#I'm taking the easy way out and lowering their language barriers a bit out of convenience bear with me

[canisalbus]

About the accents: if someone has a very "proper" Italian they are either foreigners or politicians/dignitaries/etc. So that fits perfectly for Machete, but I think it would be so funny if he sometimes slipped up and used a Nepalese word bc he forgot one in "proper" Italian lol

(Funny to me cause Naples has its own language in addition to accent, and most people don't actually know those words)

.

[hardwiredweird]

Can I ask what may possibly be a dumb question but why do people do virtual art, like where they do drawings but on an ipad or some kind of thing? Is it less time consuming than drawing on paper? Can you erase mistakes easier than on paper? Also what happens if the ipad/tech drawing thing breaks, do you lose all your work then?

I'll take this as a good faith question and assume you're being genuine. I'm someone who does both digital and traditional art, but generally prefer traditional.

First and foremost, let me clarify one thing: Digital art (virtual is a bit of a weird phrasing, but that might be because English isn't your first language?) is not in any way 'lesser' than traditional. It's still art and it requires pretty much the same types of skill as traditional.

Digital has a whole host of advantages over traditional art. Some being in the process itself and others in the end result.

Digital pieces are easier to reproduce, for example. They are already in a printable format and don't have to be scanned/digitized to be shared. In today's world where so much happens online, that's a huge plus.

Digital is also much more 'approachable' and accessible for a lot of people. Most people have a computer already and a starter drawing tablet is less than 50 bucks, while there's plenty of free drawing programs out there like Krita. Yes, that is a lot more than a pencil and paper, but it is capable of more than the paper and pencil combo and will last you for years.

Digital, as you already figured out, has plenty of advantages over traditional like the ability to infinitely erase (which isn't possible when with a pencil), reshaping/repositioning elements endlessly, having layers and adjustments that can be manipulated individually... The list goes on and on.

Something that might be less obvious when it comes to the advantages of digital especially when we're talking about devices like an iPad or other standalone tablet device (I use a Samsung Galaxy Tab S8+, or example) is that it has a lower barrier for getting started. These devices are easy to have with you, are instant on, can be used handheld or on your lap and as soon as we start going beyond a simple sketch (which in traditional would require just a pencil and paper) it has zero setup time.

If I set up my paints, it requires special paper, my paint palette, my mixing palette, at least one, ideally two cups of water, my brushes... If I want to colour something digitally, I just need my tablet and pen.

Professional art supplies are also expensive and require space to store them (often under specific conditions. Dry, dark, clean, cool), while a tablet or PC has a use beyond art.

Digital has a long, long list of benefits over traditional, all coming down to 'if you mess up, you can fix it a lot easier and you don't have to waste materials on it'. Not everything is perfect with it (for example, it's much easier to learn bad habits on digital, the tactile aspect of traditional media is lost and the ability to infinitely erase and manipulate your pieces can hobble your progress with the mindset of 'eh, I can always fix it later') but generally, it's 'easier' in a lot of ways.

As for your last question: all digital drawing programs have the ability to export workable files like .psd files and it's generally just good digital hygiene to back up your files regularly in at least one or two locations. I recently upgraded my drawing tech (not because something broke, but because I was fortunate enough to get the chance to) and already had all my files in another location.

[ladyazulina]

August 11th

So, uhm... Hi.

I'm not feeling Imposter Syndrome, I swear.

I'm just... down.

I went to sleep late last night wanting to make a post about wanting to be part of the Spoiler Game that I was seeing around, thinking on the characters and the novels I will line up for easy choosing and making it a bit more like "info that wasn't going to end on the final draft but not really sure about that because not all of them are even in writing stage".

It sounded funny in my mind, I swear.

If you're following me around, you can notice I didn't make such post. I don't know if I chickened, if I let myself go down, or if I was just genuinely distracted. The point is that the post doesn't exist. And may still not exist.

Though it felt so fun in my head.

I don't know, I don't want the interaction to define my participation, but sometimes I can't help it. I don't want the few people that are interacting with me to feel forced to interact with that post due to this.

I think some part of that is defined in the Imposter Syndrome or something, I'm not even going to look for it.

I'm also in a mental rearranging of my Patreon tiers. Taking advantage that I have no one patronizing me yet. First I thought of doubling it so there will be one in English and the same one in Spanish, but I don't want to divide more my future community by language, that's a barrier that I want to knock down, though that mentality doesn't if inside that tier I made one publication in English and that same one in Spanish. I'm feeling dumber the more I think about it.

What I was thinking was about dividing my projects into those tiers. Right now my writing there is divided according to its content (short, long, fluff, +18, raw, edited, etc) so every project will be basically everywhere and everyone would be able to see at least something about all projects. If I do what I'm thinking on, every project will be in a specific tier.

I don't know if it will be better. I don't know if it will be worse. I have no patrons to ask.

Wanted to try Ream, but that's out of the map until Stripe includes my country.

And I'm really out of viable options to advertise my stories. In the same way I don't feel good marketing myself, I feel about marketing my writing.

I want to believe that people will find me anyway.

Well, enough of the talk.

I thought I wasn't going to, but I'm happy to say that I

Worked in: AngelDemon. Words written: 1.392.

I'm a bit ahead of the half point of the old work, but I'm still two chapters short of what I was expecting to be the half. Maybe the story will be shorter than estimated. Maybe not. I really can't tell, but I'm not even have half (I think I do have half though) outline and I feel it short. I don't want a short story here. But we will see.

I also

Worked in: Iron Valley (Linney’s Campaign). Words written: 9.

wanted to edit this post (not edited here yet) because when I read it I noticed a few little mistakes. I still believe there's one I haven't found yet, but I'm not going to force myself. I wasn't in it for it when I did it, so... I will take a look at it later.

My head is also trying to think about how to edit my info in Twitch, there's something I want to change, but I still don't know how or what. I passed part of the day playing along it... mentally.

