#and Steve is the kind of kid who gets Noticed with a capital N (for good or ill)

[galwednesday]

high school popular kid/nerd au I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR THISSSS Also thank you for sharing your fantastic writing! I honestly don't know how you find the time and creativity for it and I am just so impressed. Much love ❤️

Aww, thank you!

I’m assuming this was a Stucky pairing, since that’s mostly what I’ve been writing lately, so here’s a popular Steve, for once, with nerdy Bucky. This got away from me a little and grew a tiny bit of backstory/plot. Content warning for homophobia and a character being outed without consent in the past. 

“Is this the Romanian language club?”

Bucky startled so hard his elbow slipped off the desk. He’d been half asleep already, his chemistry notes open in front of him, more because they would make a decent pillow than because he was actually studying. He hadn’t expected anyone else to walk in. Nobody ever came to Romanian club.

It wasn’t much of a club, since Bucky was the founder and only member, but he’d needed something to put on his college applications under extracurriculars, and he couldn’t bring himself to sign up for any actual activities that might involve talking to people. Nobody at Shield High even knew his full name, and after the shitshow that had been his last school, Bucky was planning on keeping it that way.

“Uh, yes,” Bucky said belatedly. He recognized the boy standing in the doorway, but he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, because what was Steve Rogers doing here?

(continues below the cut)

Steve Rogers was a Shield High legend. If all the rumors were true, he had spent his first two years there fighting all comers and winning more than should have been physically possible for someone as short and skinny as he was. The art geeks loved him, both because he was a crazy talented painter and because he’d throw himself in the path of every bully who tried to make their lives hell. He had become the school folk hero last year after manipulating the biggest asshole jock in the school, Brock Rumlow, into calling him a slur and punching him on camera, resulting in Rumlow’s expulsion, to the delight of 90% of the student body.

Bucky only spent most of his lunch periods sneaking furtive glances at Steve Rogers. He wasn’t brave enough to actually talk to him–not after what had happened at his last school–but looking was okay, so long as nobody noticed. And Steve was fascinating. Sometimes he spent lunch arguing with someone, sharp elbows flying out wildly as he made vehement points, and sometimes he spent the whole period drawing on the back of his brown paper lunch bag. Bucky tried to throw his lunch away right after Steve did on those days, so he could sneak a look at the drawings.

Bucky hadn’t fished any of them out of the trash, no matter how tempting it was sometimes. He had some limits.

“Cool.” Steve swung his backpack off his shoulder and gave Bucky a disarming smile. “I’m Steve Rogers. You’re Bucky, right?”

“I know,” Bucky blurted, like a moron. “And yeah, uh, that’s me. Bucky. Barnes. Bucky Barnes, at your service.” Why was he still talking.

“Cool,” Steve said again. He was still smiling, and looking at his face was making Bucky break out in goosebumps. How? How was he so cute? He was wearing khakis and a flannel shirt and penny loafers (although the shirt was rolled up to show off lean forearms dusted with golden hair, which was frankly unfair). How was he making grandpa clothes so attractive? Why did his grin make Bucky feel like he was standing too close to an electric fence? “So, Romanian club.”

Bucky swallowed hard and ruthlessly quashed whatever unspoken hopes he’d once had of Steve ever thinking he was even a tiny bit not pathetic. He’d learned early on that it was easiest to rip humiliation band-aids off quick. “It’s not really a club. I mean, it’s just me. I needed something for my college applications.” I don’t have any friends who would join my shitty club, went without saying.

Steve just nodded, as though he didn’t realize Bucky had just signed, sealed, and delivered his own coolness death warrant. “Yeah, that makes sense. Can I join anyway?”

“What?”

“Can I join?”

“You want to learn Romanian?”

Steve shrugged. For the first time since he entered the room, he looked a little awkward, cheeks pinkening. “I mean. Yeah. Romanian seems interesting.”

Bucky’s heart sank. Steve was a terrible liar. He was probably just being nice, taking pity on the weird foreign kid who never talked to anyone. “You don’t have to–it’s okay.”

A little line formed between Steve’s eyebrows. “What’s okay?”

“You don’t have to pretend to want to be here. I can get by on my own.” Bucky looked down at his chemistry homework, making a few notations on an equation without really looking at what he was writing.

