over to Loki with a perfectly coiffed eyebrow raised in question.

Loki looks over to you with confusion on his face and you sigh. Of course the bitch had to ruin everything you’ve been avoiding.

“Oh,” Amora says, her face slack with shock. Then it splits into an evil grin. “He doesn’t know?”

You glance at Loki who is looking between the two of you with avid interest. Steve and Thor look confused as well. Tony’s suit clanks over to Amora and slaps a magic resistant gag over her mouth, giving you a look that tells you you need to tell Loki everything, now.

Steve, Thor and Tony leave with Amora leaving you in the silent room with a very confused Loki.

“What does she speak of?” Loki finally asks when you refuse to give him anything as you stand there looking at the ground like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “You’re cursed?” Loki asks, concern laced in his words causing you to feel worse.

You let a tear drop from your eye, blowing out a deep breath and looking at Loki.

“She cursed me so I can’t wear gold without getting a bad rash and pus pockets.” You let the words tumble out of your lips, a small hiccup coming out of your mouth at the end of the sentence.

Loki frowns at you, obviously wanting to comfort you but doesn’t reach for you yet. “That is why you haven’t been wearing my jewelry?” Loki asks for confirmation.

You nod, bringing a hand up to wipe at your tears.

You don’t expect it but Loki quickly envelops you into his arms in a crushing hug. One hand holding your head to his chest, the other rubbing over your back. His body relaxing into yours as if relieved.

“You’re not mad?” You ask the god shakily, your words hitting his chest as puffs of air from your mouth. You bring your arms up and hug Loki back.

“Darling, I thought you had grown tired of me, that you were slipping from my grasps, that you were going to ask to split any day now.” Loki says into your hair where he litters kisses. “I thought you had fallen for Tony.” Loki explains his own voice wavering a bit at the confession.

“What,” You say shocked, your arms squeezing Loki tighter at the realization of the hurt you put Loki through this past week, “No, never, Tony is my friend. I just didn’t want to have to be saved by you all the time. I don’t want to be your damsel in distress. I want us both to be dependent but also independent, that’s all.” You explain into Loki’s chest, your body now shaking with the emotions that overwhelm you.

Loki lets out a relieved laugh, pulling away just enough so he may look down at you. “You will never be a damsel in distress, with need of my help or not. I told you, you are formidable on your own, a warrior with a brave spirit.”

Suddenly you feel really stupid. Amora had gotten inside your head and screwed everything up. Loki was right, as he usually is.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Can you please break this curse so I can wear your jewelry again? I miss it, a lot.” You ask of Loki who only smiles at you fondly and nods.

“Of course, darling.”

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #my writing

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years ago

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Branded - Chapter 39

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You wake up, imprisoned and alone.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, captivity

AO3

Pain was the first thing you became aware of. A deep ache in your left shoulder, radiating down your body where it made contact with a hard, cold surface. The chill went deeper than your skin, seeping into your very bones.

You opened your eyes, winced, and shut them again. The room was dark but you’d stared directly at a caged bulb in the middle of the room, and even that dim light had sent a piercing pain through your skull.

More slowly this time, you cracked open your eyelids and took in the scenery. The first thing you noticed were the bars. You were in a small cell, stone walls on three sides, the fourth a cage of iron bars and open to a larger room. Everything was varying shades of grey, shadows cast in sharp relief by the sole light outside of your cell. The room beyond was bare, as far as you could tell, except for an old-fashioned projector in the corner.

Carefully, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, releasing a whimper as your muscles stretched in protest. You were still fully clothed at least, except your shoes were missing. It took you a moment to place them, still at Bucky’s penthouse where you’d been… taken.

Taken by the Alp. But there had been a man, hadn’t there? He’d hit you with a cattle prod or taser of some kind. And then he’d tortured the demon who’d abducted you. Or… were you misremembering? Didn’t electrocution have an effect on one’s short term memory?

Pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders, you rose to your feet and made a slow turn to examine your cell. It wasn’t very large and there wasn’t much to see. A stone bench was set into the wall and there was a bucket in one corner.

Perhaps it was the repetitive pattern of the stone that made it stand out in relief, but your eye was caught by a series of marks on the wall. You knelt in front of the bench and took a closer look, hoping for a clue as to where you were and why.

What you saw sent a jolt of recognition and horror through your mind. They were tally marks, dozens and dozens of rows of them. You recognized the particular slant of the fifth mark of each set of tallies. They were identical to the marks made on a cave deep within the demon realm.

The markings were Bucky’s.

You jerked your fingers away as if you’d been scalded. Panic leapt up your throat as you sprang to your feet.

No! This can’t be happening!

There was a door set into the bars and you grabbed it, rattling it as hard as you could. The iron wouldn’t budge. As old as the bars looked, maybe even as old a century, they weren’t going to break anytime soon.

You dug your fingers into your hair and tried to slow your racing heart. Taking a deep breath, you counted off the things you knew:

You were abducted from Bucky’s apartment by another demon.

A man was responsible, and he wanted you alive and relatively unharmed.

Your surroundings were old, technologically primitive, and possibly underground.

Your pulse lowered to a more reasonable rate as you continued your mental checklist.

You were in a place Bucky had been before.

And who else had held Bucky captive except the sorcerers? You knew the answer, and it threatened to send you into another anxiety attack.

Think! you scolded yourself. If HYDRA was responsible, where are the rest of them? Soldiers, guards, henchmen, whatever. Surely there had to be more than one man?

But who else would have access to a place like this? Who else would know about demons? About you?

You paced the short length of the cell, both to keep your mind occupied and your body warm. It was a damp kind of chill, leading credence to the idea that you were underground or at least in an interior part of a stone building. You didn’t know much about Bucky’s captivity. Were you in the same place that you’d seen in the memory? It had also been dim and cold in that place, but it was too hard to tell.

Eventually your legs became too wobbly to hold you up, the adrenaline rush having run its course and leaving you weary and trembling. You sat on the stone bench and licked your chapped lips. They hadn’t forgotten you, had they? How long had you been down here? They wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to leave you to die, surely.

The only kernel of warmth and hope you could find was in the knowledge that perhaps even now, people were searching for you. Whether it be Rogers, Strange, or your boss from work, someone was bound to notice you were missing and would take steps to find you. Or at least, call your emergency contact.

Oh, God. Your mom. She would be devastated. Guilt twisted your insides and made it just a little harder to breathe.

All you could do was pray you were found quickly, but then you remembered how you’d gotten here to begin with. Colors blurring in the air like a water painting, the stench of burning sulfur, and the nauseating sensation of gravity shifting. How far had the Alp taken you?

At least you could take comfort you were still on the same planet and hope there wasn’t any time traveling involved, now that you knew that was a real thing.

After an indeterminate amount of time where you waited in silence, head cradled in your hands, a heavy wooden door opened on the far side of the outer room. Your head jerked up and you half-rose to your feet in an awkward crouch, trapped between fight and flight with an option for neither.

When the man walked beneath the caged bulb, you blinked in surprise. He was not what you’d imagined: medium height, brown hair, and pale skin that looked sallow in the harsh lighting. His features were surprisingly soft, as was his voice when he spoke.

“I suppose you’re curious where you are.”

“Not really.” You hugged yourself, pulling in your jacket tighter around your shoulders as you sized him up. “I want to go home.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” He had the audacity to smile at you, and yet, it wasn’t mean or cruel. It was almost sad. “But you cannot go home just yet. Perhaps, in time. Do you know why you’re here?”

“No. And I don’t care.” Another lie, but you weren’t going to give him what he wanted, which right now seemed to be your attention.

He stared for a long moment, so long sweat trickled down the back of your neck despite the chill. And then he opened his mouth and began to speak. He listed off your full name, your address, your place of work. Next, he gave your mother’s name and her address. And then your sister’s—

“All right, stop!” you choked out past the horror in your throat. “You made your point!”

“I’m not sure I have,” he continued just as calmly as before. “Nor do I think you understand your circumstances. You believe I have brought you here to harm you. This is the opposite of what I want. In fact, my goal will set you free.”

He walked forward until he was only a couple of feet from the bars, his eyes lingering on your face with a dark sort of intensity.

“Set you free from Sergeant Barnes’ control.”

Air was trapped in your lungs as you tried to fight down the ball of panic curled in your chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice weaker than you’d intended it to be.

“You do. I have been watching you for weeks, courtesy of our… mutual friend.”

He could only mean the Alp. The thought of the demon stalking you all the way to your mom’s house, watching as you and Bucky spent time together…

Bile burned in your throat, threatening to choke you on it.

“I admit, with the sorcerers aware of your existence, not to mention Sergeant Barnes’ possessive attention, I had to wait longer than I would have liked. You see…” The man moved beyond the edges of your cell and returned with a chair. Unlike everything else here, it looked modern, a fabric and metal folding chair.

He sat down in it and faced you, his hands folded politely in his lap.

“I know about the demon pact. I know you’re bonded to Sergeant Barnes, forced to be drained like some sort of… milk cow. It must be truly degrading to be used in such a way. Humiliating to be the slave of a beast.”

He leaned forward, his brown eyes darker in the shadows.

“But I can free you from this terrible bond. All you have to do… is send out a cry for help.”

A cry for help? What could that possibly mean? Even if you understand what this lunatic wanted, you weren’t going to help him do anything to Bucky.

So you said nothing. You simply met his gaze and waited him out.

He leaned back in his chair, planting both feet firmly on the ground as he smoothed out the legs of his jeans.

“That’s all right. Your distress will no doubt be heard loud and clear across your bond. It will only be a matter of time before Sergeant Barnes takes the bait, and he will soon be in my possession. And then, when he is bound to me, you will be freed.”

He rose to his feet and picked up the chair, snapping the chair shut.

“What?”

You were off the bench and at the bars, slightly rattling them in your fists as he turned his back to you.

“You can’t!” you shouted, voice echoing off the enclosed space.

“I assure you, I can and I will.”

“No.” You shook your head, blinking angrily as your eyes burned. “Bucky would rather die than let HYDRA take him again.”

The man hesitated. He half-turned toward you, his expression curious.

“I am not HYDRA. But I suspect you are right, and I find it quite interesting you are even aware of their significance. Sergeant Barnes… has shared much with you? Perhaps, even has a misguided sense of affection for you?”

His eyes narrowed.

“And you for him?”

You snapped your mouth shut and glared. His lips turned upwards at the corners.

“You will find I am a reasonable man. Once Sergeant Barnes is mine, I will allow you to stay and sate his feeding habits. It is not one I am interested in partaking in myself.” He gave a careless sort of shrug. “But if you decline, I will return you to your home, unharmed. There are, after all, plenty of men and woman who will be willing to quench Sergeant Barnes’ appetite. For the right price.”

You banged your palm against the iron bars, not even wincing as the slap stung your hand. The man’s smile, though muted, was satisfied, and he left through the wooden door, the scrape of a bolt sliding into place from the other side.

Returning to your previous position on the bench, you couldn’t get the thought out of your head. Bucky forced to feed from strangers against his will, forced to be the monster he’d fought so hard to leave behind.

But that wouldn’t happen. That was the irony of all of this. Bucky’s decision, the one you had hated so much these past few days, was the one thing that was going to save his life.

This man didn’t know Bucky was frozen. He didn’t know your bond was muted, and Bucky wouldn’t come no matter what happened to you. He was safe in New York, frozen in his cryo-chamber and unaware you were missing.

You were grateful beyond measure that he was safe. But when the man realized Bucky wasn’t coming…

…where did that leave you?

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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weaver-z · 4 years ago

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Birthmark

A short horror story by B.E.

The women in my family have port-wine birthmarks, but none ever had any as strange as mine.

Not even my mother, who had one that stretched across her forehead like a bloodshot eye, the pale sclera-white of her skin visible under the glaze of reddish violet. She told me, when I was very young, that my grandmother had one, too, along the back of her head--she, unlike us, had been lucky enough to have one that could be hidden under a bonnet, though her blonde hair still revealed it in the summertime.

“Can I see the ones on the legs?” Thomas asks, chewing the inside of his cheek like a cow chewing its cud. I allow it, even though I am a girl, because Thomas and I are friends, alone in the center of a field of tall summer alfalfa. I can feel his eyes boring into the marks on me in fascination, as he moves around me to see my arms, at the marks on those.

“I like the winter best,” I say, pulling my skirt up. “Pa hates it. But I like it, because I can cover all of ‘em up with my clothes, even the ones on my arms.”

“They’re not so bad,” he says. “They’re not on your face, at least.

“Guess so.”

He sits in front of me in the clear space between the eden-green strands of the grass, looking down at the marks on my legs. They are strange, wobbling lines, not blotches or patches--the lowest two are at my knees, lines that wrap around the joint like the borders of a county.

There are two more on my upper thighs, though I don’t show Thomas those--he’s still a boy, and even though he looks at my markings with nothing but fascination, I still feel a little kernel of shame rubbing at the walls of my chest. The arms are easier to show to him--there are only two marks, just too low to be covered by my short sleeves, broad and awkward unevenly-stamped lines.

“So you’ve got more? On your back?” Thomas asks, sitting on his haunches, looking at me with intent, dust-brown eyes too large for his face.

“Yes. Almost like a corset,” I say, “like a nice corset, the kind rich ladies wear with their jewels. One on my waist, like a belt. One below my shoulders. Oh, and a line down my back, a kinda wobbly one.”

“Like the laced-up part of the corset,” he says, and I nod, happy that he understands. Most boys who live in these parts wouldn’t. He moves around me, and I sit straight, lifting my long frigid-blonde braid so that he can see the very top of the line that travels down my spine, the source of the splotchy red-and-purple river.

“You ever wish that you could have them wiped off?” He asks. “I heard that God sometimes grants big miracles if you pray for ‘em enough.”

“Maybe,” I say, doubtful. “I’ve tried it. Pa makes me pray each night, but nothing seems to work.”

“Shame about that. Real shame. Maybe God’s busy with somethin’ else--” he says, and suddenly a gunshot rings out in the distance.

He freezes, pupils dilating like a rabbit that hears a hawk, and I scramble for my boots, forcing them on over the crumbles of mud on my feet. We can both hear Pa, coming through the brush, forcing his way through it with snaps and tears and nearly inarticulate grumbling. Thomas is off like a shot, running almost on all fours as he crouches, and by the time my father reaches me, panting and huddled in the grass, my friend is nothing but a mole-trail disturbing distant strands.

Pa is a tall man--though I inherited his height, I’m only 13, and he towers over me, so broad and heavy that I am thin as grass and summer wind below him. I stand, looking up at him with a look that must look shameful, and he lowers the rifle to point at the earth, face still and steely with malice.

“I told you I didn’t want no boys ‘round,” he says, voice thick, like smoke from a bonfire. “Told you I didn’t want you foolin’ round like a little whore.”

“He didn’t do nothin’,” I say, arms wrapped around my chest. “Honest.”

“Who was it, then? And why didn’t he come see me, an’ ask if he could talk to you?” He takes my arm--not tightly, but with such strength that I couldn’t run if I tried.

“He and I met while I was out with the chickens. He was on the road going up to town.”

“Sure he was.” Pa shoves my arm away and laughs, the sound like metal clattering to a dirt floor. “Sure, the devil ‘e was. I heard him talkin’ bout your legs, girl. Didn’t hear much, but I heard that. You think you’re the pick of the meat at the market, don’t you?”

“Pa--”

“Don’t talk, pretty girl. Don’t talk, and don’t you ever try and do this again. You’re gonna pray as long as you can tonight. I want your damn tongue to fall out before you stop praying,” and he begins to move, and now the pain comes as I stumble half-backward with him, held in a vise by my arm.

“Pa, I’m sorry--”

“You ain’t sorry yet, Lu,” he says. He looks back at me, from under the shadow cast beneath his brows by the white sun overhead. “You ain’t sorry, yet.”

---

He makes me pray, that night, for hours and hours, for forgiveness, for something I never did. But the praying he makes me do that night is only meager practice for the praying I do during the winter.

Our chickens die when a coyote pack rolls through in the late days of fall, snarling and barking with a sound like mocking laughter. We salvage what corpses we can, and for a while, we eat well, but not well, because while we dine on fresh meat, the knowledge that something terrible to come hangs over us like the fog of their blood. The cattle start to go soon after, the first to a weak cover over a well (it falls in, it screams for hours), the second to a river, the third to disease, the rest tumbling like the articles like a rotting shelf soon after them.

When winter comes, we have little, so little, and my father tears into his meager dollars to buy us what we can. I am grateful to him, even as the food dries up, even as he becomes silent, frighteningly silent, staring at me above the candle that lights our dinner-table with a face like a haunting.

I am not allowed to leave the house anymore.

I only cook--clean--mend--read the scraps of old newspaper used to patch the walls of the house as best I can. I make what food he finds for dinner, if he finds any, and I give more to his portion, and he says almost nothing to me except to remind me to stay in the home, to keep house and to keep out of the snowstorms and the paths of wild things. He fixes the roof and sharpens the knives--those are the only tasks he does around the house, besides force me onto my knees beside him to beg God for something for our stomachs.

