#OH AND IF ANYONE THINKS I SHOULD TAG SOMETHING FOR FILTER PURPOSES ABSOLUTELY LET ME KNOW

[svtskneecaps]

feel like the global tasks sweep strat should probably be nerfed somehow. my thought would be, give each team an individual ten minute overall cooldown on global task claims. that is to say, a certain team can only claim one global task per ten minutes. say, deliver gas masks, and then in ten minutes you're allowed to deliver tea, and then after another ten minutes you can claim hot chocolate.

another teams would be able to claim a global task for bananas during this time, and their own ten minute cooldown would start.

(the global tasks can either keep their individual ten minute cooldown [i.e. after tea is claimed no one else can claim tea for ten minutes] or a slightly shorter cooldown, say 5-7 minutes)

when a global task is claimed, everyone is notified, right? if not, in my hypothetical, they will be.

then, a team trying to sweep six tasks at once would actually take sixty minutes to do, allowing another team to swoop in and have a chance to stop it in cinematic, entertaining fashion rather than tubbo having to grind resources and then log out in front of the merchant to counter this, which is boring for everyone (including the person delivering). plus, if a team cuts it down to the last second and ends up getting delayed, they physically wouldn't have time to make a delivery, meaning even being a BIT of a nuisance could be a viable strategy, even if you can't manage to kill; if you can STALL you could still wreck their plans.

that's my dream anyway idk i'm not a game designer. just think it would be interesting for most players

(i elaborate under)

red team would have to shake up their strategies, which is fun since they're a team that kinda has to rely more on strategy than outright brawn (overall the team's pvp can't be relied on unless they have carre or phil, as seen today when pierre, bad, and etoiles attacked phil cellbit foolish and baghera, and cellbit and foolish both died to etoiles in the attack, despite it being a 4 on 1 at the time. baghera was killed by bad soon after. phil was the one to get the kills. the first day, when blue attacked [niki, tubbo, and bad as i recall] carre got both kills)

the other teams would then still have a way to stop a global sweep since a sweep would have to start earlier, allowing not only more time to arrive at global to pvp about it, but ALSO allowing another team to swoop in and steal the goal out from under the team again

i'm gonna use it in a scenario bc i'm badboyhalo and i can't stop myself from making examples:

so, tonight, if the proposed cooldown was in place, bad and tubbo would both still had roughly 17 minutes when red team would have HAD to start the sweep process if they wanted all six global tasks: 1 hour until the server closed at absolute MINIMUM. more for safety's sake.

therefore, in this scenario, there's a lot to happen

blue team could wait at globals, knowing red will probably try this strategy, and attempt or perhaps SUCCEED in killing red. if they kill red entirely, the operation is a wash; red doesn't have to gear to come back from scratch and take out blue team, and even if they could, the travel time to return to globals alone would mean they wouldn't get all the global tasks, potentially meaning they don't take the lead. if blue team is unable to kill red and dies themselves or has to retreat, but succeeds in delaying red, red would face the same problem.

if red sends in all of the task items on one person, and that person dies, even if the rest survived, blue could loot the items from that person and would be able to either use the items themselves, if green is currently the owner, or could run away with the items, effectively wasting red's time and again, meaning they wouldn't get all tasks claimed even if they were able to overtake the runner and reclaim their items.

i'm unclear what would happen if red divided the task items between them since it seems like the person claiming the task doesn't have to have all (or any? again, unclear) the items in THEIR inventory in order to claim so long as a teammate is nearby with the items in their inv (evidence: pac's vod "voltei... o que tá acontecendo no QSMP?!" at roughly 3:00:00; tubbo claims tea and tea is taken out of pac's inventory. i don't know the limits of this strategy)

blue team also has time to swoop in and steal a global task out from under red during this time. say, if red team had claimed the task for 10 tea leaves, upping the price to 15 tea leaves, and then blue team snuck in and claimed the task and set the price up to 20 tea leaves, (since the proposed 10 minute cooldown on claims would be TEAM LIMITED; red's cooldown applying to red only and so on). if red waited until the last second, they wouldn't have the time to reclaim this task even if they did have the resources, possibly forcing them to start their sweep earlier to counter this possibility, at which point team members who had logged on earlier and are out of time by the end of the night, OR members who live in time zones that don't allow them to stay up until server close, may have an easier shot at participating in defending against a global sweep.

all of this DIRECT CONFLICT would make for good audience entertainment and heighten the stakes of an attempted global sweep, since it would practically have to be one team defending globals for an hour while they pipe all their resources into it, knowing that if they die another team could easily swipe their task resources and use it themselves (along with the rest of their gear). it makes it more interesting, while still mostly viable.

plus it would force more strategizing for red team which is maybe just a personal plus, i just really like seeing people planning both in advance and in spur of the moment. it's really satisfying to see how a plan comes together and succeeds or fails; plus, since red team is the main team using this strategy at the moment and their main draw and strength as a team is cohesion and communication this would be completely fucking riveting for me as a viewer so maybe this is just a personal thing. but i really really think it would be fun

but again, i'm not a game designer, or a qsmp player, or a qsmp admin, or honestly even really a gamer? so maybe i'm off my rocker and out of my gourd and this isn't viable or balanced in any way shape or form but YKNOW what is this blog except putting stupid thoughts into the void and seeing if this time the void spits back hate mail so. i'm folding this into a paper airplane and throwing it into the abyss. hopefully it made sense.

k love you appreciate you getting this far, have a good week!!

(i hope your team gets a win in dramatic fashion and celebrates together!!! i hope they come together and unleash a plan so spectacular it takes the server by storm!!! i hope it's so good it becomes a vod you go back to even years in the future!!!! i hope you have a good week!!!!!)

[winchesterwords]

“Why Not Me?” Dean Winchester x GN!Reader

Summary: The reader is a hunter who has been living with the Winchesters for some time and is quite flirtatious with everyone...except for Dean. What happens when Dean confronts them about it?

Word Count: 2716

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Something I Need” by One Republic

Note: This one is something I thought of one night as I was falling asleep. This one is GN! 

--------

In the tense quiet of the Men of Letters Bunker, an Angel and a hunter were engaged in a serious battle. 

“I do not understand the purpose of this game,” Castiel said as he sat across from you, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“It’s a staring contest, Cas. The purpose is to not look away,” you explained. His brow furrowed as he continued to stare at you, but you could tell that he wasn’t really getting it. Also, it was then that you realized Angels didn’t actually need to blink. “This is futile, isn’t it?” you asked Sam who sat to your left.

“Absolutely,” he answered with a small smile. With a huff, you broke off the stare and slumped in your seat. Cas still looked just as confused. 

“Remind me to challenge Donna the next time we see her,” you grumbled and Sam nodded, trying not to laugh. 

It was just another day with the Winchesters and their Angel best friend. You had been tagging alongside the trio for a while now. After meeting Dean on a hunt in Alabama, you had joined them periodically on their missions and then eventually visited their secret hideout and just never left. 

Currently, you and the boys were at a crossroads with an angry spirit not far from the Bunker. You and Dean had trekked through a nearby graveyard but still couldn’t find the bones of one David Boss. By the time you had returned home, Sam had announced that he was going to call in the big guns. 

Also known as Rowena MacLeod. 

You had never met the witch but had heard many things about her from Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Some good, some bad, but it seemed to be a general census that the woman was as powerful as it gets. 

“Sam, where’s your witch?” Dean asked as he walked into the library. 

“She’s not my witch,” Sam grumbled, but Dean just grinned sending a wink towards you and Cas. The latter just rolled his eyes, already annoyed with Dean poking fun at his brother. You sat back and watch the three of them interact, incredibly entertained. 

Not long after, a loud banging echoed through the Bunker, and Sam jogged up the stairs to pull open the door. “Samuel!” a lovely Scottish voice said as light filtered down the stairs from outside. 

“Hey, Rowena, thanks for coming,” Sam said, shutting the door behind the witch. You stood up as a petite and fiery woman entered the room. 

“And who is this?” Rowena asked as she looked at you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. You leaned back against the table, taking in your fill of the woman before you as well. 

“Rowena,” Sam said, “this is (Y/N). (Y/N), Rowena.” The witch strutted forward and offered her hand to you, you took it in your own with a smile. 

“Well, if I knew that you were this hot, I would have asked Sam to call you sooner,” you flirted with a wink. Rowena looked at Sam with her brows raised. 

“Oh, Samuel, I think I like this one!” Rowena said as you let go of her hand. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. Castiel watched the interaction with exasperation as usual, but Dean wasn’t as amused. 

He never understood how you were so...open with everyone you met. You were a very flirtatious person and he had figured that out quite soon after working a case with you in Louisiana. However, while you tended to flirt with everyone, Sam and Cas included, you never aimed your winks and cheeky grins at him and he’d be lying if that fact didn’t keep him up at night. 

It didn’t take long for Sam to catch Rowena up on what was going on. Rowena was very familiar with the kind of spirit that you all were dealing with and knew just what to do to vanquish the rest of the spook that was still hanging around causing issues. 

“I am going to need to make a run into town,” Rowena said as she examined the pantry of spices and spell ingredients the Bunker had. Rowena then turned to you with a glint in her eyes. “Care to accompany me, Darling?” she asked and you were surprised by her offer, but then offered her your arm with a slight bow. 

“It’d be my honor,” you joked and she took it. 

“Ah! See boys,” she addressed Sam, Dean, and Cas, “this is how a woman should be treated.” 

“Just go get your spell stuff,” Dean said curtly and Rowena waved him off and the two of you floated from the room. Dean watched after you, his jaw clenched. As soon as the door shut behind you, Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“What?” Sam asked. 

“Anyone else catch that?” Dean asked.

“Catch what?” Cas asked, sinking into a chair next to his best friend. 

“Rowena and (Y/N),” he said. “They were getting a bit...chummy.”

“Chummy?” Sam asked and Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother.

 “You know what I mean,” Dean said.

“Dean, you know (Y/N), they’re like that with everyone. I don’t think it ever means anything,” Sam reminded him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbled. Over Dean’s shoulder, Cas and Sam shared a look that didn’t go unnoticed by the older Winchester. “Stop it, you two.”

---------- 

When you and Rowena returned, you both were laughing.

Sam, Dean, and Cas all looked up from their spots at the war table as the two of you skipped down the stairs. “Quite the witch in training you have here, boys,” Rowena complimented. You knocked her shoulder gently with a smile of your own.

“No, not me,” you said with a shake of your head. “I prefer the more physical side of hunting. Isn’t that right, handsome?” you asked Castiel who coughed awkwardly. Next to him, Dean just blinked, trying not to look at you.

“Well, I can’t argue that this one doesn’t have taste,” Rowena said as she walked by Cas, not being shy at all as she checked him out. Cas, who was used to it, just sighed and then followed after the witch to help her prepare for the spell.

Once Rowena had everything she needed, the spell went perfectly. You weren’t the biggest fan of magic. Any time you were around it, it never ended well. You knew that it was a part of being in the supernatural world and understanding it, but still, as soon as the chanting started, you took a step back.

Observing, you noticed how Sam watched Rowena very intently, making sure he understood everything she did. While out with her, Rowena had told you that Sam had a gift for the magical arts. She figured that out of any hunter she had ever met, he was the closest thing to a witch there was.

You hadn’t seen Sam work many spells, but with a mind like his, you knew she had to be right. Dean and Cas helped with the spell, handing Sam and Rowena whatever they needed, and soon enough, purple smoke rose from the pot Rowena was stirring, and then she was smiling.

“Well, there you go,” Rowena said with her signature smirk.

“That’s it?” Dean asked.

“Oh, Dean,” Rowena said gently, “this spirit was not a spirit at all, it was more of a remnant of an evil one long ago. Happens occasionally even if the bones are charred. However with a little bit of magic and the help of my lovely assistant,” she looked at Sam, “we are able to put poor Mr. Boss to rest.”

“It was that easy?” Dean asked.

“When you’re me, it is,” Rowena said with a wink and you chuckled from your spot by the bookcases.

“Well,” you announced, “I say we deserve a drink.”

“I second that,” Sam said. Soon everyone began relaxing. Rowena was going to head out in the morning so the Winchesters offered her a bed for the night.

Just as the witch finished telling a story about a young Crowley, you got up to go to the kitchen in search of another beer. Entering the kitchen, you ran into Dean who was leaning against the stainless steel counter.

“Want another one?” You asked, holding up your empty bottle as you tossed it into the bin. Dean glanced up from his phone that he had been scrolling on and then shook his head.

“No,” he said curtly and then walked from the room without another word. You looked after him in confusion. Dean had been weird around you lately and you weren’t exactly sure why. Although, you knew that he was working through a lot since he got the Mark.

The Mark of Cain had become more of a problem as the days went on. Everyone was trying to find a solution for removing the infernal thing, but so far everyone had nothing. Brushing off his cold shoulder, you grabbed another beer and left to rejoin the group.

When you returned to the Library, Dean was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Dean?” Sam asked.

“No idea,” you said, reclaiming your seat across from Rowena. “He just walked away when I asked him if he wanted another beer.”

“He’s probably in the garage,” Castiel said with a sigh as he stood up and headed out of the library, his trench coat swishing behind him. You turned your attention back to your drink as Sam and Rowena gave each other a knowing look.

—————

“(Y/N) knows that something is wrong,” Castiel said as he walked up to Dean who was leaning over Baby’s hood.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean said with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Right,” Cas said, leaning against the car. “Dean, look at me.” When the hunter finally relented and looked at the Angel, he crossed his arms.

“What?” He asked.

“You know,” Cas continued, “for someone who has always told me to embrace human emotions, you are quite horrible at it.”

“Wow, thank you,” Dean deadpanned with a roll of his eyes, but Cas was not done yet.

“You know that they care about you, Dean.”

“Do I?”

“Do you think that (Y/N) would still be around if they didn’t?” Cas asked. Dean furrowed his brow.

“Are you saying that I am difficult to be around, buddy?” Dean asked, a bit of humor lighting up his eyes.

“At times, yes,” Castiel admitted and Dean shook his head with a chuckle. He should have known Cas was one to always tell the truth.

“So, what kind of wise advice do you have for me this time, Cas?” Dean asked.

“I think I’m all out of wisdom, Dean, but I do know that you’ll figure it out,” Cas said as he headed back inside, “you always do.”

-----------

Later that night, you sat alone in the library flipping through an ancient text. After a while, the words started to blur together, but you forced yourself to stay awake. You had to. 

For him. 

There wasn’t much literature on the Mark of Cain, but you had to try. Even though you all had combed through every book in the Men of Letters’ libraries, you felt the need to go through it all again just in case any of you missed something. 

Reaching for the cup of coffee that now sat empty, you sighed. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” a voice came from behind you. Sitting up straighter, you saw Dean approaching you. He sat down next to you at the table, a tired look on his face.

“It can’t hurt,” you said with a shrug. You flipped another page and then his hand came across yours, stopping you. He then closed the book, gaining your full attention. It was silent for a moment before Dean finally clasped his hands together and looked at you in the eyes. 

“I’m sorry for being a dick earlier,” Dean said and you frowned slightly. 

“It’s okay,” you said. “I mean, I get it.” Dean shook his head, running a hand over his jaw. 

“No, you don’t,” he argued. Dean looked at you with almost a pleading look in his eyes as if he was nearly begging you to see the honesty and truth that he was feeling. 

“Dean, you don’t have to explain how that thing makes you feel. Besides, Cas and Claire, they already gave me the rundown. Sam, too, so don’t worry about it.” 

“It’s not the Mark,” Dean said softly and you froze for just a second before looking at him in confusion. You prided yourself on knowing what the Winchesters were always thinking. They were a lot easier to read than they thought, but at that moment, Dean was a solid wall that you couldn’t break through. 

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just... You’re just always so flirty with people,” Dean finally admitted and you had to bite your tongue from laughing out loud. Instead, you opted for a slight chuckle. Dean looked slightly embarrassed, but you grabbed his hand to reassure him. 

“Is that bad?” you asked, still trying to hide your smile. 

“No!” Dean exclaimed and then lowered his voice a bit. “No, not at all. I mean, look at me, who am I to judge, right?”

“And yet?” you asked. 

“You never do it with me. The flirting,” he said and you let go of his hand awkwardly. Dean noticed immediately and looked away. 

“Oh,” you said, unsure of what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his voice lower than usual. You noticed that he did that when he was either embarrassed or nervous. Looking at him, you felt emotions swell in your chest that you hadn’t acknowledged in some time. It was easier to not think about Dean when in reality, he was all you thought about. 

“I guess,” you began and Dean looked back at you, surprised to hear you actually answering him. “I guess it’s because I get nervous.”  

“About what?” Dean asked. His green eyes drilled into yours and you figured now was as good a time as any to be honest. 

“With the others, with Cas or Sam, it’s just fun and lighthearted jokes. However, when it comes to you, it’s different.” 

“Why?” 

“Dean…” you said softly, trailing off. You looked at him, urging him to understand everything you were feeling just through a look. It took him longer than usual to pick up on what you were trying to say and then his face softened. 

“Oh,” he whispered and then very carefully took your hand in his. Dean lifted your hand and placed it under his chin, holding it tight as he looked at you. “I never realized.”

“I’m sorry if you thought that I didn’t…” you said. 

“Don’t apologize, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head, his stubble scratching along your knuckles. “I was being an ass and stupid as usual. I guess we both weren’t seeing clearly.” You moved your hand from under his chin to the side of his face. Dean leaned into your palm and it was oddly intimate, but it felt nice. 

“Let me help you fight this,” you whispered, your other hand ghosting over the Mark that was branded on his right arm. “Please don’t make me lose you.”

“You won’t,” Dean promised, moving closer to you. “Especially not now. Hell, it’s going to take a lot more than this damn Mark to make me leave you.” Dean then reached forward and cupped his hands around the back of your neck and pulled you into him. Your lips met and you completely forgot about the book that lay in front of you. As you kissed Dean Winchester, the only word that came to mind was, Finally. 

In the other room, Sam and Rowena leaned around the corner, eavesdropping on the conversation. 

“I told you, Samuel, that friend of yours has good taste,” Rowena said with a grin. 

“I hate when you’re right,” Sam said with a mocking smile. 

“No, you don’t,” Rowena said and then reached up and patted his cheek with a wink before strutting back towards her room.

Sam rolled his eyes, took one more glance at his brother and you who were finally taking that leap, and then ran after his witch. 

TAGS: @akshi8278​ @havesaltwilltravel​

[miraculouscontent]

Askplosion #12 1/4:

.:Asks Referring to Previous Miraculous Posts:.

Anonymous said:

I think that story with Delmar, Sabrina and Alya is only type of Alya demonization you accept.

(the post this anon is referring to)

Absolutely.

I also accept “demonization” for like--comedic purposes. For example, if they had Alya be all in on the love square and all no Marinette you’re not allowed to give up on Adrien if it’s Lukanette endgame and Alya’s (and possibly the rest of the girl squad) “demonization” is for the sake of their dramatic reactions to the mere idea that Marinette would be both not into Adrien anymore and also into someone else.

I just think the idea of turning things on its head by making the people around Marinette the subject of jokes instead of it being Marinette herself.

Anonymous said:

Alya going "Need Some Help?" reminds me of Karma and Nagisa from Assassination Classroom(I said it right this time!). Obviously Alya is Karma and Sabrina is Nagisa(and now Karma's jazzy motif is playing in my head). And Delmar is probably(and by probably I mean almost fucking definitely) Kayano. For real though, I didn't even know Delmar's name until I read that ask/response now. I mean, like, that's how forgettable and underutilized he was. And no, Ms. Bustier isn't worthy of being Koro-sensei.

(the post this anon is referring to)

Still not familiar with Assassination Classroom so I will let the other anons who are familiar with the series silently judge for themselves. ;P

As for Delmar, don’t feel bad; his name actually isn’t mentioned in the special to my knowledge, and it was a tweet that confirmed his name.

Anonymous said:

Oh yeah, the "Astruc gets hit with a washboard" was SUPPOSED to be a shout-out to Koro-Sensei Quest, in which Karma gets hit with a washboard(don't ask where it came from or where they go when they hit the ground, the world may never know) every time he acts like a smug-ass little bitch. You know, like Astruc. Often, the washboard will ricochet off his head and hit a red button, which then opens up a pit which Karma then falls in. In other words, Karma getting Karma! If only Astruc could too.

(the post this anon is referring to)

khfjdgdg ahhh, yeah, thanks for explaining! I’ve always said that I’m not very media-savvy so sometimes I don’t know about more popular shows.

Anonymous said:

Eventually Salty Decadent Court

(the post this anon is referring to)

lol we just slowly upgrade our way through the salt ranks

Anonymous said:

I was thinking about your edit of Desperada, and how I would definitely love to edit the ATLA finale to cut out Kat/aang and Mai/ko stuff lol.

(the post this anon is referring to)

Oh yeah, that’d be amazing! I imagine it’d be difficult, but not impossible. Sometimes it might be better to sacrifice good shots or move scenes around for the sake of making things cohesive.

Anonymous said:

Kagami when adrien its back from NY: I'm sorry adrien, but I have feelings for two blueberries, we have to broke up

Adrien: eh? Broke up? We were dating?

(the post this anon is referring to)

I like how this ask doesn’t specify whether the joke is that Adrien might’ve just been way too “friendly” with Kagami and gave her the impression that they were dating, or a joke on the fact that the show itself doesn’t specify that they’re dating, or both.

A+ 10/10

Anonymous said:

If Adrien does get akumatised because of jealousy about Marinette, I hope someone (Kagami would be great) points out that Marinette was never akumatised for that reason even though she had waaay more scenarios that could have turned out that way. So don't blame yourself, Marinette!! (I also hope Kagami yells at anyone else *cough*Alya*cough* who tries to blame Marinette.

(the “Didn’t Need Burrow” that this anon is referring to)

We just want someone unambiguously on Marinette’s side, is that too much to ask?

Anonymous said:

"It's difficult to animate" hasn't stopped others before (Lord Shen, the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, etc). You may do it as a hobby, but this are professionals who should have done more than the bare minimun.

(the post this anon is referring to)

I agree. I’m just trying to keep things like budget in mind. A bunch of free-flowing clothing is fine but I’m basically like--okay, but you don’t NEED the stuff that would hamper the budget to make things look good.

Anonymous said:

I don't know why, but I'm picturing Ladybug confronting Chat Noir after he gets back from New York like a mother scolding her teenage daughter for sneaking out at night.

(the post this anon is referring to)

Honestly? Accurate.

Anonymous said:

Clara Nightengale: I sensed Marinette was in trouble, so I came to this school on the doub-- Jagged Stone: It's okay, I already got her.

(the post this anon is referring to)

jdhgdjkfgkjfg Jagged and Clara walking down the street together all cool, Jagged still having Marinette slung over his shoulder, and everyone watching is just, “??????”

passivedecept said:

Honestly

After reading your last bit i feel cheated that Jagged isnt included more

But it may be better that he isnt like luka's dad.

Can you imagion?

Luka: dad. I like someone.

Jagged: who?

Luka: a real nice and talented girl name marinette and- who are you calling?

Jagged: penny because we need a place for your wedding STAT!

Because i firmly believe if jagged had a son who was dating marinette he would do everything to get mari as his daughter in law.

Okay that was it. Love every fic and small bit you make. And i was wondering if you had your own fav. Like. What have your written so far that you like the best yourself?

(the post this anon is referring to)

Do you mean it’d be better because love square is endgame so it’d be messy? Because otherwise, not gonna lie, Jagged meddling and being super supportive sounds fun. :P I’m not here for love square meddling but Lukanette meddling is cute because both parties would be mutually aware of it and also be into it.

As for my favorite fic I’ve written? That’s probably too tough to answer, ahaha. For sure, it’s something Lukanette-based, but I know that doesn’t narrow it down much at all. It would also probably be one of my fix-its/canon divergences because I’m crazy for multiverse/alternate timeline stuff (I hate time travel, but I’m all about multiverse, I adore that stuff).

Anonymous said:

In one of your Didn't Need Burrow masterposts, when someone said that Marinette and Adrien had kids and a hamster who'll get Miraculouses, I somehow misread that as "the kids as well as the hamster itself will all get Miraculouses".

(the post this anon is referring to)

I’m sure at least one of my anons would snap back at that with a joke like, “well, with the standards set for who gets a miraculous, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

rogueinthedigitalworld said:

Would like to pop in for a second to say that yes, Maribat *did* start out as a spite ship, because the original creator was a heavy Adrien salter and wanted someone to replace him… and chose Damian Wayne, for some reason. Since then, Marinette has been shipped with all the Robins (and from I can tell, they’re all warped into actuallynice!Adrien with two gimmicks added from the *actual* characters). I’m pretty sure I’m forgetting something, but that’s the gist of it.

(the post this person is referring to)

Thank you for the response! Yeah, I didn’t know if it was like Spider-man and Ladybug - which I don’t think is a spite ship but I might be wrong - so I didn’t want to say that it was a spite ship without being sure (and obviously, some shippers of it could be just genuine shippers, who knows).