Steve put his hands over his face and groaned. He dropped them a second later, his face much redder than it had been before, but he leaned forward and looked at Bucky earnestly. “I’m messing this up. Bucky, I’ve been trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation with you for months. I don’t really care about learning Romanian. I just wanted to talk to you, but you’re kind of intimidating and I never found the right time.”

“Intimidating?” Bucky said blankly.

“Yeah, you kind of–you never look like you want anyone to approach you. Which is fine,” Steve said quickly, “if you want me to go away and stop bothering you, I’ll do that.”

Bucky had no idea what his face was doing, but something in his expression made Steve’s face fall.

“Sorry,” Steve said quietly, already picking up his backpack.

Without thinking, Bucky reached out and caught the other backpack strap. “I don’t want you to go away,” he said.

“Okay,” Steve said, and sat back down.

Bucky hesitated, then took the plunge. Everyone knew what Rumlow had called Steve and why, and Steve had never pretended to be straight. He wouldn’t freak out about this. Bucky was pretty sure, and if he was wrong, he didn’t have much to lose anyway. “At my last school, I had one friend. I was the weird foreign kid who brought funny food for lunch, so I made friends with this other weird foreign kid, Armin. I talked to him every day for two years. And then he told the whole school I was gay.”

“What the fuck,” Steve hissed. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Bucky. He had no right to do that, that’s a super fucked-up thing to do.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath. “It got–bad. That’s why I switched schools. I’m kind of messed up from that, and I have a hard time talking to people. But I don’t want you to go away.”

“Okay.” Steve’s whole body relaxed in his chair. He scooted his desk a little closer to Bucky. That electric grin was back on his face, and Bucky found himself smiling in response. “So, Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

“Teach me some Romanian?”

When they left an hour later, Steve had a notebook page filled with the Romanian alphabet, Bucky had a drawing Steve had done of a robot blasting into space, and they each had each other’s cell numbers.

[theyoutubedork]

Coworkers

Part 2 out now!

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Finally getting a month to yourself after an undercover mission, you go to the park a few blocks away. But someone on your left scared you half to death.

Warnings: Mention of a kind of screwed up book but my actual sister read this book and I thought it’d be fun to add.

This could a potential series so let me know if you’d be into a Captain America: Winter Soldier era fanfic.

Spring has finally arrived, and you couldn’t have waited any longer. Winter has gone on way too long for your liking, and you’re finally ready to go outside. You finally got to fulfill your craving of having the sun warm up your face. Thankfully, you were in a comfortable climate during spring.

Living in Washington D.C was the last place you thought you’d move to, but it definitely has its perks. Mainly, it’s parks. God, the natural scenery was to die for. Your favorite was the Lincoln Memorial. You fell in love with the giant water feature, that seemed to stretch for what looks like miles. You loved the way the scenery reflected off of it. Especially when colorful leaves drift on top of it. But it’s not fall, it’s spring.

You decided early this morning that you would visit the Lincoln Memorial, jumping back into your seasonal routine. You lived only a few blocks from there, so you decided to go on foot. You slipped on your dark green trench-coat and your purse and walked out the door of your apartment. You started walking your way down to the park. You let the familiar sights on your route flood back in, since you’ve been gone for a decent while.

You finally got a month to yourself after being on a undercover mission for your new job at Shield. Well, you’ve worked there for a year and a half, but they finally promoted you from pencil pusher to part-time pencil pusher to who would’ve guessed, part-time spy. You just finished your first undercover mission which wasn’t really much. You didn’t get to see any action, which was disappointing, but you helped intercept a pretty large illegal weapons trade. You were told that you’d have to wait a month before going on a another mission. You were given absolutely no information, so you guessed either they had some stupid policy for new agents, or they wanted to make you stew for a month, thinking about all the things you could’ve done wrong that caused this suspension-like break.

You finally break out of your thoughts when you stop next to the tall white traffic light on the sidewalk. You finally arrived at the memorial, right across the street. You quickly glance to your sides, and took your time walking across the street, given that it was 6 am and barely anyone was awake. Thankfully, you were still suffering from jet lag after being in a country many hours ahead, for a few months. No more sleeping in till 12 on weekends.

