#Lotto 2-Sure

[mycryptosuite]

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[sharksupermacy]

wave

wave - non-idol! danielle marsh x non-idol! reader

synopsis: you and danielle didn't talk to each other in school.. but will that change when you you were forced to do a project together?

genre: fluff, mutual pining, english project, orange bowl being doing the most , non-idol! dani x non-idol! reader

it was nice to get away from the busy city of seoul and go to a quieter place like new castle.

you were new to australia. new to the culture, place, and people. your parents decided it was the best decision to send you abroad to australia during middle school to further improve your english.

the best word you could describe your time 2 year stay in australia so far was with was peculiar. you could never find something predictable while staying there, the variety of native animals and bugs, the people in your school, sometimes what street you were going down, and which beach was busy on what days.

however, there were things you found very predictable, what time shops would open, relatively what time the buses would arrive, and what time the convince shop open that you bought breakfast from.

then there was danielle, the girl in your english class. she fit into both of these categories. it was always easy to predict what people were going to say about her or how she was swarmed every day, but in contrast, you could never figure out her actions.

despite being the most popular person in the school, she always sat right next to you in english class. there were people clamming around you who would gladly have danielle sit next to themselves, but she always chose to sit next to you. the highlight of your day was when you could always see all her cute doodles in her notebooks and colorful highlighters spread out on her desk. both of you didn't talk that much in class or outside of class due to you both being in different groups.

she preferred to hang around her soccer teammates, and you tended to hang around art kids. never having the chance to see another. expect in class, where all you two shared was a quick glance and a smile at each other. however, that was all about to change one day with one fateful assignment.

"okay class! we're going to do partner assignments, and guess what we're doing by lotto! so everyone put your name down on a slip of paper and put it into this lovely orange bowl," your teacher stated.

she ripped a stack of sticky notes in half and told a student to distribute them as she looked back to her computer. as the sticky notes were being passed out, you could hear a couple of rows down a bunch of your classmates whispering about wanting to be with danielle for this project as they slowly walked up to the bowl, tossing the paper into the bowl. when you got your sheet of paper, you wished that danielle was your partner so you could finally muster the courage to talk to her.

slowly but surely, once the orange bowl of fate had filled out, soon the names were filed out along with reactions from students. what types of reactions were varied—some disappointment, happiness, maybe even confusion. but that all had stopped when danielle name was pulled out of the bowl. all the class was ever so curious of name that would be pulled out the bowl even you . imagine the shock when it was you who was pulled out of that fateful bowl. she had looked over you with a surprised face, reaching for your hands as she pulled them up and exclaimed, she exclaims out, "omg, y/n, my desk buddies, we get to be project buddies!!"

those six words, you were hooked. the rest of english class flew by as both of you exchanged numbers, promising that you would both text each other when you got home. you reassured your loudly beating hearts that this was purely for the project and not for any other reason.

when you arrived home, you received a small ding from your phone when setting it down to take off your shoes. you picked your phone up off the ground and set it, only to see that the notification was from no one other than dani.

danielle from english: hi, y/n!!! about the english project, is it ok that we meet up after school tmr so we can work on the project at my house

cutie from english: hi danielle!! yea tmr work just fine!! does meeting you at the front of school work?

danielle from english: you can call me dani! (if your comfortable) yep front of school work just fine!!

cutie from english: ok dani!! see you tmr!!

danielle from english: you too y/n!!

with that, you had returned to your aunt's apartment in melbourne, which she had graciously let you use during your stay for the past two years. plugging in your phone as you finished your other assignments on your laptop, looking up at the time from the living room floor where papers had been laid out. 8:00 p.m., deciding to make yourself dinner before passing out.

the day has passed sooner than expected, and now you are out front of the school, waiting for dani to come pick you up. scrolling on your phone while waiting near the school tree for her to come. 

"BOO!" a figure behind you said as you jumped, scared from the surprise attack. when you turned around, all you were met with was a smiling dani. "Hi y/n!!!" she said exciditely. "sorry for the scare, but you were too cute to resist," she giggled out.

she called you cute. your heart was beating loudly in your ears due to being scared (and well, dani too), but you smiled at her. "shall we go?" you said, reaching your hand out to dani. 

"we shall," dani said. both you and her were off towards her house. who knows? maybe both of you confessed to each other, but that's a story for another time. for now, you were content with having danielle to share the now with.

a/n: ngl this was harder to write than i thought it be also the text colours legit just remind of macdonald as this point- i cant never not unsee it!!! (HELP!))

[gottalovetumbler]

TF141 Zombie Apocalypse AU pt.2

Info: very gory and decently dark, cussing, slavery-esk, kinda obsessive too

Setting info: so I live in Colorado so this story is widely based on where I live and the Denver airport. To help set the scene I’ve included a picture I took outside of my house to show where the main character and Johnny live.

Anyways I hope y’all enjoy!

————————

“For the last damn time we are not going anywhere near Denver!”

“Come on bonnie! Juist imagine the untouch’d mail thare! It woul’ be like gettin the winnin lotto ticke’ !”

“Yea but instead of walking away with a shit ton of cash we’d be walking into a shit ton of zombies! Also don’t forget the sign saying to stay away from the airport.”

“Ah come on, whan has thon sign iver been richt aboot anything? remember earlier this year whan it says,’best outpost this side o the rockies juist 15 miles south.’ an then the same outpost blew up no e'en 2 months later. Tha’ sign has alway’ been full o lies.”

“No that sign has always been full of false hope, not lies. And it sure as hell has never been used as a warning sign, especially with how far whoever wrote it must have traveled to get up here. Whatever they’re warning people about, it’s serious and we’re gonna heed it. End of discussion.”

With that, you flip and stalk up to your house. Pulling open the door you walk in but don’t hear the door slam shut behind you so you know he’s followed you in. Of course he has, it’s your turn to cook dinner so he’ll be here all night.

“But Bonnie, it’s only aboot an hour drive.”

He whined, shutting the storm door and following you to the kitchen.

“It used to be an hour drive Johnny, 5 fucking years ago before the world went to shit. Do you know how many pileups and walkers there are in that city? Too many.”

You glance up from the pot you were stirring. The soup just about done and the scent wafting around making both your stomach growl. You’ve solemnly seen Johnny so defeated, the last time you saw him this bad was the day he turned up on your door step 2 years ago.

“Listen, I get it I do. It’s hard being in the middle of nowhere, nothing to do or to see. I get it I promise, I grew up here. But the possibility of finding some cool package meant for some chick named Racheal at the FedEx hub is not worth the risk. It just isn’t.”