And it is in cleaning that I find the box.

It is a small box, barely as long as my forearm and as shallow as the length of my hand, and it is under his bed, dislodged from a long stay deep in the shadows beneath his cot by a storm that shook the house.

I pull it slowly from beneath--it is unpainted, made of thin wood that leaves little splinters in the flesh of my thumb-joint. I remove its lid and look inside.

My mother is there, first, as I remember her--thin, short, with a look in her eyes like the hollow of a tree, unexplainably empty. The mark is clearly visible in the photograph, as she stands next to my father, mottled and dim. Neither of them are smiling. They are younger in this photograph--it is blurry, hard to make out.

Beneath that is a scrap of newspaper that I have a hard time understanding for a moment.

Mrs. Mary J. Letts, 68; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Letts, wife of Mr. Roger Letts and mother to Mabelle Letts, which took place last Thursday due to a tragic accident involving an injury sustained to her head while riding. She is survived by her husband and daughter.

The paper cuts off there. I don’t recognize the name of Letts, and the paper is old; I continue reading as I find another scrap.

Mrs. Mabelle Dawson, 36; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Dawson, who is survived by her husband, Mr. Arnold Dawson, and her young daughter, Lucy Dawson. Their family has our greatest sympathies. She was killed accidentally as she was cleaning a weapon owned by Mr. Arnold Dawson, who claims deepest regret that

I feel my mouth run dry and my pulse hammer against my skin like stone against a drum. That is my mother’s name--that is my name, too, faint against the paper. I don’t understand why these things are in the box, among other pictures and portraits of my mother, and, unmistakably, my mother’s mother, whose mark is just visible in one small portrait of her, clearly done by an amateur hand. I can imagine how it stretched across the back of her head, branching along her skull--I can see my own mother’s mark, clearly, in the center of her forehead.

I feel cold as the wooden floor under my feet as my eyes trace the border of the mark on her forehead for the first time.

“Lu?” my father calls, from downstairs. “Lucy? Lu-cy?”

The starburst on her forehead is strangely jagged. Unsteady. The shape that a bullet hole would make, if someone were shot close in the head. An accident while cleaning a gun. A trauma to the back of the skull. I hear a footstep on the stairs, almost hesitant, its weight barely masked by the slowness with which my father places it down.

“Lucy?” he says. “I prayed to God for a miracle, and he told me what we ought to do. I need to see you, now.”

I can’t breathe. My throat is choked by a snare as I throw myself back, scrambling across the floor and away from the box. My skirt flies up--my legs are exposed, the lines on them obvious in their purpose.

Summers ago, I went to the village with Pa, and we went to a stall hung with pig carcasses. There, there was a picture of a sow, her legs and sides and ribs marked with uneven lines where the different cuts of meat came from. Here was the thigh--here was the shank--here was the cut you made along the spine and the stomach.

I hear a slow, low rumble of creaking wood as he stops outside the door.

“Lucy?” he says, his voice more paternal than I have ever heard it, and I begin to cry--begin to pray to anything, anyone that will listen, pray that something else kills me before he enters, and nothing does.

And the door opens--slowly, too slowly, as though I’ve had a nightmare and he’s coming to check on me like a good father should--and he sees me with the box, with the tears flowing down my face, with my chest heaving in great stops and starts.

He takes a step forward. In his hands, he holds a sharpened butcher’s knife.

#horror #short story #writing #creepy #abuse tw #FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

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wtnrscap · 4 years ago

Text

Cursed Words- Homecoming

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Bruce Banner, mentions of past Natasha Romanoff x Clint Barton.

Summary- The treatment has started... The compound doesn’t know silence... It’s got to get worse before it gets better.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Swearing, fluff. Dirty talk, dirty fantasies. Eventual smut.

A/N- This chapter is depressing and fluffy. I mean, the treatment’s started, that’s warning in itself. Also, it’s kinda just a filler chapter so it’s probably gonna be a bit boring. Taglist is open. Prompts list is here.

Cursed Words Masterlist

The screams echo through the halls. They bounce off the walls and reach every nook and cranny. They are loud and blood-chilling and they don’t stop. The electricity around the compound hums and flickers with every scream and Vision glance upwards, looking around the living room. Wanda has cushions over her ears, Nat wears headphones, Clint is raising the soundbar. Sam growls, “When will it end?”

As if on cue, the screaming stops and the silence sound strange.

“Again... Let’s go again!” pants Bucky, sweat dripping through his hair. You bite your thumb anxiously before glancing at Bruce who shakes his head. Steve steps forward, talking into the microphone as Tony opens the door, “No. I think that’s enough for today. I’ve read these words 12 times, you deserve a rest.”

A cell built by Shuri made entirely out of vibranium. There were cameras on the inside and Bucky was strapped into a chair with an automatic headset. It had pained you not to go in there with him but after turning into the soldier 6 times on the first run, you were glad you weren’t.

This was the 3rd week of constant treatment and tempers were running high. Bruce and Tony were stressed with the science and Steve and you hated seeing Bucky in pain. Bucky was insistent that they should keep going until the words were gone but you and Steve had forced him to take breaks. His mental health was in tatters.

Your brow furrows as Steve helps Bucky into the lab. He can barely walk for himself, has huge marks across his head and is mumbling, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My best friend is Steve Rogers. My girlfriend is Y/N L/N. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are helping me to get better...”

You’d had to partially wipe his memory with some very complicated Wakandan tech, and you knew this was just his way of reminding himself that he was safe and at the compound.

You busy yourself with your crutches, not looking at Bucky as Steve takes him back to his bedroom. It’s not that you don’t want to face him, you’re just not sure you can. You hate seeing him like this, and he knows it.

“How is he?” you ask as Steve comes out of Bucky’s room. Steve shrugs with annoyance, “Wants to go back down there and continue. I’ve told him to stay put. Need any help?”

“Nope,” you smile and hobble into Bucky’s room, landing heavily on his bed. The sound of the toilet flushing makes you jump and Bucky comes out of the bathroom with a strangely energetic grin. He’s in between your legs in an instant, hand over your eyes, “What colour?”

“Red.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please don’t write anything silly.”

“Can’t promise you anything, doll...” his voice peters out in concentration and you feel a slight pressure on your right leg. Several seconds later the hand is removed and you look down, groaning when you see what he’s written on the cast.

Why did the cow cross the road?

To go to the moovies!

“You picked the worst joke in the history of jokes!” you mumble and lean back, your head resting on his mattress. Bucky crawls over you, being mindful of your leg, and rests his head on your shoulder, metal tracing over your cheek. You smirk, “Do you like it?”

“What?”

“The arm. Wakandan designed, Tony Stark fitted.”

He shrugs and smirks, “Do you?”

“Haven’t had the chance to test it out yet, Mr Barnes. I’m waiting till I’m out the cast. I want full use of all my remaining limbs.”

“Ouch...”

You smirk again and shift so you’re now lying on his chest. He strokes your hair absentmindedly and hums, “Do you wanna stay the night?”

“Obviously.”

“Wanna stay like this?”

“Yep.”

He pulls the duvet over and you bury your head into his side with a smile.

You don’t know what time it is when you wake, just that it’s dark and there’s something wet on your leg. You can’t tell if it’s that or the movement next to you that wakes you. Then you hear the moan.

Goosebumps spring up across your skin and you can’t breathe, your face flushing. You roll over carefully, hoping, for once, that it’s nightmare. Please, God, let it be a nightmare.

“Y/N... Y/N... Please...” Bucky murmurs, his hips snapping up quickly and you groan. If your leg wasn’t broken you’d have just walked away or maybe even got involved but right now? You were useless.

“Bucky... Wake up... It’s a dream...”

At the sound of your voice, he moves faster and the wet patch on your leg grows as he moans. Just when you think you’re gonna have to hit him, he stops and opens one bleary eye, “Y/N? Did... Did you say something?”

“Look at my leg and clean yourself up. I won’t mention if you don’t...” you hiss and Bucky flushes, “Shit... Y/N... I didn’t mean to... Shit...”

“I know, I know. I’ll take it as a compliment. What did it for ya?”

Bucky blushes even more, “You said wanted to test my arm out...”

You nod your head and crawl over to the pillows, “I’ll be here when you come back. I promise.”

Bucky shrugs, “It’s not like you’re gonna go anywhere.”

“Hey!”

The next morning, you and Bucky sit by his huge bedroom window overlooking the grounds. He’d brought you breakfast and written another stupid joke on your leg. So far, neither of you had mentioned the incident, but you knew things weren’t gonna stay that way.

“Bucky, I can feed myself!” you giggle as he pushes chocolate toast against your lips, “Stop! Please!”

“You have broken fingers, Y/N, you need my help!” he responds seriously and continues to try and feed you. You shake your head, “I will throw bread at you again, be warned.”

He smirks and stops, his face paling. You know he’s probably just nervous about the treatment, it starts again an hour. His voice juts you, “Talk to me.”

“About?”

“Anything. Distract me. Favourite film, highschool memory, anything.”

“Um... Okay... Well, my favourite high school memory is this dance, My best friend took me and we danced the night away. He was made King and fell over on stage.”

“What type of dance?”

“Homecoming. Happened at one of Stark’s clubs before he owned it. I had this cocktail dress, bright blue for some reason and-- Shit!”

You land on your bum as you fall off the alcove seat, covered in hot coffee. Bucky had jumped and upset the mug, resulting in now burning legs. Somehow, he’d missed the cast.

He helps you and begins to laugh at the sight of your red legs. Bucky doesn’t look impressed, “It’s not funny! You said a word and you know what they are now! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Just... help me clean up and we’ll go downstairs. I think we need to start the treatment.”

Three hours and you’re on the breaking point. Bucky’s screams ring in your ears and Steve slaps his notebook on the table, “We should take a break. Start again after lunch.”

“Agreed. The equipment is draining a lot of the compound’s energy and Bucky needs time to calm down,” nods Bruce, “I’ll go and release him.”

You don’t move as Steve and Bucky trudge out of the cell followed by Bruce, leaving you with Tony. You sit in comfortable silence before clearing your throat. Tony looks up, “You still here, kid?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure...” Tony sits next to you with a smile, “What’s wrong?”

“This is the start of the 4th week of treatment. It’s constant, painful and unrelenting. I think Bucky needs a holiday. Just me and him. Nowhere hot because of the cast. Just... away from all this.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, “I have a cabin up north... Very modern... You realise you’d only be able to spend a week away. Too long and he might regress.”

“I know. But a week is all we need. Just time away. Please, Tony...”

Tony looks into your eyes and sighs, “You have puppy-dogs eyes, you realise that? I’ll see what I can do...”

You squeal and hug Tony tightly as he laughs.

Taglist:

@indecisivedolly

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captainscanadian · 4 years ago

Text

Love Me Blue | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Poornima)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Perhaps Bucky Barnes should thank his insomnia for being the reason why he met you. But you should thank the Hindu God of Love and Compassion for bringing Bucky into your life.

Word Count: 4500+

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tamilian!Hindu!Reader

Warnings: MINIMAL TAMIL SONG LYRICS (I’m more than happy to translate!) & TAMIL CULTURE, References to Hinduism, PTSD, Insomnia, Endgame References.

A/N: This is my entry for @bucky-smiles‘s 3K Diversity Writing Challenge! My prompt was to write a fic with a Hindu reader. I decided to write this fic with a Tamilian reader because I am Tamilian. I was born in Sri Lanka and my mother’s side of the family are Hindu. Although I consider myself an agnostic theist, I do enjoy reading the epics of Mahabhrata and Ramayana. @jalapenobarnes & @fafulous, THIS ONE IS FOR YOU, MY CHELLANGALA!

It had been five months since the final battle against Thanos and his army had taken place. With Tony Stark’s demise and Steve Rogers’ decision to return to the past, Bucky Barnes found himself trying to reintegrate into society on his own and to the best of his ability.

Rhodey had been kind enough to offer him one of the spare residential apartments at the Avengers’ compound, and Sam was there to provide him with some counselling for the time being. There had been some talks about a designated therapist being appointed at the facility, but nothing had been finalized about that. It was very much needed though, as all of the heroes had suffered severe amounts of trauma due to the blip. Bucky wasn’t alone in that.

Even when he had a compound full of the earth’s mightiest heroes to aid him in his recovery, Bucky still felt as though he was going through it all on his own. He felt disconnected from reality and unbelievably lonely in this particular battle. Not to mention having to lose the one person whom he had known his whole life to old age. He really was alone in this battle with his own mind. There was no denying that.

While the rest of the team were slowly getting back into going on missions, he could not do the same. He had been fighting his whole life and needed to stop at some point. But it was easier said than done.

Bucky had a much harder time adjusting to life after the blip, considering that he was also trying to cope with more than seventy years of torture along with literally ceasing to exist in a matter of seconds. It seemed as though he could never get a break.

Needless to say, it was a rarity for Sergeant Barnes to sleep through the night. He would wake up in a cold sweat from some murderous nightmare almost every single night since he had fully moved into the compound. Finding himself unable to fall back asleep, he would pace back and forth in his bedroom until the crack of dawn before joining Sam for his usual workout session at the facility’s gym.

It was one of those dreadful nights when he had found himself having woken up from a nightmare. Pacing back and forth in his bedroom for what seemed like hours and desperately in need of some fresh air, he decided to step outside of his living quarters and take a walk around the compound. Being cooped up in his bedroom until the morning did not seem all that helpful to Bucky, so he might as well make use of the quietness of the night and sit by the lake for a few hours in hopes that it would calm down his nerves.

He still hadn’t told Sam about his nightmares, fearing that it might make the rest of the team feel weary about him. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to assume that the Winter Soldier was still buried deep within him. He wanted to forget him and move on with his life in the twenty-first century, even though he couldn’t just walk away from his guilt.

Throwing on his henley over his sweatpants, Bucky slipped into his shoes and stepped out into the brisky full moon night. He walked across the freshly cut grass, his destination being the lonely bench by the water where he would find refuge until the morning. But it wasn’t until he had reached the boardwalk that led up to the gazebo did Bucky realize that he wasn’t the only one who was up at this hour.

He saw the unfamiliar woman huddled under an oversized hoodie who sat cross legged on the bench. A pashmina scarf that was patterned with peacock feathers wrapped around her shoulders as she stared out into the moon’s reflection against the lake.

He stopped for a moment, wondering who she might be. He hadn’t seen her around the compound before, but he did not feel threatened by her presence either. After all, the compound was an extremely private property. Not everyone could easily enter the compound, or stay overnight as this woman was. And if there was one thing that Bucky knew about the occupants of the facility - everyone was meant to be a friend.

As the full moon reflected against the lake, the woman shrugged off her hood to reveal her thick curly hair that had been tied into a ponytail. A sigh escaped her lips as she pulled her scarf up to her neck.

She hummed an unknown tune for a moment before singing rather softly, in a language Bucky had never heard before. Yet he could not deny that she had the sweetest voice on the planet.

Nila malarntha iravinil thendral ulaavidum nadhiyil

Neela nirathu baalagan oruvan kuzhal oodhi nindraan

Kaalamellaam.. Kaalamellaam avan kaadhalai enni

Urugumo en ullam…

Kaatrinile varum geetham

Kangal panithida pongum geetham

Kallum kaniyum geetham

Kaatrinile varum geetham

Bucky’s lips curled into a small smile as he gathered up the courage to approach her, taken over by his own curiosity and certainly in need of a distraction from the reason why he had woken up at this hour in the first place.

The sound of his footsteps approaching had startled you slightly, making you gasp in response and turn around. Your eyes grew wide upon coming face to face with this rather familiar man although you were strangers. If it wasn’t his bright blue eyes or silky long hair that made you recognize him, the moonlight reflecting off of his metal hand certainly confirmed that he was exactly who you thought he was.

Up until now, you had only read about him in books and watched videos of him in the archival footage from the Second World War. Seven years ago, you had seen him on the news when he had been framed for the Vienna attack. But now seeing him in person, you could tell that he was anything but what the news outlets had made him out to be. He was an innocent man who meant no harm, and that made you feel at ease about his presence.

The super soldier froze in his tracks upon gaining your attention, his eyes growing wide at the realization that he had startled you. “Uh… hi.” He gave you a rather nervous smile as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Sergeant Barnes.” You did not realize that you had been holding onto your breath until you exhaled upon saying his name. It was a sigh of relief and gratitude that you hadn’t been attacked by an unknown threat at the witching hour.

“Bucky.” He corrected you as he walked up to the gazebo. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh no, it’s fine… I just didn’t think anyone else was awake at this time.” You gave him a small smile as you shifted across the bench to make some room for him. “And I hate to admit that… recent events have caused me to act extra vigilant at times.”

“That makes two of us.” Bucky admitted with a sigh, walking around the bench to take a seat next to you.