Anyway.

Total words: 1.401. Lower daily goal: 100 ✅ Higher daily goal: 300 ✅

I hope to not make a habit to come this late. It can be draining and time-consuming if I'm not careful. I don't want to bump into my schedule and night routine, but I do like coming to talk in these little talks. I guess is really good for my mental health.

Tagging: @aziz-reads

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | SEVEN

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 4,000

warnings: fluff. angst. language. not even sure why i warn for angst anymore this whole story is just angsty af

18+!!! minors stay away!

In the following few weeks, you realized two things. One: Peter Parker was definitely not subtle. The other being that you were definitely in way over your head. There was no denying the stupid butterflies in your stomach anymore, or the way you found yourself expecting his touch before it even came.

It seemed as though the two of you were like magnets; a constant tug gravitating the pair of you back to each other with an unstoppable force. If you weren't together, he was on your mind, and like he could sense you thinking of him he'd be quick to reach out in some way or another. Be it appearing at your side, all happy grins and playful eyes, or calling your phone no matter the time with his stupidly adorable stutter--Peter seemed to think of you just as much as you thought of him.

The more that you thought of him, the more that you wished you didn't. It was terrifying. You wished that you could pull away again, to push him back out of your heart and lock those iron bars tight once more, but your heart had grown selfish and stubborn. It was as if you were the one locked out anymore; the control over your feelings slipping further and further from your clutches with every toothy smile Peter sent your way.

Like a magnet, he held you in place. Oh, to be held by... You slapped a pillow over your face and screamed, holding it so tightly that your nose ached and you couldn't breath. Peter Parker was like a disease. A stupid, all-consuming, utterly infatuating disease of the mind and the spirit.

You knew that you were wasting time, undoubtedly causing yourself to risk being late for school with every minute that passed as you continued to lay in your bed, but you couldn't bring yourself to get up. Already, your mother and father both had knocked at your door on multiple occasions and questioned if you were sick, and now you were regretting saying no. It would have been so easy to avoid him if you'd just played hookie.

But, with midterms in the near future, you knew it wasn't the best idea. The realization had come to you in the night. A moment so insignificant, so mundane, but it had been as if a switch were flipped in your mind. A light was turned on, so to speak, and illuminated all the thoughts and emotions you'd been so tirelessly repressing.

Talking on the phone with Peter was like a drug, and talking on the phone to him at night was a dangerous game. Under the dull light of a crescent moon and the ridiculous teddy-bear night light that was plugged into your wall, a lingering remnant of your sister's presence in the space, your inhibitions were always low. With sleepiness your walls were always lowered, and he'd unknowingly put a fatal crack in the foundation.

You rolled onto your stomach on your bed, kicking your feet through the air like a little kid as you fought back the grin that always seemed to worm its way across your lips when you were talking to him. "So, how do you like Ned and MJ?" Peter asked, and you could almost picture him mirroring your position as you heard the quiet rustle of blankets over the line. A little giggle bubbled out of your mouth at the thought.

What a sight that would be, Peter kicking his legs to and fro like a school girl in love. "They're cool. I kinda like that MJ doesn't even pretend to hide the fact that she thinks I'm weird. I don't--I don't know, it's refreshing I guess. Ned's sweet." you rambled, and it was the truth.

Ned and MJ were easily slipping into the fortress that shielded your heart with every passing day. Somehow, it wasn't as terrifying as you'd expected it to be. Perhaps that was because they didn't harbor a secret identity with which they risked their lives every single night, or maybe it was just because you'd come to realize that letting people in wasn't so bad. Not everyone was going to die on you.

Michelle Jones really didn't pretend not to think you were weird, not even a little bit. Her blunt and honest nature was a nice change from the quiet stares that seemed to follow your every move; MJ wasn't much for staring. Rather, she boldly told you what she was thinking without any shred of doubt.

And Ned, sweet Ned Leeds, was like a puppy personified. Always happy, always smiling, and always waiting to offer you compliments when you approached. You couldn't remember the last time someone had dared compliment your hair, your smile, or your outfits. Ned made it impossible to feel anything but comfort and joy in his presence, even his awkward nature was endearing.

"I'm glad." Peter hummed, "They really like you. To be honest, though, I kinda like it when it's just us. Maybe I should have waited a little longer to share you."

There was a pang in your chest at his words. Peter had been subtly flirting with you for days now, but this was more direct. He didn't have to come right out and say it for his implications to come across loud and clear, and that magnetic pull grew stronger.

So strong, in fact, that you murmured back, "I like it when it's just us, too."

If you had just kept your mouth shut, maybe he wouldn't have been so bold as to say, "Not gonna let them steal your heart from me, are you?"

The words were right at the tip of your tongue. Your heart was screaming, never! Nobody could ever steal me away from you, Peter! Yet, your mind was racing with a million and one horrible thoughts that made you feel as though your mouth was full of mud.

The silence between yourself and Peter grew thick as it drew on, no words escaping your lead-like lips. The voice in your brain, the one that sounded like your sister yet you knew was not her, was ringing in your ears. How could you ever fall in love, when she never could? How could you give your heart away, when she never had the chance?

You took that chance away from her. You stole it. This thing, whatever the weird force between the two of you was, was all stolen time, stolen opportunities, and stolen lives.

"Good night, (Y/N). I'll see you at school?"

You whispered, "Yes." The line went dead, and you felt cold.

Those simple words from Peter, with meaning and intention that was far from simple, were all it took to send the walls, bars, and barbed wire around your heart crumbling into nothing. With no protection, no barrier between yourself and the dangers of everyone else, your mind was working on overdrive. It would have been so easy to let him in, had that voice remained quiet, and yet you were steadily building those bricks back into place.

Now, all that was left to do was to steal your heart back. When had he managed to take it from you? Had he snuck in during the night, slipping through the strategically placed cracks and weak points he'd created, and stole away with it undetected? Had he taken it that first night, without you ever noticing?