“Yea you’re richt. The packages aren’t worth the risk o ane o us gettin hurt or worse,’ you turn your gaze back to the oven, glad you’ve finally got through to him. It sucks being stuck here but atleast you’re both safe-,’neither are the animals. They deserve tae stay trappit where they are because they just….. aren’t worth the risk. Right Bonnie?”

The glare you send his way just about lays him on his ass. The cocky smirk he sends you makes you nearly explode with anger. How fucking dare he use the defenseless animals against you.

“You and I both know any animals trapped down there are long gone and sadly there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Maybe…… but wha’ if they aren’t? Ye gonna let thaim suffer alone a scared while ye sit here eatin chicken noodle soup?”

———

Back before the outbreak, you thought no car rides would ever be worse than the family road trips you used to go on yearly. They were full of anger and arguing, mainly between your parents but what you would give to be back there. Not just because you miss your parents, you do, but because if you hear Johnny sing one more damn Rihanna song, you may just give yourself to the zombies.

“Umbrella-ella-ella-eh-eh-eh, Under my Umbrella-ella-ella-eh-“

“Johnny, shut the fuck up! You don’t need to sing this song 50 times in a row! I promise you’ll live if you stop singing.”

“For all ye know bonnie, ma beautiful voice coud be the one thin’ keepin us safe so hou aboot ye respect it a bit more? hmmm?”

“I highly doubt that if your voice is keeping things away, it’d be because it’s beautiful.”

He turns to you with an eyebrow raised but before he can retort, the large (and frankly, ugly) FedEx logos appears. Sun damaged and looks to have been half plowed down by a minivan, but recognizable non the less. You can’t tell if it’s the tires or Johnny squealing as he veers the car towards the front doors.

———

It’s been 4 hours since you pulled up to this God-forsaken warehouse and you’ve barely glanced through half the packages, let alone open and look at them like Johnnys doing.

“How much longer are you gonna take? I’d like to leave before I begin turning to dust if possible.” You ask/complain as you sit on a Samsung fridge new in box, probably cost more than 2k before but now it’s nothing more than a crappy bench. You guys spend another hour loading all the ‘good’ stuff into the trunk of the car and begin the long trek home.

It was about 4 am when you started the journey down and it’s just about to get to 9:30 pm as you make your way back up. On the drive back you guys stick to the highways instead of the side roads/land. It looks like when shit hit the fan almost everyone started making their way south to try and get out of the city, clogging up the roads while the north bound road had a few straggling cars but no big blocks luckily.

“Grumpy, grumpy. Absolutely na respect for the hunt. Back whan A wis i the military A usit tae have tae sit still i ane spot for hours hopin tae catch a glance at the missions target. Aye could hunt for hours an niver get borit.”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your time in the military in a few months.” You say staring straight ahead at the ‘road’ (it’s a fucking field) processing what he said for a moment. “Do you miss it?”

“Miss wha’ exactly?”

“Ya’know the missions and the ‘doing the greater good.’ Getting the bad guys and putting them down.”

“A dae miss the missions a little bit, ay. But A miss ma fellow soldiers more. We were a family, a found on’ but on’ nonetheless.”

You guys banter and talk for a bit more, effectively killing time till you have to inevitably had back north. Luckily the drive down wasn’t too bad since you were able to cut through fields and avoid any towns with ease.

If there’s one thing zombie movies and shows got wrong, it was the amount of zombies walking the earth. Sure, there used to be about 7 billion living people and that number has now dropped to a measly 400 million. But that doesn’t mean every other body is a current zombie. In the beginning there were loads but as the years went on and more were killed, the hoards became far and few between. On the drive down you guys maybe encountered 10 or 15 zombies, majority once you reached Denver. The drive back you’ll probably only see 5 to 10, if that.

You’d about halfway out when the car starts the slow. Your head had just knocked the door in your attempt to get some shut eye so your heart was already pounding as Johnny hit the breaks. Looking up you expect to see a pile up, a hoard or maybe worse, survivors, but all your met with is an open road. Glancing to your left to see what Johnny’s looking at you follow his gaze to your right and see a giant sign for the airport.

“No Johnny don’t even think about it. We talked about this, whoever wrote that sign was truly scared of whatever’s in that airport so we’re aren’t going anywhere near it.”

He shoots you a quick glance, studying your quirked eyebrow before he mutters a quick, ‘Sorry Bon.’ and veers toward the airport. Stupidly (don’t this at home kids) you reach for the steering wheel while yelling at him to stop. The second you get both hands on the wheel he grabs your wrists with one and holds them to his chest. Still muttering apologies as he reaches 60 mph and weaves through stopped vehicles. One too many close calls cause you to shut your eyes tightly waiting for the inevitable impact. A few minutes later you both come to a stop on the top floor of the DIA parking garage.

As he put the car in park and looks over, he expects you to yell or maybe even slap him. What he didn’t expect were the fat tears rolling down your face and you stared petrified at the entrance.

“Juist a quick in an oot ok? We’ll be back home i na time- oh bonnie i’m sorry ok, I’m so sorry.”

He pulls you in for a hug and strokes a hand down the back of your head and spine a few times.

“Ye don’t have tae gae i gin ye don’t want tae ok? A juist have tae see somethin for ma own piece o mind but ye can stay oot here.”

As if you could have gotten more upset at that moment. Pulling back from him you shoot him the most scandalized look. “And what Johnny, leave you alone to fucking die in there? ‘sniff’ No I’m coming in with you, but don’t think just because I’m going in either you means I forgive you for this.”

You both waited for your tears to stop and your breathing to even out before you steeped out of the car and up to the once working sliding glass doors. Newspaper had been plastered up and covered all the windows, you just hope it’s to keep zombies out and not in. Producing a crow bar from the trunk, Johnny wedges the doors open and you both sneak inside. You’re up on the second floor and begin walking around, passing the small shops and gates as you went. Up ahead you both see one of those floor cut outs with the railings where you can look over the edge to the lower levels.

When you first pulled up, there were no signs of life but as you draw closer to the viewpoint you begin to see faint light and hear voices. Shucking off the little stuff you brought in, you and Johnny lay flat to the ground and begin to army crawl toward the ledge, hoping to catch a glimpse at whoever’s down below.

The sight your met with makes you feel a bit sick, whether that due to the amount of zombies or what’s happening to them your not sure. Down below is a giant wheel, that seems to be hooked up to a generator, being pulled in circles by 20-30 of them. It isn’t unheard of for people to keep zombies and use them for some sort of manual labor but it is looked down upon. Just put the poor bastards out of their misery and let the rest.