You chuckled softly before nodding. “What’s got you up at this hour, Bucky?”

“Just couldn’t sleep.” He told you, not wanting to disclose the truth about his insomnia to a complete stranger. “How about you?”

“Jet lag.” You shrugged. “A few hours ago, I was relaxing on a farm in India. But now I’m in this highly secure compound that’s home to earth’s mightiest heroes. Sleep seems to be the last of my worries at the moment.”

Bucky was growing more curious about you, but he could not help but crack a smile at your choice of words. “Forgive me for not being aware of who you are, but I… I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Oh right, I’m so sorry. I should have introduced myself.” You chuckled softly as you held out your hand for him to shake. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, former SHIELD Agent and… currently second-in-command to Agent Hill. I’m here to oversee the Avengers while Agent Hill and Director Fury are busy with an undisclosed mission.”

“Hm… you’re the new boss lady that everyone’s been talking about.” Bucky noted, laughing softly as he shook your hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Agent Y/L/N.”

“Y/N.” You clarified, laughing softly. “I’m not sure how a mortal non-enhanced inexperienced human being like myself could ever be the boss of the finest team of superheroes. Just hours ago, I was living a fairly normal life on my family’s dairy farm in South India… hiding out from the harsh realities of the world, milking cows and hand churning butter. But Fury plucked me out of there, threw me on a Quinjet and told me that I was meant for something more than being a milkmaid… which according to him was leading the Avengers. Really puts my life into perspective, doesn’t it?”

He could not help but laugh softly at that, nodding his head in agreement. “Take it from the guy who was raising a bunch of goats in Wakanda before I was yanked from there and into the war against Thanos. After all that I’d been through, you’d think that I would want to stop fighting. And I do… sometimes, I want a normal life. I want to figure out my place here. But one thing I had to learn the hard way was that normal is relative and the best you could do is… try to find your new normal.” Perhaps, Bucky should take his own advice. “What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

“I have to be the boss of War Machine and the Falcon.” You reminded him. “Nothing worse could happen to me.”

Laughing softly, he shook his head. “Honestly, I’d pay to see that birdbrain be bossed around by someone.” He admitted.

But unbeknownst to him Sam had become quite fond of you after the events of the Battle of the Triskelion and he knew a little more about your interest in his supersoldier friends than the rest of the team. You better hope that he wouldn’t try to spill the beans to Bucky in an attempt to embarrass you.

“So, what’s your first order of business as the new lady of the house?” Bucky asked you.

You looked over at him before letting out a sigh. “My first order of business? Give my best friend the farewell she deserved. She sacrificed her life to save the world and no one even bothered to give her a proper funeral. I’ve made arrangements at the local Hindu temple in the city... to do what I can to pray that she rests in peace. She never believed in any of that, but I do.”

The next day, you found yourself rearranging the furniture around your living quarters, which was coincidentally adjacent to Bucky’s. You had set up a shrine for Lord Krishna in the corner of your living room, a few brass and wooden idols that you had brought from home arranged on a shelf along with a few oil lamps.

You were certainly grateful that Director Fury had allowed for you to pack your bags before he had flown you out here, considering that you wouldn’t have been able to live without your idol of Radha and Krishna no matter where you went. You may be a high ranking SHIELD Agent, but you were always a devotee of Lord Krishna before anything else. Being thousands of miles away from home was not going to change that.

A framed portrait of Natasha Romanoff hung in your office, a flower garland hanging around it. A part of you was well aware that she would loathe the fact that you had taken things this far, but you had your own beliefs. She was your best friend, so you would honour her in everything you did.

“Nick’s never been wrong about anything, Nat. I sure hope he wasn’t wrong about me either.” You thought to yourself, hoping that she’d heard you from wherever she was and that she was rooting for you to succeed in this new job that had just fallen into your lap.

Bucky had been sitting in the common kitchen when you had walked in. A smile on his lips upon seeing you enter, he kept his head down on the plate of eggs in front of him. He was not one to make small talk during breakfast and usually kept to himself, but that was about to change momentarily.

“Good morning, folks.” You greeted the team before pouring yourself a cup of coffee and pulling up a chair for yourself between Sam and Wanda. “I was hoping to catch up with some of you before you all went off to do your own things.”

The Falcon smiled as he leaned over to pull you into a side hug. “I missed ya, Y/N.”

“I’m sure you did, Wilson.” You chuckled softly as you returned his hug. “It is good to be back. I was getting pretty lonely without you guys.”

“Mornin’ Y/N.” Rhodey greeted you from the stove as he flipped his omelette and looked over at you with a smile. “You want some breakfast?”

“No, thank you, Rhodey. I just ate at the temple.” You told him with a shrug. “But I do have something to ask you… if you wouldn’t mind, could you round up the whole team for a briefing tomorrow morning? As much as I would love to lounge around, I do have work to do.”

“Will do..”

“So, Fury really did leave you in charge, huh?” Sam asked you with his eyebrow raised. “But why you?”

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” You admitted, laughing softly before taking a sip of your coffee. “As far as I know, him and Agent Hill are away on an undisclosed mission and won’t be around to oversee the Avengers. For some reason, he trusts me to do that for him.”

“To be honest, I’m glad it’s someone we know and love.” Wanda smiled at you. “We wouldn’t take orders from anyone else.”

“My job’s pretty simple though. I oversee your missions, you report to me. I really hope you don’t put me in a position where I would need to reprimand your asses or have to snitch on you to Fury. I know that the last few months have been rough for all of you… it’s been rough for me too. But we all have work to do so… let’s just… figure out a way to get back into the swing of things, yeah? The least thing I want is to have to be a boss from hell.”

“Yes, ma’am…” Sam gave you a nod before turning over to look at Bucky. “Have you two met yet?”

“Yeah, we have.” You replied, taking a sip of your coffee as you prayed to Lord Krishna that the Falcon wouldn’t spill the beans at that moment. From the look on his face though, you knew he wanted to. “Very briefly.”

“Have you geeked about your thesis like you did with Cap?” He asked.

Wanda almost choked on her toast as he mentioned your thesis. “Oh God… not her thesis.” She shook her head, but you knew that she was enjoying this just as much as her fellow Avenger.

After all, it had been a running joke during your time working with the Avengers to give you shit about your choice of study during your time at graduate school. Tony and Nat were the ones who gave you the most shit about it, and would probably be thrilled to know that their legacy when it came to this had certainly lived on with Sam and Wanda. Perhaps, keeping the joke going would give you all a sense of normalcy, as embarrassing as it was for you.

“Sam, please don’t…” You shook your head, avoiding the supersoldier’s gaze as you took another sip of your coffee. “I just got here.”

Bucky looked over at Sam with a rather confused expression on his face. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing!” You exclaimed. “Nothing important…”

“Don’t lie to him, Y/N.” Rhodey scolded you, which was followed by a snicker. “He’s going to have to find out at some point.”

“Come on, Rhodes. You’re not taking their side on this.” You groaned before deciding to give in. As Bucky Barnes had told you last night, what’s the worst that could happen, right? “Fine, Sam… knock yourself out.”

A smirk on his lips as he took a sip of his coffee, Sam Wilson turned over to look at Bucky and wiggled his eyebrows. “Before Y/N joined SHIELD as an agent, she was a grad student at NYU. She taught a history class on the Second World War.”

“She did her master’s thesis on the Howling Commandos.” Rhodey added. “I hate to say it as it is, Barnes, but she’s kind of obsessed with you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and sunk in your seat. The last time you were this embarrassed, Nat had told Captain America that you were obsessed with him and then tried to set you up on a date with him. “It wasn’t an obsession. It was an academic interest. I’m a published academic and I expect you to treat me as such.”

“She was obsessed.” Sam corrected, causing you to smack him in his arm.

“Hey, watch your mouth. I’m supposed to be your boss now.” You pointed out, rolling your eyes before you took another sip of your coffee.

Bucky finally lifted his gaze from his breakfast to meet your eyes, his bright blue ones gleaming with a slight amusement. “You studied history and then started working for SHIELD?”

“History and politics, actually.” You replied with a shrug of your shoulders. “My father was a diplomat, so I always saw myself having a career in international relations. But that just never happened, so I decided to become an agent.”

“What made you want to become an agent though?”

“My grandmother. She told me that an Indian girl like me was not meant for a career in diplomacy, and that my place was within the household and not the UN. She said that I belonged in the kitchen, serving a husband.” You replied, chuckling softly. “I just became an agent out of spite, to prove to myself that I was actually meant for something more than just being a typical Indian wife. But I stuck around until the very end of SHIELD because I wanted to do what was right. That’s why I’m still here.”

That night Bucky found himself tossing and turning in bed once again. Even if he did manage to fall asleep though, the pitter patter of the rain against his bedroom window had woken him up in an instant and caused him to struggle to fall back asleep. He eventually decided to give up on his attempt to get some shut eye that night and climbed out of bed. He just had to admit that his insomnia was going to get the worst of him.

Stepping out of his living quarters, he decided to head towards the facility’s gym in hopes that working up a sweat would somehow tire him enough for him to sleep it off. But the moment he heard the clashing sound of what seemed like pots and pans coming from the common kitchen, he stopped in his tracks and turned around.

The whiff of melted butter wafted up his nostrils and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was unsure if anyone at the compound would be up at this witching hour, let alone cooking up a storm. For as long as he’s resided at the facility, he hadn’t really seen anyone cook. Usually, Sam or Rhodey would make breakfast for the rest of the team. Other than that, the common kitchen was rarely used.

But Bucky followed the aroma of butter and spices over to the kitchen to see your sleepless self, much to his surprise.

Dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and an NYU hoodie, you trotted bare footed around the kitchen, your curly hair tied up in a bunch and bouncing on top of your head as you danced around to the music that was playing from your phone.

Avvaaru nokinaal evvaaru naaduven

Kannaadi mun nindru paarthu kondaen

Ondraaga seithida oru nooru naadagam

Othigai seidhu edhir paarthirundhen

In your own little zone as you stirred a pot of what seemed like rice and vegetables, you paid no heed to the supersoldier who stood against the doorframe and watched as you cooked. On the counter laid several platters of multiple dishes that he had never heard of and he wondered how long you had been up if you had managed to make that many dishes through the night.

Edhir paaramaley avan

edhir paaramaley avan

“Y/N?”

You gasped as you turned around to see Bucky standing by the entrance to the kitchen. “Bucky.”

oh.. pin irundhu vandhu ennai

pambaramaai sulatri vittu

ulagunda pervaayan endhan

vaayodu vaai padhiththaan

As you stood there stunned by his sudden arrival, your cheeks heated up in embarrassment yet again. You wondered how long you had been standing there. The song playing from your phone continued on, but as your lips moved along to the words as your eyes stayed glued to his bright blue ones.

Ingu boologam endroru porul ulladhai

indha poongodhai marandhaal adi

But you snapped out of it before the next verse of the song, and quickly turned down your music. “Bucky, what are you doing up this late?”

“Hi… sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” His lips curled into a smile as he walked into the kitchen, eyeing the platters of food you had laid out on the counter. “But what are you doing up this late?”

“I hate to admit it, but… the homesickness is really kicking my ass.” You admitted, laughing softly before you motioned towards the counter. “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to splurge out on some South Indian comfort food.”

“Hm…” He nodded, looking down at the food and back at you. “Must be hard being back here when you could be relaxing on a farm in India.”

Turning off the stove and removing the pot of your rice dish from the heat, you set it next to the rest of the food on the counter. “Well, it’s not just relaxing though. Yeah, sure it’s quiet and it’s nice to just… take care of your cows and live off of fresh dairy without a care in the world. But the farm was my home, you know? It’s where I grew up, before all of that chaos with SHIELD and HYDRA... and Thanos. The farm was my happy place, but it’s just not the same anymore. It’s not the same without my grandmother… and my father” You admitted, sighing. “Change is not something that I was able to get used to.”

“That makes two of us.” Bucky agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. “It hasn’t been easy… trying to catch up.”

“I can imagine.” You nodded as you cleaned up the kitchen, not wanting to leave behind a mess when Sam or Rhodey came down to make breakfast in the morning. “Then it’s a good thing that you’ve got a history major as your next door neighbor, huh?”

His smile grew wide at your words, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I thought you majored in The Howling Commandos, doll. Are you sure that makes you an expert on what happened after the war?”

You crossed your arms against your chest. “To think that I spent years studying your life... only for you to undermine my expertise a decade later.” You shook your head as you laughed. “Come on, I’m going to need some help eating all this food.”

“Uh… okay?” Truth be told, he wasn’t going to assume that you were going to eat the entire amount of food you had made since it did seem like too much food for one person. He could not help but wonder if you had figured out his secret when you had offered to share the food with him. “You know, I’ve never had Indian food before. But Sam’s told me that it’s spicy.”

As you grabbed a few of the platters and set them on a cart so that you could bring it up to your quarters, you turned back to look at him. “I’m sure you’ve had some well-seasoned food in Wakanda though. I can’t imagine your taste buds being completely dead with all of the boiled and unseasoned nonsense that they used to call food back in the forties.”

Bucky snickered at your words as he lent you a hand on transferring the big pot of rice onto the cart. “You can’t trash the food of the forties. It was the Great Depression, Y/N.” He defended, to which you rolled your eyes.

“I looked into your family records, Sarge. Apparently you guys owned a car during the Great Depression… which I refused to believe until Steve was able to confirm when I asked him out of utter curiosity. You must have been loaded.” You pointed out, teasingly. “It’s a shame that all that money couldn’t have gotten you any kind of seasoning.”

“Alright, if you’re going to drag me through mud… then perhaps I might cook for you some time.” He offered. “In return of you sharing this food with me and to show you that I’m not a completely unseasoned man.”

You raised your eyebrow at him as you walked over to the fridge, grabbing the rolled up banana leaf that you had left in there. “If you insist, then I’ll have you know that Wakanadan lamb is out of the question. I’m vegetarian.”

“Good to know.” He agreed as he began walking back towards the door, his metal arm pulling the cart of food along with him. “May I know the reason why?”

“I’m Hindu.” You replied, shrugging. “I don’t eat red meat because my beloved Hindu god, Lord Krishna... was said to be a cowherd. But dairy’s fine though. Krishna loved butter and so do I.”

Having been raised Protestant in the 1930s, he could not help but feel slightly curious about your religion. He was no stranger to the never-ending battle between the Protestants and the Catholics across the pond, something that he had learned after befriending Steve and meeting his Irish immigrant mother.

But he never would have realized that there were much more religions in the world when he was a boy. But now in the twenty-first century, all he could do was learn more about the different people in the world that seemed to have shrunk since the Great Depression. He had learned as much as he could during his two years in Wakanda. But he wanted to learn more, to readjust to life in the twenty-first century. So he might as well start with the woman who lived next door.

#3kdiversity #aj writes #love me blue #poornima #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x desi!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

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Hello !!! I have a blurb request May I request reader x brain may? Reader has a major anxiety attack over something and Brian tries to calm them down. They end up passing out in his arms (partly from being exhausted, partly from hyperventalating). Their skin is clammy and pale. Their pulse is fast. Brian checks their breathing/pulse. peridiocally and puts them to bed. When they wake up, he comforts them. Fluffy ending please. Thankyousomuch !!! 🥺🥺🥺

how did you know i think about this at least once a week?! also, i put it under the cut cause this got ~very lengthy~ it’s literally the length of a small fic. i never claimed to be good at succinctness.

it was the crowd. at least, that’s what you blame it on when you wake up.

the show’s over, largely successful expect for the moment roger tossed his drumstick too high and couldn’t find his replacement. (he ended up drumming with his hand until crystal brought him another.) you’re tired, brian’s tired; it’s been a long weekend, and all you want to go is go home, curl up with a cup of tea, and fall asleep to the sound of your husband reading from one of his scientific journals that makes your eyes cross with confusion.

it starts—the familiar tightness in your chest, wrenching stomach, sweaty palms—as you follow him to the side-door of the venue. there’s normally a small collection of people waiting outside, pushed back by security, and you’ve gotten used to hiding your face from the cameras and waiting in the shadows for him to sign autographs and talk to fans. tonight, though, the crowd is different. you can hear them chanting before the door even opens, and when the door does open, the crowd is larger, rowdier, somehow more frenzied than you thought possible. it makes you nervous, but not nervous enough to say anything. it’s only for a moment; you can handle that much.

brian stiffens slightly when you step out of the venue and the night turns bright with the flash of cameras, the air filling with sounds of people calling his name, scrabbling for a sliver of attention. he looks over his shoulder, whispers, “i’ll just be a minute” before crossing to the steel gates holding the crowd back. you hesitate on the sidelines, mumbling in conversation with dominique while she, too, waits for her husband.

when he’s finished signing and smiling and sweet-talking, brian turns away from the crowd and winds his arm around your waist. he draws you toward the back parking lot, his thumb working a soothing pattern over the bottom of your ribs.

but then one of the gates breaks loose.

the crowd surges forward, hot on the heels of the band and, by mere proximity, the band’s entourage.