Anonymous said:

Okay, but seriously, when I first joined the ml fandom I was so confused about the maribat. I'm not really a big fan of either romance or comics (except for sandman lol) so I kind of filtered them out but it's kind of an experience tbh. I'm pretty sure it started on tumblr though- everyone sites it as the ozmav au

(the post this person is referring to)

Thank you for the extra clarification, anon! Yeah, I have that ship blacklisted (so I don’t see it around) but not really out of hatred for it; I tend to blacklist names/people/ships that I’m either indifferent to or don’t like (I immediately blacklist people who write angst, people who cross tag, and people who do onesided-Lukanette and don’t tag it that, even if it’s just one offense; I don’t play games, lol, if anyone does something I don’t like, I filter it out because I filter everything).

Anonymous said:

Your images of Luka and Marinette kissing are so super kyute! What program do you use to render them?

(the post this person is referring to)

Thank you! I made them myself!

The program I use is MikuMikuDance, using an edited version of the shader “GreenerShader 1.14″

[hoboal87]

Elastic Heart Chapter One

Elastic Heart Chapter One

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, OFCs

Pairing(s): None

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N sees a familiar set of eyes in the crowd, and remembers the first time she saw them and how they changed her life.

Word Count: 4300+

Warnings: Show level violence, cursing, pre-Stanford era Winchesters

Notes: Series will be mostly canon compliant, taking place during season 8/9. Also, for purposes of this fic Sam was born in '84 instead of '83.

Please give a comment or reblog and let me know what you think!

Elastic Heart Masterlist

Chapter One - Senior Year

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N”

I don’t hear my name being called, I’m in my own world, looking out into the crowd for a set of familiar eyes. I spot them three rows back and smile. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them, and I miss the days where I would see those eyes nearly every day.

Life as a nursing student consists of going to class, lab work, interning at a hospital, and occasionally sleeping. I’ve spent the past two years doing nothing but that. I’ve always been one to do things early, but this was the one thing that, for once, I was on par with my peers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. From the first time I saw those eyes, they altered my life, sending me down a path that I never planned to be on. Taking longer than we had thought, but eventually, I got back on track.

Finish school and get my fresh start. That had been my goal for the past two years. Move on, with or without those eyes in my life. I wanted them, but I knew that logically, it couldn’t happen. Our lives were too different, especially now. I lost my chance of having them with me always; now, I could only cherish the holidays and long weekends that allowed us to be together.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” the announcer’s voice contains a bit of urgency this time, drawing my attention. I step across the stage, shaking my supervisor’s hand, and receive my metaphorical diploma. I look back out into the audience and connect with those eyes again, wide and filled with joy. I take my seat and think back to the first time I saw them and how they changed my life forever.

Fall, 2002

This was it, the first day of my senior year. This is the year I will prove to everyone that I am no longer a kid. This is the year, mom and dad will see that I can act like an adult and make ‘good choices’ but, I’m determined to have just a little fun.

For the last two years, mom and dad have insisted that I take extra courses and go to summer school to ensure I graduate not only with good grades but early. I’ll graduate in the spring and be off to college in the fall. All I really want is to wait, take a year or two, experience life outside of my parents’ house.

I make the point to do as many high school activities as I can. Activities that they discouraged me from doing for the last two years; choir, volleyball, anything that will get me out of the house but still considered a school activity. I joined the decorating committee, wanting to participate in homecoming as much as possible. I know as long as I do nothing life-altering, I’m gonna be free in May.

“Be mindful of your grades, Y/N,” dad said, reading over all the consent forms, “if they slip, you will need to cut these extracurricular activities.”

“They won’t slip, dad.” I roll my eyes. “It’s my last year, let me have a bit of fun, please?”

“Your average drops below an A, and I’m pulling you out of each one of these clubs, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” I mull over telling him the other part of my plan. “I was… thinking about getting a job.” I look down, not wanting to make eye contact. “Something part-time?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Y/N,” mom enters the room, “You’re going to be so busy already, tell her Rob.”

“Your mother has a point, and if they accept you to all these clubs, when will you even have time?”

“I may not even end up in the choir or the volleyball team,” I argue, “and if I don’t I’ll have a free period every day, I can talk to the counselor about making it my last class and—it’s my Senior Year, please, don’t you guys think I deserve a little more credit than this? I should get to experience a little bit of independence, don’t you think? I’m gonna be away at college in a year, I’m probably gonna have some on-campus job, I need to learn how to balance between the two.” I catch my breath, hoping that they will agree.

“Fine,” dad sighs heavily, “the same deal goes. Your grades slip, no more working. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes!” I throw my arms around him, “Thank you!”

“Maybe you could get a job at the clinic,” mom chimes in, “get some experience in the field?”

“I don’t think anyone wants a sixteen-year-old working at the clinic, Sarah. Maybe at the drugstore, though?”

“Yeah,” I sit on the couch, “maybe.”

I discreetly start looking at apartments that could be for rent after graduation. I look on the outskirts of town and find a garage apartment that a very sweet older lady agrees to rent to me if it is still unoccupied over the summer. Finding a job gets put on the back burner as the school year moves into full swing. It turns out I can’t sing, and I suck at volleyball, but the coach offers me the position of manager, allowing me to still participate with the team at pep rallies and travel with them on away games. As the season comes to a close, and with Thanksgiving break around the corner, I decide it’s time to actively look for a job.

The trouble is finding someone willing to hire a 16-year-old high school student with no experience. I try some local retail stores, but I know that mom and dad will never go for the hours they want me to work. I walk into Joe’s Burgers, my favorite place to get some dinner and continue looking through the classifieds.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” I look over and wave to the man behind the counter.

“Hey, Dan, can I get a Bacon—"

“Your usual?” he cuts me off, smiling.

“Yes, please,” I look down sheepishly, handing him the exact amount of money without being told the total.

“Whatcha got there?” he nods towards the paper that’s now on the counter as he hands me my receipt.

“Oh, I’m just looking for a job,” I tuck the paper under my arms. “Need to earn some money so I can get outta this town after graduation.”

“What’s wrong with the town,” his face grows serious, “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Shit—I mean, n-nothing. Fuck."

“Y/N/N!” Dan bursts into laughter, “I’m just messing with you! You think you’re the first person who hates living here? We’re a small-ass town in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’re such a jerk,” I say, relieved, “I’ll be in my spot, okay?” He tries to contain his laughter as I walk away, making my way to my usual table. I flip through the pages, seeing nothing that would really work for me.

“You know Joe has been talking about hiring another cashier,” Dan says, bringing my food over, “and you’re practically here all the time anyway, you may as well make some money while you’re at it. You want me to talk to him?”

“Really? Do you think he’d hire me? I can’t stay late on week-nights because of school, mom and dad would kill me.”

“Yeah, we need someone to work the register, Jana can’t do it all herself. Whaddya think?”

“Oh, my god Dan, that would be amazing!” I get up and throw my arms around him to give him a hug. I watch as Dan walks to the back of the restaurant, after a few minutes he returns, giving me the thumbs-up. Before I leave, he gives me paperwork to fill out and a uniform, telling me to return the next day for training.

For three days, I train, working with Jana on the register. She is a few years older than me, with absolutely no filter. She always has me hunched over, laughing at something she has said or done. The lunches are busier than usual with the break. On Friday, she decides it’s time to leave me on my own, ‘best way to learn,’ she quips.

I’ve never been a social butterfly, and the thought of having to deal with customers on my own genuinely terrifies me for a few moments. After giving myself a small pep talk, I turn around to see three large men waiting for me.

The shortest of the three looks at me, and leans over the counter, “I’m here, what are your other two wishes?” he asks, flashing me a wink.

“I’m sorry?” I can’t believe this guy is serious.

“My brother and I were wondering,” he gestures to the tallest of the three, “if it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“W-what?” I feel the heat pooling in my cheeks.

“Dean, knock it off, we’re here to work.” the older man behind him smacks him upside his head, and I have to stifle my laughter. He offers a sympathetic smile toward me.

“Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?” I shot back; it was the only thing I could think of, albeit an awful comeback.

“It’s okay, just blink if you want me,” I stare straight into those green eyes for a solid 10 seconds before turning away.

“Dean, leave the girl alone, how old are you doll?” he asks, turning to me.

“Sixteen,” I say, watching as he rolls his eyes at the other two.

“See, are you trying to go to jail, son?” he says, looking at me apologetically “I’m sorry my sons are two walking hormones.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” the tall one huffs. Green-eyes shrugs and rubs the back of his head.

“Don’t even Sam, I heard you when we walked in.” Their dad grabs them by the shirts and drags them both to stand in front of me. I couldn’t believe my eyes, this man grabbing his two grown sons like they were pre-teens, “Now apologize to…” he looks at my name tag, “… Y/N.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to offend you,” Green-eyes says insincerely.

“That’s fine, it’s part of the job, learning to deal with frat boys who love to mess with townies,” I smile back curtly.

“What the fu—” green-eyes is clearly trying to contain his anger, but his dad chuckles at the remark, and his brother can hardly control himself.

“Yeah, frat boy, don’t mess with the townie,” the younger one laughs, pushing his shaggy brown hair away from his face, revealing gleaming hazel eyes flecked with hints of green and blue surrounded by dark full lashes.

“Listen, Y/N,” green-eyes looks at my name tag again, “we ain’t no frat boys, in fact, we’re here becau—”

“All right, Dean, that’s enough.” His dad gives him a stern look that is clearly a silent conversation. “Since we’re off to such a wonderful start, let’s start over, yeah?”

I nod politely. These guys are clearly passing through and will be gone in a matter of hours or days, but Joe wants us to make all people, even the ones we’ll probably never see again, feel welcome.

“I’m John, you already know Dean,” he reaches his hand out towards the tall one, “and this is Sam. We’re actually looking into the recent animal-related deaths,” he says, producing a Fish and Wildlife Badge. I study it for a moment before handing it back. “We’re interviewing some of the local business owners and residents in the area of the attacks. Have you heard or seen anything usual, smelled anything weird, anything that comes to mind?”

“Oh.” I look at the three men; here I was being a bitch to the people trying to help. “Um, I just started working here a few days ago, animal attacks?” I look back up to John, who nods. “The only animals around here are coyotes, but even they’re pretty rare. I haven’t heard anything, but I keep to myself. Joe might know something, he’s the owner and knows everything about everyone.” I offer a smile.

“Is Joe in today?” John asks. His grey eyes hold so much pain as he looks at me.

“Um… yeah. He may have a few minutes now that we’ve slowed down. I can see if he can come talk to you?”

“That’d be great, thanks, Y/N.”

“Please, Y/N/N,” I say, blushing, covering my nametag, “No one really calls me Y/N.”

“Y/N/N,” he repeats, “I’d really like to speak with Joe if it’s not a problem.”

“Yeah, shit. Let me go get him,” I say, walking towards the back. “Hey Jana, I’m gonna go get Joe. Watch the register?”

“I got it,” she hollers back.

“Dude! She’s 16!” I hear who I assume is Sam whispering loudly. “Shut up! How was I supposed to know that?!”

“Dean, she’s obviously not 18. Stick to girls your own age,” John responds. “Sammy—.”

I can no longer hear the men as I reach the door to Joe’s office. Jana and Dan had both told me that his door usually stayed open, today it was not only closed, but it was locked as well. I knock, waiting for him to answer. He looks a little frazzled when he opens the door, but smiles at me, “Hey, Y/N/N, what’s up?”

“There’s a guy from Fish and Wildlife; he’s looking into the recent animal attacks? He’s asking about strange occurrences or something? I don’t know, but I know you pay attention to that kind of stuff, so he wants to talk to you.”

“I—shit, yeah, let him know I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he straightens his shirt and closes the door behind him.

I nod and head back to the front of the building. I watch as the boys and their father seem to be in deep discussion. Turning away when I realize Dean has caught me staring. I gather their food, and as I walk towards their table, I can hear that for some reason, I am the current topic of discussion, specifically, my age.

“Actually, I’ll be 17 in a month,” I quip, dropping their food, unsure of why I am engaging with this odd group of men.

“Huh?” Dean looks at me curiously.

“Well, for some reason the two of you are overly concerned with my age, I’ll be 17 next month.”

“Still illegal, Dean,” Sam smirks.

“Yeah, but right up your alley, Sammy,” Dean winks at him.

“Boys, stop treating this girl like she’s a piece of meat,” their father doesn’t even look up from his plate.

I can’t help myself, I’m usually not this brazen, but something about these outsiders coming in, I have to say it, “Well, here in the Great State of Texas the age of consent is 17, it’s not technically illegal,” and before I can stop myself I wink at Dean.

“Oh, Y/N, you are killing me here,” he says, bringing his hand to his chest. “Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to pass, but Sammy here,” Dean grabs Sam by the shoulders, “may be able to help you out.”

Sam blushes furiously; it’s actually adorable. I can feel the heat coming up in my own cheeks, and know if I stay any longer, they will see it very clearly.

“Joe’ll be out in a few minutes,” I say, turning to go back to the register. I walk away, adding a little sway in my hips as I know the younger men are watching. “Lemme know if there’s anything else I can get you,” I shoot another wink, this time in Sam’s direction.

“Thanks, Y/N/N.” John’s baritone voice carries through the restaurant.

I watch Joe take a seat with the three men, the younger boys listening and observing their father very carefully. I watch John grab something—a fork?— out of his pocket and discreetly place it in front of Joe. Why would he do such a thing? Joe and the men continue to speak for 10 minutes until the dinner rush starts, and Joe excuses himself.

The three men finish their burgers and leave the restaurant; concern etched on their faces as they have a heated conversation.

Throughout the dinner rush, I notice that Sam is stationed outside of the building. It looks as though he’s watching somebody. But every time I look up, his position has changed. After it grows dark, I can no longer see him outside; I realize I shouldn’t let him occupy my mind. Jana and I work furiously until a few hours later when we finally close.

“First day on your own,” Jana says, letting her hair down and hopping onto the counter. “You did good Y/N/N, only a couple mistakes.”

“Thanks, it’s not always gonna be like that, right?” I say, sighing, mimicking her actions with my own hair.

“Nah, I mean, the Friday and Saturdays will be, but unless it’s a school break, the nights are not usually too crazy,” she reassures me.

“Thank God,” I laugh, “what about the customers? Did you see those guys earlier? The ones talking to Joe?” I ask, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the fact that I am blushing at the mention of the men.

“Oh, you mean the green-eyed one who was clearly hitting on you?” She smirks at me, “With the older guy and the really tall guy?”

“Yeah… you have an excellent memory…” I laugh, “he was so cheesy. ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” I mock him. “I mean, he can’t think girls really fall for that? Even the tall one knew it was a bad line.” I blushed a little, thinking about them.

“Oh my god, you like him, green-eyes.” She gasps, “You wanna jump his bones,” she sang mockingly at me, “you love him!”

“Shut up,” I threw my apron at her playfully, “I do not want to jump his bones. Besides, I’m jailbait. He’s at least 21 or so.” Jana raises her eyebrow at me. “He basically told me he couldn’t.”

“So… you’re saying you would if he was younger?” she giggles.

“Jana! No! He’s not my type. He’s way too cocky—he probably thinks he’s God’s Gift to Women,” I mock him again.

“What about the tall one? He was gorgeous,” she offers, “And the dad? He’s hot, like I will so call him Daddy. Let him just—."

“That’s way too much information, Jana. Anyway, if green-eyes is too old, how on earth is the dad not even more wrong?”

“That’s what makes it so hot… like, the wrongness of it…” she says mock fanning herself. “Okay, so clearly, the giant is the one you’re gonna have to do. You can just climb on top—" she says, moving her whole body onto the counter, “and take him for a ride.”

“Jesus, Jana.” I try to suppress my embarrassed laughter. But I blush furiously at the thought of Sam, especially with the image that Jana just planted in my head. I cover my face with my hands as I try to compose myself.

“Oh my god, you are so red!” Jana laughs, “It’s the giant! He’s the one you lo-ove!”

“I don’t even know him! They’re just passing through. You know the type, no one actually moves here. Not for real, at least. They’ll be gone in a week.”

“Y/N/N, that’s why it’s perfect. Hook up, get all that pent-up frustration out of your system, and then you’ll go your separate ways,” she offers. “Wham-bam-thank you-ma’am.”

“I’m really not into that one-night stand stuff,” I say, “I mean, what’s the point?”

“Come on, Y/N/N, that’s the point. Sometimes you just need a release. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with some guy you just met and hook-up with once. I mean, you’ve hooked up with guys before, right?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“Oh, my God. Y/N/N, you’re not a virgin, are you?” she whispers so that Dan and Joe won’t hear. I nod, I didn’t have a problem with my own virginity, but other people did. I know I have plenty of time. And with how busy mom and dad keep me, I have no time for boys. “Oh, okay, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know. Besides, mom and dad don’t even like the thought of me dating; they’d make the guy ask for permission. It’s not that I would ever have time for it anyway. Either way, it’ll happen whenever it happens, and it will probably not be great the first time,” I laugh, trying to break the serious look on Jana’s face. “I have very low expectations, especially if he’s never done anything either. Most boys my age don’t know what they’re doing anyway.”

“Not to be all romantic or whatever, but you know it doesn’t have to be like that. Your first time doesn’t have to suck. It can be really nice if you get the right person.”

“I figure it will either be awesome or okay,” I laugh, “hope it’s awesome, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Okay, I’m gonna have one more mom moment with you, and then we can leave, okay?” she grows slightly serious, and I nod my head. “Bring condoms.” I choke out a laugh. “I’m serious. Don’t count on the guy to do it. And don’t trust the ‘pull-out’ method. Dudes always think they can time it right, and half the time…” she makes a gesture I don’t quite understand, I look at her confused. “Inside. Or at least not all the way out. And I’m sure getting pregnant isn’t a part of your grand plan.” She smiles softly. “If you ever need someone to talk about this stuff with, you can come to me, okay?”

“Thank you, if and when the day ever comes, I’ll be sure to tell you.” She raises her eyebrow. “I swear. Don’t count on it being anytime soon, though.”

Jana finishes counting the tips, and I count the register. We grab our bags, say goodbye to Dan, who’s still closing down, and Joe, who’s in the office looking at receipts.

Jana and I live about a block away from each other, and close enough to the restaurant that neither of us bothered driving. Every week it’s getting colder, and I know by the first week of December it will be too cold to walk home at night. But until then, Jana and I walk together, her house off of the main road that leads to mine.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you all the way home?” Jana asks as we reach her street.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Then you’ll have to walk back by yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’m prepared.” She pulls mace and a small knife that’s attached to her keychain out. “If someone or something tries to get me, stab stab.”

“Jesus, Jana,” I laugh out of shock. “No, I’ll be fine, how about tomorrow before work I get me one of those and then I’ll be prepared as well.”

“Fine, but call me when you get home,” she jots a number down and waves goodbye, “I’m serious Y/N/N, call me. If you don’t, I will call your parents.”

“I will,” I yell, turning back to head home.

I feel that I’m being followed. Paranoid, I know. I swear I can hear footsteps behind me, but every time I turn around, there’s nothing there. Freaking Jana, this is her fault. I’ve never had issues walking home at night before, but now I’m hearing things that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t put “I’m prepared,” in my head, now feeling like a taunt. I’m less than 5 minutes away from my house; what could possibly happen?

I hear a growling, something inhuman; it grows louder as I try to will myself to move faster. I turn the corner, and that’s when it happens, someone, something, jumps out of nowhere and starts running towards me. I try to run, but my legs won’t move, “fuck.”

I hear yelling, but I still can’t move, the creature is getting closer to me, and I get a good look at it. Claws, it has fucking claws. Its eyes are yellow, and its teeth are huge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a werewolf. But werewolves don’t exist. This must be the creature that John was looking for.

‘It’s some kind of rare species of bear,’ I tell myself, ‘a bear.’

It’s only about a foot away from me; it looks like something out of a horror movie. It’s on its hind legs, unnatural noises leave its body, and before I can even move, it's swiping at me. All I can do is close my eyes and pray it doesn't kill me. A loud bang forces my eyes open, I stand there, still unable to move. I look up to see a set of familiar eyes before me, ones I hadn’t expected to see ever again. Sam.

Chapter 2

[lickingyellowpaint]

Alright, because at least one anon was curious, here are some thoughts based on, admittedly, a very brief foray into the world of sales. I'll speak only to what made my gut instinct do a confused puppy head-tilt, and obviously this is opinion, from someone on tumblr, and therefore not the end-all, be-all of advice on this...

Red Flags of Possible Scam Employers and/or Services

1) The first red flag was that the company threw me into the internal chats - chock full of pep and others' successes - before I was actually physically at work and able to understand their utility. Perhaps it’s easier from a tech perspective to fling new employees into every digital system at once. And sure, there was useful information and good insight into how the company uses those chats - lots of newbies asking questions and getting relevant good answers whilst on the floor, which IS nice - and if you're like me and unfamiliar with the tech or apps being used, it's great practice.

For the most part, though, two of the main chats were just hyping up their salespeople as they met their goals. I suspect they want you to see how much money everyone's making, how they're meeting their goals, and make you want to succeed similarly. There was already a little too much constant enthusiasm bouncing around the place for my goth ass, but hey, can't say the culture was negative! Still somewhat a nefarious psychological move, though, imho. The intent is likely to boast, dazzle, entice, overwhelm and make you envious enough to be competitive, as much as it is to inspire and inform. Just a guess.

2) The second red flag was similar in nature. In a lot of the e-meeting training sessions, there was a LOT of time spent on praising the success of those present in video meetings, a LOT of time spent on explaining the tier system of salespeople, the incentives, the commission system, cool trips you can earn... and I get that, to a degree, okay, you have a job, you wanna know how much money you can really make. Fine!

But if as much or more time is spent on those types of things than the actual training on what you need to learn to do the job... hm. Hm! I suspect more headgaming. (And no, this wasn't an MLM targeting suburban moms to employ and get all their friends onboard. This is a big company with good stock and trusted affiliates.) Anyway, this is about when my gut started to do that quiet hrrrr-uff dogs do when they wanna bark but aren't sure about it yet.

3) Language and words are key. Obviously, most people are sharp enough to know that phrases like "no out-of-pocket upfront cost" is a codeword for We Can't Legally Say It's Free But Want You To Feel Like It Is, and means there'll be payment involved at some point. It's one thing to know that, and quite another to parrot the phrase at an elderly potential customer, or one whose grasp of English isn't quite perfect. Could you, in good conscience, do that for a commission and feel good about it? Turns out I couldn't.

And that's not necessarily indicative of a scam company altogether - sales is sales, and sales language has probably been a little deceptive by nature for as long as it's been around. But could you do that for a paycheck, while being new to the job, thus not being entirely sure what it's gonna cost that little old lady or that immigrant family down the line? Could you? You may not really know for sure until you hear yourself say it, and your gut starts barking in earnest, because you don't know what their next step - that you just convinced them to take - will be.

4) I didn't know, so I tried to find out. While my followers here know I was pretty diligent with my required training stuff, you can see from points 1 and 2 that those materials weren't really meaty and informative enough for me. I tried to seek further clarification not just on my tasks, but the next steps - could someone explain them to me better, in a way that assured me I wasn't pitching a scam? Could someone send me videos or content relevant to the next step in the process, just so I understand it better for my own edification and peace of mind?

Well... maybe they tried to. I was sent a link to a video of one of the next-step-in-the-process sales guys at work... only to be denied access to that video, and though I requested access, nothing in the system ever granted it to me. A glitch? Perhaps. But when I mentioned wanting access, wanting a few more questions answered until I felt right with things, most of what I heard was:

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

"Don't overcomplicate things for yourself."

"That's a little above your role. Keep things simple, say you don't know, and it'll add value to the expertise of the next-step sales guy!"

"We tend to save that for more advanced training, since not all of our new people have your emotional intelligence, and might not have as good a brain-to-mouth filter, and say more to the customer than they need to."

Well... I wasn't asking in order to answer a customer's questions, I was asking to answer mine. I won't speak to what I don't know to be true, and I won't sell what I'm not sure is legit, no matter how much I'm paid to do so. And that gut-dog? Now it's a pack of dogs, and at least one of them is starting to howl.

5) It's howling kind of loudly, actually, and my (delightful, friendly, funny) managers aren't helping me quiet it down. So if they can't answer my questions to my satisfaction, I have to seek answers elsewhere.

Arguably, obviously, I should have done this from the start, but - that's when I sought out customer reviews.

And I don't mean clicking Google Reviews and just reading those.

I mean spending most of an afternoon on a deep dive into the following search terms:

"[Company Name] reviews" "[CN] scam" "[CN] Better Business Bureau reviews" "[CN] reddit" "[CN] class action/lawsuit" "[CN] Yelp/any other well-known review site you can think of”/Twitter tag/FB search

You get the idea.

Now, of course some bad actors (rival companies, annoyed ex-employees) can write bad reviews to make the company look bad. Equally, anyone who felt like it could write good reviews to make the company look good. (I wasn't about to search every good reviewer's name in our email database to see if any matched up. But a couple did include words or phrases that might be included in customer-facing marketing and mission statements and thus parroted naturally, but were definitely included in internal training vids. Just a very slight few, but they popped out at me.) Another thing to keep in mind when wanting to take all reviews into account equally is that when people are happy with a product, they don't always remember to leave reviews, so most reviews are written by the vaguely-to-deeply dissatisfied to begin with, and may not be an accurate representation of what's really going on.