Transfixed on the hoard you almost miss the very obviously human man walking up to one of the limping zombies that’s not moving quite as fast as he’d like. He stands there watching the poor thing drag its bum right leg for a good 30 seconds before it crumples to the ground.

Not even a second after the zombies knees hit the ground, the human man unchains it and begins dragging it away. The second he grabs the things shirt it begins to beg? You look to the right and meet Johnnys equally wide eyes, both of you realizing the sickening truth. Those aren’t zombies, those are fucking people.

Seemingly rritated by this, he begins dragging the human mam towards a wall. Clearly this is not a good wall because he begins to fight and yell, trying to get free but is quickly overpowered and chained up onto the wall. A bright light flicks on suddenly, momentarily blinding you as it points towards the man. Your heart skips a beat as you read the words over the top of the man’s head and holy shit you’re gonna be sick.

‘Johnny MacTavish, a traitor’

You look back over at Johnny but he’s transfixed on what’s happening below, unable to pull his wide and terrified eyes away. As the man walks away a new one appears with an all too happy voice.

“Oh Johnny, we finally found you! Do you know how hard it’s been withou' you all these years? I’ve missed you so dearly brother.”

The new man is clearly crazy because judging by the state of the wall this is not the first ‘Johnny’ to be chained up there. He approaches the chained man with a cart of knives and other torture items and from this far you can still see his manic grin. Not wanting to see the way this plays out you turn back to Johnny to say you guys need to leave but as your eyes slide over to his you catch something straight across from you on the opposite side of the opening.

Sitting in the same position as you, is a masked face. Just staring, not moving, just laying there watching you both. You kick Johnny to get him out of whatever trance he was in and before he can question you, your pointer finger directs his gaze to the man across the way. As Johnny makes eye contact with him his body grows frigid and he quickly stand pulling it up with him. The masked man tilts his head and slowly stands as-well, mirroring your movements perfectly.

Johnny grabs your hand and before you can even process the masked man running towards you both, he’s yanking you towards the exit.

———————

[fuck-customers]

I got to have my own "Sir, this is a Wemdy's" moment the other day at the movie theater.

Guy: *walks in and starts walking towards the back without giving me a ticket*

Me: "Hi :) I need to get your ticket."

Guy: *points at popcorn counter* "I'm just checking the lotto numbers."

Me: "Lotto? We don't sell lotto tickets."

Guy: "Sure you do, I just bought some."

Me: "We don't sell lotto tickets. This is a movie theater?"

Guy: *in the "I can't believe you don't know this" voice* "You sure about that?"

Me: "Yes."

He still wouldn't believe me so I ended up calling for a manager.

Me: "He wants to buy lotto tickets from concessions."

Manager: *confused* "We don't sell lotto tickets."

Guy: "Oh."

Manager: "Maybe you're confusing us with the gas station down the street."

Guy: "That's probably it." *leaves*

Like, he seemed a bit drunk but I'm not sure how much you'd need to drink to confuse us with a gas station. It's an 80,000 square foot building. Even the biggest house I've ever lived in would comfortably fit in the lobby, where this conversation was taking place.

Also, I hate it when people refuse to take my answer but immediately accept it when the manager says the same thing. I've worked here for 8 years. The manager you're talking to has been here less than 2. I trained him when he was new. He double checks with me when he's not sure about policy lol. (I do not want to be a manager)

Side note, you know those car air fresheners that people hang off their rear-view mirror? The lotto guy had one of those, but sculpted from tin foil, hanging off his hat. Which isn't relevant but it's something I've never seen before lol

Posted by admin Rodney.

[butteronabun]

i just love how charmingly sassy and determined the firey lady Ragnvindr is.

also i can see her having a geo or dendro vision , but the story i have in mind plays out the same way ; the future lady Ragnvindr , being utterly fed up with the lack of information on this troublesome 'dark knight hero' decides to take matters into her own hands by catching this rogue in the act.

every time that blasted fool in the black cloak is mentioned in the papers , diluc comes home to her injured ..

so one way or another , she's giving that damned vigilante hell to pay for getting her dear Diluc hurt!

thus a trap was set for the so-called hero , and how later that night diluc the dark knight hero found himself on his knees and chained to a stone stele / bound up snug by an irate pair of overgrown fanged flowers and dangling a few feet off the ground .

when first trying to free himself , diluc the dark knight hero was quietly impressed by the effort that was put into capture him.

after his restraints didn't give , he tried to reach for his weapon when his captor spoke up from behind him.

"as pretty as you are trapped like this , im still rather tempted to just throw you to the Knights and let you be their headache for a change" an annoyed voice growled from the darkness ,with the light from the lantern belonging to the voice somewhat blinding diluc the hero as his captor walks up to him and plucks his weapon out of his reach.

the future lady Ragnvindr was quietly examining her quarry's weapon when the sound of that damned hero trying to free himself started up again.

(geo version)

"why , you little-!" and with an annoyed growl , she tightened up the chains on the stone stele and just to make sure that fool didn't get cocky again ; locks were applied to all of his shackles and to add insult to injury , a collar was locked on his neck and it was structured so he couldn't turn his head..

(dendro version)

"why you little-!" and with an annoyed growl , a 3rd fanged flower joined its brethren in re-adjusting the restraints of the thorn in their mistress' side .

the 3 fanged flowers take great joy in further tangling the great hero up in the vines , only pausing to laugh and clap their leaves when their prey makes an unexpected noise.