“oh fuck!” it’s dominique who scrambles to the side first, out of the way of the onslaught of bodies. perhaps on instinct, she grabs your wrist and pulls you roughly against her side as the crowd engulfs you from all angles.

the cameras are hot, the voices loud, and the crush of people breaks you out in a cold sweat. you squeeze dom’s fingers hard, turning your face away from the camera which sticks over your shoulder, trying desperately to find a good angle of the boys. you can barely see brian—just the outline of his head over the crowd—and he seems to be drifting further and further away as the mob undulates and grows.

“we gotta get out of here,” dom says, her voice as breathy as you feel.

you nod and swallow past your dry throat. “maybe... maybe if we just push our way through?”

“worth a shot. hold tight to me.” she lowers her head, her hand around your wrist like a vice, and starts shouldering her way through the lines of people.

the majority of fans ignore you in their fervor to get closer, but a handful don’t appreciate the way you push them back in an attempt to break through to the other side of the mob. a few hurl choice words—bitch, slag, cow—in your direction; some merely growl and shoot dark looks. one woman, closer to the age of your mother than any of the lads, elbows you in the back as you retreat, and it knocks the wind out of you. you stumble forward, falling before you can stop yourself.

asphalt digs against the palms of your hands. it bites your flesh, sharp pinpricks of pain. darkness—darkness from the night, from the bodies squeezing in around your head—edges closer, threatening to swallow you whole. you suck in a deep breath, but it doesn’t reach your lungs. tears blur your vision.

oh my god, i’m gonna die.

the thought crosses your mind, and you hold tight because, truly, if the crowd pushes back, if they push forward, if they push to the side, if they move at all, you will be crushed, flattened like a bug to the pavement.

clutching a hand to your sternum, you gulp for air. you want to cry, to scream, to make some sort of noise and let people know that you are here, on the ground, powerless to stand up. but your throat is too tight. the air passing through your mouth is thin, worthless. you’re going to pass out. you know this feeling, have felt it before.

an overwhelming surge of embarrassment flows over you. to be trampled by a crowd of queen fans—what a way to go. your mother will surely be proud of the way your life turned out.

you choke on a sob, still caught against the ground, now flattened, your shoulder digging into the pavement. faintly, you hear dom screaming your name, and you feel utterly ridiculous.

you wonder, briefly, before the world fades to black, your eyes rolling back in your head, if you remembered to turn the kettle off before leaving home. brian will be cross if not; he doesn’t like to waste the energy.

with the thought in mind, you succumb to the encroaching darkness and slump against the ground.

brian knows there’s something wrong before he hears dominique over the din of the crowd.

of course, it’s clear there’s something wrong. he’s surrounded on all sides by rabid fans, their arms frantically vying for his attention and approval, camera flashes like staccato notes before his eyes.

fred stands to his left, still the picture of professionalism despite the fine line of frustration etched in his forehead. there’s too many cameras, too many people. no matter how close brian knows fred is to hitting the roof, he would never; not so publicly, at least. roger and john are elsewhere, a few paces off, also swarmed, also fighting the mounting anger. it’s written on their faces. brian’s sure he looks none-too-pleased as well.

where in the bloody hell is security?

more importantly, brian wonders. where the hell is my wife?

he’d lost you early in the fray, ripped apart by dominique’s quick thinking and even quicker feet. but he’d thought by now he’d at least have been able to grab a glimpse of you. if not by the safety of one of the trailers, then among the horde. he can’t find you, though, despite using his height as an advantage in the search.

but he finds dom, and the sheer panic on her face, her doe eyes wide and fearful, is enough to tell him that something isn’t right. he pauses, the pen in his hand stilling on the pad of paper. dom’s speaking to no one in particular, to anyone who will listen, but he can’t make out her words over the sounds clattering around him. he concentrates, focusing on her mouth, until he can make out the words fell down and it’s all he needs to know.

he drops the pen and paper and wades into the thick of the crowd, using his forearms and height to part the sea of bodies. and maybe it’s his forceful movements, maybe it’s the anger casting shadows on his face, or maybe it’s nerves, but people move out of the way easily, without comment. he doesn’t need to say anything; they just move.

a hush falls over the crowd in a wave, passed along like a game of telephone. something is wrong, and brian isn’t happy is the message, and even those furthest away from the eye of the storm seem to get it.

dominique wrestles her way to brian’s side, face red and blotchy in panic. she breathes hard, gasping for air as she speaks. “i lost her,” she wheezes. “we got separated, but i saw her fall.”

“where?” his question comes as more of a command, but he can’t help it. he’s rarely angry, but tonight he’s royally pissed off. his hands clench to fists at his sides, his jaw set firm.

“i don’t know. i don’t know!” at this, dominique begins to cry. she presses her hand to her mouth, shaking her head back and forth in distress.

brian reaches out to steady her shoulder, opens his mouth to comfort, but before he can, a different, unfamiliar mouth fills the space.

“hey! can we have help over here? there’s a woman passed out!”

brian drops his hand like its touched hot metal and sidesteps those in his path, quick to maneuver his way to the huddle of people around a prone form on the ground. it’s your form, her realizes, the form he knows better than his own, has memorized with his fingertips and traced a thousand times over. his gut clenches, and he mutters “that’s my wife. out of the way” as he bends to pick you up. your head lolls against his shoulder, eyelashes fanned against your cheekbones.

carrying you as he does toward the stage door, he’s reminded of your wedding night: the way he carried you over the threshold in much the same fashion, snug against his chest, though you’d been conscious and giggling and pink with blush. tonight, you feel frail in his arms. your skin is clammy to the touch, breathing shallow.

someone holds the backstage door open, and he ducks into the cool hallway of the concert venue. shuffling through the hall, he makes his way to one of the dressing rooms and ever so gently lays you on the couch. the room is dim, partially stripped of the queen paraphernalia from moments ago. footsteps, hurried and hard, thump in the hallway. roger sticks his head in the doorway a moment later, dominique close behind.

“is she okay?” roger asks.

brian doesn’t tear his eyes away from your face, from the fluttering behind your eyelids and the uneasy rise and fall of your chest. “get me a damp wash cloth, please?”

roger nods. “be right back.”

you wake to the sound of a foot tapping against the linoleum floor. you don’t remember much about the evening. just the concert and then leaving and then the crowd—oh, you’d fallen, hadn’t you? maybe that’s why your head throbs and your shoulder aches.

you blink slowly, groaning as light from the ceiling aggravates your headache. you press the heel of your hand against your forehead. there’s something damp against your skin. a cloth perhaps?

the couch dips as someone places their weight beside your legs. “[y/n]?” the voice is soft, melodic, a song you know well. “can you hear me?”

“brian?” when your eyes open completely and you see the strained face of your husband hovering over you, you try to push to your hands, to sit straight on the couch, but he gently holds you firm by the shoulders.

“no, no. just lay there for a minute. don’t move too fast.”

“what happened?” you twist, glancing about the room. your gaze runs over freddie and john and roger and dominique and crystal and ratty and gerry all smooshed together, shoulders touching, knees knocking, as they stare on at you in anticipation of your next move.

“some fucktard let the—” roger starts. dominique shushes him with a hand on his thigh.

“you fell,” brian says. he lifts a hand, brushes the hair away from your face. “got pinned down.”

“oh.” you frown as you try to remember, but the memory is too hazy. all you remember is the descent and nothing more. the rest is blank. “that doesn’t sound like fun.”

brian cracks a grin. “no, it doesn’t.”

you twist your hand around his fingers and smile, though the movement needles at your headache. “did you come save me?”

he shrugs. “not really.”

“that’s a lie!” freddie pipes up. “he carried you in here like fucking prince charming. i almost swooned.”

you chuckle then wince at a sharp pain in your ribs. “my knight in shining armor.”

he colors, dipping his head against the rise of blush in his cheeks. “hardly.”

your fingers run across his knuckles then pull him down by the wrist, crushing your arms around his back. you hold tight and whisper, “thank you, prince charming.”

you can feel his smile against the curve of your neck and his mouth against your skin as he says, “anything for you, princess.”

#brian may #brian may x reader #brian may fic #j blurbs

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mitsususu · 4 years ago

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Ever wondered what it’d be like if Steve had gotten captured? Wonder no more; below are my Top 5 Favorite Stories:

“the long game” (M, 6k) by dirtybinary

In 1945, Steve Rogers trades himself to the Red Room in exchange for the Winter Soldier. They accept his offer, but don't let Bucky go. After all, their supersoldiers come as a matched set.

(Featuring crafty Steve, pining Bucky, and a very noisy metal arm.)

+ Fall to WS. Steve and Bucky take turns remembering and play the long con. The one with the Fact Game

-☆-

“Falling Back on Forever” (E, 24k) by ftmsteverogers

Bucky falls from the train in 1945. Steve jumps right after him.

The Winter Soldier and the Midnight Patriot are the world's most feared duo, serving HYDRA and leaving a trail of bodies a mile wide behind them. But then they remember.

+ Fall to Avengers. They remember each other, break out, and go on the run

-☆-

“Steve Rogers’s epic failures meeting the expectations” (T, 5k) by StuckySituation

Steve Rogers’s patriotic eyebrows jump up. “Holy cow.”

That was not what Tony would have expected from Captain America. “‘Holy cow’? Did the history books mess up? Was your family actually from India and not Ireland?”

“Fuck off, Stark. I ain’t shitting on what comes out of your mouth, so you better leave my goddamn cows alone as well.”

Tony doesn’t know whether to feel awestruck or betrayed. “You,” he says and points at Rogers, “are nothing like I expected.”

“Sorry to be a fucking disappointment,” Rogers says with a scowl and pulls his ridiculous helmet on, covering the sleekly styled brown hair. It was astonishing how even Rogers’s golden hair had been false propaganda -- but of coursethe great America had wanted to present its figurehead as Aryan perfection in the time of eugenics. “Suit up, everyone. Let’s get this shit done.”

+ Defrosting to WS. A series where defrosted Bucky tries his best without Steve, and then doesn’t have to anymore

-☆-

“Winter’s Heart” (NR, 5k) by Speranza

"Good morning, Soldier," and Steve opened his eyes and said, automatically, "Ready to comply."

+ Endgame. Steve uses the time stone to jump after Bucky in the Alps

-☆-

“Sleeping With Ghosts” (M, 33k) by rohkeutta

The first two years after Bucky gets out of the ice are-- surprisingly easy. Serve his country, learn to use his charmed robot hand, make friends, don’t think about the spark of magic in him that’s gone out, see the world, try to live with the grief (try to live with the grief, try to--)

Maybe they’re not that easy, in the end, but he’s settling - until he gets reluctantly pulled out of the Army and has Steve’s shield (Steve’s shield, its magic wary and curious and half-dormant) thrust onto him again, even though he’s already turned it down once before. The world has changed and so has he, but as he tries to immerse himself into a new life, he meets a ghost he could never leave behind.

+ Fall to WS. Magic, bonding, blood binding, and finally coming home to each other.

-☆-

*More Winter Soldier Steve fics in the Handler Steve list

#stucky #stucky fic #dirtybinary #ftmsteverogers #StuckySituation #speranza #rohkeutta #fic rec #Top 5 Favs

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dragonnan · 4 years ago

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This is faaaar from a complete list and will be spotty at best but I’ve been pondering MCU characters a lot as I’ve been getting slowly back to work on my mega-fic. I LOVE minor head canons. Simple stuff like favorite foods or what music they listen to or were they ever a smoker or whatever whatever. So I’m gonna give myself the challenge of crafting some head canon and anyone else is very welcome to dive in! (some things are already established via canon)

~ Ethnicity ~ Faith ~ Smoker ~ Alcohol ~ Favorite food ~ Favorite cookie ~ Favorite animal(s) ~ Favorite music ~

Tony Stark: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American-Jewish (he refers to himself as a “mutt”) Faith: “No thanks” being the initial answer but if he feels like opening up he’ll admit to believing there’s likely “something” out there but at the same time figures that “something” stopped caring about humanity a long long time ago. Smoker? Never liked cigarettes but smoked a few cigars when he was younger due to Obie’s influence. He never was a big fan but wanted to fit in with his mentor. Alcohol: Influenced both by his father and Obie, Tony started drinking hard liquor semi-regularly as young as 14 (his Dad let him try his first sip at the age of 6). He pretty much sticks with Scotch or Bourbon but is not opposed to cheap beer at a ball game. In fact the cheaper the better - a requirement for any self-respecting American. Favorite food: hot dogs. Neither one of his parents cooked. Breakfast and lunch were whatever whenever for all three of them but dinner? You better be sure you were at that table before the plates were set down or you could go without (and Tony got a slap from his father when he’d observed that rule only seemed to apply to him). But on the nights he was sent to his room, Jarvis would slip upstairs, later, with a sandwich or, on really rough nights, a couple of hotdogs. Favorite cookie: Those Christmas wreath ones made with cereal and marshmallow with the cinnamon candies. Favorite animal(s): he likes all animals but if he had to pick one for a pet he’d get an iguana. Favorite music: well duh lolol.

Stephen Strange: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American (borrowed from Benedict Cumberbatch’s ethnicity and adding the American) Faith: Originally atheist but now closer to Buddhist. Smoker: Never. Even prior to becoming a sorcerer he has always been conscious of what he takes into his body; especially given the history of cancer on his mother’s side of the family. Alcohol: Wine, occasionally, though he isn’t really a social drinker per-say. Favorite food: The spicy shrimp and pork dumplings from a Thai place in Midtown. Favorite cookie: Hmmm.... not a big sweets guy but he won’t turn away a few ginger-pecan cookies with coffee. Favorite animal(s): dogs - unequivocally. He had a border collie growing up on his family farm in Nebraska. Favorite music: please don’t make this poor man actually have to choose.

Steve Rogers: Ethnicity: Irish (as per comics) Faith? Irish-Catholic (as per the comics). Smoker? Prior to the serum there was no way he could safely do so with his health issues. After he started traveling with the performers all of the girls in the group smoked and he tried it out a few times but never developed a taste for it. Alcohol: he drank A LOT - easy enough to do as it never had any real effect on him. He enjoys scotch and bourbon (a taste he picked up from hanging around Howard Stark). Steve seems to low-key always have the munchies (like most enhanced) and once Tony picked up on that there are always a variety of snacks scattered here and there throughout the compound (also of benefit for Bruce, Peter, Thor, and, later, Bucky). Steve’s favorite foods typically remind him of his mother’s cooking. While they’d never had much (especially after his father died) his mom could do a lot with limited supplies. She used to make a fantastic meat pie with ground beef or tongue. He hates SPAM. They ate it in the Army, constantly, and just the smell will occasionally send him back to those days and not in a good way. Favorite cookie? Oreos. He can clean up a family sized pack in like 10 minutes. Steve loves animals but is especially fond of horses and dogs. There was a dog in his unit in WW2 and Steve, like most of the other men, would share bites of his rations with it. Steve is nostalgic about music from the 40s but finds that 70s rock really resonates with him.

Bucky Barnes: Ethnicity: Romanian-American (borrowing a little from Sebastian Stan’s ethnicity) Faith? Possibly agnostic. Smoker? Heck yes - both cigarettes and cigars. Like Steve, the serum he received (via Hydra’s experimentation) means he gets to dodge the detrimental side effects of smoking. Alcohol: He likes to drink but is almost exclusively a beer drinker. He has a big appetite but refuses to eat around others if he can at all help it. His favorite food is corned beef with cabbage. Steve’s grandmother was an Irish immigrant and would make it every Sunday before the war impacted rations. Since both Bucky’s parents were dead he’d often have dinner with his best friend. Also, unlike Steve, he actually likes SPAM. But then, arguably, he isn’t terribly picky about food in general. Favorite cookie: molasses. Favorite animal(s): birds - eagles in particular - though he doesn’t look too deeply at the psychology of their ability to just fly away. Needless to say a crafty observer might spot a former Winter Soldier tossing seeds towards the pigeons. Favorite music: He’s pretty eclectic though he shies away from anything too loud like death metal. He finds classical very soothing.

Peter Parker: Ethnicity: Mixed American-Scandinavian-German-ish Faith: Protestant upbringing but unsure where he currently stands. If pressed he’d say he’s “leaving his options open” Smoker? “Oh gross!” Alcohol: “Um, too young to drink, thanks! But if I WERE to... you know, try it just to taste it there was this mudslide at one of Flash’s parties that was super good...” Favorite food: spaghetti and meatballs. Lots of meatballs. Favorite cookie: chocolate chocolate chip with chunks. Favorite animal(s): NOT spiders. And NOT birds given how many rooftops he’s traversed layered in pigeon ick. He’d probably say cats. Favorite music: The B side of techno rock - especially Depeche Mode.