As you finally released the pressure over the pillow on your face, sucking in a shaky breathe and letting all the heavy things crash over you again, tears burned your eyes. You didn't want to push Peter away. You didn't want to be the reason he was hurt, upset, or angry--you weren't ready to be the villain in his story.

"Mom?" you called out, knowing she was lingering close by.

Proving you correct, the door to your bedroom cracked open only seconds later and your mother's worried eyes fell upon your blinking ones. She definitely saw the troubled look on your face, the tears in your eyes, yet she held back from mentioning any of it as she asked, "Are you sick, honey?"

You nodded, the lump in your throat aiding your act as you croaked, "Yes. I don't feel good."

She frowned a little, knowing that you were bending the truth of the matter. Your mother was perceptive, and with the emotion all over your face, it easy for her to know that this wasn't some stomach bug or sore throat. To your relief, though, she resigned, "I'll call you out of school for the day. I'll be in my office if you need me."

Tomorrow, you could be the villain. For today, though, you were content to avoid your troubles and wallow in your self pity. At least this way you had some time to slip back into your stoic, cold demeanor before you had to face him. Time to prepare yourself to be alone again, because you knew that once you pushed Peter Parker away, Ned and MJ would be quick to follow him.

Sleep didn't come for you like you hoped it would. Well, it did, but then you found yourself dreaming of Peter and woke with a start. School had started an hour ago, and already there were a flurry of confused and increasingly alarmed messages from him lighting up your phone screen. Even though you couldn't hold back from reading them, you locked it before you found yourself replying as if on autopilot.

Pete: are you late

Pete: i'm at your locker

Pete: hello?

Pete: i'm going to class... see you there?

Pete: are you okay? you said you'd be here

Pete: at least let me know you're aldkhdkfj

You spent the day in your room, ignoring Peter and ignoring the world. Occasionally your mother would crack open your door to check on you, fussing over feeling your forehead despite the fact that you both knew you didn't have a fever, and tittering little comments about getting rest and staying hydrated. She knew you weren't sick, yet you were grateful she didn't try to pry.

As much as you wanted to tell her all of the things that were on your mind, the reasons that you were upset, you couldn't. You couldn't tell her all of the awful things you were thinking, and see the way her face would contort in anguish over you. You certainly couldn't listen to her telling you that it wasn't your fault, you weren't wrong for liking a boy, and your sister would want you to be happy. Even if you knew, in some deep part of your brain, that it was true.

Pete: got my phone taken in calculus sorry

Pete: I'm at lunch now, are you okay?

Pete: are you sick?

Pete: like... actually sick?

Peter really was relentless. You wondered how long it would take for him to catch onto what you were doing, or if he would at all. Would he understand why you suddenly gave him the cold shoulder? Would he understand, and be okay when you pushed him away again?

Pete: I'm in speech now.

Pete: we got the class to work on the speech and you're not here

Pete: not that we could do much anyways since you're so stubborn but still

Pete: okay what is going on

Pete: (Y/N)

Pete: please talk to me

Reading all of his messages kept the ache in your chest alive, stopping the numbness from creeping back in. You wished you could put your phone down, turn it off even, but it was like a cruel an addicting game to read each message as it arrived. You found yourself watching the little three dots as he typed another message eagerly, even if he was far from happy.

When school ended, he called. You let it ring each time, watching his name scroll across your screen over and over again until it ended. Once, twice, three times--he finally stopped calling, not leaving a voicemail.

For awhile, you wondered if that was it. Was he done? Had he caught on? Had he figured you out just as easily as he always seemed to do? Had Peter given up?

Pete: i know what you're doing

Pete: i'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable

Pete: we can just be friends if that's what you want

It wasn't what you wanted, and that was the problem. You didn't want to be friends with Peter Parker. Well, you didn't want to just be friends with him. You wanted to know what his touch felt like when it was deliberate and welcoming, not the fleeting and curious brushes of his skin on yours. To be held by him, to taste his lips, to hold his heart in your hands like he already held yours--you wanted so much more than friendship with Peter, and that made you a thief and a fraud.

You: that's not what i want

You were weak. A weak, cowardly idiot is what you were, and you threw your phone on your bed with a groan as you realized what you'd done. The voice in your mind whispered insults, taunting you for being so easily broken.

Pete: what do you mean

You: i don't want to be friends with you Peter

Pete: oh

One simple word, and you realized he had taken that in a completely different way than you had meant it. Yet, you didn't correct him. You didn't explain that you meant you didn't want to just be friends. Maybe this was your chance--an easy way to kick him outside your walls without having to see it firsthand.

The chance didn't last long. A quiet knock sounded on your window, and your heart froze in your chest as you tried to sink deeper into your bed. It was the wind, you told yourself, until the knock sounded again and slightly louder. You could see the shadow on your floor out of the corner of your eye, and you buried your face into your pillow to block it out. If you ignored him, he would go away, and this would all be over.

After a few more knocks, it was silent for awhile, and you tempted a look at the floor only to frown at the sight of the shadow missing. He was gone, and you were alone again. Your lip quivered at the thought; what had you done? It was a mistake. This was a mistake.

You didn't want to push him away. You wanted him to hold your heart. You wanted Peter Parker as your friend, as more than a friend, hell, as anything as long as it was with you. But now? Going back on your word and dragging him back in again would be pathetic. He didn't deserve such treatment, especially not from you.

So, you pulled your pillow back over your face and let the tears fall. Your hot breath burned your eyes and made you feel sticky and gross, but you didn't care one bit. It felt cathartic to cry, like returning to a familiar place you'd been skirting around for ages. Crying over Peter was different than crying over your sister; the hurt was different, but one thing was the same: both were all your fault.