once the 3 fanged flowers' collective giggling died down , they present their work to their mistress. and before they could fall into another round of raucous laughter ,with a snap of her fingers the flowers are replaced with 2 sturdy constructs holding - wait is he blushing?

~~~~~~~~

"e v e r y damn time , you're in the news , diluc ends up injured somehow .. so keep you hands off of him , or things will get unpleasant for you" , the last line was punctuated with her grabbing the collar of her boyfriend's that pain in her butt's shirt.

------------------------------

(≧﹏ ≦) can't believe i lost steam at the end , or it got this long , and lewd OTL

but yeah , i bet that before he revealed his true identity to her , lady Ragnvindr wasn't very fond of the dark knight hero.

and well , wouldn't you get protective of diluc when there's a shady vigilante up to something running 'bout mondstat at night?

OMGSJHDJS OMGSHAHDB - i’m sorry it took a while to answer this, but thank you for sending this to me, tumblr user rebecca-lotto! sorry it took me a while, i had been busy with finals + personal life. plus, i’m currently sick as i reply to this so i hope all this makes sense!

more darknight hero & lady of the house shenanigans under the cut:

this scenario is amazing, i’m eating it bit by bit, i also love how sassy and determined the lady ragnvindr is too, because UH-HUH‼️‼️ S Q U A R E U P, being diluc ragnvindr’s wife may seem like paradise, but it will also has its cons—not because of diluc but because of society’s expectations and what-not— so she’ll have to really toughen up! and that’s why she’s just so admirable. <3 ( ngl i would love to write more of lady ragnvindr with her maids before she got married to diluc so we can get a glimpse of her struggles, but that will be for another time! )

anyway, GOOOOSH. honestly i thought that pyro vision suits the lady ragnvindr better due to her fiery personality or fighting / courageous spirit, but hey, i’m open-minded, and i’ll say - you won me over with the lady using a dendro vision! 😍

i find it the idea of the lady ragnvindr being a victim to the “correlation is not causation” thing funny and perhaps, accurate and canon because her not putting two and two together is just so adorable AGKDJDK ( but also, don't get me wrong, i'm pretty sure our lady is intelligent, she just has her #CloudyMoments at times, and that's ok - she's still human! ) in this event, i’m assuming that this happened before marriage? when diluc still had yet to open up about his night duties?

also pleaaaaase. the fact that diluc can seriously and easily get rid of or escape the vines but chose not to because of his future spouse getting angry at him. . . and even blushing, at that. he’s incredibly more allured or captivated than ever by her. 🫣 ( or maybe she's just really strong and diluc's weak for her. . . so many possibilities hshdjf )

imagine too if the lady removes the mask while rambling on and on how she’ll not let him go for inflicting harm to her lover until she stops when she sees the lovely red eyes she’d grown to adore. “oh.”

diluc just blushes harder. “can you let me down, darling?”

the lady just stares at him. then, she narrows his eyes at him. “i’m still not letting you go. i ought to teach you a lesson.” which translates to = let me take care of your wounds first and we’ll be TALKING LOTS!

Also, it really is impressive that you’re the one who manages to catch him, unlike the Knights who have been trying for years. Well, it makes sense since you’re the only one he’ll allow himself to let his guard down . . . 🥹

[imaginespazzi]

~Resending just in case. Disregard if you come across the original ask in the meantime but wanted to follow up in case (dont want you thinking Ive disappeared). I know your inbox is crazy and youve been busy~

Hi hi! Whats new bestie?

Well agreed w both your sentiments re Lou. Especially the pretty comment, obvs (🙄 @ self)

The Mystics situation really is wild. Like it seems almost impossible, so many factors have had to play into it. But yes in the end theres practically no justification for losing yourself two lotto picks. Especially in a pretty strong draft class! Im clinging onto the possibility that they still dont become the 8th seed for dear life until I cant..

Yeah, curious because really it seems the dawg camp w Kate & Georgia provide even a remote association. Hard to guess, but Im confident a large portion of it wouldve just been L/A complaining to one another (lovingly) about their significant others.

Ahaha thanks for sharing w us fellow nonny. Can always count on Amoore for being slightly unhinged and a bit too revealing.. I do miss their lunacy! And hey I think its just someone who shares our affinity for following sports (off field/court) drama lol. 'The One' is a highly appropriate song for that pair me thinks 🫤

Wishing you a nice start to the week -☕️

BESTIE HI I'M SORRY I'M ANSWERING THIS SO LATE

Well they didn't become the 8th seed...but yeah 2 lottery picks is out of the window which ugh *deep sigh* and I just don't know what they doing. All these firings but we know for sure that *one* is gonna stay because uh duh.

Yes I could only see them meeting through those people but like it still seems so random. I mean after all this time; I just reall wanna know how they met.

Seeing Amoore in Kentucky colors was kinda insane and I just suddenly wondered how Liz might have felt about it I guess.

[klaudia2646]

David is now talking to me. Like nothing happened. 🙄🙄🙄 I hate when he does that. I have a feeling that the dogs woke him up early this morning to go out and he probably wanted me to get up but I swear I didn’t hear anything, I was completely out until he slammed the door. I mean, he could had woke me up and asked me to let them out. I wouldn’t have cared.

Halloween boxes went up. I have a box of fall decorations but I’m not going to bring it down, there may be a wreath and maybe one more thing and that’s it.

We got tickets to go to the Dominican Republic in March. We thought about going there in December but it’s too expensive. We’ll leave from Cedar Rapids and will have 2 layovers, Charlotte and Miami, I hate the Miami airport. Coming back we go through Miami and Orlando. Then, we have to board the dogs, by the time we pick them up we’ll have to pay close to 800. I need to start playing the lotto, even if I win 400 it would be a help. It used to be so much easier and cheaper when I lived in Arkansas.

For sure now I really have to go on the diet. At least I have several months to get ready for that. It gives me anxiety.

[agallimaufryofoddments]

When Huey tells Victor in Vol. 14 that his second-worst memory is "being unable to save my wife's life back in my hometown," and Victor musters a "...Hey.", that's him reliving watching Lucrezia's ship explode and conducting a frantic, futile search for Lucrezia afterword. 100% that. Even if Narita hadn't planned that part of 1711 yet.

Of all the things for Victor to have in common with Huey outside of their alchemic/scholarly mindsets, Narita chooses the most emotionally charged option via "long-dead lady loves" ...who remain the dead women in Victor & Huey's interrogation room because Victor has a job to do and Huey's not about to tell Victor that Lucrezia is, in fact, not at all dead.

Every. Single. Interrogation. Huey cordially indulges Victor while sitting pretty on the knowledge that he sent Lucrezia some sweet immortality elixir back in the day. (So did Fermet and Elmer, but who's counting?)

(Can you imagine Huey idly telling Victor as much in 2003 and Victor having to briefly contemplate the idea that Lucrezia is alive thanks to Huey? Victor's brain fries on the spot, already overheated with outrage that Huey's not only known but been in contact with Lucrezia.)

Huey could—if permitted to prove his claims—utter a few names, locations, and other details that might lead Victor towards a reunion with his 21X-years-deceased lady love within the month.

He doesn't do that since revealing he's connected to the Dormentaires would be a Stupid Thing to do. Sure, jeopardize 1935, why don't you.

He doesn't do it because I imagine that Lucrezia, at any point post-1711, would have reminded Huey to keep her a secret from Victor (should H & V meet again). Perhaps she'd even make that a petty stipulation in some deal.

He doesn't because watching an emotional man express complicated emotions over a long-dead, tricksome lover might be some sort of health hazard. Watching Mr. Emotions express raw anticipation of reuniting with his tangible, alive, never dead loved one might even be self-harm. Eh, but who says Huey still has a self to harm? Being immune to situations like this is his specialty.

(He doesn't because, hey, Victor already has the alive dame. Huey does not.)

Telling Victor about his desire to reunite with Monica is...not happening. Never mind any jabs Victor could make about Huey being loveless and unloveable; imagine what a waste of time it would be to trigger Victor thinking of Lucrezia and getting sentimental. Well, more than the "save my wife...hometown" line did.

Victor is sentimental about her. This is the man who signs off his reports to Lucrezia with "Yours alone" (LN17, Interlude II & III) while knowing he isn't "hers alone." In that second Interlude, he admits, "If I get the chance, I’d like to board that boat, too," but immediately quells Lucrezia's imagined fears by adding, "Don’t worry, I won’t leave for America on my own."

He probably wouldn't have, given his incentive to remain on Lucrezia's (much smaller!) continent. His love for Lucrezia gently tethers him and his scholar-adventurer's spirit. This is the man who came to Lotto Valentino "hoping to find was something out of some heroic drama, an evil secret society," and personally expose their dastardly deeds" (Interlude I). Szilard had mocked him. "What’s wrong with that, though?" Victor writes. "Alchemists can dream, can’t they?"

They can also go around picking anti-slavery fights with aristocrats, aka Victor's hobby. They can dream of exploring America, a land far from the immediate reach of said aristocrats, and conduct pioneering research, especially if they fancy themselves "a scholar by nature (with) a thirst for knowledge," like Victor still does in 1935-A, Ch. 2.