Peter Quill: Ethnicity: Half mixed American and half celestial. Faith: His Dad was a god and he killed him so he figures he probably isn’t on the best terms with the Big G God should He... or She... or Them... be out there. Look he just wants to do his thing and cause a little trouble without mixing it up with any other celestial types but if they DO wanna throw down he’d like to point out that he’s 1 for 1 and willing to rumble. Smoker: He would not say no to a really good cigar and may have possibly lifted a case from Yondu’s stash when he struck out on his own. Alcohol: Anywhere any time and in large quantities. Favorite food: A thick steakhouse bacon burger with potato chips right on the patty. Extra cheese please! Favorite cookie: He’s a simple guy with simple tastes. classic chocolate chip no frills no fuss and fresh from the oven. Favorite animal(s): He likes dogs - who doesn’t like dogs? But he really likes cows. Just maybe don’t mention the burger thing. Favorite music:

Thor: He’s a Norse god of legend so I figure we can forego the ethnicity/faith questions lol. Smoker: He has never understood this human custom nor has he felt any inclination to try it himself Alcohol: Beer, mead, and anything capable of knocking him on his ass. Favorite food: chili with ghost peppers. Though nowhere near as hot as the fire chilies of Muspelheim (which would be instantly fatal for humans so its just as well). Favorite cookie: strawberry cheesecake with macadamia nuts. Favorite animal(s): It’s a tossup between bilgesnipe and whales. Favorite music: The mighty horns of battle! He also enjoys old school country, much to Tony’s disgust. The story aspect of that music is what appeals to him.

Bruce Banner: Ethnicity: Italian-American Faith: Catholic in his childhood; currently Atheist or maybe agnostic. Smoker: He tends to avoid any substances for, you know, obvious reasons. Alcohol: See previous. Favorite food: Waffles with sliced mango. Favorite cookie: Oatmeal. Favorite animal(s): Mantis shrimp - “did you know they can generate so much power in their attacks that they can briefly super-heat the water up to 7,700 °C??” Favorite music: Indian- especially Krishna Bhajan.

Clint Barton: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American and Panamanian. Faith: His parents were both Protestant but he’s never latched on to any specific faith and hasn’t really devoted a lot of thought on the matter. He has a sorta loose idea of “maybe something out there” but that’s all the further he’s gotten on the subject. What he tells anyone who asks it’s that his religion is coffee. Smoker: Briefly when he was a teen. Alcohol: Beer - he’s a fan of dark lager. Favorite food: Coney Island dogs, Pizza, and pickle flavored potato chips. Favorite cookie: Monster cookies with the mini M&Ms. Favorite animal(s): Dogs Favorite music: 80s rock and some country.

Natasha Romanoff: Ethnicity: Russian. Faith: She was not given much choice when younger and was raised as “state atheist” (per comics). In the years since escaping that life, however, she has tried to discover more about herself. Her parents were both Russian Jewish and there has been a pull to discover more about that faith - especially since meeting Wanda - who is Jewish. Smoker: No. Alcohol: Some vodka - that’s a given. But she actually prefers wine; and honestly her favorites are wine spritzers. Favorite food: Favorite cookie: Krumkake filled with creme and berries. Favorite animal(s): Favorite music: Overall she listens to a pile of little-known bands and whomever is playing at whatever bar in whatever city she happens to be in. She also is a huge fan of old school Spice Girls.

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phantomofthepairofdice · 4 years ago

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The Rosscars 2020

Wow. It’s that time of year again, only this time it’s different because it’s on a blog that no one will read! (hold for applause) Welcome to the first annual online publication for the Rosscars (hold for applause while the reader acknowledges how positively droll it is that I combined my name with “Oscars”). Who can forget such indelible Rosscar memories like when Steven Soderbergh surprised us all and won Best Director for Out of Sight or Bill Irwin’s beautiful speech upon winning Best Supporting Actor for Rachel Getting Married?! The Rosscars mean something different to everyone, but we all know that they mean quality choices made by a committee of one schmuck. This year’s Rosscars are bizarre because in an effort to be more like the Academy guidelines, film’s nominated have been released between January 1, 2020 and February 28, 2021. As usual, theatrical windows be damned, streamers are welcome. Of course, I have my gripes. I like categorizing movies by release year – specifically, when they become available to the plain old public like yours truly – not at festivals, limited runs in NYC and LA. Well, the Oscars are still weeks away and I feel like everybody wants to forget about last year and move onto this one that we’re already three months into - So here are my awards for the films, performers, and craftspeople that stood out in a pretty exceptional year for movies even though distribution was stranger than ever.

**A few caveats and guidelines to Rosscar newcomers (which I imagine is just a formality since we all know the Rosscars so well)**

The rules and categories are a little different around here. First, not every category is honored directly. That’s for a few reasons, chiefly that I don’t feel qualified to reward the technical categories properly – I suppose I should say that I feel less qualified to do so than the “above the line” categories. In keeping with the Academy standard, there are five nominees in each category, except for Best Picture, Best Non-Fiction/Documentary Feature, and Best Ensemble Cast which allow up to ten. Every category, save those three, will have the possibility of honorable mentions, because I want to highlight some things that just barely missed the cut. The narrowing down of a lot of these categories was awfully tough.

Nominees are listed alphabetically, and the winners are in bold and italics.

Also, it’s important to keep in mind that I couldn’t see everything (this isn’t a job and it’s still $20 to rent The Father, y’all) and that these are just the opinions of one (self-described) “bozo on the internet.” If you’re a reader and have different picks, feel free to share!

Special Commendations for some things that I want to recognize: • Ludwig Goransson for his Tenet score which is an absolute banger • The costumes of Emma. (Alexandra Byrne), Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (Ann Roth), and Small Axe (Jaqueline Durran, Sinéad Kidao, and Lisa Duncan) all struck me as exceptional • Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross with their scores for both Soul and Mank. Crazy that Pixar is working with the guy who made “Closer” • The cinematography of Da 5 Bloods (Newton Thomas Sigel), First Cow (Christopher Blauvelt), Beanpole (Kseniya Sereda), and A White, White Day (Maria von Hausswolff)

The Rosscars red carpet was, as usual, a bizarre affair. People filed into the theater and it seemed like the only encounters were awkward ones. Vin Diesel showed up in character as Bloodshot, Aaron Sorkin started getting really verbose about what a lovely night it was, and it became clear that most of the celebrities in attendance didn’t read their invitations closely enough to realize that this was not, in fact, the Academy Awards.

Everyone’s seated, and the show is under way. After a medley about the nominees this year by Common and Seth McFarlane that was more corny but clever than it was funny, the first official category is here, and the presenter is none other than... Ross!

Best Supporting Actor:

1. Chadwick Boseman for Da 5 Bloods

2. Matthew Macfadyen for The Assistant

3. Jesse Plemmons for Judas and the Black Messiah

4. Paul Raci for Sound of Metal

5. Glynn Turman for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Honorable Mentions:

• Lucas Hedges for Let Them All Talk

• Orion Lee for First Cow

• Bill Murray for On the Rocks

Best Supporting Actress:

1. Vanessa Bayer for Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar

2. Candice Bergen for Let Them All Talk

3. Gina Rodriguez for Kajillionaire

4. Amanda Seyfried for Mank

5. Yuon Yuh-jung for Minari

Honorable Mentions:

• Jane Adams for She Dies Tomorrow

• Charin Alvarez for Saint Frances

• Talia Ryder for Never Rarely Sometimes Always

• Debra Winger for Kajillionaire

Everyone loves a montage. The audience gets comfortable in their seats as the video screens start to show a montage of some of the most famous moments from Hollywood’s most magical movies. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers waltz, gliding across a dance floor like two hovering angels. There’s a clip of Leo declaring himself king of the world in Titanic, the flying bicycles in ET, Bogart stares longingly into Bacall’s eyes, and then there’s some scene where Tom Cruise rides a motorcycle from 2010′s Knight and Day. The audience all seems confused how that last one got in there. The John Williams music swells as little Kevin McAllister screams when puts on aftershave. We see clips of Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver, Carrie Fisher’s Princess Leia embrace Harrison Ford’s Han Solo, Bruce Lee smoothly declares that boards don’t hit back and... wait... was that a clip from Michel Gondry’s Green Hornet with Seth Rogen? And that’s a clip from What Happens in Vegas... Bad Teacher... Vanilla Sky... Shrek 2... Any Given Sunday... Everyone is flummoxed. The last clip fades out and a sole editing credit appears: Cameron Diaz. The lights come up and there’s some applause, but mostly confused murmurs.

The ceremony has had a bit of a misstep, but nothing it can’t recover from, especially as the next category is announced over the PA, and it looks like the presenter is... Ross!

Best Ensemble Cast:

1. Bacurau

2. Da 5 Bloods

3. Kajillionaire

4. Let Them All Talk

5. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

6. Minari

7. Nomadland

8. Pieces of a Woman

9. Small Axe

Best Original Screenplay:

1. Danny Bilson and Paul Dameo & Spike Lee and Kevin Wilmott for Da 5 Bloods

2. Lee Isaac Chung for Minari

3. Brandon Cronenberg for Possessor

4. Sean Durkin for The Nest

5. Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles for Bacurau

Honorable Mentions – a very difficult task to weed this down to five.

• Shaka King and Will Berson for Judas and the Black Messiah, from a story by Kenny and Keith Lucas

• Steve McQueen, Alastair Siddons, and Courttia Newland for Small Axe

• Kelly O'Sullivan for Saint Frances

• Thomas Vinterberg and Tobias Lindholm for Another Round

Best Actor:

1. Ben Affleck for The Way Back

2. Chadwick Boseman for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

3. Delroy Lindo for Da 5 Bloods

4. John Magaro for First Cow

5. Mads Mikkelsen for Another Round

Honorable Mentions:

• Riz Ahmed for Sound of Metal

• John Boyega for Small Axe

• Daniel Kaluuya for Judas and the Black Messiah

• Hugh Jackman for Bad Education

• Ingvar Eggert Sigurðsson for A White, White Day

We have a break in the action and it looks like Darius Rucker has showed up to perform what he would have nominated for Best Original Song. The crowd is absolutely furious as he starts playing a song that apparently was in Trial of the Chicago Seven. An ocean of sonorous boos and curses overtakes the the once docile crowd. The Rock just ripped his chair from out of the ground. Jane Lynch somehow smuggled in a civil war era flintlock pistol that she’s now pointing at the stage! Suddenly, the crowd unifies around what started as a confident chant of one lone audience member - John C Reilly. It’s growing... Ja Ja Ding Dong, Ja Ja Ding Dong, Ja Ja Ding Dong - it’s like the macabre circus performers from Tod Browning’s Freaks, but instead of chanting “Gooble Gobble” they’re clearly pining for Darius to change his tune to the silly and delightful jam from Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga. Darius, scared for his life, leaves the stage, but here come Will Ferrell and Rachel McAdams to deliver the goods. Busy Philips and Michelle Williams burst into tears. Tom Hanks nods in approval. A segment saved by brave artists placating a toxic group of fans... we’ve just witnessed a live version of the Snyder Cut, folks.

Jack Nicholson seems completely unfazed, giving a thumbs up to the camera and blowing a kiss to the next presenter. Coming to the stage is... Ross... again...

Best Actress:

1. Jessie Buckley for i’m thinking of ending things

2. Carrie Coon for The Nest

3. Han Ye-ri for Minari

4. Sidney Flanagan for Never Rarely Sometimes Always

5. Vasilisa Perelygina for Beanpole

Honorable Mentions – these cuts were especially painful

• Haley Bennet for Swallow

• Morfydd Clark for Saint Maud

• Frances McDormand for Nomadland

• Christin Milioti for Palm Springs

• Geraldine Viswanathan for Bad Education

Best Adapted Screenplay:

1. Charlie Kaufman for i'm thinking of ending things from Iain Reed's novel

2. Sarah Gubbins for Shirley from Susan Scarf Merrell's novel

3. Kelly Reichardt and John Raymond for First Cow

4. Simon Rich for American Pickle from his short story "Sell Out"

5. Mike Makowsky for Bad Education from Robert Kolker's "The Bad Superintendent"

Best Non-Fiction/Documentary Feature:

1. Boys State

2. Collective

3. David Byrne’s American Utopia

4. Dick Johnson is Dead

5. Feels Good Man

6. In & Of Itself

7. The Painter and the Thief

8. Time

Jimmy Fallon has come out on stage to do a bit about the pandemic and watching movies at home. People are just absolutely not having it. He tries not to laugh at his own jokes while doing what I guess is technically a pretty good impression of Dr. Fauci interviewing James Corden as Martin Scorsese (the less said of this impression, the better) on what is or isn’t cinema. The bit doesn’t track and Fallon is absolutely tanking. The producers cut away from the stage to spare the viewers at home from this monstrosity. We see crowd shots of Millie Bobby Brown shaking her head in dismay, Colin Firth is simultaneously grimacing and trying to stave off laughter, Cynthia Erivo is texting, and director Tom Hooper is taking notes for his next film. Corden yells, “Carpool Karaoke! Remember?!” Ron Howard has fainted. This thing is almost completely off the rails.

Coming back to the stage is the next presenter, a clearly embarrassed... Ross! He’s in a total flop sweat, but stumbles his way through a joke about how Fallon should try co-hosting the Oscars with James Franco sometime. There are scant chuckles throughout a crowd that mostly just wants to see who won and go home.

Best Director:

1. Christopher Nolan for Tenet

2. Spike Lee for Da 5 Bloods

3. Steve McQueen for Small Axe

4. Kelly Reichardt for First Cow

5. Chloé Zhao for Nomadland

Honorable Mentions:

• Kitty Green for The Assistant

• Eliza Hittman for Never Rarely Sometimes Always

• Charlie Kaufman for i'm thinking of ending things

• Thomas Vinterberg for Another Round

Best Picture

1. Bacurau

2. Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar

3. Da 5 Bloods

4. First Cow

5. i'm thinking of ending things

6. Judas and the Black Messiah

7. Never Rarely Sometimes Always

8. Nomadland

9. Small Axe

10. Tenet

Accepting the award for best picture is none other than Eve, the cow actor who played the titular First Cow! The audience is enamored with how graceful she looks in her cow gown, and her speech, though indecipherable, is likely simple, observational, and deeply profound for those who speak cow.

Wow, what a ceremony! Hearts were broken, property was damaged, dreams were fulfilled... blood was shed? Damn it, Meryl Streep came in and mugged Charlie Kaufman before absconding with the trophy. Oddly, she’s a previous winner, so the attack isn’t out of need for hardware. People are reading through articles about production on Adaptation for potential motives. Streep made time for a photo opportunity, but remains at large.

I could go on ad infinitum about all of these nominees and winners themselves and why they did or didn’t make the cut, but that’d be better served in a different piece. For now, my thoughts on most of these can be found on the Best of 2020 write-up and over on my Letterboxd. And, as always, these awards can be revoked and redistributed at will, so don’t get too cozy with that statue, Danny Bilson!

On behalf of the RAOGL (Rosscars Association of One Guy at a Laptop), thanks for reading, and stay tuned as we’re establishing a tip line for anyone has seen Ms. Streep or her stolen valor Rosscar. We’ll see you next year. Keep watching movies, and keep arbitrarily quantifying them in terms of subjective quality!

#awards #movies #film #Rosscars

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Conversation

One-Shot

Description - Captain America and Batman have a conversation on a bench.

I tried something new with this fic. It is mostly based on conversation without any action scenes. Do give your feedback if you like this new format or if not, then how can I make it better?

The only reason I am trying this new format is because the writing challenge set by @donutloverxo @captain-a-rogerss and @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho make me push my limits and step outside my comfort zone! This week, the challenge was to write a Marvel x DC crossover fic, something I have never done before. Check out the challenge here and participate now!

Warning - None

A/N - This fic is based on Steve before the first Avengers movie

My Main Masterlist

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

Bruce Wayne set aside his newspaper with a huff. After a lifetime of fighting with terrorists, aliens and freaking exploding penguins, he thought he had seen everything, until today.

Headlines such as; "America's Golden Boy Returns" , "Captain America Found Alive Under Ice" , "Brrr! Is that a Popsicle? Frozen Dessert? No! It's Steve Rogers!" graced the newspapers that morning, seemingly destroying whatever little amount of peace Batman had left.

Great, another man with superpowers who might be a potential threat that I have to take care of, Bruce frowned as he pulled up information on Captain America. "Alfred," he called out, "What do you remember about Captain America?"

"Are you asking me to recite today's headlines Master Wayne?" came the prompt reply from the other room.

Bruce chucked, "Not what I meant."

"I will have you know Master Wayne that I wasn't even born when the Red, White and Blue hero went under the ice. The grey hair on my head may make me look old, but I am not a 100 years old," came the indignant reply.

"You don't say! Here I was thinking you didn't look a day over 120," teased Bruce.

"That's what happens when you worry about a future where you would be living without grandchildren to take care of," Alfred snapped, shutting up Bruce.