Let's be fair here. As a thought experiment, look up the reviews for a company/service/product you truly love, and see if the bad ones reflect a concern you can understand, or one you'd brush off, or one that just doesn't reflect your experience at all. What works for one person/locale/reason for another, might not for someone else, and that’s understandable.

Also ponder:

Out of, let's say, 200 reviews, how many would need to be positive to get you to buy something, especially if it was something you wanted? Would a lot of negative ones make you second-guess the product or service?

How would you gauge the seriousness of the problems presented in the negative ones?

Would a company responding to the bad reviews with apologies and customer service numbers, on that same forum where all could read their empathy and solutions, be enough to convince you that the company had handled the issue by the time you're reading them?

Ponder, ponder, ponder...

aaaand, moving on.

Let's say that out of 200 reviews from a plethora of sources, 40-50 are five-star happy with the company.

Another, eh, 30 or so are two- or three-star, because something went wrong, wrong enough to leave an iffy or downright bad taste in the reviewers' mouths.

The last 110-120? One-star reviews. With at least 10-20 of those saying they'd have left zero stars if the review forum allowed it.

Some of those one-stars may be several years old. Some may have since had their issue truly resolved, and never bothered to update their review or add to it. Some have issues that boil down to, "Okay, the customer clearly didn't understand the terms", or, "That's a crazy problem but I can't relate to caring about it because [insert personal preference/reason] here."

But if a whole load of those one-star reviews tend to speak up about the same types of problems, serious ones, ones you'd find bothersome or downright tragic, ones that would cost you money in some way or another, ones that make you further doubt the integrity of the company altogether, and many of them are as recent as the last few months...

Do I need to finish that sentence?

Hold up, BRB, I have to let the gut-dogs out, they're going absolutely batshit crazy. Must be a full moon!

Or just a disorganized, neglectful, or possibly purposely deceitful company.

The old saying says there’s a sucker born every minute.

Would your conscience be cool with being paid to be one, or to prey on them?

Advice:

My advice is pretty basic: before joining, signing, buying important things, do your diligent research and trust. your. gut.

I hope the above list of experiences helps guide you in doing both.

[cordonia]

Ethan + MC: “PUSHING DAISIES” AU: P1

Summary: Ethan Ramsey has gift that goes beyond his medical experience. With a single touch he can revive the dead for one minute before consequences take place. It’s handy, for his position at the hospital in a small town called Delarosa where crime is suddenly on the rise. Except it’s dangerous when he has the chance to revive the last girl he ever loved. Because nothing is for free. 

Warnings: This is less lighthearted than the show. Death, mention of physical attack and injuries. Also Pushing Daisies (2007-2009) is one of the best shows ever so this is your warning to watch it. 

Word Count: 1550

Ethan Ramsey was thirty-seven years, twenty weeks, four days and fifteen minutes old. He was unlike most of the people who inhabited the small town he had lived in all of his life. At a very young age he had learned more about the balance of the universe than anyone he had ever met. He had suffered because of the ignorance around him, but it meant that he could stay, possibly forever. 

Perhaps it also meant that he could not leave, the risk too great to expose to a greater audience than the regulars in his life. Thinking about it that way only made him feel trapped.

There were only two people who knew of his capabilities, one being June Hirata who was the director of Diagnostic Medicine until two years prior when the program had shut down. Believe it or not, there was little need for a diagnostic team when there were fewer than ten thousand people in their hometown. Ethan was moved to head of Trauma and June was head of Neurology, and while those titles sounded exciting, they were both too good for the very small hospital. 

A lot had happened in the past two years, including Mariana Valentine leaving their hometown. Leaving him. 

“Call it.” June’s tone was firm, and the resident who followed her around like a puppy hesitantly exited the room. Ethan stood still, his whole body attuned to only one person in the room. He couldn’t look away. 

Mariana wasn’t supposed to be here. She shouldn’t have been lying on the gurney, head trauma severe enough that the resident had almost thrown up. One good blow with a weapon and she was gone within two hours. This was not how he was supposed to remember her, the last memory he would ever have. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

“Go grab some coffee, Ethan. I’ll finish everything here.” 

This was not an offer she would make under any other circumstance, she only ever volunteered her puppy. Lahela, to name him, something that Ethan should have gotten better at doing. There were many things he was supposed to do and change. There always felt like there would be more time. 

Mariana was an unexpected threat to his perception of reality. There was always time, until there wasn’t. 

“Leave, Ethan.” That was a warning. 

“Why is she here?” His voice didn’t waver, but his legs threatened to falter. Something seemed fitting about falling to his knees, but for what purpose? He did not need to pray when what he dreamed of asking for was woven into the tips of his fingers. 

“Don’t pretend like I would know. She was attacked on Mirani Drive, that’s all that they got out of Aveiro before he was called off again. The police will probably come in to question her, I’ll let them know she didn’t make it.” 

“She was only a street away from her parents house.” 

He could feel June’s stare burn through him, but he still couldn’t look away. He took a step closer to the bed and reached out-- 

“Ethan, I did not sign up for what happens when you watch her die again.” 

His gaze snapped to Dr. Hirata and she took a deep breath when she saw his expression. She was always stubborn, and exceptional at whatever job she had in front of her. But she was not God. And in that moment, it would take absolute proof of a higher power forbidding him one touch, to stop him.  

“Why doesn’t she deserve justice, just like the others?”

Dr. Hirata shook her head slowly, sighing. “You don’t know the others like you know her. I know that she was your best friend once, and you know that one minute will never be enough!”

One touch, anywhere upon her skin and her eyes would open to him for the first time in a long time. He couldn’t remember the last time they had touched, it felt like a betrayal to everything he felt for her. He owed her the truth, it couldn’t really be too late. 

“One minute is all that I want.” A lie. He wanted an entire lifetime. 

“Fine, but I’m not leaving.” She crossed her arms and stepped back into the corner, looking away from Ethan and the bed. June did not enjoy watching all laws of the universe being thrown out the window, even if she agreed that it helped in criminal cases.  

He reached for Mariana’s cheek and then pulled his hand back. Nothing felt quite appropriate, not when their friendship never involved a physical relationship in any form. Mostly. One single memory disrupted that truth. But they had not spoken in some time, so he reached out again and did not hesitate to put his hand in hers. 

Before there was a gasp for air, her hand tightened in his. But he had to let go. 

Fifty-nine seconds. 

“Mariana,” he entreated, almost breathless. “You’re at Delarosa General, you were attacked and I need to know who hurt you.” 

“Ethan,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes wide and alert, “you found me.” 

Mariana Valentine; twenty-eight years, forty weeks, three days and two hours old. She would only grow one minute older. 

“We don’t have much time. Do you know what happened to you?” 

“Oh.” Mariana shook her head. She brought both of her hands to her face, wiping away at the tears that immediately formed. She felt no pain, Ethan knew that, but the agony written across her face was not physical. “It’s all over, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why this happened,” Ethan lamented, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He wanted to wrap himself around her and promise that this was the end of all pain, the beginning of eternity. 

Except his next touch would be the last and he did not know if death was an end or a beginning. He had no way to console her and no promises to make, only a heavy and permanent fate when his skin next brushed against hers. When he touched her again, she was dead for good.

His gift was often cruel, but he felt forsaken by all good in the universe. He had already lost his mother because of what he could do, he was surely being punished. He could not explain it any other way. 

“Tell my parents I’m sorry I went for that walk. I should have stayed home. And Ethan...” She looked away, her eyes catching June leaning against the wall. “I wanted to come back, I missed you and I missed my parents. I would have come back to you.”

“Every minute of our friendship changed me, I want you to know that.” He didn’t know what else to say, there was too much to filter through in seconds. 

That was their conclusion, a harrowing and blood soaked finale with no assurance of justice. One single minute on a gurney that ended as quickly as it began.

“Ethan,” June commanded. 

“No.” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

Two seconds was no time to argue, and June was a survivor as much as she could be a fighter. She left so quickly that the room seemed to shudder upon her exit. 

“Ethan.” His name came from Mariana’s lips. She looked up at him in fear and confusion, and the weight of his choice had a tight grip around his throat. 

He didn’t know what to say. Their time was up, seconds past, and an alteration in the universe was completed. A life for a life. Mariana Valentine breathed because somewhere close by them, someone had just taken their last breath.

June, he thought as the panic burned in every vein. Guilt from every area of his life began to resurface, a compilation of every life he bruised, betrayed or buried. Who had he sacrificed to alter fate? This was not the person he wanted to be, the one he convinced himself he could be. He had never been more selfish in any minute of his life. 

“I’m still alive,” she cried, “what did you do?” She wasn’t angry or upset, rather overwhelmed with shock. 

“I couldn’t let you go, you were supposed to have more time.” His shame slowly evolved into a guilt ridden relief. She was safe, breathing against all odds and completely unaware of how complicated her life was about to become simply because she lived. 

There was one thing she had already considered, the beginning and end of her life after death. Ethan’s touch. 

“You can never touch me again.” She knew that something changed between then as soon as it was spoken aloud. Perhaps the one thing they hadn’t gotten the chance to explore; touch. 

He could recall almost every time their shoulders grazed when they watched documentaries together. Or when she covered his hands with hers and promised him he had a purpose. The very first and only time they had ever kissed held permanent real estate in multiple parts of his brain. The last time he was completely and purely content, unbeknownst to anyone in his life, was that kiss. 

They would never kiss again. 

And then, like an alarm during a ceremony, a scream sounded off throughout the trauma centre. The consequences found Ethan before he could find them.

“Declan Nash isn’t breathing!” 

Note: If there is any interest for me to continue this, I have a whole plan in place for the story. Also, it only makes sense for me to include some characters over others based on their value to the circumstances of this AU (not to Open Heart in general). I’m keeping what characters I think would fit into the story well and using other names in the story as places and so on. This would have lighter moments if I continued, the sad is out of the way...

Tagging: @ethandaddyramsey @binny1985 @openheart12 @bellcat2010 @edith-eggs1 @missmiimiie @queenofspades6 @schnitzelbutterfingers @longneckramsey @queencarb @kaavyaethanramsey @mkamra2355 @ethxnrxmsey whimsicalreader @jooous @blazerina @choices-lurker @itsgoingnuts @lilyvalentine @aworldoffandoms @choices-love-affair @nooruleman @junehiratas

[ajokeformur-ray]

Pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie 🥰💕

 Summary: You are so tired. Nothing’s going right and when things go to shit, they really go to shit and you’re left breathless. Knowing is Arthur of your struggles, for he goes through many similar things, and he’s there with open arms, listening ears, and he’s ready to meet you in the middle with understanding and with love. You’re not alone, dearheart, not ever.

A/N: A personalised gift for @arthurskitten​; one of the sweetest, most kind and caring people in this fandom. I’ve been such a huge fan of your writing since the beginning and I just wanted to give you something which was just for you as a small token of my love and appreciation for you. I went through your blog, most notably your venting tag, and I pulled together bits and pieces so that I could make this as you as I could; you deserve nothing less! 💖🥰  I hope that you enjoy this, but if not, please don’t be shy to let me know and I’ll happily write you something else!💙

TW; mentions of (unspecified) traumas (canon compliant for Arthur), dissociation, insomnia and depression.

Word count: 2, 207.

Arthur knows everything about you. 

He knows your likes and your dislikes, your wants and your desires, your hopes and dreams, your wishes. your doubts and your regrets. He knows your insecurities and your nightmares, the best things which have ever happened to you... he knows things which you are only brave enough to admit in the dead of night and he knows how deeply and completely you love one another.

In short, he knows you like he knows the backs of his bruised, veiny hands.

Currently does Arthur lean against the archway which connects the kitchen to the rest of the cramped but cosy apartment. He is aware that this morning did you wake up feeling rather worse for wear, and though he wishes that he could cradle your very being in his hands and smooth away the crevices in your soul created by the things which happened to you across your life, he knows that he can’t, and so he must content himself with only loving you as hard as he can during every moment which the two of you are gifted with as a couple. As yet, he hasn’t ever broken his promise to himself, and never shall he, a determined being so full of love is he. There is a cigarette, half consumed, dangling gracefully between two of his fingers. Smoke rises into the air from the burning embers, and the tendrils curl around each other gently, dissipating just as you notice them. You long to similarly curl into Arthur, to become one with him so that never will the two of you be torn asunder.

It is a sentiment which Arthur echoes deep within his own soul. Now that he knows what life with you is like, he never again wants to know anything else. He has lived almost thirty six years without the light of your existence, without your love, and he doesn’t ever want to go without you again. This is another promise which he shall never break, a devoted soul is he. 

Arthur’s sea green eyes are fixed upon you. You are sitting on the worn sofa, a broken spring digging into your coccyx, though you take no notice of it, used are you to this sofa. Neither of you can afford to get a new one, you can’t even afford to put a deposit down on a new one, and you have grown apathetic to this physical discomfort. It couldn’t ever beat the discomfort of your mind, for one thing. Your eyes are on the television, but Arthur knows that look upon your visage. He knows that your body is here in the room with him and he knows that you are not. Your eyes are glazed over, so far away are you. As Arthur crosses the room does he wonder where you have gone, but he knows even without asking that he will be able to follow you. Similar are your experiences and Arthur is nothing if not sharp minded and willing to be his best self for you, even when he is exhausted mind, body and soul. 

Arthur sits down beside you and you blink, the sudden weight of his lithe form jolting you from your silent reverie. Some of the mist over your eyes dissipates as surely as the smoke coming off of the end of the now consumed cigarette does. Your clown will always pull you out of yourself as best as he can, using his own experiences to help you. He is almost grateful for his own pains and his own trials across his life, for they inexplicably have led him to you. Arthur bends the filter of the cigarette as he puts the smouldering end out, orange flecks quickly dying as they blend with the ash still in the tray; he has been slack on cleaning today, if only so that he can take care of you. He has found you now and proverbially does he bend over and take your hand as he pulls you up to standing from the carnage of your thoughts. He is with you and no longer are you alone. Arthur’s body is angled towards you so that you know that all of his attention is fixed on you. “What’s going on up there, Bunny?” Arthur’s soft, raspy voice is accompanied by the act of his thin lips, cool to the touch, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your temple, curious and concerned is he for his one and only person who understands him. You are in his space but no longer is he all alone and he never will be again. You are his everything, just as he is your everything; equal are the two of you in all the ways that you love each other.

You press your face into Arthur’s lips, wanting more of everything. Arthur’s breathy giggle tells you that he was expecting this, so affectionate a couple are you. He cups your face in his hands, his fingers splayed behind your ears so that he can touch as much of you as he can all at the same time, and he peppers your face in kisses. First your forehead as Arthur starts at your right temple and makes his way in a straight line to your left temple; then down your left cheek to your jaw. He pays extra attention to the corner of your jaw and his lips, warmed now by the heat of your face, his hands hot against your cheeks, and Arthur kisses along your chin up to your right temple. He finishes his pattern with a kiss to the tip of your nose. Your face is tingly with Arthur’s affections, your cheeks are burning deliciously under his touch as electricity is left in Arthur’s wake. With every kiss do you come a little bit more into yourself and Arthur coaxes you out of your own mind softly, tenderly. He knows how to do this well, just as you know how to do the same for him. You are safe in his hands, just as he is safe in yours.

Unsatisfied is he with your lack of a response and so Arthur says, “Come on, doll, talk to me.” You shift sideways on the sofa so that you are closer to Arthur and you turn your body to the side so that your knees are brushing against his own. Now are you nearly home. You are almost aching to feel as much of Arthur against yourself as you possibly can. He is your safe space, your joy and your strength, your reason and your purpose. You lean forward to rest your forehead against Arthur’s own and you can feel his skin crinkle beneath your own, so weathered is his face despite his own young age. Oh, how much comfort you find within him. You know it is because you are of a similar age and because neither of you had the chance to properly mentally mature as one of the consequences of the traumas which the two of you have gone through in your lives, and in this moment do you truly feel like you have found, at long last, your soulmate. In all your life, you have never found someone who connects with you on such a deep level, someone who understands you, someone who knows you and who loves you no matter what. Though the both of you struggle more than anyone should ever have to suffer, the both of you are also so deeply connected and so emotionally intertwined that sometimes you think that you are two halves of one coin, though indeed are you whole and complete people on your own. Arthur presses his forehead tighter against your own as once more does he capture your attention, and his oceans are wide open now. He is ready for you. “Please.”

This final plea, so desperate is Arthur to know what plagues you this day, loosens your tongue and through the haze of a mostly sleepless night do you manage to tell him about how badly your insomnia is affecting you, about how unrelentless your depression is becoming, and about how your overall mental health is on a steep decline. You are a fighter, you have had to be, and you are doing your absolute best, you tell him, and as your feelings spill from your lips like a waterfall is Arthur left in awe of you and of your continued strength. When at last have you finished telling him everything, you tell him your simplest, most important truth. It is the one thing which never leaves you no matter how heavy things become and always is it there for you to lean on and to depend on. “I love you so much, Arthur. It feels like everything is killing me but you keep me going and I... I want to be a good boyfriend for you. If I’m a good boyfriend then maybe I’m not too messy and I - “ You cut yourself off, having finally reached the point where your words run dry. There is nothing more to say and yet still is your mind somehow screaming at you while it is blissfully quiet.

Arthur coos in sympathy and his hands travel down your cheeks, down your neck and curves to the slopes of your shoulders. He is so confident in the way that he touches you but all the same does he avoid any areas which you don’t like being touched or areas which make you uncomfortable, so thoroughly and so completely does he know you. “I know what that’s like,” His voice is a breathy exhalation, so tired is he inside and out. He, too, suffers with insomnia and depression and it seems that the both of you have bad days together; it only makes you think that the two of you really are completely linked to one another, cut from similar cloth are you. “It’s okay to be messy sometimes. You’re human,” Arthur shrugs with one shoulder, his hands flexing comfortingly against your shoulders. His green eyes light up and he is quick to continue, “But, Bunny... you are a good boyfriend. You’re the best part of this shitty city, the best part of me, and I... I don’t want you to be any other way than how you are now, I - I love you.”

“I love you too, Arthur.” You smile sadly; there is always a bittersweet ache in your chest when you look at him, so beautiful and so ethereal is he. “You’re my safety.” You mean every word you say and you can never say it in such a way that you feel satisfied; never can you say enough how deeply and how unconditionally you love him and it is much the same for Arthur when it comes to you. You wonder how on earth you got so lucky that day and though you wonder what you did to deserve him, you also know that you will do that very same thing every day for the rest of your life if it means that you get to remain with the man who holds your heart in his weathered hands.

“I always will be, doll.” Arthur smirks, confident is he in his ability to be everything that you need for him to be, “You’re my one and only and you always will be. You’re my safe space, too, and I - I wouldn’t have anything to lose without you. You’re my Bunny, my home. I’m so proud of you.” The last sentence is a mere whisper, so shy is Arthur; changeable is he. You marvel at the duality of him and, oh, help you. That was everything you have ever wanted to hear from your Arthur and it is all you can do to keep yourself from pressing your lips to his again and again and again. You push yourself forward, chasing Arthur’s lips before they have even left your own, and Arthur hums against your lips as he presses forward into you. Oh, how stunning you are and so breathless is Arthur when he is with you. It seems as if every gift, every kiss which is bestowed upon you revitalises your soul and fills you with strength and with light. He grips at you with a gentle but a firm grip and with much fumbling and some awkwardness do you finally end up on Arthur’s lap, cuddled into him and completely surrounded by all that he is and all that he will ever be, and just as Arthur protects you from yourself does he also make sure that you know, beyond all shadow of a doubt, just how loved and cherished, wanted and needed you are.

You know that so long as Arthur is with you, you will make it through every rise and fall, every triumph and every fail, and no matter how scary and terrifying things become, you know that he won’t ever leave you. There is nothing Arthur won’t do for you, just as there is nothing you won’t do for him, and together are you the richest couple in Gotham.

Thomas Wayne could eat his heart out, for all you cared.

[cyn-00]

Moreid one shot, 14 - "this thing"

Season 2, episode 12 "Profiler, profiled" (the one where Carl Buford is arrested for murdering one of the kids from the Youth Center of Chicago South Side, so the whole story about him being a pedophile rapist - and Derek being one of his victims as a kid - comes up. I wanna point out that originally I think only Gideon and Hotch discover Derek's direct involvement in this, but for the sake of this fic we'll pretend Reid does, too)

@tastefulancientwhispers asked me to tag her if I ever wrote a fic based on this scene :) so here I am. I shamelessly abused of italics in this one, heh

Also, I have a long-ish DISCLAIMER to make, that applies to all my works and not only this one. I think it's important to address that in this fic I won't mention the topic illustrated in the episode: this work mostly revolves around the famous line "Derek talks about you", said by Derek's sister to Spencer. My purpose was to write a "light" awkward/fluffy fic - almost love confession if you will - avoiding to focus on Derek's history of abuse. I think that's too delicate and serious of a topic for me to try and describe it merely through Derek's words/thoughts; especially considering that I should "filter" this narrative to fit my actual, sole scope of rendering Morgan + Reid's relationship. I actually HAVE focused more overtly on the Buford arc before, in my One shot 8, referencing a much late episode, but I hope I managed to dissuade anyone who read it from thinking that my intent was to romanticize the sexual abuse Derek suffered. Even though I admittedly enjoy reading fics based on the abused/care-taker trope, I still think it's risky to treat such topics if the writer's purpose isn't to convey some sort of "moral". Which is exactly why I'm always reluctant to treat directly and in depth Morgan's trauma as well as Reid's drug addiction: I haven't experienced either of these things, hence I don't think I'd be able to illustrate them properly and without triggering anyone who might be sensitive to said topics. Thank you if you dedicated your time to reading this intro, I hope the message is clear and of easy understanding :) <3

Read it on AO3

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

"Derek talks about you."

Reid couldn't stop replaying that phrase in his head, in an endless loop.

In the exact moment Sarah had said that, his immediate reaction had been to smile - like a total idiot, by the way - but now that everything was over and Spencer had the time to think about it, he couldn't help but wonder what she meant.

"Talk" how? "Talk" doesn't mean anything. It just means SAYING things, PRONOUNCING words. Did he say good stuff? Or did he make fun of him? Why did she feel the need to let him know that Morgan "talked" about him? He must've talked about Emily too, sometimes, but Sarah didn't say "Derek talks about both of you ".

He hadn't had the time to deepen the topic because as soon as he replied - "he does??" : again, a complete moron - Emily interrupted them to, righteously, get back to the actual subject: Carl Buford.

The second Reid remembered about it, all those dumb questions wandering in his head vanished. Poof. How could he keep obsessing about that stupid phrase while Morgan was going through what he was going through? Derek had trusted him enough to tell only him, besides Hotch and Gideon, and what was Spencer doing? Thinking about "Derek talks about you". He probably had MENTIONED him, or said, like: "oh you know there's this kid in my unit, socially awkward, total nerd, only thing he does is read like 20 books a da-"

-

"Reid?"

Emily's voice came loud like a train crushing into his ear drums. Spencer winced in his swivel chair.

"Mh?" he mumbled, looking up at her.

"...are you gonna go home or you're planning to keep working?" she asked him, jokingly.

"Yeah, no, I- I mean, yes I'm going home, no I have no intention to keep working, trust me..." he replied distractedly, checking his watch. It was 9:30 pm: not even that late...so why was she asking? Spencer had the sudden impression that she wanted something, and THAT was just a lame excuse to start a conversation.

"I was just double checking an e-mail I had to send." he continued, noticing that she wasn't even wearing her coat, neither had her bag in hand. She could've studied the scene better.

"Oh- yeah...your computer is off but, whatevs" she shrugged, pointing at the black desktop. He could've studied his scene better, too.

He looked at where she was pointing for a second, then stood up and grabbed his satchel.

"I know I was uhm...just, thinking about a thing " he said, understanding why literally everybody labeled him as a bad liar. Still, he didn't wanna spit it all out.

"A thing ?" she echoed him, raising her brows.

"Yes, a-" Reid interrupted himself before he had even decided how to phrase the thing to keep it vague enough. He saw Morgan get out of Hotch's office and heading quickly toward the sliding doors of the bullpen, with his head down.

"...a thing. Gotta go, see you tomorrow!" he said in a rush, quickly walking in Derek's direction without making it too obvious that he was basically running toward him.

-

"Spencer! Wait- wait a second." she said grabbing his arm from behind, after he'd only got 15 ft far.

He turned around, frowning.

"I, uhm, I don't think he's in the mood to...talk ? right now..." Emily said softly, with an awkward smile on her face.

"You know?" she added, tilting her head, hoping that she wouldn't have to explain further.

Spencer gulped, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. She was right, and if only she'd known the whole story, she would've been even righter. If there's even such a thing as being more right than...right.

"Yes, I- I know, but I wasn't planning on talking about... about that, I just have to ask him this... thing." he replied slightly embarrassed, looking down at the floor.

"Is the 'thing' you wanna ask him the same 'thing' you were thinking about earlier?"