Victor's sense of justice presumably drove Victor into the employment of the federal government, whenever that first happened, but we've less information on when and why Victor became as patriotic as he acts. I think Victor has a longstanding need to be somebody with a cause, whether that's the dashing hero who liberates a town from an evil society, the activist who confronts pro-slavery aristocrats, the noble scholar who pursues and generates knowledge...

...or, in this case, an agent of a governing body who has sworn to support and defend (the Constitution) of the United States against all foreign and domestic (Huey) terrorists. Lucrezia will die of old age someday. Szilard is hunting us immortals down; so much for guaranteed eternity. This young nation is fragile—but what might it evolve into, in this land beyond the Old World's stuffy reach? If Victor perhaps becomes the Patriot for a sense of greater purpose, he may develop some genuine loyalty as he watches young America evolve over the decades, from rebelling against his former countrymen in the Revolution to choosing the path of emancipation.

(And perhaps he envies all the inventors and scientists who America keeps spitting out or inviting in from overseas. Patriot life nowadays is relegated to deskwork; Huey is busy tinkering with all sorts of contraptions and keeping busy with alchemy while Victor is reaming out some newbies in an office for the sake of a short-lived ego boost. This Victor has lived through wars and atrocities that the Victor who was ill one day into Lotto Valentino could never foresee.)

If Lucrezia still has (copies of) those reports, maybe she'll have remembered that Victor mentioned Niki in them and therefore decide to include Niki as part of the surprise, without any forewarning of Niki's inclusion. "Remember Niki? You mentioned her in your reports from Lotto Valentino, but that was so long ago." Niki was with her when they had that close shave with Victor and Jessica, which ~~along with some B! fics~~ means I have to entertain the possibility of a double surprise.) I mean, what if Victor had spotted them? It's not impossible.

If Victor sees Niki outright, that 'damnably ill' sickness he felt in Lotto Valentino may very well resurge.

He absolutely will remember Niki because he was impressed by the strength she had for a young person who endured what she did. "I think it was so painful that she had to maintain that distance to be able to speak of it at all," he writes to Lucrezia (LN17, Interlude I). He attempts a joke about Niki being no match for Lucrezia, but it's just a feeble coping method for writing about Niki's "revolting" account.

There's little doubt that Victor and Lucrezia will slip back into their romantic groove once the dust is settled, but I do...think perhaps this older, changed Victor ought to acknowledge the dust first. I'm not sure I want him to revert to 1711!Victor and react the same way he did when he learned that Lucrezia faked her death, nor react like Carla did, since Carla was similarly young. The timeframes aren't comparable.

(I'm vaguely reminded of Archangelo confronting Renee over the downright evil (his words) activities she's carrying out at Nebula. It's not the same level of badness, at all, but the "what are you thinking" approach has something to it.)

I am somewhat interested in a scenario where Victor learns about the homunculi experiments and Huey's "Monica" motive, because I can imagine Victor getting drunk and saying "wow, I handled the loss of my love infinitely better than Huey / At least I didn't create sentient beings and put them through stressful experiments all in the name of reuniting with a dead loved one / Holy shit what the fuck."

[emdotcom]

Huh.

So, about 2 months back, I "lost" my driver's license. I thought I knew why -- I took it out of my wallet to buy a lotto & put it back in my bag. My bag's zipper was broken, though, so it probably fell out, at some point. So, I got an appointment to get a replacement -- that appointment was supposed to be today. I stressed over this a lot, for various reasons, but I hunted down my folder of important documents & was getting anxious to get ready for the thing. Well, I was giving the folder a look-over, making sure I had back-ups for my back-ups for proof of address when something fell out -- my driver's license.

Apparently, I had it in this folder when I applied for my current job (they needed several proofs of ID, at the orientation), & I just.... Left it in there. This whole time. So I stressed for nothingggggggg >A<

[tblsomedoodles]

So apparently the limit isn’t 500 characters cuz that one ask was as long as my google doc sooo I sectioned off and kept under 500 characters for now reason :/// anywayyys here’s the rest of my ask (feel free to chop this up into different posts it’s very long oop)

I ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY LOVE the concept of ‘Donnie needs to see the bad in order to quell his mind and prepare for all the situations and that Leo would get so lost with the doom’. So they would come together, support each other, and tell each other what they’ve seen, as to give their twin what they need to hear. It’s so absolutely beautiful imo. The idea that Donnie had all of his recordings for Leo to watch once he died would be devastating, because imo the seer thing would force them to be even closer with each other and they’d have an even greater bond. Plus they’d probably get into more disasters because of the visions which would make their nickname all the more applicable.

If there’s rumor that Master Leonardo has visions of the future, is there anything for Master Donatello? Because the line about Donnie’s future self giving him lottery numbers like he’d asked- is in my mind is if he’d always been able to see the future is that him just trying to deny the future and the visions a final time as he stares upon a kid that he saw grew up while he dreamt? Would the future lotto ticket line make Casey pick up on anything because of it?

(I came across your raph cuddles leo to help with the visions and saw glowy Leo and went 👀👀👀👀 I have to see this au and went it’s only 3, I took a really long nap at six and I have nothing to do tomorrow ima read this and then promptly consumed the entire tag in 2 hours and wrote for another two (including formatting to fit the seemingly correct 500 character limit) and went I need to know more and then the questions and ideas kept coming lmao again I know I’ve said this a lot but don’t how long this is it just latched onto my brain and now it won’t let go it’s a masterpiece I love it so much❤️❤️❤️🤩🤩🤩 I’m probably gonna come back w more questions as I have serious brainrot because of it and I love it so much (also your family web au and adopted donnie aus look great to so I’ll have to read them as well but maybe not now was I don’t need to start at 3am like I did yesterday lmao but) the point is you have a galaxy brain and you are wonderful — ☄️

Yeah, I think it's the replies that have a short character limit. Not sure if asks have one or not, but yeah!

But yeah, them having those powers would definitely get them into more trouble as a result. (i'm toying with a having an entire plot line dedicated to just that sort of trouble.)

And i think him denying it based off the lack of Lotto numbers really would be him still trying to deny the future visions stuff. Like there's this kid, sitting right there in front of him. He's seen him grow up in both Leo's and his own dreams, and now he's right there telling them the world is going to turn into Leo's nightmares (not in as many words but yeah) if they don't help him stop it. I don't think CJ would pick up on anything from that line though. He wasn't even aware Future Leo had future vision and Donnie was better at hiding his then Leo was. It's probably not until Donnie starts using the nickname he isn't supposed to know, that CJ realizes Donnie knows more than he's saying.

And that's very sweet! Thank yoU! i can't take full credit for it though, since a lot of this AU has come into being from Asks! But thank you all the same! : )

[mycryptosuite]

LUCKY TUESDAY LOTTO 2SURE AND SURE BANKER FOR 12/09/2023

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[pandasmagorica]

Partial rewatch: Be My Favorite

Mild spoilers if you're not caught up on the series. Contains Pisaeng time travel speculation and other random thoughts. Please forgive me if I'm misusing the headcannon tag.

My brain is going overtime on figuring out whether or what happened when Pisaeng turned the music box. I'm having fun with this as well as enjoying reading other Tumblr writers' takes, and will be fine with being wrong. But it will also be so satisfying if I'm right.

All this discussion about whether Pisaeng is doing any time travel has brought me to rewatch the codas.

I initially speculated that the codas represent the final no more time travel timeline. However, in one, Pisaeng meets Kawi in college and in another Pisaeng meets Kawi in high school. So I'm guessing these might be different timelines. More importantly, though, Pisaeng seems to know who Kawi is in both of these. While this could simply be from Pisaeng being observant, it could be that Pisaeng did indeed, as I've speculated, travel into the past and attempt to remedy his staying in the closet at 15.

Anyway, let's recap the codas:

Episode 1 [4/4] 6:39-7:50 Pisaeng reveals himself as Kawi's secret buddy in college. At 7:29, Pisaeng gives Kawi a flirtatious wink. Could be friendly. Could be this is future traveled into the past Pisaeng, and he is in fact flirting in a new timeline. My guess is on future Pisaeng traveling back to 15, resolving his coming out issues with his mom then, and being a fully confident out gay man in college. (Bonus points if future past Pisaeng forged the secret buddy sticker and wasn't actually Kawi's secret buddy. Not actually sure how this secret buddy thing works - can a secret buddy have their own secret buddy?) Followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Random thought: If he settles coming out with his mom at 15, then he won't have the episode 10 fight with her, and won't have an excuse to stay over at Kawi's, so won't turn the globe and won't go back to age 15. But of course, he could lie. Or just ask to stay over because he wants to. Or say he has to so he can activate the globe and go back to age 15.