Bruce knew Nick Fury would be initiating Steve into S.H.I.E.L.D., his personal crime-fighting-superhero-club. Oh he knew Nick Fury very well. The man with the eye-patch had proven to harbour more mysteries than the pandora's box, a quality that didn't sit well with Bruce. That's why, when Fury had invited Batman to join the Avengers, he had bluntly refused. Looking at the blue-eyed soldier, Bruce decided to pay him a visit.

Steve Rogers was scared. He didn't recognise this world. Everything was louder. The people, the machines, the cars. Colours were more vibrant and simple things were just too complicated to understand. It was as if everything in this new world was made to attack his senses.

His Converse squeaked as he walked in the aisles of the departmental store. Converse was one of the few things still around from his time before the ice. One of the few things he still recognised.

He entered the milk aisle. He exhaled loudly as he read the options; Low Fat Milk, Full Fat Milk, Cow's Milk, Buffalo Milk, Camel, Donkey… Wait… People milked camels and donkeys? His face contorted with disgust at the thought. Moving forward, he saw more confusing options- Almond Milk, Coconut Milk, Cashew Milk… He looked on with horror. Had modern science found a way to put breasts on nuts now?! Where was normal milk? Did normal milk exist anymore?!

He clutched the handles of the basket tighter, bending the metal. He needed to get away from here. He didn't belong in this time, this century. Steve slowly took a step back, and bumped into someone.

"Heeeyy watch wherrrre you are gooooing paaal," the large man behind Steve slurred as he dropped his box of cereal and tried to retain his balance. "I am sorry," muttered Steve, even though he could have sworn there hadn't been anyone behind him until a few moments ago.

Steve looked at the man. He was as tall and well-built as Steve, heck maybe even more muscular. His black hair was disheveled, his eyes swollen red and his breath reeked of cheep alcohol and cigar.

"You pussssshed me," the stranger slurred again, "hooow darrrre yooou?" he staggered, raising his fists.

Steve picked up the box of cereal and handed the stranger a new box, "I don't want to fight you sir. Instead, can I buy you this cereal?"

The man tried to punch Steve, which he easily dodged, "Fiighttt meeee," he insisted. Steve could only smile in response, "Believe it or not sir, but I am a senior citizen, and I am not looking to pick any fight. Please, can I buy you this box of cereal?"

"Coff-feeee," the drunken man said. "Okay I will buy you coffee too," Steve agreed.

The way towards the billing counter was slow as the stranger kept stumbling into shelves and displays. Steve kept a strong grip on him and guided him in his way.

Steve even helped the stranger as he puked his guts out on the street, helping him clean his mouth with a kerchief. They both sat on the bench outside the cafe.

"Why… you… help me?" the stranger managed to ask between his panted breaths. "Why wouldn't I?" Steve seemed puzzled, "You can’t take care of yourself now, you need help. So I am helping you."

"I don't need help from you punk!" the stranger spat as he shoved Steve forcefully on the bench. It hardly shook Steve. He smiled a small smile, "Everybody needs help at some point or the other, Mr Wayne. How long do you think you can operate as the sole hero?"

Wiping his hand on the back of his mouth, Bruce smiled, "As long as I hold the key to every answer."

"Fury is not that bad," Steve scoffed.

"You don't know what's going on at S.H.I.E.L.D., do you?" challenge Bruce

Steve retorted, "I don't need to know. I am just a soldier who follows orders."

"Whose orders? And on what authority? We don't need soldiers as we are not at war. But that doesn't stop us from initiating them," Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

"I believe in people Mr Wayne. I have faith in the general good that resides deep within every citizen," remarked Steve.

"Huh," it was Bruce's turn to scoff, "Here I was thinking you are a threat, but you are just a delusional patriot. People have agendas Captain. And agendas change. People are still bad, corrupt and easily influenced. The world hasn't changed Captain. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

Steve considered Bruce's words in silence, "The world has changed Mr Wayne, in more ways than you can possibly imagine. And it's... hard to keep track of things and stay updated. But it's much more easier to follow orders, you know?"

"People are still the same Captain. And they make up the world. As for keeping track," Bruce leaned back on the bench, "You can keep a list of things you need to learn."

Steve nodded, getting up, "That's a good idea. Let me get you that coffee and maybe you can tell me what can I add to the list?"

Steve turned around and entered the cafe.

"Hi how can I help you?" the barista greeted him cheerfully. "Can I get a coffee?" requested Steve.

"Sure! Which one would you like to have? A cappuccino? Americano? Espresso? Latte? Moch-"

"Son, please just give me a normal coffee," pleaded Steve.

"Sure sir. Which size do you want? We have Tall, Tumbl-"

"Just. A. Normal. Coffee. Please," Steve gritted his teeth.

He stepped out with the hot coffee, only to find the bench empty, except for the cereal box. He read the note stuck on the box, "I will keep an eye on you", the note promised.

Bruce settled back in his chair in his underground workshop. He laughed when he noticed the cereal box and the to-go cup of coffee, which was still warm. He laughed as he read the note stuck on the cup, "Tell Alfred I said hi. And please ask him if he will be willing to start a Barbershop Quartet with me?"

Steve returned home sweaty from the workout. He chuckled when he saw the carton of milk in his kitchen, with the words NORMAL MILK written in big, bold letters. He read the note that came with it, "Alfred expresses his apologies as he will be unable to join your Barbershop Quartet. However, he does have a recommendation for your list. He suggests you watch 'I Love Lucy', an American sitcom from the 1950s. It had been quite popular then."

"Sir, do you think Batman will join our forces if need be?" Maria Hill asked Nick Fury as he read Natasha's report on Bruce and Steve.

"I don't know," Fury said, "But it is always beneficial to have friends on the other side, should the situation arise."

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo

Chris/Chris' characters taglist: @onetwo3000

Taglist open! Just comment, send an ask or message!

#captainsweeklychallenge #marvel x dc #batman x captain america #bruce x steve #bruce wayne x steve rogers #gotham #avengers

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tansypoisoning · 5 years ago

Text

What You Have (part three of “What You Need”)

Life as an unemployed, homeless wanderer was hard, until you met Captain America. Then it got worse.

Part 1 - Part 2

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Genres: Smut, Yandere, creepy shit

Ships: Steve RogersxReader

Relavant Characters: Reader (PoV), Steve Rogers

Universe: Post Civil War, canon compliant (except for the whole Steve losing his marbles thing)

Content Warnings: Dark!Steve Rogers, kidnapping, yandere, abuse

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Steve was already gone by the time you woke up. You knew he meant to leave that day, but you didn’t think you’d be so lucky as to not have to deal with him in the morning. You searched to whole house just to be safe, and he was nowhere to be found.

Maybe he had really left, maybe he walked out to do something and would be back in a second, or maybe it was a test of some kind; either way, you would take the time you had away from him to look for something that could breach the door (a blowtorch would do) and something to fend off wild animals (you were hoping for a bazooka). You spent the best part of three hours combing through every drawer and cupboard, looking under all the beds and behind all the furniture, and even hitting walls in search of hidden passages. If there was anything that could aid you in your escape, it was hidden in a place you couldn't get to.

Deep down you knew you were kidding yourself. Even if you could leave the building and had the guts to shoot a lion, you couldn't go back home by foot, and Steve had to have taken the jet. If you were to ever escape, you’d have to wait for him to come back.

You took a shower, your skin turning raw from the water temperature and your aggressive rubbing. Your reflection in the mirror barely looked like you, and one of your cheeks was swollen.

Breakfast was much the same as it had been yesterday, aside from the small bag of frozen berries in the back of the fridge that you ate in one sitting, and you spent most of your day watching the uninspired collection of DVDs, sometimes pausing to check the local channels or making sure you had looked everywhere for a possible means of escape (you had).

You avoided the pen and the blank piece of paper that had been left in the coffee table – the list Steve expected you to write.

What you wanted… What you truly wanted was to have your freedom back, but he wasn’t going to give you that. You weren’t sure what he was willing to give you, really. He implied you should tell him what you wanted from the time before he’d kidnapped you, but the truth was that you just wanted enough money to pay rent. You didn’t exactly have the brain space or time to dream about the future, what with all the job searching and panic attacks. Even if you figured out what all your dreams for the future were, none of them would include Steve.

Could you ask him to give you something that would let you get away from him? Internet access, a car and a force-field that repealed super humans? He said there wasn’t a right answer, but you suspected there were wrong ones. If you refused to make a choice, would he accept you wanted nothing from him or would he just choose for you? You didn’t want to think about it, so you didn’t. When he came back, you’d just tell him to return you to your former life. If he was going to make you miserable no matter what, you figured you might as well return the favor.

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Steve arrived the day after the next when you were heating your dinner and watching ‘National Treasure’ for the fourth. You didn’t even hear him coming in, whirling around when you heard your name being called behind you. He was standing by the kitchen island, smiling fondly at you.

“It’s nice to see you’ve been doing well while I was gone.” He said. You didn’t think his comment merited a response, so you didn’t reply.

Not one to let your obvious displeasure ruin his mood, he smiled wider and pointed at the microwave “I don’t presume you are making something for me too?”

“No.” You answered and moved to look at your food and watch it spinning round and round. You heard Steve jump over the counter and approach you. The sound of the movie was loud, but now that you knew he was there your senses were attuned to him and only him.

He touched your elbow, and your head twitched to the side in reflex. He leaned over and pressed his lips to yours. He didn’t attempt to delve his tongue in your mouth or make you return the gesture, and he pulled away once you began to shiver. There was still the same dopey, loving look in his eyes, and you turned back to the microwave so you wouldn’t have to keep seeing it.

Steve sighed and walked to the fridge. “Did you do what I asked?”

You acted like he wasn’t talking to you, like the most interesting thing in the world was the TV dinner spinning, and spinning, and spinning…

“Baby, did you write the list?” His voice raised “Did you think about what you want?”

The endless cycle of rotation of the spaghetti wasn’t the most interesting thing in the room, but it was the only one you wanted to acknowledge. It was making you dizzy-

There was a shuffling, metallic noise, then a kitchen knife embedded itself on the counter beside you, cracking the marble on its way. The microwave beeped, but you didn’t reach for the meal inside.

“Did you write the list?” Steve’s whisper was soft, deceptively so.

You squeaked out a ‘no’ and he inhaled deeply before letting go of the knife’s handle and moving away from you.

“I guess we’re staying in here a little longer.” He lamented “I really don’t want to do this, but if you don’t make some choices soon I’ll have to do it for you. You have to tell me what you want.”

Suddenly remembering what you had told yourself on your first day there without Steve, you pivoted on your heels and braced yourself against the counter for courage.

“I want to go home.” You said, watching as he turned to look at you. His brows were furrowed, and he was smiling, but you knew you had made him even angrier.

“Home? You don’t have a home.”

“My car.” You insisted “I want my life back. Take me back.”

Steve’s fingers poked through the packet of squash ravioli he had taken out of the freezer, and you inched closer to the kitchen knife that was still perched on the counter-top. How nice of him to leave it there for you…

“I know that’s not what you wanted.” He shook his head.

“It’s what I want now.” And it was true. You didn’t want much when you were living in your car, but now you longed for the life you had once loathed.

Steve huffed, looked away from you, tapped his feet, drummed his fingers on the fridge – moved like he was trying to remove himself from that moment. Like he was trying to hold himself back.

“Fine.” He said at last “I’m taking you back.”

“What?” You blurted out.

“After dinner.” He offered no further explanation and approached you, box still in hand “Aren’t you going to get your food?”

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The night air was cold, and standing on the rooftop in what amounted to pajamas wasn’t doing you any favors. A coat would be nice, but Steve hadn’t given you any, probably out of spite. He looked at ease in his full body suit, doing checks and double checks to make sure the jet was safe while you shook in your loose shorts. You didn’t know how much of that inspection was necessary.

The second trip was the exact opposite of the first: you didn’t sleep, Steve didn’t get you covers, and you shivered all the way through, but you were happy. You were going back! It felt too good to be true – several times you had considered the possibility of this being a lie, that he wasn’t taking you home at all, but why would he bother?

Hours of hopeful anticipation later, and you were landing in the very spot the jet had been when Steve took you. He had been honest, at least as far as taking you back went.

You jumped out of the vehicle as soon as the ramp was lowered enough to give you the room to slip through. You could feel Steve right behind you, but all thought about was running to your car. You found it easily, just where it had been left and unlocked, but you feared you wouldn’t be able to turn it on.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Steve asked as you were getting into the front seat. Spoken like he’d just asked you if you were sure you wanted to leave in the drizzle without an umbrella…

You frowned, nodded out of habit, and jammed the key in the ignition switch. The motor started easily, and you scrambled for the wheel to get out of there as fast as you could, just barely resisting the urge to ram your car into him (there was a high chance that things would turn out worse for you if you did.)

You looked at the man in your rear-view mirror, watched him get smaller and smaller as you ascended the slope. You couldn’t believe it. You had escaped? Just like that? It made no sense. Why would he take you and go to such extreme measure to keep you, then let you go after you insisted a couple of times? No way, there was no way…

Even after you were long gone and couldn't see Steve anymore, you remained suspicious. He had to be plotting something, but as you sped away from him and his jet the past three days started feeling more and more like a bad dream.

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Some people would say freedom smelled like clean air, others apple pie, and then some that would say that it smelled like cow shit. All wrong.

Freedom smelled like rejection.

Another job you didn’t get, another day of grinding wasted on people who wouldn’t hire you even to wipe their toilet, but that was fine by you. It had been five weeks since Steve returned you to your car, and you were still as glad to be back to your chaotic life as you were the first day. Captain America had taught you to appreciate your rotten situation, who would’ve thought?

You exited the building, smoothing a hand over your nicest pair of slacks, and made your way to the parking lot across the street. You fished for your keys on the way, finding them when you arrived at the spot you’d parked. You looked up and began laughing hysterically.

It was gone. It was fucking gone. Your car, which you had left right there, along with all you had – it was all gone, vanished, only an oil puddle left where your entire life had been less than an hour ago.

You dropped the keys, then to your knees, your giggles morphing into ugly wails. You didn’t know what to do next. If there was a way out of this plight you weren’t seeing it, and you didn’t feel like looking for it at the moment. You had nothing and none, and you were so consumed by grief you couldn’t think. Your emotional state inhibited all rational thoughts beyond the one that told you not to choke to death on your own tears.

A painful lump grew in your throat, and you brought your hands to your neck in hopes your fingers would make things better, but nothing could make things better – not your own touch, and not the one from the person that had approached you from behind and decided to grab your shoulder like an old friend. You had no true friends, old or new, so you turned around with a scowl to tell the weirdo to get off, but the words died in your throat when you saw him.

You should’ve known it would be Steve. None in their right mind would want you old beat up cart; it was falling apart. The only two reasons for someone to take it were to sell it for parts or to destroy your life, and he had stakes in one of these things.

You had been foolish enough to believe he had been serious. Were you so eager to escape you had allowed him to fool you, or had he been clear in his intentions and you just lied to yourself? Had your future been sealed from the moment Steve decided he wanted you?

His eyes were soft and his smile was comforting. You wanted to wipe his fake fucking face in the pavement, but all you could do was cry.

“Are you ready to be honest with me now?” He asked.

That was the end of the line. You had no way to run, nothing to warm and protect you at night. You could tell him to go to hell and maybe he’d go, but then what would be of you? You’d have your freedom, but without a place or a friend there was no telling how long that would last.

Better the devil you know.

You turned on your knees until you were facing him, then tugged on his hand. Steve pulled you to your feet, and his grin now barely concealed his self-satisfied glee.

“Yes.” You whispered in between sobs “Take me home.”

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A/N: This is just a transition chapter so it’s not very exciting. I’m planning on two more chapters, and part 4 should be the longest and take a while, but it’s going to have the highest density of smut so that’s nice.

#DENSE SMUT lol more like dense me #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark!fic #MCU fanfiction #dark mcu fanfiction #mine #What You Need

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thestuckylibrary · 5 years ago

Text

Group Ask 121

What is a group ask?

Previous Group Asks

AO3 Search Tutorial

Please send us an ask stating which group ask and which person you are replying to. Thank you so much in advance!

Anon 1 said:

Hey i can’t remember what it was called but i can’t find this post ws fic? I remember it was raining a lot and one of them kept having panic attacks.

nyxvalentine said:

Hi there! Looking for a post WS explicit complete long chapter fic fic - they found Bucky/brought him back to the tower. At one point they have sofa sex on their floor in the tower (maybe right they get back from a mission?), Bucky is still in his tac gear/Steve is naked, and Steve is watching them in the mirror/getting off on how much bigger Bucky is and that he's clothed and Steve isn't. Also features Bucky becoming friends with Tony? Thank you!

nodns and time-lord-no-more sent in Dishonor On Your Cow by mandarou (complete | 111,695 | E)

Anon 2 said:

So I’m looking for this one fic in which it’s Bucky who puts the plane in the ice and gets rescued but everyone thinks he’s Steve and he plays along till they find Steve as the winter soldier. It is a funny, one chapter fic, and there is this one scene in which Bucky stares at Thor, and says that he reminds him of someone he used to know when Nat asks. Could you help me find it?