"Go away, mom." you whined, barely hearing the sound of your door unlatching over your muffled sniffles. It creaked further open, and you groaned, pressing the pillow harder onto your face, "Mom, please, I just want to be alone."

A throat cleared, and you froze. That wasn't your mother, the voice was deeper. The sound was still too light to be your father's, though, and that left one option that made your blood run cold. He didn't--did he?

He did. Peter pried the pillow out of your hands, all red cheeks and sad eyes as he stared at you in a sullen silence. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered, "Why are you pushing me away?"

You blinked at him, too paralyzed by the sight of his fluttering eyelids and pouting lips to speak. It must have been a sight to see you like that, your face red and blotchy, streaked with tears and snot that you'd been too lazy to wipe away. He didn't look away from your eyes, though, gazing into them with an intensity that dared you to look away.

Sensing that you weren't going to speak, he pressed on, "(Y/N), what is going on? I don't--It's okay if you don't like me back, I can deal with that. I want to be your friend, though. I thought you wanted to be mine, too."

Voice scratchy, you muttered, "I don't."

Something changed in him, and suddenly Peter was raking a hand through his hair as he frowned deeply. You wanted to smooth the crease between his brows, but you felt frozen. He was angry; he was angry with you, and he didn't hold back as he snapped, "That's bullshit, and you know it. If you didn't want to be friends, then why did you make that deal? Why did you let me make a complete fool of myself just to get your attention? Why did you let me introduce you to my friends? Stop lying to me!"

"I'm not!" you yelped, sitting up frantically and wiping at your face, finally. "I'm not lying, Pete!"

He threw his head back at the nickname, a sigh of exasperation forcing its way from his lips, nostrils flared. "I don't get you, (Y/N). I don't get you at all." he growled, facing you again with a heavy brow.

You gripped your blankets tightly, bunching them around your waist as you blinked at him with wide eyes. "I don't want to just be your friend, Peter!" you burst, "I don't want to just be your friend, and I don't know why. You make me feel all these things that terrify me, but I keep chasing after you and whatever those things are! It was so easy being alone, okay? Then suddenly you came swinging into my life and made everything so--so complicated!"

Your mother's face peered into your room, eyes blown wide in surprise, but the moment you glanced at her she backed away with a bitten smile and you flushed. You didn't get the chance to dwell on the fact that she'd been eavesdropping, though, because Peter sat on the edge of your bed and bit the inside of his cheek, blinking at you with teasing eyes.

"So, you like me?"

Eyes narrowed, you grumbled, "Are you really going to make me say it, Pete? After all of that?"

A sly grin stretched across his lips, cheeks puffing out adorably and making you bite your own to keep from grinning too. He tutted, raising his ruffled brow as he jabbed, "After everything else today? I think it's the least you could do."

You were screwed. His fingertips barely caressed the backs of your knuckles, and you shakily grabbed them before he pulled away again. "I like you, jerk." you mumbled, screwing your eyes shut as you felt your face burn in embarrassment.

Peter just chuckled, squeezing your hand as you felt your bed shift under his weight. "I don't want to just be your friend, either." his breathe fanned over your cheek, and your eyes snapped open to find his face closer than ever. If you just turned, ever so slightly, his lips would brush your own... He kissed your cheek softly, backing away with a tiny smile that you matched. "I like you a lot. Probably more than like, really."

"That scares me." you whispered, eyes still latched onto his, "Peter, you scare me."

He took a long moment to answer, weighing heavily the words he would utter next, before finally telling you, "You scare me, too, but I think it's worth it."

A gentle tapping at your door crashed through the moment, both of your faces burning a deep red as you turned to face your mother's sheepish smile. "Sorry, sorry, don't mind me--"

"Mom!" you wailed, slapping your hands over your face in mortification as she stealthily slipped into your room and dropped a box of condoms onto your dresser before racing away again. "Oh, I can't believe she--Mom! Did you really have to do that?"

Peter was laughing boisterously, head thrown back and eyes shut, though you could tell he was flustered too from the cherry red color that creeped down from his face and under his shirt. As humiliated as you were by your mother's actions, you couldn't help but to feel a little grateful for the interruption. The intensity, the tension in the air, had disappeared with the intrusion, and things felt a little bit lighter again.

You flopped back onto your bed, still pouting over the spectacle, as Peter breathed out, "That's so something Aunt May would have done, too."

At least you weren't alone in the embarrassing family department, you thought to yourself as Peter threw himself down beside you. She meant well, obviously, but did she really think that you and Peter were going to go from admitting you liked each other to ripping each other's clothes off in one night? Well, you were eighteen--maybe she had a bit of a reason to be so hasty.

"Do you think it's worth it?" Peter questioned, and you turned your head to face him, trying to ignore the close proximity of his face to your own. "Liking me?"

You chewed at your lip, listening for that voice in your head that had suddenly gone silent. "Yeah, yeah I do." you responded, and his face split in a blushing smile. You did think it was worth it, because being with him reminded you of all the good feelings you missed out on when he wasn't around. "I just wish we could have been like this before. Maybe then I wouldn't feel like I'm stealing her life."

He grew serious in an instant, eyebrows furrowing as he stated, "I don't." At the sight of your confusion, he continued, "I don't wish we met before. Can you honestly say that you're the same person you were before?"

"No."

He nodded, "Exactly. Stuff like that... It changes you. I would know, remember? You wouldn't be the you that I like, and if Uncle Ben were here maybe I wouldn't be who you like, either."

You had to admit, he had a point. "I guess so." you pondered aloud.

"You're not stealing her life, either, (Y/N). She would have wanted you to be happy, to do all the things she never got to. It took me a long time to stop thinking that way, too, but I did. It wasn't your fault, and you can't miss out on stuff just because of her." Peter advised, and you swallowed down the lump that was growing steadily in your throat, "She didn't give up her life for you to stop living yours."