Another random thought: Actually, does he really have to return? He can simply live the timeline from age 15 to the present. Okay, not sure how he'd get to the right place at the right time to set the music box down, so that's probably not what happens. I still predict that Kawi won't time travel again in the series, as he's seen it doesn't necessarily make things better.

Episode 2 [4/4] 6:02-7:25 Pisaeng tries and fails to get the turtle plushie. Okay, this one doesn't seem to fit my last timeline theory. Then again, maybe there is a timeline where he never gets it. Or maybe it's filling in just how much work it was for Pisaeng to finally win the plushie. Followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Episode 3 [4/4] 8:39-9:09 Kawi in the future getting the lotto numbers; Kawi in the past winning the lotto. Okay, again doesn't fit my last timeline theory. Followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Episode 4 [4/4] No coda. Director title is immediately followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Episode 5 [4/4] 10:04-11:00 Okay, this is where I strongly feel this supports my prediction that Pisaeng goes back to 15 if he time travels, and could be the final timeline. 10:18-10:57, high school Pisaeng approaches high school Kawi, seems to know who he is but doesn't expect Kawi to know him, unsuccessfully tries to engage with Kawi, is un-surprised by this lack of success, and accepts that it didn't work. Followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Episode 6 [4/4] 7:39-9:06 Kawi visits Pisaeng's place for the first time. Doesn't seem to support or oppose any particular timeline. Followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Now, to break my coda-only rewatch and start with the entire Episode 7 [4/4] (oops, actually started with 3/4 by mistake, but it turns out to be a fortunate mistake) followed by a binge-rewatch of episodes 8 through 10. As you may recall, I binge-watched 1 through 8, mistakenly thinking I could binge-watch the entire series only to discover I was mistaken. And I've found the discussion around this series so fascinating that I've switched to episode-by-episode watch. Not sure I'll stick with this in the future for other series, but I'll go with it for now on this one. (And if I do go back to binge-watching, that's not a hit on my fellow Tumblerites, just my preferred watching method.)

Actually, I will have to re-watch all of 7 at some point. 3/4 is just heartbreaking. And them leaving the doors and windows open in the camper at 11:43 is just so distracting. Aren't there mosquitoes? I needed that water frolic.

Good thing I watched 3/4 as it establishes important context for 4/4. But the camper is still wide open at 1:02. This is so distracting. Now for the coda: 7:19-8:52. Yeah, I probably need to drop my codas are the last timeline theory. This is clearly set 8 years into the Kawi as rock star timeline with Pisaeng still carrying a torch for Kawi. Oh, well, it was a fun speculation. But definitely more than one timeline is being represented across the different codas. Followed by next episode scenes narrated by Kawi breaking the fourth wall.

Okay, on to full episode 8. First off, I see I was mistaken as to how far Kawi needs to turn the music box to time travel. It's actually quite brief (or cut).

8 [3/4] 7:32 Another distraction. How does Kawi know which airport? Thinking of Bad Buddy episode 12. Okay, Kawi doesn't actually go to the airport, but that's where my mind went. And 11:38 yeah, not cool Kawi hitting Pisaeng. He's going to need to get his temper under control if he's going to succeed.

As for the coda 8 [4/4] 5:17-6:44 If Pisaeng lets the fixer guy help him, then his car will be like in Back to the Future. No Kawi narration or broken fourth wall in the previews.

9 [1/4] 7:26 Yeah, Kawi's rough. He needs to work on that. 7:37 Incoming call - Fluke. Distraction again. Is Gawin calling himself? 8:49 "We're done eating. What else should we do?" Kawi's so romantic...not.

9 [2/4] 5:09 Okay, a bit seme there.

And no coda for 9. And no Kawi narration or broken fourth wall in the previews.

10 [1/4] 11:24-11:26 Kawi's father: "If I could go back in time, I'd want to do better." Said to his son who has gone back in time, is trying to do better, and doesn't think he's doing better enough.

10 [3/4] opening: Kawi definitely needs to work on his temper. And 00:53, Pisaeng needs to drop the seme.

05:36-05:49 And @rocketturtle4 you're right, it switches to Kawi's view, so we could definitely be seeing time travel in Pisaeng's present/past?/future? I'm sticking with past for my prediction. Oh, and yes, Pisaeng spends several seconds after the globe goes dark reflecting on...something before setting it down. So yes, likely time travel.

In the last, full reveal of Kawi's conversation with Pisaeng's mom, Kawi's reaction doesn't match what happened when Kawi returned from that conversation. So I wonder whether the two versions of their conversations we get are in two different timelines. If not, it makes Kawi too much of a jerk. Not that Kawi hasn't sometimes been a jerk.

And yes, the preview makes it clear that Pisaeng has activated the globe, without showing us where he goes.

Guess we'll find out.

[leqclerc]

Sorry previous anon! Didn't see the excluding Ralf and Damon 😬

On that topic: I don't know if it's what everyone thinks I've never seen anyone discuss it, but my theory is that with Ralf and Jacques they are extra critical of charles because he's so beloved by tifosi and maybe they think this is somehow a threat to their legendary family members in the history of the team. Which is silly imo. Or a combination of that and the fact that them 2 never got a chance at ferrari and charles did despite basically being a rookie and is considered the golden boy so they hold that against him. With Damon, I just think he's a super carlos fan who's backed carlos early on in his career so now has to see that through.

Anyway, would love to know Jacques reaction to the tribute helmet because I'm sure it'll be a hot take

Damn anon, quick, what are the lotto numbers? 😭😭😭😭 That's some big brain seer energy 🔮

Ted on Sky comms said the Villeneuve family (aka Jacques lbr) were unhappy with the tribute helmet featuring Ferrari sponsor logos (which Charles can't do anything about, obviously) so in order to avoid exacerbating the situation he wasn't running it anymore today and presumably won't be for the remainder of the weekend. I think it's pretty clear that there was no ill intent behind it or any sort of desire to piggyback on Gilles for sponsor purposes - Charles's helmet designer even confirmed that the whole thing was his idea because he just wanted to pay tribute to a beloved former Ferrari driver. Imagine being so bitter 🙃🤐

[designpatternpirate]

You run an elite site? Don't be a putz Read this!!

I was on a Hotline site today, talking to on of the Admins there, and I was made aware that some people are blissfully unaware of the risks that they take in the warez scene. He was selling an archival CD of his site- only rom images, and being a jerk about the reality of the risks involved, got all pissy, made a few lame arguments & kicked me off his site. In that light I have quickly penned this doc, which I would like everyone to spread all over, so that the Admins can have some idea of the risks they take, and can take proper precautions to cover their asses.

Ignorant viewpoint #1. "I won't get caught." This sometimes translates to "They have bigger things to worry about than me", "There are others doing more/worse", and sometimes even the infamous "but I'm not doing anyhing wrong." The Job of the Feds is to bust lawbreakers. Some of the laws are stupid, and some of the lawbreakers are smart, but if your balls get caught in the vise, don't cry to me. If we're all lucky, nothing will happen, no-one will get busted. But I don't play lotto either…

Ignorant viewpoint #2. "I don't have any warez on my site." It's hard to be squeaky clean. Any illegal distribution of corpyrighted material can get you busted. You. Yeah you. Warez? obviously. Rom carts? Yeah. Nintendo gets a hard-on for that shit. Even if the company that owns the license doesn't sue you, your day in court won't be a good one. Cracks? Serial #'s? Depends on how bad a day the judge has had & what state you're in, Maybe even the lunar cycle. Applying them is illegal, currently having them isn't, but I'm sure it doesn't help your case. MP3's? Probably. I forget how long it is before music copyrights expire, but I'm sure you don't listen to the shit that has. Nudie JPG's? Movies? (AVI's, Moov's, ect). doesn't matter. Feds hate porn. Makes them look even better to bust pornmongers such as yourself. Even if you're only distributing or archiving or backing up or whatever. Legal semantics do not impress a judge who's been told to burn your ass for politics. Unless your argument is airtight and defensable (AND you have a LAWYER), you might as well not have any opinion.

Ignorant viewpoint #3. "I can sell the service of burning the CD." Sure you can. Just as the judge can sell the service of burning your ass. You sell at any price over cost+shipping- that's profit- plain & simple. I mean sure, you have distrubution with intent to sell, You can argue the point in court if you want, but making money attracts attention from the feds faster than you can say "I'm fucked". In case you want a quick lesson in history, the government has never appreciated any profit being made by anyone that they couldn't get their share of. Making a profit off of warez is just like spitting in their eye & saying 'fuck you'. Yeah. Bring your own vaseline.

Ignorant viewpoint #4. "Anyone who mentions Feds is an asshole." No. You're an asshole. Maybe someone's just trying to help your sorry ass out by letting you know that you're taking a risk. Stupid fuck. It's more than a game. It's your ass. You wanna give it away, prepare to have it fucked. That is what most people do when offered some virgin tail.