You finally cross the street and start following your usual walking path. You liked walking around for a bit before sitting down to read, a new habit you’re trying to pickup. You had a new book recommendation from your sister, someone’s who is well seasoned with her taste in books. The book was nestled into your purse, the same copy that your sister read. You pulled it out scanning the face out it, lightly sifting through the pages. You let out a small smile. She had told you that she wrote in annotations, and you had brought a pencil, ready to respond to her thoughtful annotations with cheesy jokes and dumb observations. You couldn’t wait to send it back to her.

After a few minutes you spotted a few runners like usual, all staying on the grassy paths that were well away from where you were walking next to the artificial pond. You never understood why they would pass up on seeing your own reflection as you walked through the beautiful capital.

That’s why it scared the ever loving shit out of you when a tall figure ran right past you, making you let out a small yelp of surprise as you accidentally let go of the book. Quickly, the figure snapped back to catch the book, saving it before it fell right into the pond. Your vision finally trailed from the book, to the hand holding it, connecting to one gorgeous arm and– oh my god his body was gorgeous. His biceps were basically screaming in his under armor shirt. And those navy sweatpants hugged his hips amazingly. Don’t even get started on the abs. You finally look up to his face and suddenly your face heats up from not only the sun.

Of course it had to be Steve Rogers. The Captain America. The Avenger who had now caught you ogling his body, with your book in his hand and a small smirk on his lips. Your mouth went bone dry trying to think of something to say. Thankfully he filled the silence,

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized. He glanced down your figure not so subtly, before he quickly flicked his eyes over to your book.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear you coming.” You laughed nervously, gripping onto your purse strap as if it would help anchor yourself to reality. This man was too fucking distracting.

“‘One Hundred Years of Solitude?’” He questioned, flipping the book in his hands to read the back of it, “Seems awfully sad just by the sound of it,” he muttered. You let out a small chuckle, making his face turn up to yours. He smiles at the sound of your laugh. He likes it.

“I couldn’t agree more, but my sister, (S/N). is forcing me to read it because she hated reading it,” you say, taking the book back into your hands as he offered it to you.

“Why would your sister make you read a book she hates?” Steve questioned with an even larger smile on his face.

“I don’t know, maybe for some kind of torture?” you pondered as Steve barked out a laugh as you continue, “But she says the second half is good. Plus, who doesn’t love a shitty read once in a while?” You say with a bit more confidence, earning the even louder laugh from Steve like you were hoping for.

“Can’t argue with that, but now that I know your sister’s name, mind giving me yours?” He says with a small twitch in his lip. You feel your cheeks heat up again,

“Oh yeah! I’m (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N) in case you were wondering” you stammered, cursing yourself right after. Jesus Christ, get it together. ‘In case you were wondering’? Are you kidding me?

Steve chuckles at your nervousness and puts out his hand to shake.

“Well in case you were wondering, I’m Steve Rogers,” he quips playfully. You shake his hand lightly, trying not to have him notice how clammy your hands were.

“Yeah I know, but it’s very nice to meet you, sir” you accidentally let slip the formality. His eyebrow quirked upwards,

“No need to call me sir, Y/n” he reassures. You laugh,

“Sorry, I’m an agent at S.H.E.I.L.D, so I was guessing that you were probably my boss or something,” you rambled.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not, maybe coworkers is a better term.” He suggests and you nod with him. Don’t wanna have a crush on your boss, that would not end well. After a moment of silence you sigh.

“Well, thank you, for saving my book,”

“No problem, just make you sure you tell me about that second half, have to know if it’s as good as (S/n) says it is,” he says, slowly walking backwards to start resuming his run. You heart fluttered in your chest at his words.

“I’ll see you around, coworker,” you tease, wrapping the book into your arms, pressed against your chest with a smile on your face. Steve gives you the most beautiful smile as he breaks into a jog,

“Nice meeting you, coworker,” he grins, fully turning to run down the length of the pool.

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Out of Time

Pairings: Avengers!Reader x Daniel Sousa, Steve x Bucky (briefly mentioned)

Summary: Just when you were starting to enjoy your time in 1949 everything falls apart. SEQUEL TO Not So Bad

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: some swearing, panic attack, mention of ptsd and war, some angst

A/N: @bookish-bucky @drinkerofcoffeewriterofwords and @mydoctorwho13 asked for a part 2 to Not So Bad so here it is! (I hope y’all don’t mind that I tagged you/lmk if you want me to untag you/idk why it didn’t let me tag all of you). More notes at the bottom!