Fuck, Peter really knew exactly what to say. You, however, were at a loss for words. He said all of the things that you'd needed to hear for so long, so perfectly, and it rocked you to your core. How did he know just what you needed to hear? The answer was simple--because he knew you, and he knew how you were feeling. He knew, because he had lived it.

Changing the subject, you asked, "So, what do we do now?"

You didn't have to explain for him to understand, and he swallowed thickly, "Do you... will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yeah. That might be worth it."

He scoffed, "Might be? Forget it, I don't want you to be my--"

"I want to be your girlfriend, Pete!" you cut him off, laughing loudly. "I really, really want to." So, maybe you lied when you said that Peter made things complicated. In fact, Peter made things incredibly easy--and that made it worth it.

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb @sweet-symphony @cherthegoddess @justsomebodyweird

[whitewolfmoving]

Boston Burning Part Three

In Your Orbit

Summary: Chris takes Nika with him to the station during his next shift, there she's introduced to the latest transfer from Austin, Texas—Arden Daniels. A simple question from an outside perspective brings out an overdue confession in a roundabout way.

Warnings: cheesiness, flirting, Chris Evans absolutely doting on Nika Stan (yes it absolutely needs its own warning lol)

Word Count: 2770

A/N: This fic will feature a lot of implied signed dialogue, as two of the characters are a part of the Deaf Community. Dialogue expressed in ASL (American Sign Language) will appear in bold and italics preceded or followed by the proper indicators. Unless otherwise stated, regularly spoken dialogue will be used for interpretation purposes for characters who do not sign when mixed in with signed dialogue. As I, myself, am part of the Deaf Community and wanted to bring a character to the table that represented my own experience with my deafness, I DO NOT speak for all d/Deaf/HoH individuals nor the Community as a whole. I am but one person, these are MY OWN experiences. Happy reading!

"Are you sure you want to come to the Station with me tonight?" Chris asked, poking his head into the bathroom as he and Nika got ready to go.

"For the last time, Evans, I'm going. I'm not sitting around here waiting for shift to be over," Nika said, applying a small amount of antibiotic burn cream over her skin.

He put his hands up in surrender, leaning against the doorframe. He wouldn't offer to help her unless she indicated that she needed him to. "Alright, alright. I'll quit asking. I just want to make sure you're as ready to see everyone as they are to see you."

"Chris," she paused, looking over her shoulder, "I'll be fine, I promise. I'll take it easy and I'll let you or Lizzie or Scar know if I need to come home. Now, can you help me with my shoulder?"

Chris nodded and accepted the tube. He took his place behind her and moved her hair to the side revealing the wound on her shoulder to him. He gingerly rubbed a thin film of cream over the healing blisters. "It's looking better already."

Nika scoffed. She'd never really taken the time to look at herself in the mirror before, never really felt the need to. Since the fire, all she did was stare at her reflection.

"Hey," Chris said softly, "you're still just as beautiful now as you were before."

"Are you flirting with me, Evans?"

"Depends, is it working?"

"Maybe."

The two continued to stare at each other in the mirror; Chris's fingers idly glided over the rough skin of Nika's scar tissue. She watched intrigued as he leaned into his own touch of her skin instead of pulling away repulsed by the feeling as she would have been. Chris was good to her, too good, in ways Nika felt she hadn't earned.

As if he'd read her mind, he turned her around to face him, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. The pad of his thumb gently brushed over her cheek. Stop that. You don't need to earn my attention or my affection or my care.

Why are you so good to me? How can you just give me that much of your time so easily? Nika questioned, her hands moved furiously to highlight her frustration. Try as she might, she couldn't understand what he saw in her — more so now, thanks to the scarring left behind by the fire.

Chris understood that Nika's confidence had been shaken, he understood that she didn't see herself as she once had. It's simple, Nik. You're my best friend, it's yours if you want it.

The drive to the firehouse was quiet. Nika left her hearing aids at home, not wanting to burden herself with attempting to follow so many conversations. Chris was there to interpret for anyone who didn't sign, giving her a much needed break.

Chris pulled up outside of the station and looked over at Nika. He waited patiently for her to make a move or a sound or any indication that she was ready to go in. She sat still as a stone, amber eyes fixed on the brick and mortar building in front of them. Chris softly tapped her left knee with his right hand, grabbing her attention. You ok? Nervous?

Nika shook her head. No, not nervous. Indifferent.

We don't have to go in. We can go home. Whatever you want to do.

I want to go.

Then we go. Chris reached across the seat and grabbed Nika's hand. He slid his fingers through the spaces between hers, giving her palm a gentle squeeze. The soft look in his eyes was warm and calming, exactly as it had been in the mirror. He slowly brought their hands up to his mouth, softly brushed his lips over their tangled fingers, skimming her knuckles. Ready?

Nika answered with a small nod of her head, her eyes still trained on the spot where Chris's lips had touched her skin. His affection wasn't new to her, except the way in which it was being delivered. She communicated with her hands, and to have him now showing deeper levels of care to her with his own… Chris's touch was everything.

The passenger door opened to reveal Chris standing at her side, waiting to escort her into the station. His bright blue eyes found her smooth honey gaze, and a sense of ease washed over them both.

She took his hand when offered, smiling as she hopped out of the truck. Who is here tonight?

That you know? Scarlett, Lizzie, Scott, and myself.

Do they know about the fire?

Scott knows, he was with me when Seb called. Everyone else will know only if you want them to. Chris smiled reassuringly. He knew seeing everyone under the current circumstances would be a lot for her, but he hoped having at least him and his brother there would take some of the pressure off. The Evans brothers were good for interpreting, Elizabeth and Scarlett knew enough conversational signs, and Nika could get by fairly well on her own otherwise.

The warmth of the summer evening relaxed both Chris and Nika's nerves. He hummed softly as she leaned into the protective barrier his body offered, shielding her right side from further damage. He hadn't been there to protect her from the fire that had caused the initial injury, but he'd make sure no more harm came to her during her stay in Boston.