"...yes" he answered almost murmuring, like it was some kind of secret - which is what it was still supposed to be, to her: a secret. Because, in the end, he hadn't even TOLD her, so how did she KNOW? How did she do that? Emily always did that. Fuck.

"And is this 'thing' what I think it is?" she pried, lowering her voice to the same volume of Spencer's.

"I...I don't know?" he replied, only not to give her the satisfaction of receiving the millionth "yes". But the answer was: yes.

"Then go, ask him the 'thing'. " Emily concluded, nodding her chin in the elevator's direction.

Spencer leveled his eyes with hers, gladly noticing a reassuring look of complicity appear on her face.

He nodded, smiling at her in a silly way before turning around.

-

Spencer quickly headed toward the elevator, hoping Derek hadn't got too far in the meantime - or, even worse: had already started his car.

He saw the elevator doors closing.

"Wait! Hold it!" he shouted, speaking to whoever was inside it.

He ran, jumping in between the doors.

Morgan was inside. Of course. What the hell was he still doing there? Did...did he wait for him? No, that was impossible and way too optimistic. He'd probably bumped into Penelope, who had kept him talking in the hallway for an amount of time nearing a decade.

They stared at each other for a solid 20 seconds, gaping, while the doors closed behind Spencer's back, leaving them alone - luckily.

Spencer figured the unsteadiness of his breathing wasn't due to the "run" anymore. He gave up on trying to slow it down, and decided he was going to speak up first, since Derek still looked frozen like an ice cube. Maybe he was annoyed by Spencer's presence, and he just wanted to avoid starting a conversation to make the interaction as quick as possible and finally go hom-

-

"R- Reid" Derek's thorough and slightly hoarse voice broke the silence.

"I was kinda looking for you, earlier. Gave up at a certain point." he added, smiling a bit. He looked... embarrassed? Was that even possible? For Derek Morgan to be embarrassed?

Spencer swallowed nervously, flattered. "Me too, actually."

Derek opened his mouth like he wanted to say something first, before the other could continue. But he got interrupted by the doors opening up again behind Spencer.

He pointed at the empty lobby with his finger, seeing that Reid hadn't even noticed they'd arrived at ground floor already.

Spencer turned around. They got out and he stopped 3 ft from the elevator, standing still, fiddling nervously with his hands. Was Derek expecting him to follow him or something? Were they gonna talk the next day? Or was he supposed to drop the topic forever because time was up?

Derek, who had got ahead in the meantime, turned around.

"You comin?" he asked, non-chalantly.

"Uhm, yeah- where?" Spencer replied, finally taking jogging steps forward to reach him, feeling like the marble floor was starting to sink under the soles of his Converses from standing there for so long.

"I'll give you a ride home. I don't know how you take the subway every fucking day." Derek replied, snorting.

Spencer smiled back, shyly.

"...thanks" he mumbled, looking down at his feet while walking outside with him, their arms only a couple of inches from touching.

-

They stayed silent until they arrived to the car. When they did, Derek stopped before either of them could get in.

"Listen, uh, I- I hope you're not gonna ask me stuff about... about Buford because honestly I can't take anymore pity-faces. Especially yours." he said in a deep tone.

"Nonono, no, absolutely not- I mean, if you ever wanna talk about it I'm here but I'm not- I don't wanna pressure you or anything." Spencer answered defensively, feeling his heartbeat racing. He wondered what he meant by "especially yours". Was his pity-face more annoying than the others'? Apparently, saying indecipherable phrases that made Reid go paranoid was a Morgans' family thing.

He saw Morgan nodding uncomfortably. Reid gazed silently at him for a bit, taking a careful look of him as a whole. He didn't look good- well, what the hell, of course he looked good, but he didn't look ok. He seemed exhausted and quite anxious - understandably. Nobody had ever seen him like that, and honestly it freaked Spencer out a little. The first thing that popped into his mind, was that such behavior was partially his fault; hence, he spoke up, trying to put a halt to it.

"You know what, I'm- it's late, actually, and you look like you need to stay alone for a while so, I'm just gonna take the subway it's no big dea-"

"No, kid, can you just- can you just stay ? Please..." Derek interrupted him, grabbing his thin wrist before he could get any further.

Spencer's heart warmed up. He eyed down at Derek's grip, unprepared to how even such a faint touch was sending goosebumps all over his arm. Much to his relief, not one but two layers of clothing - shirt AND jacket - hid that reaction from the other man's sight.

"Alright." Reid nodded after a bit, not because he was undecided, but because he was trying to get a hold of said goosebumps. He raised his gaze again to smile idiotically at him.

Derek grinned back apologetically, before ultimately making his way around the car to get in the driver's seat.

-

"So, I heard that you and Prentiss were the ones who had to go talk to my family, am I right?" he asked, with a tone and a way of phrasing the question that was nothing short of a desperate attempt to make it sound low-key and casual. Especially since he chose to say it while opening the car door. Like it didn't matter that much, or at least not enough to say it once he'd be sitting down comfortably. Unfortunately for him, Spencer picked up on all of that.

"Yeah!" Spencer answered, a little too enthusiastically for one who was trying with all his strength not to give the impression that he wanted to talk exactly about that, that he basically read his mind. Unfortunately for him, Derek picked up on those kind of things too - after all, they were paid to do it. To understand behavior. At times they forgot how much more difficult that made their mutual interactions, as well as more authentic.

Derek smiled to himself a little bit and started the car.

"So, how were they?" he asked teasingly, knowing that even if Spencer thought they were the worst people in the world, he would've never told him so. His heart was too pure.

"They're really nice. And they care a lot about you. You're lucky like that..." Spencer replied lowering his voice, revealing a slightly melancholic inflection.

Derek catched a glimpse of him while driving. He knew he wasn't referring to his mom, but to his dad. And he knew there was a big difference between how he lost his own dad and how Spencer lost his: Derek's father died. Spencer's father purposely left him: grabbed his shit, got on his feet, walked away from his wife and son. How a father could do that, was something that Derek would never understand.

"The cake was good, wasn't it?" he asked after a few seconds of heavy silence, trying to lift up the mood.

Spencer finally shifted his eyes to look at him. "Yeah, definitely" he answered, and Derek's mission could be considered accomplished, as a sweet smile appeared on his colleague's face; sweeter than that cake they were talking about - yes, Morgan thought about such comparison. He could've compared it with another million sweet things: caramel like his eyes; honey like his hair under the sunlight; strawberry like the color of his lips... Oh. Dammit.

"I wanna ask you a thing, though..." the sweet voice of the man object of his current fantasies gently snapped Derek out of his thoughts.

"What's that?" Derek asked, hiding the fact that he was shitting his pants wondering what Spencer's question could possibly be.

Spencer nervously played with the buckle of his leather bag, resting on his lap.

"Your sisters, both of them they- they immediately recognized me." he stayed vague. " "Doctor Reid" " he added making the 'quote' gesture with his fingers, smiling self-complacently.

"Well, yeah, we've been working together for...2 years or something, right?" Derek kept the dumb-play going, as if he hadn't basically been keeping count since.

"...2 years and 18 days to be precise...but anyway," Spencer paused to clear his voice. "Sarah, she specifically said that...uhm...that you talk about me. She- she said: 'Derek talks about you'."

Morgan abruptly hit the brakes of his car to stop at a red light that he noticed at the last second, distracted by what Reid had just said, making him wince.

"Wow. Well- fuck, my sisters really don't how to shut their mouths, do they?" he said, laughing a bit nervously.

"Well they- they didn't say anything- I mean, they just said that you "talk" about me but I'm guessing you talk about all of us, of cours-"

"No, Spencer. She meant a specific thing." Morgan interrupted him softly, parking his car. Yes: they'd already arrived at Reid's place.

After a long silence, during which Reid's face remained stuck in a confused scowl, Morgan turned off the car. He sighed, before turning slightly to his right to stare into Reid's hazelnut-hued eyes. Talking to him while driving was easier, because he couldn't look at that face of his. But now that he could, it got x10 times more difficult.

"She didn't say it to Emily, or both. She said it to you. Am I right?" Morgan was shamelessly giving up, gradually crumbling under the look the other was giving him.

Spencer nodded.

"...did you wonder why ?" he didn't wanna say it. God, he DID NOT wanna say it.

"Yes, I- I did, but honestly the only good answer I could come up with was that Emily hasn't been in the unit as long as I have so...I don't know, we still don't know her that well...?" Spencer replied, stuttering.

"That, too." Derek paused. He was thinking about a proper way to say it without freaking Spencer out. He didn't wanna say "it's because I like you", since he wasn't sure he did. Well, of course he LIKED him, but he still hadn't quite figured out if he liked him in that way.

Plus, he'd obviously noticed that Spencer, too, felt something...different. He was sure neither of them had a clue of what to do with it; on the other hand, he was also sure he had to give him a hint, one way or another. To make sure Reid understood that he wasn't imagining it, that there was something different. Even though that "something" didn't have a name yet. Maybe it would, some day.

After thinking for a long time, during which Spencer respectfully stayed silent, the "right" words found their way into Derek's mind, brooming away the dust that had been weighing down on his courage to say them all along.

"A'ight. 3 or 4 months ago I spent a weekend with my family. I don't know if you remember that I didn't come to get drinks with you guys cause I had to leave early in the morning." he started. Spencer nodded - of course he remembered. Dumb question.

"Ok so, one day I was... talking about you with them at dinner, I'm not sure what I was saying, honestly...but after a while Desirée said a thing that made me think." Derek paused, leaning closer to Spencer to make sure he listened carefully.

"She said, quote unquote: 'you know how you always say that Reid gets excited when he rambles about statistics? Well, that's kinda what you do when you talk about him...It's like, he's YOUR statistics'."

Spencer kept looking quietly into Derek's black eyes, without blinking once.

"She... s- she said that?" he then asked, just to be, you know, sure that he wasn't dreaming.

"Mhmh." Derek nodded shortly. "I remember it like it was yesterday. Guess some of that memory of yours must have rubbed off on me, huh?" he grinned brightly.

The burning shade of red staining Spencer's cheeks didn't but spread further, even if he had to bite back a: "that's not possible, Morgan; it doesn't work like that."

Derek continued. "When she said it, at first I thought she was fucking around, but then it's like...it opened my eyes. I- I don't know. I guess I don't even notice when I do it." he shook his head and stared blankly at an undefined spot outside, as if trying to clear his thoughts.

"...just like when we have to stop you from throwing up random statistics that literally nobody asked for." Morgan concluded cocking his head, with a playful and affectionate smile.

Reid giggled, now feeling his whole face on fire and his heart hammering into his ears. He was speechless. For once.

Derek gently placed his warm hand on the back of Spencer's neck, while the other man kept looking down at his bag, biting his bottom lip so hard he thought it could bleed.

"Do you talk about me to your mom?" Derek asked after a while, almost whispering. He kept his eyes glued on Spencer, even though he had clearly no intention of looking back at him any time soon. He wanted to catch every inch of his facial reaction.

"Should I be prepared for her telling me 'Spencer talks about you' if I ever meet her?" he kept the volume of his voice low, starting to stroke Spencer's neck with his thumb and smiling when he saw faint shivers appear on his skin.

"...m- maybe" Spencer answered, not wanting to reveal that literally 70% of the things he told his mom involved him, of which 40% were specifically about him.

Spencer managed to find a crumb of courage to shift his look and finally return Derek's gaze. But as soon as his so-fucking-handsome face reached his sight, along with that way his pupils were staring into him - a way he couldn't quite decipher but didn't mind, after all - he had to jerk his eyes away immediately, or else his heart would've burst out of his ribcage.

Hence, he decided to quickly and distractedly check his watch.

"I- I should probably go now..." he said. He didn't say it because he wanted to - oh, he SO didn't want to go - he just, had to. He didn't wanna ruin things. He wanted to keep that moment fixated into his memory just like it was, hoping many others like that one would come in the future.

"Yeah, you should..." Derek said, shifting farther from him in his seat and taking his hand off of Spencer's soft neck. It was so hard, to stop touching him, it seemed like when you try to split apart two magnets too strongly attracted to one another.

-

Spencer got out of the car, closing the door behind his back. He turned around and bent to look at Derek from outside.

"Wait!" he squealed, tapping his knuckles against the glass.

Derek, who had already started the car, pulled down the window to hear him better, looking at him confused. "Forgot something?"

"No! No, well- yes. I wanted to ask you one more thing." he paused, scrunching his nose. "What did you mean when you said that- that you can't take especially my pity-face?"

Derek bit his bottom lip. "Nothing too hard to understand." he said, with an enigmatic tone. Now, Spencer was the one looking confused.

"It's just way more painful to handle. Cause it's a much prettier face than the others'."

Spencer looked down, chuckling and nodding like he meant to say: 'oh, yeah, that. Of course.'

"See ya tomorrow, Pretty Boy." Derek said in the end, winking and rolling the window back up to finally leave.

-

Spencer was left there, standing and freezing cold, not knowing what to do with himself.

His phone buzzed into the pocket of his pants, giving him something else to concentrate on, something that wasn't that face, or that voice, or that smile, or that hand on his neck...something that wasn't related to Derek Morgan.

It was a text. From... Emily:

"So how'd the 'thing' go?" Duh. Of course it had to be the umpteenth thing related to Derek Morgan.

He smiled at the screen of his phone. Once again: like a complete idiot.

[werevulvi]

Writing this text led me to several important realisations, suddenly crying my heart out, and then feeling a lot better. So I felt it’s important to post. Also I’ve got a question towards the end, for anyone who knows how to use tumblr better than I do. Sudden internalised lesbophobia thought of today, me to myself: "Even if there was a cure for homosexuality, I would never want it..." "...wait... I said 'cure' didn't I?" "Oh, shit. Well if that ain't a freudian slip, I don't know what possibly could be."

That's... my doubled-sided coin in a nut shell. Trapped in one single sentence. I don't actually want for my sexuality to change, even if that was possible (which was what I thought I meant to say), cause I'm happier with other women than I could ever even imagine being with men let alone was, like really a hell of a lot happier with women and I want to nurture and savour that, and I live in one of the most pro-lgbt countries in the world... but I'm still struggling to view it in a fully healthy light. My dumb brain still whispers that it goes against nature, that it's somehow sick. Why do I care? Sitting by a computer obviously goes against nature too, and praying to Satan while wearing a hooded black robe in a dark candle lit room at midnight is often considered "sick" by some people too, and kinda for the same dumb reasons (meaning a harmless something that just goes against people’s personal beliefs), but apparently I have no moral quarrels with those sort of activities. But clearly my women-loving activities, whether romantic or sexual, keep grinding my gears.

Like... maybe that's also intrusive thoughts? Aside from my "regular" sexual intrusive thoughts, I mean. Cause really what else is up with those random "voices" whispering homophobic shit to me? Of course they're intrusive thoughts. I can't believe I didn't realise that before. I'm such an idiot! Oh well, better late than never, here we go again *pats my own shoulder*

However, I had a good conversation today with an acquaintance who might become a friend. He's a gay man, somewhere in his late 40's, very sweet, humble yet straight-forward and kinda blunt, and talks really a lot. He hosts "rainbow cafe" events in the only city on this small island around once or twice a month, which is casual gathering for lgbt people and allies. Sometimes, it's just me and him, because no one else attended. As was last evening, just he and I, and we ended up talking about everything from David Bowie to homophobia in muslim countries, and from to "Will and Grace" to his ex/on-off boyfriend and my girlfriend. I always love hearing him talk of his ex boyfriend. They seem worlds apart yet very understanding and caring of each other, and casually bickering like they've known each other forever. It's clear to me that they're still very good friends. It was perhaps a seemingly simple, just friendly conversation, but it felt so good. Like... just fucking finally having a normal conversation with another gay person about gay stuff irl. I don't know why but that makes me cry right now. Fuck, I just need to feel normal and not just be told that I'm normal. Cause there is a big difference. And during that conversation with him I felt normal. He didn't say it, not even once, but he made me feel normal by simply treating me as if I was. That's it... that clicked something within me. I don't cry often, so when I end up bawling like that... I KNOW it's important. Cause it only happens that I cry when a feeling is so strong I can't possibly bottle it. Instead it explodes. Now I feel a hell of a lot better... wow, that was cleansing! Also I finally managed to tell him about my detransition, which I had not been able to muster before, and then I've met him during those kind of cafe events some 5-10 times by now for a whole year. But now it was easy. I felt considerably more confident than ever, which made me far more conversational than I've been in a long time, and his reaction to that was... he seemed unphased.

Not shocked, not clenching his gut in discomfort at the thought of the horror I must be going through. He seemed to understand it's a difficult process, but didn't make a big deal out of it. In that sense too, he made me feel normal. It's not about me being normal, just feeling it. If even just for rare moments here and there. I've... never felt that way before. That's definitely worth crying over, and it's entirely connected to my internalised lesbophobia. Cause I think with my lesbian discovery, so soon after my detransition, it felt like insult to injury. Like I'll never be a normal woman at any point, no matter how far I detransition, cause I'll always be a lesbian woman. And I think that's the thorn that I didn't even know I had in my side, until it was forcibly pulled out. I no longer doubt I'm a lesbian. I haven't for the past few months. I haven't felt a single doubt about it since my girlfriend and I first got physical, and I mean it. I've felt and known sincere certainty about my sexuality ever since. Not just that I love her, and am very attracted to her, but that I just can't possibly feel that sorta thing towards any male. No man could ever make me wet by just kissing me, but she can. And I know why. It's as clear as the sun is bright. I think unfortunately though... the more sure I get that I really am a lesbian, through and through, the more scared of it I become. It's as if the more sure of it I become, the more inevitable it feels. Question is, why do I treat my homosexuality as some kind of inevitable doom? I read too much crap. No doubt that all the gut-wrenching homophobia that keeps popping up in my tumblr feed is getting to me, feeding my fantasies of corrective rape and drilling thoughts of it being "unnatural" and "wrong" into my already fragile and tormented skull. If only I could filter blog contents somehow without unfollowing or blocking anyone. Cause I want to read some 90% of the content of the radfem blogs I follow, but fuck it whenever I get face fucked with another post of absolutely vicious homophobia (especially when targetting lesbians specifically) I lose my ability to distance myself and I feel like utter and absolute shit. It sucks my ptsd-brain into a vacuum of impending darkness. I get (extra) vulgar when I'm upset. Sorry not sorry, it's a coping mechanism. Trust me, it lightens my mood, and that's the purpose of it.

Or in simpler language: I get a little triggered. Or like... badly triggered, but pushing it aside, pretending everything is fine and dandy, but my insides keep screaming and tossing about.

And I can't keep exposing myself to that, just hoping I'll get desensitised soon enough. I guess tumblr has some kind of function to filter out tags that I could try, but then you guys and gyns don't exactly always tag your shit. Sure it's good to expose homophobes' bigotry so more people will know about, absolutely. But I don't need any more exposure of that, thank you I've had enough. So oh well, oh well. Maybe I could create a second account for following blogs I know are crammed with such nasty shit I can't possibly avoid without making too big of a sacrifice, and keep my main blog clean from that, but means unfortunately unfollowing a lot. Which I don't wanna. Also I really don't have the spoons to create a second account and filter through all the 500 or so blogs that I follow. I just simply don't.

I don't fucking know. But that crap is really, really getting to me and I know I need to take some distance from all the horrid homophobia in the world, or at least a damn break from it. ~Cause I've got a feeling~ ~that it's stunting my healing~ I'm in such a strange mood tonight. My dark humour is coming to my defense. It's late, I need to sleep but I'm hyperactive due to being over-tired. Cause sometimes my brain just does the opposite to what it’s supposed to. It needs me to finish this first. But anyhows. If anyone's got any advice on how to avoid specific(-ally nasty) tumblr content without unfollowing (people who don't fucking tag their nasty posts), that'd be great. Desk top, not app, btw. I mean especially the endlessly big posts of more and more people adding cited quotes from TRA's such as "lesbians who don't like dick should be raped by girl dick, killed, gutted, turned into sex slaves, forcibly impregnated, yadda yadda" you know the drill. And oh it drills... If in any case a clarification was necessary.

[winteriron-trash]

About Me/FAQ

Hey, welcome to my blog! This is my -well, usually- Marvel-centric blog that has everything WinterIron, Bucky Barnes, and Tony Stark, as well as some general shitposts of my own wild adventures. I figured it’s best to keep up this trend of updating my ‘About Me’ page every follower milestone. So thank you all so much for over 3,000 followers, I never expected to break that many followers, let alone in less than a year on Tumblr. I appreciate each and everyone one of you, so really, thank you for sticking around with my bullshit.

Per the usual, I don’t do drama, I don’t do discourse. If you have a serious problem with me or anything I’ve written/done on this blog, please take it up with me personally. I will delete anon hate (if I get any, I haven’t gotten any yet…) and I think it’s all just pointless. I can be salty and derpy sometimes, but I will never purposely say something malicious. I’m not here for that negativity.

Now, to the FAQs.

Do you have an Ao3/Pillowfort/other social media?

I do have an Ao3, you can find me at Gothic_Lolita. I don’t cross-post everything, and a lot of my stuff on Ao3 isn’t WinterIron or even Bucky or Tony-centric, so if you’d like to see some other stuff I write, feel free to check over there. I don’t have a Pillowfort, nor do I plan on getting one. It took me forever to get this platform right, I’m not in the place to bother learning how to navigate a new one. I don’t do Snapchat or Instagram or Twitter because I am not nearly basic or cool enough for that stuff. The only social media I use is Tumblr and Pinterest, and trust me, my Pinterest is nothing interesting enough to be worth linking.

Do you have a tagging system?

I’m… trying, honestly. I’m trying to adjust my tags and systems because of the… wildness Tumblr is having with blocking and purging certain tags. I try to be funny in my tags, and I swear a lot, and apparently ‘fuck’ is being filtered out of the tag search, so that’s fun and completely screwed me over. As it stands, the important tags are ‘winteriron-trash writes’ (my writing tag), ‘shitposting with becca’ (any wild shitposts of my own sad creation), ‘not about marvel’ (any posts that are my general bullshittery and not Marvel related), ‘becca gives mediocre writing advice’ (a new tag I’m trying to use that’ll tag any post that I give writing advice on), ‘becca spills the tea’ (a tag for whenever I post my metas or opinions on Marvel characters, plots, etc), and the citrus scale which I explain in a post here

Do you write original fiction?

Yes, but I rarely, if ever, post it. I think I have all of one poem on Tumblr, any absolutely nothing original on Ao3. I write original works all the time, especially poetry and novels, but I’m super shy about being vulnerable and putting my stuff out there. I do wanna post my original writing somehow, but considering a fandom blog and Ao3 aren’t really the place for it, I’ll just keep it all hidden inside of me, and one day I’ll die. You’re more than welcome to ask me about any of my original writings, trust me, I am always willing to ramble about the shit I write, it’s pathetic.

What type of fanfiction do you write?

For this blog, mostly WinterIron fics or gen fics focused on Bucky or Tony. I do write about OT3s on here occasionally, but they usually include WinterIron in some way. Most of the time. I’ve somehow gotten to writing some weird stuff lately, to be honest. I’ll work with MCU, Sony Venom, and Spiderverse characters and canon, with the occasionally comic canon shoved in there. I have occasionally written crossover content with DC characters, but that usually relies on comic versions -or at least my own remixes of them- rather than the DCEU. On my masterlist, you can check out all the things I’ve written!

What are your ships besides WinterIron? NOTPs?

I’ll ship almost anything, and I’m a huge fan of rarepairs/interesting relationships simply to explore the possibilities of it, particularly when they include Bucky or Tony. My top OTPs besides WinterIron are currently Phlint, FalconShield, and BlackPepper. As for NOTPs, I strongly dislike Stucky, Stuckony, Thorki, and Staron for reasons of just not being able to see those characters together romantically. Feel free to send me the wildest rarepair your mind can think of, chances are I’ve probably already thought of it myself so I’d love the chance to ramble about/write for it. I’m a big fan of weird OT3s as well, just see the weird shit on my masterlist.

Are you in any fandoms besides Marvel?

I’m into DC, Star Trek, classic literature, Percy Jackson/HoO/Kane Chronicles, She-Ra, Carmen Sandiego, indie gaming, Supernatural, vulture culture, HYDRA Trash Party, and musicals. Yes, I’m aware I was born to be a geek. Trust me, I’ve grown very used to it.

Do you take prompts?

Honestly, sending me a prompt/headcanon/idea is a shot in the dark. I have prompts sitting in my inbox that has been there for about a year that I’ve been meaning to write. Chances are if you send me a prompt yes I’ve seen it, yes I think it’s lovely, but god I do not have the time. Occasionally a prompt will really grab my eye and I’ll just have to write something for it, but sometimes even that can take months to finish. Don’t be surprised if you send me a prompt and I randomly fill it seven months later. I’m prone to doing so. I love being tagged in existing prompt/headcanon posts and asked to write it (as I have a bad habit of hijacking posts to write stuff for them to begin with…) just know that once again the chances of me writing it are about a 50/50. Also, make sure the OP is okay with you asking me to write it, it’s never my intention to steal someone else’s spotlight, I just want to take cool ideas and throw my two cents in.