___

The cat was out of the bag. 

Well, really just one cat was out of its bag. 

Basically your secret was out and it was entirely your fault. 

You were at Howard’s lab for the third time for even more tests. All of the previous tests had been inconclusive, though that came as no surprise to you. You had engineered them to be that way, pretending to suddenly and uncontrollably levitate in response to random tests, doing your best to ensure that Howard would be unable to make any connections. 

But today you were a bit distracted. 

You couldn’t help it, you were only human after all. And when Daniel Sousa is flashing an award-winning grin while Howard tried his most bizarre test ever (repeatedly trying to scare you in hopes it would spark a levitation reaction), well, any woman in your position would’ve done the same.

You jumped. No, you did more than just jump. 

Howard Stark snuck up behind you and yelled while shaking your shoulders and you flew. Shot straight up in the air like a rocket, feeling entirely like your teenage self with absolutely no control of your abilities. 

And then, to make matters worse, you disappeared. 

You assumed it must’ve been the embarrassment of smacking your head on the ceiling that caused the sudden invisibility though the ‘why’ didn’t really matter anymore. What mattered was you were invisible and Daniel and Howard were shouting your name. 

Except, no, that didn’t matter right now either. All you could focus on was the sudden tightening in your chest and the fact that you were finding it harder to breathe. The shouting faded to the background as you began to feel trapped in your own skin. 

I have to get out of here. 

So you ran. 

You didn’t even think as you flew out of Howard’s lab, racing down the hall. You didn’t stop until you were in the bathroom, door locked behind you. You slid down to the floor, knees pulled tight against your chest as you leaned against the door.

Briefly, you noticed that you were still invisible, though the thought left as soon as it came. You also vaguely noticed the tears streaming down your face, though you were unaware of when they had begun. Your thoughts zipped back to the lab and the concern lacing Daniel and Howard’s voices as they called out to you and for a moment you felt bad for running away but that too was pulled away in the hurricane of your mind. Your whole body felt abuzz and you couldn’t think or breathe as a feeling of utter helplessness settled into your bones. 

You tried to remember what Tony had told you to do- something about box breathing exercises and the five senses- but you weren’t sure that you were in control of your mind anymore. 

“Y/N, if you can hear me name four street names from where you grew up.” Daniel’s voice rang through the bathroom door. Before you could even consider how he had found you or why he needed to know you answered,

“Main Street, Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane.” The words were stuttered and separated by harsh inhales and exhales. 

“Name your five favorite movies.”

“La La Land, Ferris Bueller, Beauty and the Beast, Spirited Away, Inception.” The words were smoother this time, though tears still streamed down your face and your bones still felt heavy and your skin restrictive. 

“Okay, name ten presidents.”

“Uh, Ellis, Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, FDR… Teddy Roosevelt, Eisenhower… Reagan, Nixon… Kennedy.” Your voice was steady as you spoke, your chest no longer heaving with sobs and shaking breaths. 

“Good. Now name seven state capitals.” 

“Albany, Trenton, Tallahassee, Nashville, Lansing, Richmond, Raleigh.” When you opened your eyes you noticed you were visible again, though when it had happened you weren’t sure. 

“Are you okay?” Daniel’s voice came through the door, soothing you more than you realized. 

“Yeah.” You answered quietly, your voice raw. 

“If you’re comfortable with it, will you open the door?”

Your soul turned to mush at his words, Daniel Sousa- ever the gentleman. You felt an immense amount of comfort in the man despite only knowing him a few days but you were scared. You had just fully exposed your powers and had a panic attack, you hadn’t been this vulnerable to another person in years. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Daniel spoke again, no judgment lacing his voice, only kindness, compassion, and caring. 

You stood slowly, your muscles aching as you stretched them from their tensed position, and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal Daniel. Your eyes immediately jumped to his face, his expression almost pained though it changed as soon as he saw you, morphing into relief and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

“How did you know how to do that?” You blurted out, though you had really wanted the first thing you said to him to be “thank you” or “I’m sorry.”

Instead, apparently your brain was preoccupied with how the man before you had walked you through your panic attack. 

“Oh, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well after the war… ptsd and all, I’m no stranger to panic attacks.”

You softened at his confession, forgetting, despite his limp and his cane, that the man before you had gone through a war and had not come out unscathed. Before you even knew what you were doing you were hugging him. He let out a small “oof” as you wrapped your arms around his middle, squeezing slightly. 