She tugged on his arm as they approached the firehouse and nodded toward the opened shutter doors of the apparatus bay where Scott was waiting for them.

Hey, Scotty. Long time, no see. Nika greeted the younger Evans brother, stepping away from Chris's side and giving Scott a hug.

Hey, Trouble. Glad to see you're up and moving. How's the arm?

Can't wait to get this cast off. I'm already tired of it and it's only been a week.

Scott chuckled, greeted his brother with a nod and quick hug of his own. "Chris, you two doing alright? Need anything?"

"No, Scott. We're good. Thanks," the older Evans answered. He adjusted Nika's backpack over his shoulder and watched her slip into a comfortable conversation with Scott. The brothers had been friends with Sebastian and Nika since the four of them were in grade school; when the Evans' family moved back to Boston when the boys were in middle school, every so often Chris and Scott or Nika and Sebastian would spend a weekend with their respective second family. Nothing could tear the bond they had apart.

As they got older, Chris grew closer with both of the Stan siblings while Scott branched out and made friends of his own. He still kept in touch, not as closely as his big brother had but enough to keep the bond with them alive.

Chris's brief trip down memory lane ended abruptly, when a surprised yet happy squeal from Nika met his ears. He turned to find her sprinting through the apparatus bay toward the back of the rigs, Elizabeth's brunette hair fanning out behind her as the two spun around in a reunited embrace. He caught up to them in time to see the sling slip from Nika's arm in all of the excitement.

He tapped her left shoulder and gestured to her right arm. Hey, careful! You're not 100% yet, Nik.

Whoops. Nice catch. Thanks, Cap. she blushed, biting at her lower lip as Chris helped her slip the sling back into place. She did her best to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks at the soft kiss he pressed into the side of her hair.

How long are you here? Elizabeth asked, drawing Nika's attention away from the Squad Captain.

Off duty until my wrist and burns heal, so I guess we'll see. Definitely long enough for girls night!

That's what I like to hear!

The girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Nika hadn't been back in Boston since her breakup three years prior; a nasty one that only Chris and Elizabeth knew the explicit details of. Girls nights had been out in hold in favor of the time and space she needed to work through what happened.

Chris carefully guided a happy and preoccupied Nika to the locker room, followed by Elizabeth, as the two desperately made plans for a much needed wine and gossip night. He knew better than to interrupt.

After depositing his and Nika's things into his locker, Chris finally decided he'd take a chance pulling her away from the party planning for a bit. He found the two friends huddled in a corner of the common area, chatting animatedly over two mugs of fresh coffee. Elizabeth alerted Nika to Chris approaching her from behind and she turned around with a warm smile.

Hey, what's up?

Not much. How's your arm?

Ok, a little sore. Lizzie and I are planning Girls Night.

Chris chuckled. He loved the way Nika's eyes lit up whenever she mentioned plans with their other friends, especially Elizabeth. The two of them were almost as inseparable as Chris and Elizabeth were, and he knew that whenever he couldn't be around for her, Elizabeth would be. He nodded at the brunette and gestured toward the offices.

Mind if I borrow Nik for a moment? There's someone I want you to meet.

Not at all, I need to find Scarlett anyway. I'll see you later. Elizabeth waved them off and went in search of the other paramedic.

So, who am I meeting? Nika asked, following Chris to his office. It'd been three years since she'd stepped foot in that small room, three years since she's been in Boston at all but it still looked exactly as she remembered.

Latest Squad transfer. I think you'll like her, he answered simply. He set her purse on his desk and led her back out to the apparatus bay.

As they rounded the corner, Nika noticed the woman across the bay next to the Squad rig who hadn't been there when they'd arrived. She had wavy chestnut brown hair about as long as Nika's and stood a couple inches shorter than Sebastian. From the back, she could be his twin—a thought that thoroughly disturbed the younger Stan sibling. As the woman turned, Nika noticed the glint of the lights off of something in her hair and squinted, trying to make out what it was.

What was that flash of light in her hair? she asked, pulling Chris to a stop before they approached.

Just go meet her. Please? For me? he said. He reached forward and gently touched her left shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly and tugging her forward with him. "Hey, Daniels. You got a moment?"

The woman paused her inspection of the Squad apparatus, and turned in the direction of Chris's voice. The light caught the strange piece in her hair and now that they'd moved closer, Nika recognized it as a cochlear implant.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" The woman's eyes shifted from her superior over to the younger woman standing next to him. She gave her a polite smile, but kept her professional composer as best she could in the presence of company.

Chris easily slipped back into ASL now that he had her attention, not wanting to leave Nika out of the conversation. He quickly made the proper introductions. Nik, this is Arden Daniels, the new transfer I was telling you about. Arden, this is my best friend in the entire universe and the most badass firefighter I have ever seen, Nika Stan. She's staying with me for a few days during recovery.

Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Arden relaxed, shook Nika's hand, and offered the man a small chuckle of her own. So, this is the girl you learned to sign for?

Nika didn't miss the way Chris's cheeks grew a light shade of pink at Arden's accusation, though all she could do herself was stare at her best friend and wait for his answer. She'd always wondered why he'd learned ASL but never thought to ask, assuming that like everyone else, that's just how things went.

I didn't learn for her. He shook his head with a soft smile. He glanced over at Nika whose warm amber eyes were trained on his face, and he couldn't look away. I learned because of her.

Isn't that the same thing? Arden continued once she'd had Chris's attention again.

No.

Arden, now interested in what Chris had to say, sat down on the bumper of the truck behind her. It'd become increasingly clear to Nika throughout this small interaction, that like herself, Arden's experience with hearing people wasn't always positive. Truth be told, she'd never really thought of Chris as "just another hearing person" because he'd never treated her as "just another hearing impaired" girl. But then again, their relationship was different entirely.

How is that not the same thing?