So what am I saying? Quit spreading warez? Run like a bitch and pack up your shit? Yeah. if you are that's exactly what I'm saying. The warez scene doesn't need you, you add to silly statistics & make the rest of us look bad. Just use your head. Start at the top, work your way down. Make a plan. novel idea that, Thinking & planning? Not at all like leeching and kicking fellow leechers for the ego boost. Very expensive toy, power. Make sure you don't overpay.

Plan #1. I will plan not to get caught. If your door got kicked in right now, would your ass be handed to you? Yeah, you thought your site was private- who the fuck let the feds in? Now your mom is flat on her stomach in her nightgown, cussing, screaming & crying, but do you know anything more than you've pissed your pants & are gonna have a lot of time on your hands? Stupid fuck. Do something about it. if you make a plan to use 10 minutes effectively, you might get a chance to save your ass. Of course no HD that a warez mogul such as yourself is gonna have will format irrecoverably in 10 minutes. Better try harder. Removable media rules. Like the sound of that music? I like Jaz too. Radio Shack sells magnets cheap. Don't consider them a risk, think of them as 'insurance'. CD's are easy to break a few at a time- don't get carried away unless you have a vat of acid nearby.

Plan #2. I will leave no tangible evidence. A record of transfers from the feds incriminates, but a hard drive baked to the gills with wares just fries your ass. Figure something out. Encryption. Passwords. Trojans. Virii. Be clever, and be damn clever. You have to realize they deal with your kind everyday. They'll laugh at any feeble attempt to thwart them, and hold it against you if it fails.

Plan #3. I will leave money the fuck alone. Yeah, we all want it, but you better not take it for warez, dipshit. You might as well be selling drugs. Matter of fact, pretend you're selling drugs, you can only help yourself by being that careful. Donations? fine. Donations for wares? "Hello? Anyone home?" Don't be stupid. You might as well call your wares site a religious shrine with devotional CD relics for all the good that lame-ass ploy will do you. You took money. You gave out CD's. Fuck the paperwork, you can wipe the cum from your ass with it.

Plan #4. I will assume everyone could be a fed. On the internet you don't know who anyone is. Guess what? Feds can actually pretend to be real people. Some have friends, families, and some even did what you're doing now (and might've been better at it too). Anyone you talk to might be the man. Even that girl. And being paranoid about it and acting like an asshole won't make you fed-proof- it just makes you look like a paranoid asshole. If someone is a fed, and you're talking to them, and you know they're a threat, being a putz will just put your dumb ass on the top of the 'balls to bust' list. Act oblivious- not like you're suddenly an amnesiac or evasive, just that everything's hunkey-dorey, ok-fine untill they go away, all the while you're taking care of business. When you pull the plug, you go on a warez vacation. Don't be stupid. The legal process is slow, and if you start hacking & shit in a week you might as well not have bothered- they probably didn't even plan on coming down for a while, & then they're gonna watch for a bit before they kick in your door- but you never know.

A couple quickie no-brainer rules (to help you get caught). - Give out your e-mail address if you want trouble. - Give out your snail mail address if you want trouble. - Post either of the above on some yutz's server. - Use the same alias all the time to be positively trackable. - Download to the same ip all the time. - Mail warez to strangers. - When doing the above, use a return address. - Charge money for warez. - Keep your site up 24/7, never change ip. - Keep all the wares where everyone can see them. - Think your site being private makes you safe. - Think that the Hotline warez scene (or whatever) will last forever. - Remeber: You won't get caught.

I'd sign this doc straight out, but I run a (passably) elite site, & I'm enough of a realist to not wanna piss the feds off by letting them know who it was me that tried to make their job a bit more challenging. Those of you who know my style will recognize my handiwork…

As for the Feds- Shooting fish in a barrel just may have gotten a little bit harder.

| 01 | (globe=)-((lager=)-(buzzing insect))+((chain=)-L)+(­hers) | ° | (angry=)+(fly appendage=)-(2x(You)) |__|

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

—

master list / ao3 chapter link

—

warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion

song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰

its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰

—

October 3rd, 2015

Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through. 

Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.

It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.

There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.

Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.

It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.

The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.

“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.

“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.

“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”

Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we’re going to—”

“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.

Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very��clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—

Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”

“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”

Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”

Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”

“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”

Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”

He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”

“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.

There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.

“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you��so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”

“James.”

Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.

“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”

“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”

Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”

“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.

—

Bucky’s up at 0500. 

He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower. 

It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.

So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.

His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.

While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually. 

Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.

He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.

That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.

He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.

With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.

It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance. 

He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it. 

The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.

Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later. 

The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now. 

There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid. 

He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself. 

Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse. 

The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea. 

Almost. 

There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.

This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him. 

Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her. 

She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then. 

He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”

“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”

“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”

This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human. 

He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running. 

By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down. 

“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start. 

Thank god. “Play it.”

“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”

His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”

“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”

“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box. 

“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”

“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it. 

“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”

“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing. 

The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking. 

He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff. 

Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t. 

He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can. 

That’s what Ma would have wanted.

—

Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30. 

This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him. 

“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—” 

She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her. 

“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone. 

She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”

“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”

Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”

“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures. 

“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”

Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”

“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”

“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”

“Mhmm.”

“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”

“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”

“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”

Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”

“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”

Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”

“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”

“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”

“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”

Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”

“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.

She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.

“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”

“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”

“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”

“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”

The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”

“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”

“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”

“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”

“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.

“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”

“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.

His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”

“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”

“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Does gross puss leak out of it?”

She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”

“And is it attached to your brain?”

“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.

She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”

His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”

“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”

“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”

“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”

He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”

Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”

“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”

It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”

Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”

Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”

Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”

“That’s all I can think of,��� he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording. 

“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”

It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”

—

She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things. 

It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.

It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.

So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.

There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.

Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.

May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.

It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.

She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious. 

He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.

Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”

The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”

“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.

He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.

“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.

Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—

He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.

At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.

Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps. 

His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.

Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.

Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.

Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.

He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.

None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.

He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers. 

“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”

The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”

“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”

“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”

“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”

“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”

Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—

His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.

That’s just how their brand of family works.

“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”

—

“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”

It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”

Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”

She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”

“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”

“And he made it your problem?”

“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”

“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.

“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”

“Report his ass.”

Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”

Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”

“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”

“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”

“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”

The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”

Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”

“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”

She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”

Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”

“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”

The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”

Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”

“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”

“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”

Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.

“The blush or the huffing?”

“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”

“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”

“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”

“Take-out picnic, got it.”

“And Italian donuts.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”

“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”

The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself. 

“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”

Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”

“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”

“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”

“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”

“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.

In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station. 

Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person. 

“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”

“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”

“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”

“He’s admirin’ the—”

“He’s working up the nerve—”

“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”

“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”

Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”

“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”

“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava. 

Some.

“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”

Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”

“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”

His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”

Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”

“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”

“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”

“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.

“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.

Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.

After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”

Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”

“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench. 

The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige’s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”

“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it. 

Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.” 

“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.

“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range. 

“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”

“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.

There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”

It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.

“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”

“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”

“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully. 

“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily. 

Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”

“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”

Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.

—

September 20th, 2015

Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.

The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.

Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.

Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.

Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished. 

Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”

Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”

One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.” 

It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk. 

“Do I strike you as an invalid?”

“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”

“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”

Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”

“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.” 

Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”

“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.

“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”

—author end notes—

idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?

im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe

and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰

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