Is there anything you won’t write?

Drugs and alcohol are hard nos for me. They’re personal triggers that if you really want to know more about, you can send me an ask or message about. If I’ve listed something as a NOTP, I will not write anything with it. I strongly dislike writing kid fics, mundane AUs, damsel in distress Tony fics, and A/B/O, but I’m willing to work with an idea if it’s good enough. It really depends on the situation.

Do you offer writing advice/reviews?

Yep! I’m down to answer any questions on writing fanfic or just writing in general. I love talking about writing and all that. Seriously, I like talking about writing almost as much as I like talking about Marvel. I’m more than open to reading a few chapters of your fic or book or whatever and telling you my honest thoughts, but I probably won’t have time to read all of it if it’s more than 5k long, because I’m just a busy person. And I will be honest because I want to be helpful. Don’t ask me for my honest opinion if you just want your ego stroked.

Can I ask your opinion on [insert topic here]?

Always. I am always open to sharing my honest opinions, regardless of backlash I’ll receive for it. I’d rather be my honest self online -the one place I can be my honest self- then a fake mask made to please others. Whether it be fandom ships, in-universe meta, or non-fandom related topics, feel free to ask me. I love talking meta, or just general thoughts and opinions on random stuff. Trust me, I’m far too opinionated for my own good. Ask literally anyone who’s met me.

How long have you been writing?

All seventeen years of my sad, sad life. I loved writing stupid little stories when I was a kid, that slowly morphed into shitty “books”, then I went through a poetry phase in junior high, and when I was about 14 I wrote my first fanfiction. I posted my first fanfic when I was 15, and have been posting fanfiction for over a year and a half now. I started Tumblr in late February but didn’t start writing fics here until about March because I am a shy bitch.

Aaaaaaand now for some stupid shit about me you didn’t ask for.

My name is Becca, or Winter, or Dumbass, whatever you prefer, and I’m a dumbfuck 17 yr old lesbian from upstate New York. (The ‘upstate’ part is important. Don’t ask me if I live in NYC. Just don’t.) I’m a junior in high school and planning to study English and Marketing in college, to hopefully become an editor. Hopefully. I’m actually a pretty boring and dumb bitch, which makes it all the more concerning that I am steadily gaining popularity on this hellsite. Someone help me.

I mentioned some of my interests above, but some other stuff I’m into includes knitting, playing piano, tea, collecting (hoarding) notebooks, photography, editing, music, and being a general idiot. I’m a wild child in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, which should not fool you because I’m far too shy and afraid of everything to be cool like that. I sound a lot cooler online because I’ve gotten so used to online interactions from making friends and running my own Discord server, but in real life I am unrecognizable. I’ve been in a grade of 60 people with the same people since kindergarten and some of them still don’t know my name.

I’m mentally ill and all that, but we’re working on getting… better. Writing schedules are a mess from me and sometimes I’m falling apart so, that’s fun. It doesn’t usually affect my blog because I internalize that shit, but occasionally the self-deprecating humor can get to be a little too close to the truth. And just the general spastic nature of my blog reflects the utter chaos of my mind.

So anyway, that’s me, please be my friend. Also, because this seems to come up more and more. Please don’t be afraid of me/intimidated by me. I know I look all cool and popular, but I am literally a hot mess just like the rest of us. If you want to climb your way into my messages and just,,,, scream at me about something you think I’d like, or just scream in general, go ahead. I really won’t mind, I promise. I need… friends, or so my therapist tells me.

Oh, and here’s a face reveal.

Yes, I am that absolute idiot of a person, lying splat in the middle of my elementary playground field for,,,, reasons???? I don’t really remember the story behind that picture tbh, but it’s my entire personality in a single picture, so I dig it.

And here’s my actual face, with a cheap ring in my mouth and a fox filter because I thought I looked cute, okay? Leave me be.

Tadah.

I swear I’m funny and talented sometimes, please like me.

As always, feel free to send me an ask or a message about anything you’d like. 

Check out my Masterlist if you want, and join my Discord Server.

[the-chubbiest-dumpling]

Endings and Beginnings: Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: Midnight Memories

Summary: You’re just an ordinary 25-year-old photographer working in a small studio in downtown Toronto. Your life is as normal as it could possibly be, except the fact that you are given an opportunity most people only dream of.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 20 017

Warnings: Swearing. 

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter EightChapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue

Tags: @shamvictoria11 @blazeshira

August 10th

It’s been a busy five days in the compound.

Tony hardly ever mentions why he goes to New York every now and then, but you just suspect that he has his business to take care of. This time though, he actually told you why he went. Turns out, he was planning on officially introducing you into the Avengers, and was planning a little party to celebrate at the Avengers Tower in New York. You had no idea that there was an actual ceremony or whatever to be introduced into the Avengers as a full-time member, so you were mildly surprised when Tony told you everything that entails. Given the fact that you’ve been operating with them for nearly three months now, you guess that a little press conference couldn’t hurt. Besides, you’ve been caught on camera a few times; might as well let the public know what’s going on.

You stand in your room, dressed head-to-toe in your suit, mask and all. Your hair is tied up, and you keep fiddling with your gloves. You twist and turn as you look at yourself in the mirror. Everything is in place, but you’re a little worried, if you’re being honest with yourself. There’s no guarantee that someone in the press room is going to recognize you as you. They could all be strangers from across the city and out of state. As long as you keep your face covered and let Tony do all the talking, everything should go over smoothly.

Fingers crossed.

And since there’s going to be a mount of reporters in the compound, Bucky can absolutely not be seen. At all. Under any circumstance. The safest place for him is in his room, and as far as you know, he’s in there right now. You haven’t seen him all day because of the press conference, but it’s for the best. Better for him to be safe rather than sorry.

“Let’s go kid,” Tony says, knocking on your door.

“Just a minute!”

You take one last look in the mirror. There are no eyelashes in your eyes, your ponytail is tight, and your uniform is spotless. Your mask is fit securely around your face, and your boot laces are double knotted. You take one long, deep breath before leaving your room and following Tony down to the main floor. Tony talks to you on and off the whole way until you’re standing in front of the doors to the east wing main ballroom. You can hear everyone murmuring inside, and your heart thumps in your chest.

“Listen,” Tony starts, putting a hand behind your back. “There’s fifty reporters behind those doors. Real ones, not bloggers. When you’re ready, I will introduce to the world, the newest, official member of the Avengers: Hellfire.”

You can only nod in response, and force your nerves to calm down. Tony notices your anxiety, and tries to calm you down a bit.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassures you. “I’ll be doing all the talking while you stand off to the side. I know every answer to every question, and know how to smoothly change the subject. Trust me. You won’t be in the spotlight.”

Just then, a woman with orange hair wearing a white dress emerges from the room, looking quite distressed. You recognize her immediately.

“What’s going on?” she asks, eyes towards Tony. “Everyone’s waiting for something spectacular to happen.”

“Oh my god, you’re Pepper Potts.”

You speak without thinking because you’re so entranced. She’s a huge figure of authority (to you at least), and you’ve never met her before. She seems to be in charge of the conference, given the fact she just left the room. She gives you a glance when you acknowledge her, her expression never changing.

You feel like an ant under a magnifying glass under her gaze.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, looking at the floor. “I just haven’t… met you before and I blanked. Sorry.”

“Is this her?” she asks Tony, her tone still the same.

“All in one piece,” he says.

“Let’s get this going then,” she says, rushing you in. She gives you a handshake and a friendly smile as she leads you inside the press room. “I apologize for being so forward. But they’ve been waiting.”

“I get it,” you say. “I’ll do my best.”

The moment Pepper opens the doors, there’s flashing from every direction. You keep your head down and away from the photographers as Pepper leads you up to the podium, Tony following close behind. The reporters are shouting and pointing their recorders and microphones at you, while the news crews monitor your movements with their cameras. You feel like you’re being scrutinized by everyone, but it’s probably their job. You stand with Pepper, behind the podium, and let Tony take the lead. He raises his arms to calm the crowd, but some journalists are still shouting their questions. Some of them don’t even have to do with the purpose of this press conference.

“What do you have to say about the rise in crime in the Los Angeles area?”

“When can we see the newest suit to the Iron Man collection?”

“What are the Avengers doing to stop global domination?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes to save face. You can’t have the public see your sassy and annoyed side. They would start attacking you the moment your eyes settled. You just keep your eyes trained on Tony, and listen intently to what he has to say.

“There are no cue cards this time, in case you were wondering,” he starts, referring to the time he identified himself as Iron Man. There’s a small, collective chuckle from the crowd before Tony gets down to business. “Speculation has arisen that there has been a strange woman living here at the Avengers compound and not paying rent. I am here to put those rumours to rest.”

You sigh at Tony’s little poke of fun at you. You know it’s part of what makes Tony who he is, and lord knows you hate him sometimes for it. But you just smile underneath your mask. Hopefully he won’t go overboard.

“It’s true,” he says. “Though she has no reason to pay rent. Because she is a new addition to the Avengers team.”

The room goes into an uproar, everyone getting out of their seats to shout more questions. Tony goes on, speaking over them.

“She had to be deemed fit to be a part of this team,” he continues. “We evaluated her skills and attributes to determine if she was a good fit. Not anyone can just join us. She’s gone through extensive training, is calculative, and thinks quickly on her feet. I’m sure she can be seen in low-quality videos shifting through the internet fulfilling her good deeds. We recruited her a few months ago, after viewing her putting out an apartment fire by herself. Since then, she’s become a valuable asset to this group and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. Ladies and gentleman, may I humbly introduce, Hellfire.”

Pepper smiles at you and gives an encouraging nod as you sheepishly step forward. You stand beside Tony, and let your eyes wander around the room. Reporters and journalists begin their shouting match again, their bodies turned in your direction. You can’t make out any questions clearly because they’re being thrown at you so rapidly. You remain stoic, and fold your hands behind your back.

Head up. Chest out. Legs apart. Eye contact. You’re the boss. You’re not submissive.

You mutter comforting words to yourself as you try to filter out all the unnecessary noise everyone is making. The clicking of pens, the tapping of feet, even people scratching their skin. You stare straight ahead, and endure this fiasco to let Tony take the wheel. He first casts a glance your way to see if you’re doing alright. When he sees you putting on a brave face, he smiles before moving onto questions. The first one is to be expected.

“What is her ability?”

“She describes herself as a pyrokinetic,” Tony explains. “She is able to create, control, and manipulate fire, flame, and heat. She’s our portable fireplace.” A few laughs resonate through the crowd before someone wants to see a demonstration. Tony leans against the podium and gestures to you, letting you do your thing. You nod and hold your arms out, and produce flames that go up your forearms. Some people lean back in their seats, already feeling the heat. You tone it down a bit, and opt to not tease the crowd by producing fireballs and circling them around their heads. You evaporate the flames and stand with your hands behind your back again. Tony looks at the crowd, visibly amused, and points to another reporter.

“Why is she hiding her face?” You do an eye roll over to Tony to let him explain. He’s a little sassier when it comes to things like this. Less aggressive, unlike you. “Well like any great superhero that still has friends and a family, it’s important to protect your face in order to protect them. She’s not ready to let the world know who she is. And anyone who says otherwise can leave the room right now. Next.”

“Her suit is designed by you, Mr. Stark?”

“That’s right.”

“Why does she resemble the number one assassin in recorded history, the Winter Soldier?”

You widen your eyes at that one. You give the reporter an incredulous look, and turn to Tony for help. Even though Tony’s touchy about that subject, he deals with it calmly and smoothly.

“Like I said,” he starts, his voice firm. “It helps to protect her identity. The mask is an essential part of her uniform, as it filters out smoke and potentially dangerous and poisonous substances. As she is the only one capable to withstand temperatures climaxing to 3000 Kelvin, she needs the most safety precautions as part of her attire. She is more flexible in a one-piece suit, and can maneuver with ease. And I do not see the resemblance between her and that assassin. Need I go on?” The reporter sits back down, slightly flustered. Tony gets right back on track and points to another person.

“If she was a good fit and has been with the Avengers for this long, why wait a prolonged period of time to make an official statement about her arrival?”

“Again, she was being trained,” Tony explains. “Furthermore, just because you’re gifted with a certain amount of power, doesn’t mean you get a special invitation to join the Avengers right away. You have to… prove yourself, so to say. Help give us a reason to include you in this band of misfits. That’s how it was with all of us. We were approached, evaluated, and offered the chance to be a part of the team. Miss Hellfire here went through the same process. As for the amount of time we waited to introduce her… call it another assessment. She has dealt with four separate incidents in and out of the Los Angeles area. Only two casualties have been recorded in all occurrences, not by her doing. She is a fundamental part to this team, and will continue to be as long as she’s with us.”

“Mr. Stark. Aren’t you worried about the possible collateral damage that comes along with an individual with literal fire power? How much control does she have over herself?” Tony seems to be getting a little aggravated at these ridiculous but completely rational questions, given by his weary facial expressions. Nevertheless, he answers it with professionalism.

“Trust me,” he says. “If any of us were in immediate danger, we keep fire extinguishers at the ready. She is not a danger to herself, nor anyone else. She has an incredible amount of control over her power. We are not concerned.”

“Can you tell us about the events that occurred recently at the Skyspace in downtown Los Angeles?”

“I was not present during that incident,” he answers. “I do not know the details, nor do I have the authority to give comments.”

“Maybe Hellfire could speak for herself on this one,” one reporter suggests. Tony backs away from the podium, and turns to the side to let you take the lead if you’re willing. Pepper seems a little anxious, but she still gives you an encouraging smile. You nod at Tony, and take your place at the podium. You do not remove your mask as you speak.

“I took a trip to downtown Los Angeles on the afternoon of August 5th to take a tour of the OUE Skyspace,” you explain calmly. “I was in the elevator when it unexpectedly failed. I heard three consecutive explosions, and descended from the thirteenth floor to the eleventh floor where I followed the suspect out to the streets. I destabilized a bomb he planted, and chased him down to the City National Bank. He turned out to be a suicide bomber, and killed himself before I had the chance to question him. I supressed the explosion by… wrapping him in hotter air, so to say.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well. I, uh. This is a little difficult to explain. Um. I concentrated my energy around his body to prepare myself if he set off the bomb. Explosions happen in the blink of an eye, so by taking control of the heat surrounding him, it allowed me to be ready for when the impending fire and heat from the bomb escaped.”

“Why could you have not talked him down, or took the opportunity to kill him yourself before he went on the run?”

Jeez these guys are brutal. Now I know how Tony feels.

“He did not give me much of a choice,” you say, sounding a little fed up. You clear your throat and continue on in a polite manner. “I tried to talk him out of it, but there was not enough time. Furthermore, I could not take him down without putting innocent civilian lives at risk. I needed him isolated, but he did not give me much of a choice in location either. I cleared the bank before he took action, and no lives were lost that day. There were minor injuries, but nothing fatal.”

“What about the incident in San Francisco?”

“Are any of these events related?”

“Should the city of Los Angeles be on high alert?”

“The people have the right to know what’s going on!”

You stand still and keep your mouth shut as everyone keeps shouting their questions and making their claims. You stare blandly at the crowd, lazily sifting your eyes over their faces. You don’t recognize anyone, but given the fact that these people came from all over the country, you weren’t expecting to see someone you knew.

Unfortunately, you’re proven wrong.

In the back corner of the room, you see none other than Phil Coulson himself, the agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. that almost got you killed that one time. You have no idea why he’s here; maybe to see how you’ve progressed since that particular mission. Or maybe just for amusement. He probably wouldn’t miss your introduction for anything. You narrow your eyes at him, and he just nods his head. You shift your focus on Tony now, silently asking him to take his spot back so you don’t have to listen to these people anymore. He steps forward, and you join Pepper at the wall.

“We won’t be taking anymore questions at this time,” he says. “As far as we know, these events are not related in any way.”

Finally. He’s wrapping it up.

“This will conclude the press conference. Once again ladies and gents, Hellfire.”

Tony opens his arm to you, and you stand beside him as the photographers take their photos. You keep your eyes trained on Phil, however. To be honest, he’s the safest one in this crowd. Apart from the deviousness and lying, he’s the only one you trust after Tony and Pepper. Reporters can be shifty sometimes, twisting words and spreading false information to make their story bigger and better. But you’re not about that life, and you’re not going to let it happen, nor ruin you, if it comes to that.

“Alright. Let’s go, champ.”

Tony leads you out of the press room, and you take the biggest sigh of your life. You put your hands on your thighs and take deep breaths.

“Well,” you say, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t think it’d be that intimidating. Apparently I was wrong.”

“You get used to it,” Tony says. “You did great in there, kid. Props.” Pepper gives Tony a “what-the-hell” kind of look, and silently urges him to do more. He obliges, and awkwardly gives you a pat on your back. “Really, _______. You did great. Take some time for yourself now. They’ll be here for a while, so you may have to stay dressed like that until they leave.”

“I’m sure you can think of something to convince them to depart earlier than planned,” Pepper chimes in sweetly. “It’s best not to have stragglers wandering the facility and have unwanted eyes in private places.”

You have no idea if she’s hinting at Bucky being kept in the compound. You don’t see a reason why she does need to know about him, but then again, it’s Pepper Potts. She’s much more than Tony’s on-again off-again partner, because she’s the current CEO of Stark Industries. But there is a lot of information at the compound that is kept from the public for security reasons. Surely she’s talking about that. You wonder now if “official Stark business”, as Tony would tell you whenever he left for New York, meant that Tony was seeing Pepper. It’s a safe bet. But you’re not about to question him about it in front of her. You stand up straight again and put your hands on your hips.

“I’ll just go back upstairs,” you say, still not one hundred percent sure. “Ummm. Call me, I guess? If you need me for anything.”

“Will do,” Tony says, giving your back a small slap. “Now get outta here before someone named Phil gets to you.”

“Why would he–“

“Get a move on!”

“Okay, okay! It was nice meeting you, Miss Potts.”

“Likewise, _______.”

You follow Tony’s order and start making your way back upstairs. You don’t look behind you, nervous that you’ll see something you don’t want to. Tony wraps an arm around Pepper’s waist, and watches you ascend the stairs.

“She seems to be doing well,” Pepper comments. “No red flags, no deaths made while on her account, she plays well with others. She seems to fit right in.”

“Yeah, she’s a good little fireball,” Tony says as you disappear. “She clicks well with everyone. Even me.”

“Even you?”

“Even me.” Tony smiles at Pepper, and she smiles back. They share a private moment together before Phil Coulson approaches them.

Back upstairs, you hide in the safety of your room, and close the blinds over your windows. You never know who could be roaming around in the backyard with their camera. You double-check to make sure nothing and no one can see into your room, then take off your mask. You breathe in the fresh air, and sit down on your bed. It was a little frightening to be in a room full of people looking for answers that you weren’t sure you could give them. Questions about yourself you can handle, but when it comes about widespread panic, that’s more up Tony’s alley. You hear a knock at your door, and instinctively put your mask up back to your face.

“Who is it?” you ask.

“It’s me,” Bucky answers.

“Oh. Come in.”

As he opens the door you lower your mask and put it down beside you. He closes the door softly and leans against the wall. He’s dressed a little more normally today: jeans and a long-sleeve shirt instead of sweats and a tanktop. He must still be nervous about this many unfamiliar people at the compound; you can see it in his eyes. You smile softly at him.

“How did it go?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Okay,” you reply. “I let Tony do all the talking until I had to step up for a minute to explain myself.”

“About what?”

“When we went to the market. I didn’t mention that I was with anybody, so they don’t know that you were with me. I made sure of that.”

He approaches you, and sits down beside you when you move over to make room. He folds his hands together, smiling warmly.

“I’m sure I’ll see how well you handled them when they play the press conference again later today,” he teases.

“Shut uuup,” you smile, nudging his arm. “I didn’t panic, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t lie. Mostly. I just did my job and looked pretty for the cameras.”

“How could they see how pretty you are with that mask on your face?” he says.

“Can’t let them know who I am,” you say matter-of-factly, completely ignoring his compliment. “They might be ready to know who I am, but I am not. And like Tony said, I still have friends and a family to worry about. It’s the right thing to do to keep them safe.”

“You’re doing a great job, you know,” he says. “If I haven’t told you already.”

“You know what,” you say, mulling it over. “I don’t think you have. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he grins. “You were already doing a great job before you came here, I hear. Four months of keeping your identity and power under wraps? That’s pretty impressive, even with that loosey-goosey piece of fabric you had at the time.”

“That is a relic,” you say, feigning being hurt. “It’s been with me through thick and thicker. I still have it, too. It hasn’t been washed in a while though. So it’s kinda nasty.”

“Can I see it?” he asks.

You nod, then get up and search through your dresser, palming the bottom of the drawers until you can feel the stiff fabric under your fingers. You hold it with your finger through one of the loops, and dangle it in front of his face.

“I got it when I was eighteen, believe it or not,” you say as he turns it around in his hand. “It’s been with me ever since. I bought three at the time, but I wore that one the most because it was just plain black. The other ones are more fashionable.”

Without even smelling it Bucky can tell it needs to be washed. There’s stains on the inside of the mask. Some of it dirt, but mostly makeup. He can smell some leftover ash and smoke. He raises a brow, then hands it back to you.

“It certainly is vintage,” he comments. “I can see it in a glass case on display already.”

“Oh, stop it,” you say, gently whipping his arm with it. You put it back in its resting place and close the drawer. “I don’t really have a need for it anymore, but it’s still a nice reminder of how I started out. No matter how much we grow, I think we need at least one thing from our past to remind us of how far we’ve come.” You look over your shoulder at him. He’s smiling sadly, and it makes your heart lurch for him. “Sorry. I know that sounds stupid but–“

“It’s not,” he cuts you off. “I, um. A few weeks after I came here, Steve found and gave me my dog tags from the war. Whether he found them or stole them from some exhibit, I honestly didn’t really care. All I cared about was having a part of myself back. I felt like I could remember more when I held them.”

“And could you?”

“Sometimes. Bits and pieces, maybe someone speaking, or even a smell. All that mattered is that I was able to remember me as me before I was captured. Again.”

It’s moments like these with Bucky where you have no idea what to say. The tone of his voice, his posture, his facial expressions. The way he talks about himself before and during the war is like a sad reminiscence, but it’s like trying to remember what you did when you were four years old. The smallest of flashbacks are there, but it’s not a complete picture. Trying to place names and dates without really knowing the truth. It’s a difficult thing to try and piece back together. But Bucky’s come a long way since his time as the Winter Soldier. He’s bettered himself, and he’s reconnecting with the world, albeit in a tiny way. But he’s trying. You sit down beside him again and give his shoulder a squeeze.

“You’ve come a very long way, Bucky,” you start, hoping this comforts him. “I’ve never seen someone with this much perseverance in my whole life. You’ve been through so much, yet you always put forth a smile at least once a day. You know, I just… I try to think of comforting things to say to you when I see you in a slump, but nothing ever comes out. I tell you a thousand times that you can come to us if you’re having problems. But I know that some things have to be left unsaid. I would know. Anyway, I–god I can’t even–j-just, you gotta keep telling yourself to put aside the Winter Soldier, and become who you were born to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“You have to figure that out for yourself. If you spoke with your younger self, what would he want you to be?”

Bucky lowers his head and stares at the floor, mulling it over in his head. What would his younger self want him to be? His first thought is a soldier, because that’s literally what he wanted to be. Another thought is a protector. He’d been protecting Steve for a while against anyone that tried to bully him or steal his money. And another one is to just be himself. Charming, easygoing, caring, swanky guy that he was. But he’s not that person anymore. And to be honest, he doesn’t know what he wants himself to be. For now, he just wants to stay sane.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer, but you weren’t expecting one anyway. You just wanted to remind him of how remarkable he is. You drop your hand from his shoulder and blow your lips.

“I’m gonna be bored for a while,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “I have a feeling not even Tony can make these reporters go away.”

“Maybe I should go down there,” Bucky jokes. “I’m sure they’d all disperse if I looked at them the wrong way.”

“Is it bad to say that that actually sounds funny?” you ask hesitantly, smiling just a bit.

“Prrrobably,” Bucky admits. “But I won’t. It’ll just cause inexplicable trouble for everyone.”

“I wasn’t about to let you,” you say. “You’ll just have to stay in your room for the remainder of the day. Or until those fucks downstairs have the brains to clear out before I make them.” Bucky’s lips quirk up into a smile when you speak so vulgarly and violently. It’s such a contrast to your usual behaviour, and he can’t help but laugh at the change.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay then.”

You reach for your mask and pull it back on, making sure it’s secure around your ears. You’d rather not wear your suit all day, but it’s an opportunity to get used to it. You haven’t worn it out in the field yet, so testing its movements and durability isn’t such a bad idea. It sucks that Bucky has to be cooped up in his room all day, but there’s no other choice. You plan to visit him throughout the day, chatting him up and bringing him something to eat. Maybe teach him a thing or two about anything he’d like. But for now, you need to keep yourself busy.