Because I could always learn to sign, but Nik could never learn to hear again. I learned ASL so that I could talk to my favorite person in the world without barriers.

He'd never admitted it before, at least not out loud. No one had ever asked except Sebastian once, and when Chris didn't immediately offer an answer, he didn't press the issue. After that, he never really thought about it. For Chris, it was self-explanatory. Why would you ask a Deaf person to accommodate you in a world that's made for you?

Well, now that that particular cat was out of the bag, Chris wondered how long it would be until Nika knew the truth of how he felt about her. He'd move heaven and hell to see her smile again, but he knew it wouldn't return until she was healed up and back on the job. He couldn't just let her go home after this, not when things were finally taking a step in the right direction.

The world needs more people like you, Captain. Hearing people who don't see us Deaf as something broken to be fixed. Arden said, grabbing Chris's attention once more.

If you think I'm great, you should meet Nik's brother. He taught me everything I know about being a good advocate for the Deaf Community.

Nika rolled her eyes at the mention of Sebastian. She loved her brother, but she was loving her time away from his overprotectiveness even more. Who do you think taught him what he knows? she joked, giving Chris a playful shove.

Arden couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she watched the two of them interact. Chris was a goner...it showed in the brightness of his smile and the melody of his laughter.

I'm going to get back to it. But Nika it was nice meeting you. And if you're still around after shift, I'd love to get your number before you go.

It was nice meeting you too. I'm sure I'll see you again before the night's over. Don't let Evans run you into the ground.

Chris put his hand to his chest in mock offense. Hey! I resent that. I am a fantastic Squad Captain.

Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, C.

The air between Chris and Nika was playful and electric. He led her back to his office in a comfortable silence, her left hand securely tucked into his right one. Both of them were coming down off of the excitement they shared with Arden, and the weight of his near-confession still hung just out of reach.

He shut the door behind her to give them some privacy.

So, what'd you think of Daniels?

Nika shook her head with a chuckle. Female Seb, but Deaf. It's weird.

I thought the same thing when I first met her. She's good at her job. he offered.

Hey, Chris?

Yeah, Nik? What's up?

Chris stopped in front of where Nika leaned carefully against his desk. She was staring down at her shoes, lost in thoughts she hadn't yet shared with him. He tucked his finger under her chin, lifting her head to meet his gaze. What's wrong?

I was just wondering… what are you doing with your time? Her soft honey eyes found his mesmerizing blue ones.

There in the quiet of his office, Chris did the one thing he'd been waiting to do for seven years—before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down and softly kissed Nika's lips.

It's yours if you want it.

To The End of All Things Taglist: @suitofvibraniumarmor @pinknerdpanda

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Sam x Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rating: Story will be overall MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and smut. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter when it includes smut.

Chapter 31

It felt like an eternity had passed before anyone had showed up. I was bouncing my knees nervously while watching out the windshield of the jet. It was Steve and James who ran into the hangar. T'challa was hot on their heels but so was Nat. I watched as Nat exchanged a few quick words with them then turned to face T'challa.

Steve and James ran onto the deck of the jet. Steve took the pilot seat next to me while James sat behind Steve. We all strapped in quickly since I already had everything ready for them. Just as Steve started to lift the jet off the ground I saw T'challa push past Nat then jump towards the jet. He must have missed because I didn't see or hear anything. Steve took off soaring quickly over the airport. I glanced to the side seeing Rhodey coming up beside us.

"Rhodey" I said aloud.

Steve glanced in my direction immediately noticing Rhodey flying next to us. He grabbed the handle shoving it upwards. The force pushed me back in my seat as we accelerated leaving Rhodey and the airport behind us.

"Where's Sam?" I asked after a few minutes of silence.

Steve sighed as he glanced back to James.

"He sacrificed himself so Buck and I could make it to the jet." Steve answered quietly.

I didn't dare ask anything else. I didn't want to know. I knew Sam wasn't dead. Tony and the others would have never went that far but I didn't want to know what was going to happen to Sam, Clint, Wanda, and the new guy. I had to keep my mind clear. For now at least.

Most of the trip was silent unless James was giving some kind of directions to Steve. It wasn't until we finally reached the snow capped mountains that James sighed.

"What's gonna happen to your friends?" He asked Steve quietly.

Steve was the one to sigh this time.

"Whatever it is, I'll deal with it." Steve said simply.

I could see the hesitation in his eyes. He didn't want to say he hoped he could deal with it which was probably closer to the truth.

"I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve." James said guilt clear all over his face.

I turned around in my seat to face him. He was looking down like he couldn't bare to look at either of us.

"What you did, all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice." Steve told him with a glance backwards.

"I know. But I did it." James practically grumbled.

"James Buchanan Barnes stop it. You can sit there and drown in guilt and self pity for everything that happened or you can man up and do something to try to make up for it." I said sternly.

James looked surprised but Steve chuckled softly. James gave me a small smirk then nodded. I knew it wouldn't be that easy but I had to try. I knew James' guilt would be much harder to fix.

Before I knew it Steve was landing the jet next to some kind of snow mobile on top of one of the snow covered mountains. As soon as the jet was on the ground we were unstrapping ourselves. James and I were the first ones up. He was quick to pull open the hidden self that was intended for Natasha. He pulled out two guns handing one to me then taking one for himself. After closing the shelf back we met Steve at the bay door. He pressed the button making the door start to open slowly.

"Remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?" Steve asked with a hint of a smile.

I didn't know the memory personally but the two of them had told me about that day. I had to stay home and help with Gracie that day.

"Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?" James asked with a smirk.

Steve chuckled softly.

"You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead." Steve corrected him.

A small wave of jealously swept over me at his words as James chuckled. I shook my head. That was way before any of this happened. No need to be jealous Willow.

"What was her name, again?" James asked.

"Dolores, you called her Dot." Steve shook his head.