Anon, abarbaricyalp and awydd sent in Seven times Steve Rogers was not what everyone expected him to be (+1 time he really, really wasn't what everyone expected him to be) by StuckySituation (oneshot | 2,298 | T)

therandomravenclw sent in Footnote by nikkiRA (complete | 26,496 | T)

teenwasteland said:

I feel like I JUST saw this on the blog but now I can’t find it - Steve is Bucky’s physical therapist (for his amputated arm?) and there’s something like “when will you realize it’s a good idea to date me?” (NOT the one where Steve is in another relationship). Thank you so much in advance!!!!

miraishu sent in Untitled Bullshit* by hakunahistata, Izulkowa (complete | 16,678 | T) *suicidal ideation

sanctimoniavincent said: dubcon

I'm looking for a fic that was recommended on here before, but all I remember is that it was post-WS with Bucky and Steve in a dubcon relationship with Bucky using sex everytime he wants something from Steve, but Steve doesn't realize this until later.

Anon sent in Uberrima Fidei* by asocialconstruct (oneshot | 3,075 | E) *HTP, rape/noncon

lilyinthesnow said:

I'm looking for a fic & hope y'all can help, I read it a while back & can't find it after digging through my history & bookmarks. Steve listed Bucky as his spouse on his paperwork & Phillips made him change it, but Bucky kept the original that Steve filled out. Then in present day Pepper, I think, finds Bucky’s old jacket and found the paper that listed Bucky as Steve's spouse folded up in one of the pockets & all the Avengers find out about the two of them being together. Thank you!

Anon sent in Sucker Punch by yellow_crayon (complete | 15,012 | E)

youvejustthoughtofeverything said:

I'm looking for a story where Bucky recognizes Howard in 1991. Howard rescues Bucky and hides him away in a cryo chamber in a cabin hydra doesn't know about. Howard then gets killed because he goes to shieldra for help. 20 years later the cryo chamber shuts down and Bucky is let out. Someone posts a picture of him on social media calling him a lookalike for Bucky Barnes. It gets popular and both hydra and cap see it. At one point Tony recognizes the backpack Bucky has as his from the cabin.

kindsokind sent in A Slight Miscalculation by miss_aphelion (WIP | 49,205 | not rated)

amused-koala831 said: sex work, miscarriage, mpreg

so I've have been going crazy trying to find this fic. it was a A/B/O fic where Steve is a omega and Bucky is an Alpha. Steve doesn't get the serum and ends up working in a brothel during the war that is Bucky's old family home under the name 'Grant' and when Bucky comes back from the war he works as security under the name 'sarge' Bucky realizes Grant is Steve. there is some talk abut Steve having miscarried a few pregnancy's. Steve gets pregnant with Bucky's daughter.

Anon sent in Like Rahab* by moonythejedi394 (complete | 131,789 | E) *rape/noncon

ketenkusu said:

I’m looking for a very angsty fic... Bucky and Steve are together but for some reason Bucky thinks Steve is about to leave him so he starts acting different, which makes Steve think Bucky wants to leave him. Any idea what fic it could be?

stevesbi sent in Broken-winged birds by D_melanogaster (oneshot | 5,510 | T) and it’s companion piece Deep Roots by D_melanogaster (oneshot | 6,364 | G)

Anon 3 said:

Hi there! I'm dying trying to find this one fic I had read a while back where Steve was the captain of the football team and being an absolute wreck of a bisexual when he meets Bucky. The only other thing I can remember is Clint and Nat were together in this one too. Thank you for all your hard work btw!

Anon sent in Targeting by queenmab_scherzo (complete | 149,144 | E)

Anon 4 said:

Hello! There’s this one fic I lost the link to and I was hoping you’d be able to help find it. It’s a Coffeeshop AU, with barista!steve and veteran!bucky. I think it was a 5+1 Things kind of fic and basically Bucky kept giving Steve fake names until the +1 time. Thanks! :>

Anon 5 said:

hi! i've been looking for two fics, but i can't seem to find them anywhere. the first one is focused in buckys sister and in the end, after they die, his mother goes to their apartment and sees the beds together. buckys grandniece tells him that his mother got accepting w/ time and loved him. in the second one steve gets out of the ice and meets one of buckys relatives and he wears buckys dogtags, i think he becomes friend w/ an old lady who later teachers bucky how to dance ballet. thanks!!

tatltaelfairies, abarbaricyalp and Anon sent in A Mother Always Knows by RadientWings (complete | 7,054 | T)

humapuma said:

I read a fic some time ago that followed TWS, where Bucky starts to remember himself. He hides in people's homes and at one time tries to sever the metal arm but it's sealed to his bone, so he just cuts through all the skin and muscle but eventually stops. Then he finds Steve at the tower and, as Steve is trying to clean him up, he finds the wounds and starts crying. Eventually Bucky tries to run away but Steve begs him to stay with him.

sadritsuka12 said: suicide attempt

Hi. Can you help me find when Steve try to kill himself.. Can't find it I think his mom stop him first then bucky came from a date and also stop from killing himself.

Anon 6 said:

I just lost this fic I was reading and I was hoping you could help me find it. hydra sent bucky to kill steve and called it a level 7 threat and bucky was confused as to why because steve didn’t seem at all dangerous. also sam worked at a bookstore called the corner and he was really nice to bucky. and steve figures out that he was being stalked and left bucky a sandwich. any idea? thanks in advance

awydd* sent in Ghosts Love Elevators by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account) (oneshot | 32,322 | M) *graphic violence, suicidal ideation

#group asks

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 7 years ago

Text

War of Attrition: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. Natasha, Steve, and Maria reel at the [second] assassination attempt of Nick Fury. Hydra makes moves to cross the Black Widow and Captain America off its lists. Warnings: Swearing (always), death, violence, guns, blood, dismemberment Word Count: ~3,767 A/N: “Quotes and italics” is Russian. Just italics is memories/thoughts.

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“You can tell Handler Pierce you let him get away from you, then.”

He went stiff against your back and you knew that had struck a nerve. “We still have eight hours.”

You frowned. “So it’s on me to find him again.”

There was a pause, then, “No, it’s on us.”

Steve’s POV

Steve watched through the large glass window as a team of nurses and doctors worked to save Nick Fury’s life. He registered the door behind him opening and a second later Natasha was by his side looking absolutely distraught.

“He gonna make it?” she asked, her tone calm even though her eyes were wide and scared.

“I don’t know,” Steve answered honestly. Three slugs to the chest. Straight through the bulletproof jacket. The mystery shooter with the metal arm had done a lot of damage.

“Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha said quietly, as though talking too loudly would somehow jinx Fury’s chances of making it out alive.

“He’s fast. Strong. Had a metal arm.”

Natasha went silent next to him, but he didn’t see the look of horror on her face. “Ballistics,” Natasha said, question implied in the demand.

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” Agent Hill informed her. Leave it to her to stay serious and calm in this situation.

“Soviet-made,” Natasha said quietly, eyes transfixed on a point Steve couldn’t see.

Agent Hill looked over at her, surprised. “Yeah...”

“Was there a woman with him?” Natasha asked. It was clear her question was directed at Steve.

He couldn’t figure out what emotion that was lacing her voice. Steve frowned, gaze flicking to her then back to Fury. “No. I only saw them man with the metal arm. No other hostiles.”

Movement in the surgery room pulled their attention back. Nurses and doctors were yelling back and forth, but even Steve could tell something had gone wrong. Nick Fury was dying. He watched as they pulled the crash cart over then injected epinephrine into him.

“Don’t do this to me,” Natasha whispered.

Still no pulse.

Steve watched detachedly as they declared a time of death, his focus on the woman beside him. Natasha was reeling from the shock.

Director Nicholas J. Fury was dead.

Your POV - Less Than An Hour Ago

The Soldier jumped off the roof and landed right next to you. He rolled to diffuse the worst of the impact and was on the back of the bike within a second of hitting the pavement. You took off the moment his butt hit the seat. He must have been worried about making a hasty getaway because he was facing forward, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Faster. My pursuer isn’t someone we want to fight if we can avoid it.”

You didn’t dignify the demand with a response and simply sped up instead. The bike was quiet as a ghost in the night. Working in the darkness felt way more comfortable than attacking in broad daylight had.

“Is he dead?” you asked once you were sure you were a safe enough distance away from any potential threats.

“You tell me. Three shots to the chest, most likely. He was very careful not to give me a line of sight for a clear shot, but I was able to extrapolate his position from the way the blond man was talking to him. I know I hit, but I can’t be sure he’s dead unless we go back.”

You shook your head, filing the mention of “the blond man” away for further questioning. “I was too far away to activate backscatter imaging. I’ll have to trust your abilities.”

“It would have been better to have you there,” he said quietly.

You shook your head. “Someone needed to have the bike ready to go. You’re a better shot even when you can’t see through the walls,” you said bluntly. It was true. You were great in short-duration hand-to-hand combat or as a shock trooper (literally), but he was a better shot and lasted longer in extended fights simply because he had greater strength and stamina. “I’m a better driver anyway,” you added as an afterthought. “We need to return to Handler Pierce. Our mission is done.” We’ll be returned to cryofreeze, you thought, but couldn’t bring yourself to say. You hated the cold place- feeling your blood freeze in your veins before you lost consciousness. They’d gotten better at the process over the years but the very idea still sent chills down your spine. It was for the best, though. You and the other Soldier didn’t function properly if they didn’t freeze and wipe you between missions. It was your own fault for being defective.

It was almost as if the other Soldier could read your train of thought. He gave you a gentle squeeze and you hated the way your body relaxed into his arms. You were on mission. Relaxing could kill you.

But it felt good, so you let it happen.

You felt him rest his head on your shoulder and you tutted half-heartedly. “At least help me keep a lookout for danger,” you said quietly.

“As you wish,” came the surprisingly subdued reply. He usually wasn’t this easygoing. You supposed if there was one time to care less about your behavior it would be after you completed a mission and were about to be wiped anyway. He lifted his head and you could tell he was carefully scanning his surroundings for any potential threat, though you both knew you’d spot anything before he did.

You and the Soldier returned to the bank that they’d been keeping you in, but they didn’t wipe you. Brock Rumlow was waiting with a small group of agents, though. You were to take orders from Rumlow if Pierce was absent.

“Change of plans. You’re to wait here on standby until we receive our next orders. Your mission was a success and Secretary Pierce is pleased, but he anticipates resistance as he moves forward with Project Insight,” Rumlow explained.

When you and the other Soldier simply stared at him he sighed and reached into his bag. Both you and the other Soldier tensed, expecting him to draw a weapon, but when he retracted his hand the only things he had were a few plastic-wrapped packages. He threw them at the two of you and you caught them with ease though you eyed them dubiously, obviously expecting a trap.

“They’re food. Eat them.” Without another word he turned and left, leaving you and the other Soldier mostly alone in the bank vault. They didn’t close the door, but you knew there were at least ten men keeping guard just outside.

It was an order, so you and the Soldier obeyed. The packaging on the front revealed them to be protein bars. They weren’t bad, exactly, just too chewy and vaguely fake-tasting. There were three total and you had to practically shove the third one down the other Soldier’s throat. He didn’t want to eat it and insisted you at least split it, but you knew he needed the sustenance more than you did. He was the only one doing hard work today and he always burned calories faster than you anyway.

“Eat it,” you hissed, trying in vain to shove the protein bar at him.

“No, you should have it,” he insisted, stopping your arms with an ease that always infuriated you.

You glowered at him, but he didn’t look cowed at all. “If you don’t eat this then I won’t eat mine at all,” you threatened.

He finally glared down at you and you felt a thrill of victory run through you. “Fine, you stubborn creature.” He snatched it from your hand and ripped the package open, letting the silver and white wrapper flutter to the dirty bank floor. In a nearly feral move he opened his mouth wide and ripped the bar in half with his teeth, glowering malevolently at you as he chewed.

You tilted your head to the side, considering the childish action. It was... cute? The thought made you frown and you bit sullenly into your bar, doing your best to ignore the angry stares the other Soldier kept throwing your way as he unwrapped the second bar and began eating that, too. The two of you skirted around the edge of the room, staying as far away from the chair in the center of the room as possible. The two of you never strayed more than a few feet from one another and eventually settled in an alcove near the door. You switched your eyes to backscatter every few seconds, though the thick vault walls made it hard to see more than a few feet past it in any direction.

“Sleep.”

You looked over at the other Soldier, face nearly free of expression minus the slight upward tilt of an eyebrow.

“I’ll sleep after. We’ll take turns like we’re supposed to on stakeout,” he amended quickly.

You stared at him for a moment longer, relaxing against the wall and trying to fall asleep as quickly as possible. Both of you had the ability to sleep at a moment’s notice, needing rest wherever and whenever you could get it.

You surprised the other Soldier by leaning over slightly, closing the few inch gap between you, and laying your head on his shoulder. The only inclination he gave of having noticed was how still he went the moment your cheek touched the leather of his black jacket.

You fell asleep not one minute later, the sound of his steady, quiet breathing lulling you to sleep.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you’d been asleep when Rumlow came barreling into the room a little later.

“Get up! You!” He pointed to you. You were completely awake and on your feet within a second of him stepping into the vault. The other Soldier was on his feet, too, and he was tracking Rumlow with the calculating eyes of a predator. “You’re coming with me. Just you.” He stared at the other Soldier. “You stay here. If things don’t go as planned I’ll be back for you.”

The other Soldier nodded, though his eyes were burning. The two of you worked better as a team and it was clear to you that he hated the idea of you being separated. You spared him a single glance over your shoulder as you followed Rumlow out of the bank vault, heart skipping a painful beat at the look on his face.

They loaded you onto a quinjet and flew you to New Jersey. Why they wanted you there was beyond you, but you knew better than to ask questions or second-guess orders.

You sat quietly in one of the seats on the jet, ignoring the Hydra agents that wisely gave you a wide berth. The ride was shorter than you’d been expecting and before you knew it they were marching you off the plane, Rumlow barking orders at you as you walked into the bombed out remains of an old military camp.

The surroundings looked familiar, but the base itself was reduced to rubble and you wouldn’t have been able to recognize what it once looked like even if you could access all of your long-buried memories. “Scan the debris in this area. Backscatter. You have that, right?” When you nodded an affirmative he pointed to a large pile of debris that looked to be part of an old building. It was a relatively huge hole in the ground. It would take you a while to search everything, even with your eyes.

“Am I looking for something specific?” you asked, voice raspy and quiet.

Rumlow nodded, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Bodies. Two. One male, one female.”

You nodded your understanding and walked away from him, gracefully dropping down into the hole, stepping off slabs of cracked concrete and brick as your eyes scanned every inch of the debris you could find.

It was what you spotted with your normal vision, though, that gave you pause.

You looked up, your faintly glowing eyes searching for Rumlow in the gloom. You spotted him immediately and sprang gracefully through the rubble, coming to a sudden halt in front of him that had him flinching and reaching for his gun. “Fuck, what is it?” he asked, eyeing you warily. His hand hovered nervously above his holster.

“Tracks leading out of the debris. Not standard tac boots. Civilian. No tracks leading in.”

Rumlow cursed. “How many? Just the one set?”

You shook your head. “Two pairs to begin with, then one. The smaller pair seemed to be stumbling, then they vanished. No body. Likely the owner of the larger set carried them off site.”

Rumlow swore loudly enough to give the nearby agents pause, his fist connecting loudly with the nearest half-destroyed wall. “Pierce is going to be pissed. He sacrificed Zola trying to kill those damn rats.”

Zola.

The name rang out in your head, bouncing inside your skull until it was a deafening cacophony that blocked out all other thoughts.

You and I vill do great things, Fräulein.

You vill cooperate if you vant your precious man to live.

I haf made you better, Fräulein. You should be thanking me.

I gave you life. You will stomp Hydra’s enemies out of existence.

You head spun as the nasally, slimy voice filled your mind. Rumlow was too caught up in his own problems to notice, but you felt yourself nearly lose your balance before your hand shot out to steady yourself on an upright slab of concrete.

Gone.

You tried to take a deep steady breath, gulping down air greedily.

Gone, your mind insisted again. The source of that voice was gone, though you weren’t sure how you knew that voice belonged to the man Rumlow mentioned. Perhaps it was the same way you knew over a hundred way to kill a man without a weapon but couldn’t remember your name, how old you were, or where you were born.

The thought bolstered you more than you thought possible. You stood up straight, a deep sense of calm overtaking your senses. Up until that moment you hadn’t realized how tightly coiled your muscles were. Hadn’t felt the dark feeling swirling deep in your gut, wrongess permeating your entire being. Your body felt lighter than it ever had and you found yourself smiling almost manically. It was sheer luck that you were facing the wall and none of the Hydra agents noticed. You were sure they’d send you back to the chair if they saw you displaying emotion too openly.