“I’m gonna go to one of the training rooms,” you announce, getting up on your feet. “Might as well get the most out of my suit. I guess I’ll see you later, Bucky.” You smile at him, even though he can’t see it. You squeeze his shoulder again as you walk by, and tip toe out into the hallway, then disappear to the elevators. Bucky lingers in your room for a little bit, seeing how well you’ve accustomed to living here. There’s a slight clutter on top of your dressers, your electronics dominate your glass desk, with assorted wires hanging out the back. Besides those things, your room is pretty bare. But the one thing that really stands out for him are the phrases written on the wall beside your bed.

He’s not in your room much, but on the off-chance when he is, he sees a new quote added to your collection of motivational sayings. You have a lot of wall space, and you’ve been making the best use of it. He stands up to get a good view of the whole wall, muttering some of the sayings.

“Fall down seven times, stand up eight.”

“If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you.”

“Your only limit is you.”

“Do no harm but take no shit.”

“The struggle you’re in today is developing the strength you need for tomorrow.”

“If you don’t sacrifice for what you want, what you want becomes the sacrifice.”

That last quote really resonates with him. He’s been trying to think of ways to tell you, in the least juvenile manner possible, how he truly feels. He didn’t know if he would be able to get back into the game, considering what he’s done. He knew he was attracted to you soon after he left Wakanda, but he pushed that aside because it wasn’t his primary focus. It was to stay hidden and not cause trouble. But over time, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He was nervous about expressing himself because it’s been decades since he even looked a woman in the eye. But he slowly and gradually got into the groove of things again, which you seemed to enjoy. He’s your closest friend after Steve, but now, he wants to be more than that. If he doesn’t get a move on, what he wants will be sacrificed for something completely different. Anything can happen, so he cannot wait anymore.

He heads back to his room and pulls out a notebook to brainstorm ideas about what to do, how to do it, and when to make it happen.

After your press conference, F.R.I.D.A.Y. triple-checking that every unfamiliar face to the compound has left, and taking a much needed shower, Tony calls everyone to the family room for an announcement. You all shuffle in one-by-one, each looking fatigued. The hype of the press conference died down an hour after they were forced to leave, so because of the inconvenience, everyone is in a sluggish mood. Except for Tony, apparently.

He whistles and uses hand motions to tell everyone to get a move on. He munches on some blueberries. He suppresses a smirk when he sees how unimpressed Steve looks like right now. Sam even more so. Once everyone has gathered and is listening, he explains the reason behind this meeting.

“Since everyone looks like they didn’t get their morning coffee, I’ll just get right to it,” Tony starts. He shoves a handful of blueberries into his mouth before continuing on. “As we all know, today was _______’s official initiation into this team. Well, it being revealed to the public, anyway. So, we’re going to have a celebration. Clear your schedules, because it’s going to be tomorrow night at the Tower in New York. And before I hear any objections, I have everything already set to go. I sent out a few invitations to close friends as well. No outsiders allowed.”

Out of respect, Sam, Natasha, Steve, Wanda, Vision, Tony, and Bucky smile at you. You close in on yourself for a second because all of their eyes are on you. Though you don’t mind, it’s a little uncomfortable. However, having a party sounds great. It’ll give everyone the chance to relax, kick back, and have a little fun.

“Thanks, Tony,” you say, smiling in gratitude.

“Anything for our little devil spawn,” he grins. You’re too tired to think of a comeback, so you just roll your eyes.

“When are we leaving, then?” you ask.

“Just after noon,” he says. “Are you gonna be up?”

“Gonna have to be,” you reply, shrugging. “I’ll even make an alarm for it so I won’t be late and slow everyone down. Happy?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says. “There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Tony shifts his eyes to Bucky, nodding his head. “Him,” he says simply. Bucky pulls his mouth to the side and shifts his weight on his feet. “He’s a dead giveaway. I don’t know if he’ll be able to-“

“He’s coming,” you interrupt. Tony sighs quietly, not quite in the mood to have an argument with you. Before Tony has the chance to speak again, you keep your ball rolling. “All this technology and you have no way to conceal him? ‘No way’ my ass. Give him a face synthetic and a hat, then put him on the plane. ‘Cause I’m not leaving without him.”

Steve doesn’t even try to conceal his smile when you admit that. You can see his grin from the corner of your eye, and you do your best to not smile. You’re completely comfortable saying something like that out-loud, but it feels slightly embarrassing at the same time. It’s something usually said on a mission when you’re not willing to leave anybody behind. An emotional attachment. And you’re certainly attached to Bucky.

“Alright fine,” Tony says. “I’ll have something ready for him in the morning. Everything is still as you left it at the Tower, by the way. A room has been prepared for the two newcomers as well. Pack what you need. The essentials are there. Everyone be up and raring to go.”

And with that, Tony gives you all a little wave as he leaves the room as a silent goodnight, leaving little room for questions. You yawn widely, and stare at one spot on the floor for a few seconds before blinking again. You give everyone a weary smile before bidding them goodnight as well.

“I’ll see all of you guys tomorrow, then,” you say. Wanda comes up to you for a hug, and you return it tightly. You’ve never hugged her before, but you can already tell that she’s been in need of one for a while. You only let go of her when she pulls away first. Steve and Sam rub your head affectionately on their way to bed, mumbling a small goodnight. Vision does the same, but without patting your head. Natasha joins in on your hug, and the two of you smile and giggle at her action. Wanda finally drops her arms and departs for her room as well.

“Goodnight, _______,” she says. You cannot get over how adorable her accent is. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Wanda,” you smile. Natasha puts her hand on your shoulder, grinning widely.

“I’m proud of you,” she says, squeezing gently. “You’ve come a long way since I met you. You’ve grown in every aspect, and I couldn’t be more pleased with how you turned out.”

“Well, I am your student,” you smile, tilting your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re like my second mom. The most badass mom anyone’s ever had. But I know you’re a lot more than that.”

Natasha’s bright smile turns into a solemn one. You never bring the topic up directly, but there’s always a hint there, letting her know that you recognize her as what she is, but more so as who she is. She is, and always has been, much more than what people recognize her as. And you make damn well sure she knows it. She pulls you into a hug, and pats your back a few times before nodding at you and going to bed. You sigh contently, feeling faintly energized from Wanda’s and Natasha’s hugs. You smile to yourself and turn around, ready to hit the hay as well. But it seems that Bucky has been waiting his turn.

He stands before you, somewhat shy, yet hopeful. He produces a small smile, and uncrosses his arms. You don’t know if he’s asking for a hug, or requesting a small chat before going to bed. Whatever it is, you’re both in silent agreement. You stroll up to him with a gentle smile on your face, your arms parted expectantly, ready to receive a hug. You shrug as if to say “what-the-hell”, making Bucky smile even more. He closes the distance and wraps his arms around your frame, squeezing tightly. You hold onto your wrist behind his back, and comfortably rest your cheek on his chest.

You’re never hugged Bucky before either. You’ve linked arms with him, but that was the only amount of prolonged physical contact you’ve had with him. You hoped and wished that you’d finally be able to give him a real hug; and now that you finally are, you do not want to let him go.

His metal arm tickles your back, the cool surface tingling the end of your spine. He moves his thumbs back and forth as you smoothly sway side to side. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the strength of his chest, and smell his comforting scent. Your smile stretches broader; it feels so right to be hugging Bucky like this right now. The atmosphere is calming, with no one to interrupt you. You rub his back, something you’ve always wanted to do. You can feel his sigh, and you press your forehead against his chest. Your head rises and falls as he breathes. You could cry from how tender this moment is. It’s just a hug, but an extremely long, overdue hug.

Neither of you want to let go, but it has to happen. You release your wrist and put your hands on his waist, pushing yourself away from him. He reluctantly drops his arms, and peers down at you. You look up at him, and you swear you could kiss him right now if you had the courage. The way he’s gazing at you, the way his hands ghost over your fingers, and the way he opens and closes his mouth, like he’s dying to telling you something he’s been holding in for a long time. Instead of saying anything, he grasps your hands and brings them back down to your sides. He brings his right hand up and rubs your shoulder a bit, giving you a small smile before nodding and walking away. You hug yourself and press your lips together to suppress your squeal of delight. However, you manage to keep the tone of your voice under control to send him a farewell.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

He stops and looks over his shoulder, smiling warmly at you. “Goodnight, _______,” he whispers back. You wait until he disappears around the corner to cover your face, and spin in glee. Bucky peeks around the corner, witnessing your enjoyment before returning to his room to prepare for the morning. Tomorrow will be the optimal time to confess himself to you, and he’s not going to screw it up.

Your alarm goes off at eleven in the morning, and you can only describe yourself as lethargic.

You had a hard time falling asleep last night because you were so giddy from your hug with Bucky. You couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind, nor could you stop smiling and rolling around in your bed. Taking a melatonin pill wouldn’t have come close to putting you to sleep. You managed to fall asleep somewhere around three in the morning, with Bucky still floating through your thoughts. Now that you’re awake, you sort of regret not taking that pill. However, you’re so excited about the day that you don't care about the amount of sleep you got. Tony’s hosting a party for you, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

You packed a small bag of things, mostly your electronics, notebooks, your suit (just in case), and a few clothes here and there. You’re sure Tony’s equipped your bathrooms with the essentials, so you deliberately leave all of that at the compound. You sit up and stretch your arms over your head, yawning tiredly. You have your outfit planned, and take your time putting it on. You didn’t know what kind of mood or aesthetic to go for, since it’s New York City, so you opted for some cut-off shorts, a white loose-fitting shirt, a light grey cover-up, paired with some black Doc Martens. You apply some light makeup, fix your hair, and grab your pack. You stroll into the kitchen to cut up some fruit for breakfast, and surprisingly, you’re alone. Everyone else is probably already up, but you wonder where they could all be. They could possibly already be assembled at the jet, waiting for your arrival. Instead of guessing, you ask your go-to pal, F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where is everyone?”

“Mr. Stark is in sub-basement level one, along with Mr. Barnes,” she explains. “Captain Rogers, Sam Wilson, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, and Natasha Romanoff are currently making headway to the airstrip.”

“Thanks.”

You figured they’d all be up and ready to go before you, but you didn’t know how ready they’d actually be. They seem to be a step ahead of you when it comes to a morning routine. As long as you get there on time, then nothing else matters. After finishing your fruit bowl, you skip down to the main floor and trek through the forest to the airstrip. You can see Sam, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Wanda from where you are, their bags at their feet, and enthusiastically wave to them. They all wave back, then you check the time on your phone. It’s nearing noon, and Tony and Bucky still aren’t out here. You were sure that they’d be the first ones to arrive; or Tony, at least. You wonder what’s keeping them.

“Hey, guys,” you greet once you reach the group. There’s a chorus of “hey”s and one “good morning” from Vision. You grip the strap of your bag and look behind you. “What’s keeping them?”

“Tony said that he had multiple things to take care of regarding Bucky,” Steve explains, crossing his arms. “Didn’t say what, though. I didn’t think that it’d take this long.”

“Tony’s not one to disclose his private practices,” Natasha says. “Knowing him, he’s most likely being absolutely technical and ensuring that everything is being executed efficiently. He’s not one to take miscalculations lightly.”

You absentmindedly nod your head along with what Natasha says as you look in the distance for any sign of them. The jet isn’t leaving without either of them, and since Tony’s the one that set the time to depart, he better be here when it’s time to go. Otherwise, you’re going to give him an earful of hypocrisy.

After a few minutes of idle chatter with the team, Wanda points out that she can finally see Tony. But nothing about Bucky. You turn around, putting your hand up to your eyes to block the sun. You squint at the two figures, one obviously being Tony, but the other… you can’t quite place. You don’t see Bucky’s metal arm give off any sort of glare. In fact, you don’t see it at all. As they get closer, you’re not even sure that it’s Bucky walking with Tony. Did Tony find a look-a-like to replace Bucky? It wouldn’t make sense, for one, and what’s the point of bringing a stranger along who isn’t what you want? The guy doesn’t look like Bucky at all, so why is he even here? He’s got a backpack on, so he must be staying with you as well. Maybe it’s one of the friends Tony invited? You cross your arms when the two of them come within earshot distance, and call Tony out.

“Who the hell is this?” you ask.

Tony waits until he and this new mystery person are standing directly in front of the group to speak. “I did what you asked,” he says. He folds his hands together in front of him, awaiting your response.

“What I asked?” you repeat. Tony side-eyes the new person, who isn’t really new at all. What you asked Tony? You remember telling him to give Bucky a face synthetic and–

“Wait,” you say, halting your inner monologue. “Are you telling me that this… is Bucky?”

“As promised,” Tony replies. You give “Bucky” a once over, then cast Tony a confused expression. The rest of the team are right behind you, wondering who the hell this guy is. He has the same hair as Bucky, but not the same face. His nose is pointier, his lips thinner, and his eyebrows are kempt. His eyes are brown as well.

“Face synthetic?” you say. Tony nods. You take a step forward, and look into “Bucky”’s eyes. “Is that you?”

“Not what you were expecting, was it?” he says. That certainly is his voice. But there’s one thing that’s out of place.

“If this is Bucky,” you start slowly, shifting your gaze back to Tony, “then where the hell is his metal arm? Do you rip it off and give him a flesh one?”

“You have such little faith in me,” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “See, Cesario and I here needed a little bit more time to prepare for this trip. And since you asked so politely the night before to change his appearance, I did exactly that. Except, instead of just granting him the ability to hide his face, I went the extra mile and used synthetic skin coupled with high-tech holograms to conceal his metal arm. I pulled the schematics from one of my and Dr. Banner’s many projects, and applied our method onto a willing candidate. I would have expected a ‘thank you’ instead of this unnecessary backlash.”

You blink in surprise at Tony. You didn’t know this kind of technology was possible, but when it comes to Tony, nothing is impossible. You reach out and grasp Bucky’s hand. Your eyes widen from how realistic the skin feels.

“Wow,” you whisper to yourself. Bucky gladly lets you man-handle his new arm, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Damn, Tony. This is impressive.”

“I hope you would expect nothing less from me,” Tony says. “You can examine it more from the jet. I would like to arrive in New York before six.”

Tony brushes past you as he steps onto the jet first, followed by the rest of the team. Bucky follows after you, and the two of you sit across from one another. Everyone else is scattered about, with Steve and Wanda on the couch, Sam and Natasha across from each other as well, while Tony and Vision sit by themselves respectively. Tony immediately pulls out one of his many advanced tablets and picks up where he left off. You all settle down, placing your bags on the floor, and make idle conversation with each other as the jet prepares to take off.

You cross your arms and stare hardly at Bucky. Your eye twitches, and you pull your mouth to the side. Bucky tilts his head in confusion, wondering if he’s done anything to make you uncomfortable or annoy you. You can’t take this anymore.

“Okay, take it off,” you say, holding your hand out.

“Take what off?” he asks.

“The face synthetic,” you reply. “Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot take you seriously with that thing on. It doesn’t even feel like I’m talking to Bucky. I might as well be talking to some weirdo look-a-like named Benny. Now take it off, for god’s sake.”

Chuckling, Bucky reaches behind his neck and grasps the fake skin, and begins to pull it off. You see the hologram flicker as he removes it, making a face as he does so. When he puts it down on the table between you two, you sigh happily.

“Ah, there he is,” you smile. “Now I’m talking to Bucky.” He smiles right back then stares down at his lap. Your smile only grows bigger, knowing fully well Bucky’s reactions when you give him compliments or tease him. You shift your gaze to his arm again, and sigh in disbelief.

“I still can’t believe how lifelike that stuff is,” you comment, leaning forward in your chair. You place your arms on the table, crossing your fingers. “You can hardly tell the difference.” You flick your eyes up to him, and he’s already looking back at you. You glance down at his arm again, silently asking for permission. He holds his arm out without question. The jet leaves the ground as you grasp his arm, jerking you forward a bit. You shake off the sudden jolt, and delicately turn Bucky’s arm.

The skin is smooth to the touch. You request Bucky’s real flesh arm to do a comparison. You continuously flip them around, eyes shifting left and right, picking out the small details, and analyzing how identical they are to each other. You know that they won’t look exactly alike, but it comes pretty close. To the fingernails, veins, and even arm hair; Tony really does give a bang for his buck.

“It’s incredible,” you comment, smoothing your fingers over his forearm. “Almost impossible. But I guess that’s not a word in Tony’s daily vernacular.” You finally let go of his arm when you feel like you’ve touched it for too long. You sit back in your seat and cross your ankles.

“It’s different alright,” Bucky agrees, inspecting his arm now. “He marked specific parts of my arm, then had it hooked up to all these weird wires. I didn’t know what was going on or how it worked. All he said that he was going to hide the metal. It didn’t hurt, but it felt really strange. The synthetic skin started to form over my arm once he got it going. He told me not to touch it, so I watched instead. I’ve never seen anything like it. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the finished product.”

“Neither could we,” you add. “It’s truly unbelievable. I didn’t even know Tony could do stuff like that.” Your eyes skim over his arm once more before looking out your window. It’s a bright, sunny day in Los Angeles, the city raging with life below you. Your heart beats faster in your chest from excitement. You have no idea if Tony has anything special planned once you get to the Tower, but whatever it is, you cannot contain your enthusiasm. You grin as you look upon the city, setting your chin in your hand. Bucky looks on, amused.

“Excited?” he muses.

“What gave it away?” you joke. You sigh as your smile grows. “Yeah. I haven’t really… I dunno. I’ve been to formal parties before, but the hype for this is through the roof. I just don’t know what to expect.”

Bucky sighs through his nose, and wracks his brain. “Well, from what I remember, something like this usually entails drinking, sharing stories, and enjoying oneself.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you say. “It’s nice when we all get together, too. We don’t do much of that unless a mission is involved. A chance to kick-back and celebrate something is what we all need. Like with Steve’s birthday. But you know what the best part is?”

“What’s that?”

“I get to share this experience with everyone,” you answer. “Steve, Sam, Vision, Tony, Natasha, Wanda, you. I’ve never felt more special than I have right now.”

“Well you’ve always been special,” Bucky rebuttals. “We all have something to bring to the table. And you happen to bring a lot. Which, I’m sure, is refreshing for everyone. Especially myself.”

“Thanks,” you smile. “I appreciate it. A lot. It’s uplifting to hear things like that. I crave validation, so it makes sense. I hope I won’t disappoint you tonight.”

“What makes you think you’d disappoint me?” he asks. “From the very beginning, all you’ve done is surprise me and take care of me. I have no way of repaying you, but I am eternally grateful for your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Well. That certainly doesn’t want to make you cry. You’ve grown close enough to be at that stage in a friendship, so you might as well. You allow yourself to sniffle, and smile through the tears that well up in your eyes. You hastily wipe them away so they don’t mess up your makeup. You turn away from him to console yourself.

“Go raibh maith agat,” you say.

“I’m sorry?” he says, leaning forward.

“It means ‘thank you’,” you tell him. You sniffle a little more, and a tear manages to slide down your cheek. Without hesitating, Bucky reaches over and wipes it away. He smiles warmly at you.

“You’re welcome.”

As the flight continues on, you and Bucky converse with each other, and everyone else on the jet. Sometimes in random spurts, to add in your two cents, or to actually hold a conversation. Every chance he gets, Bucky compliments you. Subtly, of course. Your makeup, your hair, your clothes. He does it all. And this time, you notice, and think of them as signs. Maybe it’s time to start making a move too. You’ve been complimenting him too and purposefully being more physical, but enough is enough. It’s time to do something about it.

You manage to take a power nap, and wake up refreshed as the streets of New York come into view. You stare out the window while fixing the crick in your neck. You smile as you see more of the city. It’s always one of the most talked about places, even before the New York incident. It’s also really busy; but if you can handle Toronto, you can handle The Big Apple. You see Bucky is still fast asleep, his fake arm supporting his cheek. You sputter a laugh, and gently nudge his leg under the table.

“Wake up, Benny,” you say. “We’re here.”

Bucky starts, blinking several times to wake himself up. He sits up straight in his chair and stretches his arms. Yawning, he looks out the window too. He can’t see anything quite clearly, but he knows how many people are outside and bustling. The thought of being seen concerns him, but with his new synthetic face and arm, he’s at ease for the time being. He stares at his fake face on the table, and sighs before putting it back on. You watch him struggle to centre it, offering no help just to see how he puts it on. And to give him some practice.

The pilot–F.R.I.D.A.Y., of course–announces an ETA of three minutes. Everyone begins to gather their things to prepare to leave. You grab your bag from the floor as Bucky tightens his grip on his backpack.

“Nervous?” you ask him gently.

“I haven’t been home in a long time,” he answers, glancing out the window one last time. “I don’t know what to expect.”

“You’ll do great,” you encourage. “You have nothing to be worried about.” Just to be safe, you knock your knuckles on the wooden table. The jet descends to the landing pad of the Tower, then comes to a full stop. Everyone stands up, and proceeds to walk down the steps of the jet once they’re put down. You and Bucky get off last, and speed-walk inside the Tower to avoid any unwanted eyes. A jet just landed on the Avengers Tower; there’s bound to be news about it. Or at least speculation.

The lot of you make way to the elevator, down from the party deck to the private quarters. Tony points out everyone’s rooms, then makes an announcement before heading down to the reception and lobby to see if any of the other guests have arrived, or when they plan to.

“Okay, listen up,” he shouts to get everyone’s attention. “It’s just after five. Party gets going at six. This is a semi-formal party, so dress like it. A map of the Tower is available on the go. There are restricted areas, so stay out of them. Yes, everyone is safe. No, no one can see in from the outside of the Tower. Food and drink are at your disposal, and try not to break anything.”

After that, he skips downstairs to see if his invited guests are on their way. You toss your bag on your new bed and sigh. Now you’ll have to get used to sleeping in another bedroom that isn’t in your hometown, in Toronto, or at the compound. You flop down on the bed, which is surprisingly soft. Maybe it’s memory foam. You could fall asleep again if you could, but you can’t so you shan’t. Tony said the party is in an hour, so you must use that time efficiently to look presentable.

Thing is, you brought nothing that can pass as “semi-formal”.

You wouldn’t think that Tony would keep gowns and party dresses on the ready if someone was ever in need. You hope that he does, but as you open the bedroom closet, it’s bare. You think about going shopping to get a new one, but there’s absolutely no time for that; plus, you have no idea where to go. Sighing in frustration, you close the closet doors and mull over what to do. You spend a good fifteen minutes thinking of ideas when Wanda and Natasha pop into your room. You give them a pathetic wave as they stand over you.

“Didn’t think you’d be in this much of a slump,” Wanda says, crossing her arms.

“Is a private party too much?” Natasha teases.

You groan from under your pillow, and pull it off your head to face them. They’re both smiling down at you, waiting to know why you look so dejected. You yawn and sit up, crossing your legs.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you say. “I didn’t bring anything that fancy.”

“Why not?” Wanda asks.

“Because I don’t have anything that fancy,” you explain. “I didn’t think that bringing stuff like that to the compound would benefit me much, considering what I was going to do. So I just settled for nice dress clothes. Pants and shirts and old clothes for lounging around. Nothing too out there. The best I have is a pantsuit, but I am not wearing it. This is a party, not a work dinner.”

“That’s why we’re here to help,” Natasha says.

“Pfft did you guys know that I’d end up in this situation?” you joke. Wanda and Natasha cast each other a glance before nodding in unison. You groan and smush your face back in your pillow. “I am hopeless. I have nothing, and there’s no time to go out and get something. It’s time to improvise.”

“Orrr,” Natasha says, prompting you to look at her. “Instead of being melodramatic, you can borrow one of our dresses for the night.”

“Oh.” You thought about that as an option, but you didn’t want to cause them any trouble. Plus, you didn’t think you’d do their clothes justice. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Wanda smiles. “It’s no party if you’re not dressed for the occasion. Now come on. Stop moping around and let us find you something.”

You give them a sheepish smile, then push yourself up and take Wanda’s hand. They lead you to Natasha’s room, and begin to rummage through her closet to see what you can wear.

When six o’clock rolls around, everyone has gathered on the party deck level of the Tower. Tony, Steve, Vision, Sam, and even Bucky are wearing dress clothes, with Tony the only one donning a jacket. Since Bucky didn’t have any clothes of the sort, Steve lent him something of his own: black slacks and a deep grey button-up shirt. The two top buttons are undone, but the hem is tucked neatly into his pants. Tony said that no one can see into the Tower from the outside, but he still chose to wear the face synthetic. This is your special night, and he wants you to see him as Bucky, not same wannabe version of himself. He has something planned for you later on; something private, and only you are allowed to hear. But since there are more unfamiliar guests, he’ll have to wait until they’re gone to give you your present.

Tony’s invited guests have all arrived except for one. Maria Hill, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and Phil Coulson (by Pepper’s request) are currently present. Clint Barton, another member of the Avengers, couldn’t make it because he wanted to be with his family. But he sent his regards to Tony, along with a hearty “congrats” to be passed down to you. They’re dressed in similar fashion to everyone else, with Maria in a red mini dress with a leather jacket, and Pepper wearing an off-the-shoulder, white, form-fitting dress. James, Happy, and Phil are dressed alike, black slacks with white, grey, and black dress shirts, with Phil and Happy wearing a jacket. The lot of them make conversation with each other, champagne in hand. They’re all curious to see who the new member is, minus Pepper and Phil.