"She's gotta be a hundred years old right now." James said softly.

"So are we pal." I told him with a small smile.

That made both men laugh and nod. We started down the ramp onto the snow and ice. The wind was wiping around us making me shiver. I was not dressed for snow. We walked a few feet away from the jet until we could see the entrance to the bunker. The door was clearly open.

"He can't have been here more than a few hours." Steve said with a slight unsure tone.

"Long enough to wake them up." James said simply.

A chill ran down my spine both from the cold and the thought of having to fight the guys James had described. We walked forward approaching the door hesitantly. James went inside first. His gun held up ready to fire. Steve was right behind him with his shield in hand. I took the rear keeping my gun as ready as I could.

We stepped into a small room with nothing but an old metal elevator. We got into the small space. I was crammed between both men with no room to move. The elevator moved quickly to my surprise. When it stopped Steve opened the metal cage barrier.

The building we stepped into was clearly old. Bits of the walls were chipped and cracked. Every surface was covered in dust and spider webs. Just the look of the place was eerie enough. We started up a small flight of stares. James leading, I was in the middle, and Steve took the rear. Just as James reached the top step a loud thud echoed through the building. All three of us whipped around staring back towards the elevator. The door creaked loudly.

"You ready?" Steve asked as he crouched below us.

His shield was covering most of his body. My gun was raised ready to fire. James' gun was aimed right over my shoulder. The metal elevator door was slowly pried open. When I saw who it was I didn't know how to feel. Should I be relieved or even more terrified?

The full head to tow Iron Man suit stepped into the hallway. He stopped then the face mask disappeared revealing the face of Tony Stark.

"You seem a little defensive." He said in his usual sarcastic tone.

"Its been a long day." Steve sighed.

None of us moved. We each kept our weapons at the ready and our eyes trained on Stark.

"At ease, soldiers. I'm not currently here for him." Tony said gesturing to James.

"Then why are you here?" Steve asked sternly.

Tony walked forward a few steps.

"Could be your story's not so crazy. Maybe. Ross has no idea I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I gotta arrest myself." Tony explained shrugging nonchalantly.

Steve stepped towards Tony caustiously.

"Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork." Steve told him.

Tony scoffed playfully. Steve lowered his shield. I followed Steve's lead lowering my gun but James kept his aimed over my shoulder.

"Its good to see you, Tony." Steve said softly with a nod.

"You too, Cap." Tony smiled.

Tony then turned toward James and I.

"Hey, Manchurian Candidate, you're killing me. There's a truce here. You can drop-" Before Tony could finish Steve raised his hand towards James.

James instantly lowered his gun. The four of us made our way through the dusty building trying to find the man behind all of this and hopefully not a handful of murderous winter soldiers. The further in we went the worse the place looked. It certainly seemed something had happened here. Panels of glass were broken and shattered. Some had indents of bodies. We made our way down a narrow hall which opened up into a much larger room. Lights flickered on almost immediately illuminating several chambers like the ones I had been found in. They all hissed faintly as smoke drifted out from them. As far as I could see none of the soldiers had been woken up. Not yet at least.

"If its any comfort, they died in their sleep." A voice echoed over what sounded like a speaker.

We stepped further into the room to inspect the chambers. I noticed the small bullet holes right away. One hole in the glass and another in the man's forehead. He killed them? All of them?

"Did you really think I wanted more of you?" The voice questioned.

"What the hell?" James asked under his breath.

"I'm grateful to them, though. They brought you here." The voice said.

A small light flicked on in the back of the room illuminating the face of the doctor. Steve reacted instantly throwing his shield at him. All it did was make a loud thud then come flying right back at the Captain.

"Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets." The doctor chuckled.

We all started slowly walking towards his illuminated face.

"I'm betting I could beat that." Tony told him confidently.

"Oh, I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time. But then you'd never know why you came." He smiled sinisterly.

"You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here?" Steve asked in disbelief.

Steve walked ahead of us putting himself only inches from the glass the doctor was hiding behind.

"I've thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you're standing here, I just realized, there's a bit of green in the blue of your eyes." The man said coldly then chuckled.

I stood next to James with my gun raised just like his. I tried hard not to let my confusion show on my face. I didn't understand this situation at all.

"How nice to find a flaw." He added.

"You're Sokovian. Is that what this is about?" Steve asked him.

"Sokovia was a failed state long before you blew it to hell. No. I'm here because I made a promise." He sneered at the Captain.

"You lost someone?" Steve asked.

"I lost everyone. And so will you." He spat.

A screen like an old computer monitor clicked on behind Steve. We all turned to face it.

"An empire toppled by its enemy can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever." He said menacingly.

The screen was static for a moment then showed a survelliance video of an old dirt road. Tony and I stepped closer to it.

"I know that road." Tony whispered.

He turned to the doctor.

"What is this?" He shouted.

I jumped slightly as a car suddenly appeared on screen as it crashed. A second later a motorcycle came onto the screen. The rider got off the bike as the driver's door opened. The biker effortlessly pulled open the trunk of the car. The driver, an older man with silver hair fell to his knees in the dirt. He started to crawl towards the other man.

"Please, help my wife." He begged weakly then coughed.

The biker stepped over to the man grabbing him by the hair of his head then pulled his face back for the camera to see. A small gasp escaped me. That was Howard Stark. A much older Howard Stark but it was him no doubt about it. Tony's entire body went ridged next to me.

"Sergeant Barnes" Howard croaked in shock.

My heart stopped as Tony's head snapped over to James. He was standing with his head hung low. He already knew what this was.

"Howard" a woman's voice cried.

I closed my eyes turning from the screen as James began to punch Howard in the face repeatedly. I only opened my eyes again when I heard the woman scream for Howard. James put the body back in the driver's seat then made his way to the woman on the other side. I felt the tears fall down my cheeks as I watched him choke the life out of her. Then he simply shot out the camera and the video ended.

—