“Asset.”

By the time you turned around to face Brock Rumlow, your face was as impassive as ever.

“You’re to rendezvous with the other Soldier at Secretary Pierce’s estate. Ensure you’re not seen entering the premises. He’ll give you instructions there. Your motorcycle is in the jet you came in. My boys are unloading it now. Dismissed.”

The moment he uttered that last word you were moving, eager to put this place behind you. It gave you chills and stirred that dark place in your mind that you’d long learned to ignore because it only brought more mind wipes and hours of painful torture.

A few hours later, Washington DC

The other Soldier had arrived before you and it was too risky to talk about anything in Pierce’s home, so you said nothing about Zola. You and the Soldier sat amongst the dark shadows in the dining area. Neither of you moved and it was only the faint glow of your eyes in the darkness that alerted Alexander Pierce to your presence. He shut the refrigerator door, eyes flicking between the two of you quickly.

“I’m going to go, Mister Pierce,” the maid said from the hallway. Your and the other Soldier’s eyes flicked to the doorway, though neither of you moved an inch. “You need anything before I leave?” she asked. It was pure luck she hadn’t rounded the corner and seen the two of you sitting there. Your gazes swiveled back to Pierce, looking for any orders about the situation. Neither of you had been spotted coming in, of course. You weren’t the deadliest assassins in history for nothing.

But you’d been ordered to his house and you wouldn’t leave unless Pierce told you to.

Without taking his eyes off the two of you, he spoke loudly enough for the maid to hear. “No, uh. It’s fine, Renata. You can go home.”

“Okay, night night!” she called happily, exhaustion just barely tingeing her voice.

You used your backscatter imaging to watch her throw her purse over her shoulder and walk out the front door. You flicked your vision back to normal, eyes falling on Pierce once again.

“Want some milk?” Pierce asked the two of you, turning his back on you to grab a glass from the cupboards. The two of you barely blinked in response as he sat the glass down on the counter and poured himself a small amount. He shrugged when neither you nor the other Soldier said anything. “The timetable has moved. Our window is limited.”

He took a long sip of milk and walked around the kitchen island, coming to sit across from the other Soldier. You eyed him from your spot atop the raised fireplace hearth.

“Two targets, level six. They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours,” Pierce ordered.

“Oh- uh, Mister Pierce, I...” Renata turned the corner, her gaze first falling on Pierce then to you and the other Soldier. The two of you stared at her, gazes flat and uncaring as she shifted nervously, mind struggling to process what it was seeing.

Pierce turned in his chair to look at her, his gaze not giving anything away.

“I, uh... forgot my phone...” she said nervously.

You glared at her, knowing what came next. She saw the two of you with Handler Pierce. Any second now he’d give the order and-

“Oh, Renata,” Pierce sighed, picking up the pistol on the table. “I wish you would have knocked.”

Before she had a chance to react Pierce fired two shots into her chest, sending her reeling backwards, crashing to the ground in an unsightly heap. She was dead before she hit the carpet.

“Take care of that before you go, would you?” Pierce said as he returned the gun to the table. He stood and walked over to the sink, washing his hands of any gun residue.

When he turned around and the two of you were still sitting as still as statues his gaze turned hard. “You have your orders. Dismissed.”

By the end of the next hour, Renata was in pieces in the bottom of the Potomac, fingers cut off at the ends and teeth pulled for good measure. If she was ever found, they’d never find all of her, much less be able to identify her.

You and the Soldier holed up in a Hydra safe house. You sat in front of a wall of monitors, eyes flicking to each one in turn, taking in all the information you could.

Two targets. Off the grid. Targeting Hydra operations.

Steven Grant Rogers and Natasha Alianovna Romanoff.

Deadly, experienced, driven. A dangerous combination.

“If this were us, what would we do?” you asked, glancing over at the other Soldier, who was watching the screens carefully, too.

The Soldier’s gaze flicked to you, blue eyes bright and thoughtful with the challenge at hand. “Project Insight is their goal. They’ll aim to take the Triskelion. It’s too heavily fortified to attack head on. If I were them I’d look for an in. Someone that can get them past security.”

You nodded and watched the data streams and video feeds flicker across the screens. “Who are they going to go after?”

The other Soldier flicked through the tablet in his hand, likely searching through the database of Hydra agents. “They were on the Lemurian Star. They’ve likely realized Sitwell is Hydra. He has the clearance needed to get them on the base.”

“Sitwell?” you asked, turning to look at him.

“Agent Jasper Sitwell. Level 7 SHIELD Clearance. Working for Hydra since he was 17. He’s been deep undercover in SHIELD for years.”

You looked back to the screen, watching as the facial recognition software searched any and all sources for your targets. “Expendable?”

“Targets are a level 6. Every agent except Handler Pierce is expendable,” the other Soldier said without hesitation. Even you and me. The words hung unspoken between the two of you.

“We’ll continue surveillance in shifts. Track Sitwell closely. I have copies of his timetable and I’ve already entered it in my system. If he makes any unscheduled stops or moves in an unpredictable way, we’ll know he’s been compromised. At that point he’ll lead us directly to our targets.”

The other Soldier nodded in understanding. “And if they don’t try to use Sitwell?”

“They have to go to the Triskelion if they wish to stop Project Insight. If it comes to that, we’ll be there waiting.”

He leaned back against the headboard, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Go to sleep. I’ll take the first shift.”

He shook his head. “No.”

You turned away from the screens to glare at him. “Why not? It’s your turn.”

He tilted his head and regarded you for a moment. “I’ll sleep on one condition.”

You bit back a sigh. “What is it?”

“Come sit with me.”

You froze, staring at him with mild shock. You looked at his seemingly relaxed pose, the way his legs were propped up and open, the space between them inviting. You quickly weighed your options.

“You promise you’ll sleep?”

“Yes.”

You looked at the screens again before you sighed and walked over to the bed, climbing dutifully on top and placing yourself directly between his legs. Your back was to his broad chest so you could watch your work, thankful that your eyes made it possible to see even the tiniest of writing on the screen.

The Soldier sat stiffly for a moment and you had a second to fear that you’d done something wrong, but a second later his arms were wrapping around your waist and his forehead was resting against the back of your neck.

You tried to ignore your pounding heart, choosing instead to focus on the task in front of you. “This is acceptable?”

The only response you got was a quiet content noise followed by deep, even breathing.

Next Chapter

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avengers-nextgen · 7 years ago

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Wakanda Arrives

It was only a matter of time before word travelled to T’Challa of the incidents that the avengers were facing. The former king had discussed avidly with Bruce Banner, who had been aiding them in research, what to do.

“Perhaps understanding what sort of tech is implanted in Bianca we can retrace it to the manufacturers.” Bruce suggested. “Then, perhaps, we can have a better understanding of what exactly took place.”

“And give her the answers she has been looking for.” T’Challa nodded in agreement. “What about the other?”

“That’s a lot trickier. It seems to be more of a psychological issue rather than any sort of physical dissociation.” Banner frowned, pursing his lips in thought.

“The best we can do is monitor the witch and understand the soldier.” T’Challa ran a hand down his face.

“May I suggest a neural study.” Banner proposed. “For both. It may provide more information.”

“I fear that such a thing borders on an invasion of privacy.” The King frowned.

“It would only be done with consent I assure you.”

“It is not you I worry of doctor Banner but your director.”

— — —

Bruce was greeted by a swarm of children that eagerly hugged him. “Hey, you guys have grown! Holy cow!”

“How was Wakanda?” Alex bounced up and down excitedly.

“What’s the tech like?” Piper beamed.

“Any cool weapons?” James questioned.

“I’ll tell you all about it later but I am here on business.” Bruce bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. “Man you kids are eager.”

“I’ll say.” Each head turned to spot an unfamiliar figure. “My name is Siyanda-“

“Future Ruler of Wakanda and the legacy of the black panther mantle.” Thalia finished.

“Someone has been reading.” Siyanda laughed. It was a rich and warm sound very different than that of the other youngsters who could sound like a pack of wild animals at times.

“I enjoy history.” Thalia shrugged.

“Science bro!” The comversation was interrupted as Tony Stark himself tackled Bruce in a full body hug. “I missed you.”

“Likewise.” Bruce grunted.

“Ah,” Steve was the next to enter the room. “Nice to see you have arrived.”

“Thank you Captain Rogers.” Siyanda gave a respectful bow to the super soldier. “I assume your director has informed you of our visit.”

“Indeed.” Steve nodded.

“Wonderful. Perhaps I can request assistance in setting up proper facilities?” Siyanda inquired.

“I’ll do it!” Piper’s hand shot eagerly into the air. “Please, let me do it! I want to see Shuri’s tech.”

“Alright, I have a taker.” Siyanda laughed.

“Piper, please, do not pee on yourself.” Alex mumbled, nudging her elbow into Piper’s ribs. Piper frowned and slapped Alex on the arm.

“Tony...you gonna get off?” Bruce grunted.

“Never!”

“This is why the Starks can’t have nice things.” James rolled his eyes. “Alright let’s let them be.”

“We have work to do.” Siyanda beamed holding up a metallic brief case. “Everything I need is in here.”

“Man you pack light.” Nathaniel noted.

“Some people do not need excessive hair products.” Scout remarked.

“This is going to be a very interesting experience.” Siyanda sighed. “I’m looking forward to it.”

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milkmoneyzine · 4 years ago

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"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" #3

#Follow4FollowMyGuy asks: As an artist in uncertain times, how can I keep promoting my music from quarantine?

M$: The first thing you need to do is find some compromising evidence on a friend that runs a website. Then you blackmail them into letting you write a pointless Advice Column that no one actually cares about. That’s the most important place to start.

Once you’ve got that secured, and the money from the blog is flowing endlessly into your account, then you just hustle. Hustling is a lost art these days. There are so many online outlets, and so many different social media platforms that it can get overwhelming pretty quickly. The key is to not let that happen. Focus on one or two at a time. Get weird on Twitter and sneak in some links. Ask for questions on your Instagram story, then find a way to relate your answers to songs you can post. Dive into the hellscape that is Reddit and find a thread that your music fits with, and drop a link. Not all of this is going to work, but it’s worth a shot.

The other important thing to remember is that you don’t have to promote a specific song, or an album, or a video. Just interact with people. Everyone else is online all the time, so just be visible, be friendly, and be accessible. As long as you’re doing something online, no one is going to forget about you.

Maybe don’t use the band page to drop heart eyes on thirst trap photos. Slide into those DM’s from your own account, you know? The last thing you want is the fucking bass player seeing their reply first and stealing your thunder. But then again, all is fair in love and hardrock.

Dan Price asks: Can I have your milk money?

M$:

@FiendingForMosh asks: When are shows coming back?

M$: The real answer is that no one knows. Probably sooner than you think, which is also probably too soon. It’s kind of a lose/lose situation.

Live music is in a weird spot. To go from “Everyone needs to practice social distancing until we can get a handle on this extremely contagious thing” to “Well, it’s not contained, and we don’t have a vaccine, but fuck it. Go ahead and pack as many people as you can into a tiny, poorly ventilated space and let them all slam into each other” in the span of a couple of weeks seems insane.

There are some medical experts that say live shows shouldn’t start again until 2021. That’s not going to happen. That can’t happen. Every place that relies on a steady stream of smaller touring acts and local shows—which is almost all of them—will close if that’s the case. No one wants that. Venues need to make money and bands need to make money. The only way to do that is with shows.

What’s going to be really interesting is seeing who takes the risk. Some bands are going to hit the road two days after “shelter in place” ends. There will be venues ready to host the shows, and people dying to see them—no matter who that band is. The very idea of getting back out in public and seeing their friends is going to be enough for a lot of people. Those bands are probably going to do pretty well, and play for a lot of grateful people every night.

Then there are going to be other bands that take the whole rest of the year off. To them, the juice won’t be worth the squeeze. They’ll stay home, write new songs, make a new record, and continue to wait it out. The bands that take this route are probably the bands that are a little more established, and have other sources of income. Some bands can afford not to tour. Others can’t.

There are also going to be a lot of people who just don’t trust anyone in a large crowd for a while.

“I’d love to see that band. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to stand in the dark while a drunk, sweaty guy—still wearing a heavy denim jacket in fucking July for some reason—brushes his damp hair across my face as he tries to squeeze through an already tiny space.”

It’s weird, it’s scary, and it’s pretty unprecedented. But it is going to be okay. Live music will always be something that people enjoy, and there will always be someone who figures out how to make the most of it. Things aren’t going back to normal anytime soon, but maybe that’s a good thing. It gives everyone a chance to decide what the new normal is.

There is one upside that could come from this, and one that Milk Money wholeheartedly supports: Maybe venues/bars/clubs will actually keep their bathrooms clean, stocked, and operational.

Ahhh, who are we kidding? No one is going to learn anything from the last five weeks.

XtestpressX asks: Who are M$’s favorite current #SLCHC bands?

M$:

M$ PRESENTS THE #SLCHC2020LOVE THE MIXTAPE: 1. Victim To None - Sacred 2. Devoid - Another Life Wasted 3. Ape $hit - Pretty Neat ft. Dea Giokas 4. Degeneration XXX - Bitter End 5. Dirty Mike - Angel (Prod. by Teemane) 6. Zodiac Killer - Serpent's Tongue 7. Crow Killer - Close Grip 8. Witchtrial - Burn 9. Absent - Dimmed Love 10. Tamerlane - Absense

Run tha trak!

Milk Money Mixtapes

M$ presents #SLCHC2020LOVE The Mixtape

@StatuteOfLimitations asks: What is your wildest tour story? Dan$: As all of Milk Money will attest, my memory is not the hottest. But I’ve been blessed with a metric shit-ton of sketchy/amazing tour experiences, so here’s a montage of pretty true events... - Coming up with the idea for Milk Money with Trevor on west coast Cherem runs.

- Roger Miret teaching me his prison workout regimen in an old church in Switzerland.

- Watching Madball and Obituary festival sets in Turino, Italy from the fancy comfort of an above-ground pool.

- Breaking up fights between American soldiers and German hardcore kids.

- Breaking up fights between American soldiers and Japanese hardcore kids.

- Getting into fights with American soldiers in foreign lands.

- The time Lord Ezec asked me if I wanted to smoke some crack with him.

- The time the moon crashed into Idaho.

- Hiding outside the backstage tent of symphonic metal cover band Apocalyptica in a giant mud puddle during a Czech Republic downpour with Vinnie Stigma, waiting for them to take the stage, so we could sneak in and steal coffee from their espresso machine.

- Taking Matt Mascarenas to the beach for the first time in his life.

- Fuck Nick Cannon. - Watching an aggro road-rager freak and back down a steep-ass, 500-foot grassy slope into a cow pasture after he pulled us over to fight. - The Lightkeeper’s Trail (What's good, Countdown to Life/Broadway Calls?!?!?!) - Watching Sparky from Demented Are Go bite the head straight off a dead rat, pound a bottle of vodka, and say, “That’ll clean it up.” - Chasing a not-be-identified drummer from brothel to brothel in Graz, Austria to watch him dance with girls for a few seconds before running to the next brothel… just to make sure he didn’t get left behind by the bus.

- Not joining Hatebreed in a backstage jacuzzi full of actual erotic dancers. - 30 Seconds to Mars telling us we were “pretty heavy” when we shared a venue in Minneapolis. - Moshing in a Drum’n’Bass tent at a Euro festival with a not-to-be-identified NYHC band who were skying way high on ecstasy. = Learning so many important lessons the hard way while making all of my closest friends cuz… hardcore. Trevor$: I don’t have nearly as many globe-trotting adventures as Dan, but some of my favorite moments with my friends happened on tour. - Spending two full days at a Fazoli’s (the only kind-of vegan option in the city) in Grand Island, Nebraska on our first tour because the transmission went out 13 hours after we bought the van. - Directions to a venue that were “Turn left at the women’s prison, and drive to the end of the road. It’s in the junkyard.” Once inside the junkyard, getting the instructions “Stay away from the fences. That’s where the ladies have ‘yard time’ and the guards in the tower get really angry when we talk to them.” - Air guitar and autographs with a drunk guy named “Deth” in Tijuana. - Almost having to fight a promoter in New Mexico because he accused us of stealing a microphone, only to find out ten minutes after leaving that Bill accidentally put it in the pocket of his cargo shorts and forgot. - Swimming too far out in the Florida ocean and getting stopped by the beach patrol just before the shelf drops off and all the bull sharks hang out. - Going on tour without confirming anything, then having to beg every promoter to let us play when we showed up. - Trying to pretend there wasn’t a fight happening in the crowd until Jake pushed his drums out of the way to jump in at every single out-of-state show Tamerlane ever played. So what we're saying here is, once this plague blows off, GET IN THE FUCKIN VAN CUZ LIFE IS SHORT AND YOU SHOULD LIVE IT!

Until next time, this is Milk Money saying, “Tamerlane is not the Five Finger Death Punch of Salt Lake Hardcore."

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