Back downstairs, Wanda and Natasha are ready to go, but they’re putting some finishing touches on you first. You think they’re being a bit too over-the-top, but they just told you to shut up and bear it, because it’ll be worth it in the end. You sit quietly as they both fiddle with different sections of your hair. You admire them in the mirror, mentally running through the scenario of when you’re going to compliment them when they’re finished with you.

Wanda has her hair in her signature waves, and is wearing a blood red, off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved knee length dress with thin silver earrings and black flats. Her makeup has an all-natural look to it, and she couldn’t look more beautiful. You’re smiling so much from staring at her that you have to force yourself to look down in your lap. However, you peek up at the mirror again to observe Natasha.

She dons a classy black, sheath dress, paired with some black heels and has her hair done in her signature curls. Her makeup is also all-natural looking, but with a little more colour. She has diamond earrings for jewelry, along with a silver interlocking bangle bracelet. It’s amazing how she can look this beautiful but kill you at the same time. The duality of a woman.

Yourself, however… you look like you’re going to a premiere.

You borrowed one of Natasha’s dresses. It’s a royal blue, V-neck, sleeveless dress that goes all the way to the floor, with a sash tied around the waist, and a split down the left side. From what you can tell, Wanda and Natasha are giving you a half-up half-down hair style, and are working on curling some bits. Your makeup is more noticeable. Flawless foundation, perfected eyebrows, winged eyeliner, a simple, shimmery white smoky eye, paired with a bold red lip, and some small, silver hoop earrings. You try not to move around too much or lick your lips. You can’t ruin what they did for you. You leave your gloves behind because they clash too much with the dress.

When Wanda and Natasha are finished with your hair, they step back, and allow you to drink it all in. You stand up, careful not to step on the hem of the dress. The silver two-inch peep toe heels go well with the dress, and you’re actually happy with that aspect. They’re easy enough to walk in, but as you observe yourself in the full-length mirror, you shake your head.

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” you ask, turning to the side. “I appreciate this, honestly I do. But this party is just for me being added to the team. Not–“

“Well it’s just that, isn’t it?” Natasha cuts in. “This party is for you. Everyone is here for you. Wouldn’t it be considered a little impolite to not be the centre of attention at your own party?”

“Ehhhh,” you whine, shaking your hand. “Agree to disagree?” Natasha visibly sighs, her shoulders rising and dropping with her breath. She turns to Wanda, and she smiles, stepping forward.

“You look beautiful, _______,” she says, putting her hands on your shoulders. “Like Natasha said, this night is all about you. It’s nothing more than a simple celebration for your accomplishments and being welcomed to the team. Don’t worry about how dressed up you look. You deserve it, and quite frankly, I’m sure it’ll be much appreciated by someone other than us.”

You know exactly who she’s talking about. You playfully roll your eyes at her and find an interesting spot on the floor to stare at. Wanda giggles and gives you an encouraging squeeze.

“If he doesn’t make a move, then I will,” Wanda says. Your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat. She can’t be serious. But when you see a hint of determination in her eyes, you’re kind of worried. And excited.

“O-Okay,” you squeak, standing up tall. Wanda nods her head approvingly, and lets Natasha approach you.

“Remember what I taught you?” she asks. “About confidence?” You go over what she said in your head: straight back, chest out, head up. You got it all in your head, but you hope you’ll execute it flawlessly when you go upstairs.

“I got it,” you say firmly. “I’ll do my best, but you never know what happens in the first beginning moments. But I’ll just take a breath and go for it.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she smiles. “Just be yourself. I’m sure that’s why you’ve grabbed his attention.”

“I don’t have much to offer other than that,” you joke. Both Wanda and Natasha give you “come-on” expressions, and you clear your throat. “I know, I know. That’s me being me. Isn’t that what you want?”

You snort as you walk past them, poking your head out the door to go to the elevator. You practice your confidence walk as Wanda and Natasha trail behind you, smiling to themselves and at each other. They share a bonding moment over you as you press the button for the upper levels.

“Nervous?” Natasha asks as you all wait.

“Now that you mention it,” you start, placing your hand on your chest, “a little bit, yeah.” Your heart is beating a thousand times per second as you think about everyone staring at you from the top of the stairs. You have no idea how they’ll be judging you, but you just hope that they’ll all smile or do something positive that doesn’t make you want to crawl into bed and die. The elevator dings, and the three of you step inside. Wanda hits the floor button, and the ride to the party deck is silent. You take deep breaths the entire time, doing your best to settle your heart thumping in your chest.

When the elevator stops, you step out first, but let Wanda and Natasha walk ahead of you. It’s best to let the person being celebrated enter last, right? Make a dramatic entrance, let everyone stare at you for a few seconds, then descend the stairs. That’s how it goes most of the time, doesn’t it? You sigh, then pull yourself together. You shake your hands and roll your head side to side, preparing yourself before walking through the doors. Natasha takes the lead first, while Wanda lingers behind to give you a few more quick, comforting words. You keep your eyes on Natasha as she addresses everyone to gather their attention.

“There’s no need to freak out,” Wanda says. “We’re all your friends in there. And you get to make new ones. And maybe something more for a special someone. Just remember to breathe, and like Natasha said, be yourself. Nothing could go wrong.”

“I hope you’re right,” you say, smacking your lips together. Seeing as how you’re still slightly jittery, Wanda smirks and presses a kiss to your cheek. You freeze up immediately, your eyes widening and your heart stopping. She walks away after that, throwing a cheeky look over her shoulder.

“Wanda, what the fuck,” you squeak. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. If you were trying to calm me down it didn’t work!”

Wanda completely ignores you, and skips down the steps to be with everyone else. Your jaw drops open at her bold action. You can’t believe she had the nerve to just kiss your cheek and go on her merry way. You’ll get back at her later. She’s wearing matte lipstick, so there’s no mark on your cheek. For now, you need to get through tonight. And it starts by walking through those glass doors. You smooth down the front of your dress, hold your head up high, and march towards those doors.

You can see everyone on the other side as you grasp the handle and open the door. You keep smiling out of nervousness and embarrassment as you walk along the raised platform, and approach the glass railing, looking over everyone in the sitting room. They all stare up at you as you arrive, sporting soft expressions. You notice three new faces among the crowd of twelve. You come up to the railing, and fold your hands in front of you. You feel stupid making an entrance like this, but what else can you do? You give everyone a polite “hello” before joining them, keeping your strong posture.

While everyone else is watching you fondly, Bucky’s heart stops. It stopped the moment you stepped into the room, actually. Your nervous smile, your dress, the way you carried yourself… his lips parted and he needed to blink a few times to make sure that you were really there. His throat felt dry, and swallowed thickly. As you introduce yourself to James, Maria, and Happy, Bucky keeps his eyes trained on you, admiring you from afar. Steve teasingly shrugs his side, but Bucky doesn’t budge; he’s too mesmerized by how beautiful you look tonight.

After meeting Tony’s newest invites, Tony raises a glass to toast your achievements while being with the team, to which you smile again in embarrassment. He’s cheeky in his speech, but still sincere and thankful. They all raise a glass to you while you stand there awkwardly. Champagne isn’t exactly the tastiest alcohol you’ve had. Beer is the scum of the earth, so if Tony has it, you’ll be taking some coolers. You all sit down on the white leather sofas, and ask Tony to fix you up a drink. He goes to the bar without question, and comes back with a six-pack of Palm Bays, Smirnoff Ice, and Vex beverages. He plops them on the table, and you flick your eyes up at him.

“What?” he says. “I’m just giving you some variety since our stuff isn’t good enough for you.”

“Thanks,” you say, reaching forward for a Smirnoff. “And it’s not that it isn’t good enough. It’s just gross.”

“Whatever you say, sporto.”

You make a face at the nickname an old man would give to his son, and pop off the cap of your drink. You look around the table, and ask Tony one more thing before he sits down.

“Do you have any straws?”

“Straws?”

“Yeah. I can’t drink without a straw.”

“You know t–“

“I am twenty-five years old, Tony. I am very well aware that you get drunk faster when you drink with a straw. You’re only the thousandth person that’s told me that. Just… do you have them or not?”

You stare him down, daring him to say anything else that would prompt you to be sassy with him again. You smile when he says nothing else and goes to get you a straw. You drop it in your drink when he comes back with it.

“Thaaank you,” you sing, instantly taking a few sips. You settle back into the couch beside Steve, shimmying your shoulders in comfort. As Tony takes his seat beside Pepper, the conversation finally gets going.

“So _______, may I call you _______?” Happy asks.

“’Course,” you smile.

“This may as well be the first question any newcomer is going to ask,” he starts, slightly embarrassed, “but can you do it?”

There’s a collective groan from Tony, Pepper, Steve, and Sam, prompting Happy to shrug and raise his hands in defence.

“Wow, sorryyy. Didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed to see it up-close.”

“Oh, don’t mind them,” you say, setting your drink down. “It’s fine, really. It’s fun to show people.”

You lean forward in your seat, and stretch your arm out towards Happy across the table. It hardly takes any focus at all for flames to forge around your hand. Happy flinches in surprise and jumps back a bit. After his initial shock, he leans forward again and stares in amazement at your hand.

“Wow,” he says to himself. He reaches out to touch your hand himself, but you reel yourself back.

“Whoa there, Mr. Hogan,” you say. “They’re real flames. You could burn yourself.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.”

“You couldn’t tell from the heat?” Tony jumps in. “She can power that up to 3000 Kelvin, Happy.”

“Well I didn’t feel much heat from it is all,” Happy defends. “It’s like a fire pit. You don’t feel the heat unless you get close enough to it.”

“I can assure you that I have control over how much heat I emit,” you say, extinguishing the flames. “I won’t accidentally blow up the Tower.”

“You better hope not,” Tony warns. “Otherwise that’s coming out of the rent money for your friend.”

“Don’t do her dirty like that,” you fight back. “I promise that it will never happen. Here, at the compound. Anywhere. Cross my heart.”

“I believe you, so don’t worry about it,” Tony says. “I won’t get your friend kicked out.”

“And this friend being…?” Pepper comments, looking from you to Tony.

“She has a friend back in Toronto,” Tony explains. “One of _______’s conditions were to ensure that her friend always has her rent covered. It has been.”

“Does her friend know?”

“She was the first one to know,” you cut in. “She’s very observant, and can keep a secret. Mostly because she forgets half the time. She knows that I’m here too, obviously. She’s been very… enthusiastic about it. And I can also promise you that she won’t sell me out, or anyone else if that ever happened. She may be annoying sometimes, but she’s loyal.”

“How many others know about you?” James asks.

“So far, just her,” you say. You notice you’ve finished your drink, so you grab another, moving your straw to the full one instead. “My family and work friends don’t know. And I’d like to keep it that way. They all think I’m on this… vacation, so to say. Working with high schoolers and teaching them about photography. Sort of like a workshop.”

“And no one has asked any questions about it?” Vision asks.

“Nope,” you say, taking a considerable sip. “And I hope no one does. Most of my family is pretty gullible, and Natasha was more than convincing explaining it to my boss. I haven’t received any calls or emails about it, so I suppose everyone’s forgotten, or quite frankly, they don’t care. Either way, as long as no one knows I’m here, everything’s fine. Knock on wood.”

“So you’re telling me,” Sam starts, a little shocked himself, “that you’ve been living at the compound for three months, without your friends and family knowing?”

“Yes.”

“And no one, besides Maeve, has bothered to pick up the phone and call you about any of this? None of them are suspicious?”

“Nope.”

“Gotta hand it to you, Spyro. Even when you do nothing, you’re doing something.”

“Well I’ve been lying all my life. It’s not that hard to do once you’re used to it.”

There are some discerning looks from a few people in the room, but you reassure them that you mostly did little white lies. A few big ones here and there, but it was to spare feelings and to avoid family drama. There was always too much of it; so now you’re glad that you’re far away from your family, no matter how bad that sounds. Everyone needs a break sometimes. You have another family now, and you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

You notice that Bucky has been quiet the entire time. He’s sitting by himself in a single chair, shying away from everyone. His fingers are crossed in his lap, his eyes are cast down, and he’s periodically chewing his lip. He must be nervous as hell to be in a room full of this many people, even more so with three new faces. Even so, he’s confident in himself. He can blend in and deceive people when need be; he’s just getting comfortable, unbeknownst to you. You have full confidence in Bucky anyhow, but you always worry in situations like these. Not as much with his face and arm hidden, but the thought is still there.

“Have you guys been introduced to our friend here?” you ask, gesturing to Bucky.

“I don’t believe we have,” Maria says. “Who is he?”

“He’s a friend of mine from back home,” you lie smoothly. “Benny. Benny Noble.”

“No offence, but what is he doing here?” Maria continues.

“I felt that I’d be more comfortable with him here,” you explain. “He’s been a very good friend of mine for a few years now. Helping me through the good and the bad. His presence calms me in anxious times. Plus, I thought it’d be nice to share this with him.” Maria gives you a skeptical look, but in the sense that she doesn’t believe Benny is just your “friend”. Or, at least, he doesn’t want to be your friend, going by the look on his face. He wants much, much more. Maria can read the mood well, and keeps her mouth shut about it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Noble,” she smiles, raising a glass to him.

“And yourself,” Bucky replies, albeit quietly. He fixes his posture, sitting up straight in his chair and spreading his legs a little more. He clears his throat, and is ready to be engaged in conversation if it arises.

And it does.

As the night progresses, the atmosphere is less quiet and strained. Once Tony turns on some music, everyone visibly relaxes, a drink in their hands. You open up quite a bit, since you get very talkative and smiley when you drink a lot. There’s three different conversations going on between everyone, and they’re all wearing a smile. That definitely helps you calm down. But you’re so hyper focused on your own conversation with Pepper that you wouldn’t even notice. Bucky speaks with James and Happy, both men appreciating when Bucky laughs at their jokes. You smile and laugh even more when you see Bucky smile. It’d be a lot better if you could see his real face, but this will suffice. Besides, you can feel the heat rushing to your face by the minute. You’ve already finished five drinks, and gone to the bathroom twice. You can hold your liquor, but not your bladder. After you finish your sixth drink and come back from the bathroom, you realize the conversation has taken a turn for the most interesting.

“Sooooo,” you sing, flopping back down in your spot, squished between Sam and Steve. “What’re we talkin’ abouuuuuut?”

“Past relationships,” Phil answers. “Not many in the room are as inconspicuous as others.”

“Pffft we all know who you’re talking about,” you laugh, rolling your head over to Tony. “I hear you were still quite the playboy, Tony Stark. But now that you have the most amaaaaazing woman ever, this lovely Pepper Potts, those days are behind you. Aren’t they, Mr. Genius Billionaire Ex-Playboy Philanthropist?”

Tony glances at Pepper, who smiles lovingly at him. Naturally, you’d think that Tony would reply in a slightly cheeky tone, but you were not expecting to hear him sound sincere.

“Yes,” he says, reaching over to hold her hand. He gives her a squeeze before letting go. “I guess it’s not in me anymore to sleep around.”

“Well ain’t that the sweetest thing to come out of your mouth,” you comment. “Would it kill ya to be like that more often?”

“Would it kill you to not be overly arrogant and sassy?” he challenges. You shrug.

“Ehhh. I can’t help but be sassy,” you retort. “It’s part of who I am. But I do get told to shut up when I’m buzzed so maybe I’ll start that now.”

“Ohh no no,” Sam says. “I don’t think so. We’re just getting started.”

“On what?”

“The current topic of discussion,” Natasha pipes in. “I believe the one being celebrated should have first say in the matter.”

You blow your lips before sputtering into a laugh. You’re genuine for a good twenty seconds before dying down and realizing that everyone is waiting for you to give an answer or some sort of story. You pick up your drink and sit back into the couch.

“Look, all I gotta say is that I like my men how I like my women,” you say, sipping hardly on your drink. All eyes are on you now, waiting for you to continue your joke. But as you look around at all of them, you understand that they don’t get it.

“Which is…?” Steve eggs on.

“Well, that’s it,” you say. “That’s the joke.” Natasha and Wanda seem to know what you’re talking about, but everyone else does not. Do you really have to spell it out for them? “I’m bisexual, guys.”

There’s a chorus of “oh”s from everyone, making you roll your eyes. It’s not like it’s important anyway, but it still surprises you how surprised other people are when you tell them or they find out on their own. You don’t know how old fashioned everyone is in the room, but they don’t seem offended by it. Just genuine shock.

“Well, congratulations,” Steve says, causing you to burst into laughter.

“It’s not like I just find out myself today,” you joke, nudging him. “But, thanks. I don’t need to be congratulated for that, but it’s a very Steve thing of you to say.”

“What does that mean?” he smiles.

“It means you’re very polite,” Sam answers for him. “You can’t go a day without being nice and respectful.”

“You’d think it’d be natural for people to be like that,” you comment. “And as far as I can tell, all of you are.”

“Okay, enough of this being nice stuff,” Tony cuts in. “Natasha made a very simple, polite request that you have yet to answer.”

“Ohoho?” you chuckle, grabbing another drink. “Are you really that eager to hear about my non-existent love life?”

“Very much, actually,” Wanda says. You look over at her, and she leans forward to hear a clear answer. “We know quite a few things about you, but none of your past, really. So please, do tell.”

You snort at her, setting your drink back down on the table. You can feel all eyes on you as you think of how to begin your answer. You sit up and nod your head side to side as you chew on your tongue.

“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” you say. “The ones in elementary school don’t matter, and I never had any in high school either. I was close to one, but I never acted on it. I didn’t want to be wrong and embarrass myself. And still nothing throughout university. Sorry to say, but I got nothing. No experience what-so-ever. Which is a little embarrassing now that I think about it… But, yeah. Sorry I’m not as interesting as you think I am.”

“Oh, come off it,” Tony says, sounding very unimpressed. “You’re telling us that you’ve never been with somebody before? Not even a one-night-stand?”

“Not in person, no,” you reply.

“So you have been with someone then?” Maria jumps in.

“Well, yes and no,” you say. “Long distance. We met online, and neither I nor she had the money nor time to meet. We knew each other for three years before confessing, and that only last for half a year. We still talk a lot, though. This was when I was nineteen. Since then, I’ve been with no one. In real life, or online.”

“Sounds like you’ve lead quite the boring life,” Sam laughs, prompting you to elbow him.

“I told you I wasn’t that interesting,” you say. “I mean, I’ve kissed people sure, but only when I was drinking. They weren’t that meaningful. And they were all with girls too. I seem to repel boys, apparently.” You pick your drink back up and sway side to side as you drink it.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Natasha says. “You’re plenty interesting. Maybe you have no direct experience with them because you do not approach them first?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” you agree. “No way in hell am I gonna go up to one of them first. You can forget that. You know how well I faired against scar-face in my first mission. What a treat that was.”

“But you’ve grown to be better,” Wanda smiles. “You’ve shown significant improvement these past few weeks. It should be a piece of cake for you to attract the one you want.”

Oh, Wanda. Please stop being so obvious.

You shift your eyes towards the floor as you sip on your drink. You betray yourself as you break out into a huge smile, and almost choke from laughing to yourself. You clear your throat and put your empty drink on the table.

“Anyone else willing to talk about how successful or unsuccessful they are in the dating department?”

More of that conversation goes on, but Bucky couldn’t care less. He now knows that besides that one online girl, you have no experience in the art of dating. Men, at least. And he finds that surprisingly… hot. He has a feeling you’re not exactly innocent, but shy enough to not know what to do. He pulls himself out of the gutter, however, and smiles instead. He hopes that later tonight when he presents his love to you that you accept it. He has a feeling you will, but there’s always a chance that you won’t. Despite that, he can already imagine the smile on your face, the tears forming in your eyes. It’s a sight that he so dearly wishes to see, because you’d be happy by his own doing.

He’s gone over the facts of being in love with someone, and infatuation. Infatuation is sudden, based on a feeling, seeking to find happiness, possessive, idealistic, and in love with “emotion”. Love is gradual, realistic, based on commitment, seeking to give happiness, freeing, and in love with “devotion”. He did not fall in love with you at first sight. He had no idea who you were, or what you wanted from him. He does want to seek happiness, but it cannot be found in one person alone. He is definitely not possessive of you, nor is he going to cut you off from certain people just because they’re not him. He’s not an asshole. He did gradually begin to grow fond of you, like you, love you. You make him happy, and he wants to give the world to you. It pained him tremendously to see you in agony after getting shot, and even after the market incident. He wants to protect you, but he knows first hand that you can take care of yourself. Still, he wouldn’t mind shielding you from danger, stepping in front of you and taking that bullet. Your personality, your heart, your bravery. He was attracted to it all. The small touches, the soft words, moments you had together; he loved all of it. And tonight is the night to tell you about it in his own way. A way that you’ll definitely approve of.

After a few more rounds of drinks, conversations, and laughs, you’ve reached the point of not giving two flying shits about what you say, or do. You’ve taken it upon yourself to crank the music loud, get up on the steps, and perform to your heart’s content. With a bottle in hand in high spirits, you sing loudly, boldly, to “I Love Rock ‘N Roll”, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, “Bohemian Rhapsody”, “Under the Bridge”, and “Icky Thump”. You point at everyone during your sequences, and encourage them to sing along and come up to dance with you. You even managed to get Bucky up too! You all danced poorly, if anything. You’re not as sharp not precise when drunk. None of you are. You wonder if you’re going to remember this in the morning. But all that matters right now is living in the moment.

After another bathroom break and time to fix your appearance, you decide to have some time to yourself and head to the terrace for some fresh air. The humid night air flows over your skin as you open the door, and you sigh contently. You’ve never seen the streets of New York lit up at night in real life before, only in pictures. And it’s even more breathtaking gazing at it with your own two eyes. You step out of your shoes and tread down the steps to the cool cement platform, and approach the glass railing. You settle your hands atop, and breathe in all the extraordinary scents of the New York. It’s a clear night, with a waning moon in the sky. You have an incredible view of the Chrysler building and the Manhattan Bridge, but they cannot compare to the horizon line.

The countless buildings scattering the streets all have their lights spilling through their windows, creating a yellow, hazing glow of the city. You can hear the familiar beeps of impatient New Yorker drivers, hurrying to get on home or to the bars. It makes you smile and lean over the railing; the wind passes by, whipping your hair as it goes. You push the stray strands behind your ears and sigh. It has been a really great night, with some really great people. Despite being the wooziest you’ve ever been, you know you’re going to remember, even if your brain refuses to. You take a deep breath just to smell the air again, and you break out into a giant smile and giggle from how good the earth smells, past all the pollution and artificial fragrances. It always calms you right down after a hard day, or just for pure pleasure. You were hoping to have a few moments to yourself, but there’s always that one person that decides otherwise.

Bucky comes strolling up to you, looking as fake as he’ll ever be, and leans against the railing to admire the skyline with you.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at you.

“Hey,” you say in return, smiling back.

“Why’re out here by yourself?”

“A breath of fresh air usually gets me back on track. And to admire the view.”

“Yeah, it is beautiful. But not as beautiful as you.”

You smile wider and look down before casting him a small glance. His words have been affecting you more and more. At first, you thought they were just that: words. That they didn’t have a lot of meaning, that it was just Bucky being Bucky. You don’t take compliments to heart sometimes, so it’s easy to brush them off. Thinking that someone wants something or they do it just to see your reaction and don’t mean it. And just because Bucky is from nearly a century ago doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do the same thing. Nevertheless… you’ve noticed time and time again how small his compliments would be, how close he would put himself beside you, the looks he gave you. You didn’t want to believe in any of it just to be disappointed in the end. You’ve never been with a man, you said so yourself. You thought about what it’d be like being with one, what he’d say to you, what he’d do for you, the kinds of shenanigans you’d get into with each other. But your luck with them has been clear as day for many years. You’re too afraid to approach them yourself, and the ones that approached you were crusty boys with shit personalities. You didn’t need that kind of toxicity in your life. Or drama. But now, in this moment, you’re hoping that he’s being completely genuine. Otherwise this could turn out to be one of the worst nights in your life.

“I really wish I had my camera right now,” you say, standing up straight. You slowly trail your eyes along the entire skyline. “It’d make a really great panoramic photo.”

“Well there’s no use in dwelling on that,” he says, straightening up as well. He holds out his hand and smiles tenderly. “May I have this dance, _______?”

You stare down at his hand before smiling sheepishly at him. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How are we–“

“We don’t always need music to dance,” he says. “Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.”

It’s not like you’d turn Bucky down anyway, music or not. You gingerly take his hand, and he pulls you towards him. You place your left hand on his waist, and he places his right on yours. You have trouble keeping a straight face from being so close to him, so you opt to hide your face on his shoulder instead of keeping eye-contact with him. He sways you side-to-side, and gently fixes his grip on your hand when it gets too clammy. He didn’t know how nervous he’d get by doing this, but he’s glad he is. It’s about damn time one of you says something.

“Is this your first time dancing with a man?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone.

“No,” you smile, looking over his shoulder. “I’ve danced alongside men before. But nothing too… serious, I guess. Intimate. And held meaning. So that kind of dance? Yes. This is my first time.”

“Really?” He’s genuinely surprised. “Not even at a wedding?”

“I haven’t been to any weddings,” you explain. “And I don’t go out as often as someone of my age should be. So I don’t get a lot of moments like this. But… I’m glad you’re the one I get to do this with.”

Bucky closes his mouth, because he was just about to say the same thing. “You beat me to it,” he says, pulling you in as close as you can go. “I’m glad I am too. And might I say that uh… I–My heart stopped when you walked into the room tonight. You looked incredible.”

“Are you saying that I don’t look the same now?” you smirk.

“O-Of course not! I mean, of course you still are–“

“I’m joking, Bucky, I’m joking… And thank you. You are as well. Though, it might’ve been a little more gratifying to see your actual face instead of this ‘Benny’ imposter.”

“Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?” he agrees.

You embrace the ensuing silence and close your eyes as you dance with Bucky. He smells wonderful, his (not really) clothes compliment his form well, and he’s holding you so compassionately that you want to stay like this forever. He’s warm and comfortable and protective, and feels like home. In that definite cliché way. You muck up the courage to raise your head and pull back to look him in the eyes. They’re not exactly his because they’re brown, but you’re looking at him nonetheless. You bring your hand to his cheek, and tilt your head to the side as you continue to sway back and forth.

“I wish I could take this off,” you whisper. You gaze over his shoulder at everyone else inside. “Guess I’ll have to wait until the newcomers leave.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder and gazes at them as well. He sighs, wishing for the same thing. “Me too,” he agrees, turning back around. He gently grasps your wrist and brings it back to his shoulder. “But I have a feeling their time is almost up.”

“Are you gonna storm in there and demand them to leave?” you ask, smiling playfully.

“No,” he chuckles. “That’d be too rude. It’s late, they had a lot to drink, I’m sure they all have very important plans for tomorrow. They’ll want to get some rest. And I’m sure that spending time with the newest recruit tired them out. That was a lot of energy you brought upon them.”

“Well, they’re… aging,” you start, trying not to be too offensive. “They get fatigued faster than before. They need a lot more rest than the lot of us nowadays. With the stressful lives they’re leading, it’s easy to get worn out and wish for an early death.”

“That wasn’t morbid at all,” he chortles.

“I thought you’d gotten used to me saying morbid things,” you grin.

“It still surprises me every time,” he admits.

“Good. I need to keep you on your toes.”

“And why is that?”

“Makes for a more interesting day.”

“You make every day interesting for me already.”

You stare at him for a moment before giggling into his chest. You don’t say another word and just keep holding on to him, and dance into the night. Back inside, your friends are having unique conversations of their own.

Maria, Natasha, Pepper, and Wanda are having a bet war, debating on who, when, where, and how either you or “Benny” will confess to one another. Maria and Pepper did not know of any past interactions between you two, so Wanda and Natasha gave them plausible lies to give them an idea about who each of you are.

“Okay, so, Benny is a romantic,” Pepper starts, swishing her wine glass around. “He’s known _______ for seven years. He delved into her personal interests, even the ones he didn’t exactly like. Heeee’s complimented her and took her to her favourite places and saved her life once. If I was him, I’d propose already.”

“I can’t believe they haven’t kissed yet,” Maria comments, sipping her wine. “Seven years of pining, mutual love and they don’t even know it? I’d call that bullshit any day. But there’s a first time for everything.”

“We can’t believe it either,” Wanda agrees. “It’s truly astounding that they cannot freely speak about their feelings for each other. It’s been too long. They need to get a move on.”

“With the way they’re dancing outside,” Natasha interjects, nodding towards the terrace, “I believe they’re doing just that.”

The women turn their attention towards you and Bucky outside, observing your body language and how close you’re dancing. They all sip on their drinks in unison before laying out their guesses about what’s going to happen between you two tonight.

“My guess is that Benny is going to confess first,” Wanda says. “I’d sayyy… when they’re in private so no one can see. Maybe an hour? I don’t know. And he’s going to do it by presenting her with a gift.”

“I second that,” Maria chimes in. “Though I think he’s going to do it when all of us leave.”

“Benny’s the quieter one from what I can tell,” Pepper says. “I think _______ will say she loves him first. And she’s going to do it in a few minutes while they’re having a moment together. Then she’ll kiss him.”

“I too think that _______ will break first,” Natasha agrees. “But she’ll do it in the privacy of one of their rooms once the night is over. She’ll present him with a gift. Something that’s important to him.”

There’s a small silence before Wanda speaks up again. “All bets are in?” The women nod, all in silent agreement about their inferences. They also decided that the loser(s) must pay up $50 and do something of the winner(s) bidding. It’s a fun little game until you’re told what you must do. Who knows; maybe none of them will win. It’s hard to say when the ending result could go in any direction. Meanwhile, the men are in their own little group, betting on the same thing. But instead of going into detail, they’re just betting on who’s going to break first.

Tony, Sam, Phil, Vision, Happy, and James believe that _______ will confess first, while Steve and Phil believe that Benny will confess first. The losers will have to pay up $100. A steep price, but it’s a fun bet. Might as well raise the odds. It’s a little juvenile for everyone in the room to make bets on who will confess first, but every once in a while the adults can have a little fun.

Back outside, you and Bucky have been laughing nonstop about telling each other funny stories about the past that you haven’t told one another yet. Well, it’s mostly you doing the storytelling, but it’s nice all the while to hear Bucky laugh and see his beautiful smile. You’re not afraid to look him in the eye anymore; not when you’re having the greatest time of your life with him. But every time to do look in his eyes, you think about just saying it already. To just open your anxious mouth and tell him how much you love him. It seems easy, in theory. You’ve spent enough time together to admit it already, but the nagging thought of him rejecting you is still in the back of your mind.

So when you think he leans in closer to kiss you, you back away and opt for hugging him instead. He’s disappointed to say the least, but he’s not giving up yet. He still has one more chance to prove his love to you. But he’s waiting until you two have some absolute alone time. All he’s waiting for is the newcomers to make their way home. Bucky leads you back inside as he mentions the chillier weather, arm wrapped around your back. Some heads turn in your direction, but you don’t mind. You’re the centre of attention tonight, right?

You yawn for the first time tonight, and feel the fatigue catching up to you. Everyone takes that as a signal for the night to come to a close. Maria, Pepper, James, Phil, and Happy all go to you to give their final goodbyes. But not before paying up. Pepper reluctantly hands over her $50 to Natasha. Natasha isn’t the winner, but Pepper will be notified of who won. As will Maria. The men will find out later as well, when the night is over. For now, they return to the lobby of the Tower and make their way home.

You face your amazing team members and friends, now overwhelmed with how much they did. “Thank you very much for tonight,” you say, smiling tiredly. “It’s surely something I won’t forget. It wasn’t overboard either, so kudos Tony. I don’t have any way to say ‘thank you’ than to just say it, but–“

“That’s all we need to hear, _______,” Steve interjects, smiling warmly. “And that you had a good time, of course.”

“I had a great time, Steve, thanks,” you smile back. “I couldn’t have made it this far without any of here you. Every single one of you have helped me in some way ever since I became a part of the team. This is so cheesy, but you’re my home away from home. I couldn’t ask for more, really. I love you all, and I’m tired as hell, so I’m gonna go to bed.”

You curtsey to them, sputtering a laugh before waving at them and turning around to return to your room. Wanda and Natasha give each other a knowing look before following suit, the men staying behind the clean up.

You don’t know how tired you really are until you try unzipping your dress. You yawn every thirty seconds, and your eyes are droopy. You stop a few times to blink to keep them open. You eventually slip out of your dress and leave it on the floor to put on some pyjama pants and shirt. Then you go to the bathroom to start ridding your face of the beautiful makeup Natasha and Wanda put on. But not before getting a few selfies in.

Back on the party deck, Steve is telling Bucky to get on out of there to do what’s he’s gotta do. Bucky’s about to tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about, but one smirk from Steve tells him to just put down the empty wine bottles and go. He mutters a small thanks to him before skipping up the stairs and to the elevator. Once he reaches his room, he takes the time to practice what he’s going to say to you when he presents you with his gift. He doesn’t rush himself, because he knows you’re a night owl. Then again, you’ve had a lot more drinks tonight than any other special occasion, so a give-and-go might be the useful tactic right now. Sighing deeply, he heads down the hall to your room.

He doesn’t hear anything inside as he approaches your door. Not like he would anyway, but sometimes he hears your music or the shower running. Right now, he hears neither. He takes one more, relaxing breath before raising his hand and knocking on your door. You answer within a few seconds, and do a double-take at him.

“Bucky?” you say, squinting a little. “Is that you?”

“Uhhh,” he hums. “Yes?”

“Really?” you say, opening the door wider. You smile a bit. “Because those aren’t his eyes, or his nose, or his lips.”

“What?” He takes a second to realize that he’s still wearing the face synthetic. He chuckles before removing it with one hand and roughly tucking it into his pocket.

“Ahh, there he is,” you say, stepping aside to let him in.

“Thanks,” he smiles, walking into your room. You close the door behind him and wander over to the window, leaning against the glass. “What brings you by?”

He stands off to the side, hands behind his back, fiddling with the small box he carries. It’s now or never. He clears his throat and sets his gaze upon you. You look incredibly cozy in your pyjamas, and the soft glow of the city coming through the window really makes him want to kiss you. Hopefully he will, if this ends well. He steps forward with a tender smile on his face, and brings his hand around.

“This,” he begins, “is for you. I know this isn’t your birthday or Christmas or anything, but I thought I’d get you something for your initiation.”

“Bucky, honestly,” you scoff, shaking your head. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he says. He holds it out further so you’ll take it. You take it with a sigh, still shaking your head. You don’t mind of course, but you honestly were not expecting anything from anyone. It’s a small, rectangular, light blue box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. You undo the ribbon, then lift the lid of the box. Your eyes widen at what’s inside.

“Is this… a mixtape?” Clearly it is, since it has “_______’s Mixtape” scribbled on it. It’s not a real mixtape, since the casing is rough and looks freshly made.

“Yeah,” he smiles, looking down at it. “I uh… I didn’t really know what to get you, so I made you something instead.”

This means more to you than Bucky thinks. No one’s ever made you a mixtape before, let alone a playlist. Music is something that can always, no matter the situation, make you feel better. Bucky said he didn’t know what to get, but according to you, he got you exactly what you wanted.

“This is… wonderful,” you say, tearing up just a bit. You turn it over in your hands, wondering about how to listen to it. “Um. How do I listen to it?”

“Down here,” he says, pointing to the ports on the underside. “I didn’t know where to find a cassette player, so I went a little modern and did this instead. The actual mixtape is on the inside of this casing, but the earphone jack is here on the bottom. It charges by plugging it into your laptop.”

“Ohhhh.”

You nod along, and look around your room for your headphones. It’s in your purse if you remember correctly. You dig through it as it hangs off your bedpost and grasp your knotted headphones. Bucky’s taking his leave, but you tell him to stay.

“No no no!” you tell him, pulling him back in. “I want you to stay here while I listen to it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s–“

“Hey, I opened it, but I can’t enjoy it to the fullest if you’re not here to see it!”

He sighs, and reluctantly sits down in your desk chair. You excitedly jump on your bed and sit cross-legged against the wall, plug in your headphones, and press play. All the songs Bucky put on the mixtape are love songs, songs that perfectly describe how he feels about you. You don’t know that yet, though. You’re only on the first song. And sooner or later, Bucky will have to face your response, and decide what he’s going to do about it.

As time drifts on, you shift in your bed. Laying on your back, your side, sitting up and bobbing your head. The longer you listen to the mixtape, you realize that he’s used songs from decades ago, and songs that you would know. They all make you smile, simply because Bucky’s the one that put thought into each and every song. You also realize that they all have a common theme: love. At first you thought it was a coincidence, but after half an hour of listening, you know that he did it on purpose. You tilt your head to look at him, and see that he’s pressing his hands together and bouncing his knee a little. You never thought that Bucky Barnes, ex-Sergeant of World War II, would confess to you in this way. You pause the mixtape, take your earphones out and sit at the edge of your bed. You try not to smile too much, but now you really can’t help yourself.

You stand up, walk over to him, and tap his head. He flinches a bit but raises his head, and musters up a smile. “Can I get a hug please?” He smiles even more and stands up with you, then wraps his arms tightly around you as you do the same. You have to go on your toes a bit, but it feels so good to hug him that you don’t care. He’s huge, and extremely warm. You press your cheek in his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s beating pretty fast, fast enough to match your own.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say into his chest. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, reveling in the hug. “I’m glad you like it.”

The both of you are struggling with yourselves, debating whether or not to come out and say damn three words already. You’ve known each other for a while now. You’ve hung out, learned about each other, grew intimately closer… you don’t know what else to do to make the hints ever more obvious. This is the best time, out of all the others, to say it. Your anxiety says no, but your crazy beating heart is screaming “fucking do it”. Sighing, you pull away first, but keep your hands on him. You stare at his chest, and suddenly you feel even more apprehensive about doing this. There’s no other perfect time than now. This is possibly the biggest “fuck it” moment of your life. Better make it worth it.

“Bucky, I–“ you start, ready to give it to him straight. But as you raise your head, you’re caught completely off-guard. He’s staring at you intensely, his eyes boring into yours. You swallow thickly, his expression making you more nervous than you need to be. He sees that he’s made you uncomfortable, so he tries to diffuse the tension by cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb along your skin. Your chest rises and falls in short, deep breaths the longer you stare at him. You’re frozen in place now, questioning if you can bring yourself to do, or say anything.

You can’t gather your thoughts to say anything coherent, so you’re left with your mouth open like a gaping fish. Bucky, on the other hand, takes advantage of that, and smiles at you sweetly.

“I wanted to give you something I know you’d appreciate,” he whispers. He doesn’t want to speak too loudly. Even though it’s just you two in the room, there may be curious ears anywhere. “Picking the songs was the hard part, believe it or not. I wanted to get the words as perfect as I could, and have a clear message. It–“

“I heard your message loud and clear, Bucky,” you interrupt, casting your eyes down at his chest again. “The first few songs I thought it was just dumb luck, but the more I listened to it, the more I understood.” Your heart skips a beat, knowing you’re getting closer and closer to telling him the truth. It’s hot in your chest, and you seem to have lost your train of thought. You don’t know what to say next. You close your eyes, and take a few seconds to brace yourself and look at him again.

“I–“

But he beats you to it. With your face in his hand and the hints all there, he takes his chance. Finally, after waiting for weeks and weeks and thinking about you day and night, finally, he’s making his move.

By kissing you.

Your breath hitches at his sudden action, but almost immediately, you relax into it. You tighten your grip on him, and he pulls you in closer. This is even better than you expected. Despite not being in a relationship with someone for a long time, he kisses you like he’s done it everyday. He was hesitant at first, but he took the chance the moment you looked up at him. After the initial shock he gave himself, he slowly eased into it. You pull away first for some air, letting you and Bucky catch your breath. Your expression is one of surprise, but the corner of your mouth twitches up into a smile. His does as well, and he presses your foreheads together. You bring your hand up and hold onto the back of his neck. You sway slightly back and forth, never letting go of each other.

“I love you.”

All oxygen seems to have left the room when the two of you speak in unison. The small, sudden silence is broken by the swift breath of laughter. And sniffles. Tears flow down your cheeks out of happiness, as does Bucky’s. He hasn’t felt this happy in a very, very long time, and he can’t help but cry about it. After all these years of pain, misery, regret, and self-loathing, he finally has something good in his life again. Something that will keep him going and distract him from all that he’s done.

Bucky wipes your tears away and looks at you with such adoration and compassion that a few more tears slip from your eyes. You hold onto his wrists as he cups both your cheeks and kisses your forehead.

“I love you, _______,” he says again, this time with more confidence. He sounds out of breath again, but he means it all the same.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you say, still in disbelief. You drop your hands to hug him again, and happily breathe him in. He smells like leftover cologne and wine. “Sure took us long enough, huh?”

“Too long,” he agrees, smoothing down your hair. He smiles when he smells the flowery shampoo in your hair. You feel so comfortable in his arms, and he doesn’t want to let you go. But it’s late, and both of you need to get some sleep. This time, he pulls away first, and brushes some hair away from your face before kissing your cheek.

“Goodnight, _______,” he says. He reluctantly lets you go and makes way for the door, but you tug on his hand. He turns back around when you do that.

“Stay,” you insist, softly pulling him back in. He doesn’t answer, but he allows himself to be guided to your bed. You carefully wrap up your mixtape and put it down on the desk before returning to your newfound lover. You smile nervously and scratch the back of your neck. “Is that alright with you?”

Sleeping in the same bed with you would be incredible, but also unpredictable. He doesn’t know if he’d choke you in your sleep or violently kick you out of bed–and not in a funny way. He’s loud when he has nightmares, and he doesn’t want you to be on the receiving end of his anger. But he knows you’re not made of glass. You can very well handle yourself in almost every situation. Besides, you’re insisting. How could he say no?

“Okay,” he says after thinking it over. “Just give me a second.”

He leaves the room to go back to his and change into some appropriate pyjamas. Surely sleeping in just his underwear would be fine, but this is the first time sleeping with you. He doesn’t want to push it. He comes back in a tank top and sweat pants, and sees you’ve already cuddled yourself into bed. You look over your shoulder when you hear the door open, and smile when you see him.

I get to cuddle that? Damn.

You pull the covers back, silently inviting him in. He slides in next to you, and you push yourself against the wall to give him some more room. It’s a kind of tight fit, but it won’t matter when you’re holding onto one another. You throw the blankets over him, and shuffle in closer, tucking your arm around his waist underneath. He wraps his around your back and pulls you in until you’re nose-to-nose with him. You giggle at him and boop your noses together.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, pecking his lips before sliding down to press your face into his chest.

“Goodnight, _______,” he says, settling down himself. He kisses your forehead once more, and lulls himself to sleep by thinking about all of the things that he’s going to experience with you in this new light.

[ravengirl94]

Fic Tag Game

I was tagged by the ever lovely and talented @lipstickandwhiskey and my wonderful twin @deanssweetheart23 (I think? You tagged me, right? Yes)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 10 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag some of your favorite authors

From “The Arrangement,” AU!Dean x Reader

You stifled a yawn behind your hand, glancing at the clock on your computer. How could it only be three? It felt like six... that third round of drinks the night before was definitely been a mistake, but it had certainly been fun. You pushed away from your desk and got to your feet, stretching your back before heading to your boss’s door.

“I’m going to get some coffee, Mr. Novak, can I get you anything?” Jimmy lifted his head from where he was studying some paperwork and smiled at you.

“Some coffee would be wonderful, Y/N,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.

“Absolutely, sir,” you replied with a chuckle, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

From “Angel in Blue Jeans,” Dean x Cowgirl!Reader

Dean hauled himself out of the impala with a grunt, muscles still protesting from the werewolf hunt a few days ago. The long drive probably hadn’t helped much, but it sounded like a pretty nasty shifter case so he and Sam had high-tailed it across the country to Wyoming. The most recent lead had them pulling onto a large farm to speak with a victim’s brother. It was mid-afternoon, the sky a brilliant blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. The sun was strong, but it was only May so it wasn’t too hot yet. Dean’s work boots kicked up dust as he and Sam made their way down a wide path flanked by fencing, heading towards a large barn.

From “Imagine: Benny Turning You,” Benny x Reader

Strangely enough, you didn’t feel anything. That hellhound had used you like a chew toy, leaving deep punctures and gashes all over your body. There was blood everywhere, so you knew something was horribly wrong... and yet, all you felt was cold.

“Y/N!” Benny exclaimed, hurrying to your side and falling to his knees. “Look at me darlin,” he pleaded, grabbing your face in his hands, “stay with me.” You dragged your eyes up to meet his crystal blue ones, and he looked so worried, so panicked. Probably because of all the blood. Shit, he shouldn’t be around you when you were bleeding like this. “Hey now, just take it easy,” he said as you struggled to move, pressing his hands over the worst wounds in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. “DEAN!” He bellowed over his shoulder before turning back to you. The look in his eyes scared you, and suddenly you knew you were dying.

From “Imagine: Dean Coming to Find You,” Dean x Reader

A lot of shitty things had happened during your life, but tearing your ACL was by far the worst. It was a freak accident on a wendigo hunt. You’d been running hard through the woods, feet pounding against the dirt-packed path. Of all the stupid plans, being bait was by far the dumbest, but you were the fastest out of the three of you. You’d even run track in high school. Unfortunately, pine needles weren’t the best footing. As you rounded the bend towards where the boys were waiting, you slid on the slippery surface, trying to turn right and get out of the way. But a shooting burning pain ripped through your knee, sending you smashing to the ground.

From “One of These Nights,” Benny x Reader

It had been a year. A whole year of searching. A year of driving around the country with Sam and occasionally Bobby, hoping desperately for any sign of Dean or Castiel.

"We’ve been there already Sam," you muttered tiredly, rubbing your eyes. You were poring over an old faded map, marked up with circles and crosses and other various notes. It was slowly becoming unreadable – yet another sign of your desperation.

"I know, I know…" Sam snapped, slamming a hand down on the table, "but we have to keep looking."

"What about where he came back from hell? Where had you buried him?" You asked, glancing back to the map.

"You really do think he's dead." Sam said, his voice hollow.

"I don't know what to think anymore, Sam! It's been a year with no sign of him at all. He vanished when Dick exploded - that's literally the only information we have." You exclaimed, pacing around the room. The bunker had become home for you, someplace to return to for rest and further planning, but it felt empty without Dean.

From “Imagine Taking Care of Sick Dean,” Dean x Reader

You had to suppress a giggle as Dean appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had the biggest frown you’d ever seen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and bare feet. He was still in his pajamas.

“Hey there sleeping beauty,” you said, still smiling at the sight of him. It was nearly noon, and he didn’t look very happy to be awake. The smile vanished from your face as Dean spoke.

“I don’t feel good,” he said miserably, voice hoarse and raspy. He certainly didn’t sound good. In fact, he sounded like he’d been gargling rocks. 

“Oh honey,” you exclaimed, pushing out of your chair to place a hand on his forehead, “you’re burning up.” You winced and took a step back as he began coughing, looking positively miserable. When he had finished, you took his arm and led him back down the hall to his room. “you need to stay in bed today, mister,” you said as he collapsed back onto the mattress, face down.

From “Just You and Me,” Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky turned, the smile fading from his face and giving you a concerned look as you froze on the stairs. The two of you were returning to your tiny apartment after grocery shopping, bags still clutched in your hands.

“Someone’s in there,” you whispered, heart hammering in your chest. Your heightened sense of hearing allowed you to pick up on the soft footsteps across the creaky floor, as well as the steady heartbeat from whoever was inside. 

“Ah shit...” Bucky muttered, “I should have known this would happen after that attack...” A bomb had gone off in Vienna at an important conference and news reports were blaming Bucky, despite him being in an entirely different country at the time. But people were dead. Important people. And it would have been naive to expect the world to leave the two of you alone.

From “Mistaken Identity,” Dean x Reader

You ducked into the bar, glancing around nervously. It was a nice enough place, with quiet music and low enough lighting that made just about everyone look attractive. You still weren’t sure why you’d let yourself be talked into a blind date of all things... You didn’t really care that you were single, but apparently your friends did. You couldn’t blame them much. Nearly all of them were married or engaged or on their way to it. They were in love and wanted you to find your happily ever after too. It wasn’t their fault you were a realist and didn’t really believe in it anymore.

From “Start of Something Good,” Benny x Reader

You’d only been going to the coffee shop for a few months, but already it felt like home. It was small and simple, but the coffee was strong and the food was phenomenal. It wasn’t one of those high end cafes, but rather it was simple, almost understated. It was quiet, relaxed, and something about it put you at ease. Within a few visits it became your favorite place, and you soon found yourself there every day. You would bring some work or more often, the most recent book you were reading, order the usual and sit at one of the worn wooden tables. People would filter in and out while you sat there, engrossed in your novel and savoring the quiet bustle, the heady coffee aroma and the good looking man behind the counter. His bright blue eyes had caught you the first time you’d visited, making you stammer, scrambling for words in your suddenly empty head. He’d smiled good-naturedly, perfect white teeth flashing in the light.

“What can I get for you, cher?” The smooth low voice accompanied by a gentle southern drawl made your knees weak.

**SNEAK PEAK** Untitled Frank Castle x Reader Fic

You didn’t really know much about your neighbor across the hall. You knew his name was Frank, and that more often than not he looked like somebody had been using him as a punching bag. Not that you ran into him much. Once in awhile you’d see him in the hall or the stairwell, and the two of you would say a quiet hello before moving about your business. He was a quiet neighbor, kept mostly to himself, and only occasionally made a hell of a racket in the hall coming home at an ungodly hour. Your German Shepherd Max wasn’t too fond of that part, but otherwise wasn’t particularly wary of Frank. You’d expected him to be more protective of you, since that seemed to be his main purpose in life: growling at anyone that was dumb enough to get too close. And yet for some reason he seemed to like Frank. He’d wag his tail when the two of you ran into Frank, and more often than not, Frank would glance down at your dog and you swore something would soften in his hard features.

**cough cough @atari-writes I swear it’s coming eventually**