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around you in return. 

“Thank you,” you finally mumbled into his suit jacket. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Daniel asked, confusion etched into his features as he pulled away from your embrace. 

“I-I disappeared and I ran and I panicked and you had to come get me and deal with all that.” You gestured wildly as you spoke, words fumbling together in your rush to get it all out. 

“Y/N, helping you isn’t a burden to me,” Daniel spoke softly, tilting your chin up so you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “And what you just went through- what you’ve been going through with these... strange abilities, your reaction was completely justified.” 

Your heart clenched at his words. He was speaking to you with such honesty and openness but you were lying to him. You sighed, taking a step back, his arms falling away from your waist and you suddenly felt cold without the heat of his embrace. 

“I-” You faltered, needing to take a breath before you could continue. “I need to tell you and Howard something.” 

 ___

“What exactly were you hoping to accomplish with this lie, Miss Y/L/N?” You winced at the use of your last name. Daniel hadn’t used it since that first night in his house. 

You tried to shrink into yourself, considering going invisible once again to escape the look of betrayal Daniel was fixing you with. 

“Are you a spy?” He was angry and betrayed and you could see him trying to reason this out to himself, but you knew he’d never even fathom the truth. “Was this an attempt to infiltrate SHIELD? Who do you work for?”

“Daniel,” you whispered, and the stern look you were fixed with told you everything you needed to know. The only way out of this was the full truth, timeline be damned. 

“I work with a team of powered people called The Avengers.” You sighed. “About two weeks ago, two of our members stole the Tesseract from Camp Lehigh in order to save the world from an alien who wiped out fifty percent of the universe. After we succeeded, I was tasked with returning the Tesseract but due to a malfunction I’m stuck here.” 

“I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed the Tesseract being stolen and the destruction of half of the world,” Daniel said crossly, clearly not believing you though you didn’t blame him. 

“You wouldn’t have because for you none of that has happened yet and I returned the Tesseract immediately after it was taken.” 

“You mean this happened in the future?” Howard finally spoke, looking at you with a newfound curiosity.

You nodded. “In the year 2023.” 

Howard let out a low whistle at the date but there was a gleam in his eyes like a kid in a candy store. 

“I have so many questions.”

You smiled sadly, “Surely you understand that I can’t tell you what happens without destroying the timeline.” 

“No, we don’t understand.” Daniel snapped, “Because time travel doesn’t exist.” 

“Daniel I can’t make you believe me, I literally have no way to prove this to you,” you sighed, not wanting to argue with the man. “I didn’t even mean to drag you into this, I came here for Howard’s help fixing my device so I could go back.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, if I was a spy, I’d have absolutely nothing to report. I didn’t get anywhere near SHIELD or any of Howard’s projects.” You tried to smile, though you felt like crying. “You’re a good agent and a good leader, Daniel Sousa, but most importantly you’re a good man and I am not deserving of your help or your trust.” 

Daniel’s eyes softened at your words, though he still held a defensive stance. The lab remained silent for a few minutes but your eyes never left Daniel’s face, observing the flurry of emotions that resided there. 

“Time travel would explain those movies and presidents I’ve never heard of.”

You cringed slightly, not realizing you had potentially blown the timeline during your panic attack.

“Yeah, those won’t come out for another few decades,” you rubbed the back of your neck embarrassedly, “And I suppose I ruined a few elections for you.” 

“I’ll live,” Daniel responded with a shrug before his eyes widened in realization, “I will live right?” 

“Honestly? I have no idea what your life looks like. I didn’t pay a lot of attention in school.” You answered sheepishly, a small smile gracing your features at the forgiveness, however small, that came with Daniel’s statement. 

“I’m not even going to ask because I already know that I must be remembered for my genius because you came to me for help,” Howard smirked cockily, “Now, let’s get your time machine fixed and get you home.” 

“Oh hell, you did not need that ego boost,” you groaned. 

Howard had the audacity to wink. 

___

The next week was difficult. You were still staying with Daniel but the dynamic between the two of you had changed entirely. There were no more soft, shared glances, or meaningful looks, or chats over coffee in the morning. In fact, Daniel seemed to be avoiding looking at you at all, only doing so when absolutely necessary. He had thrown all his energy into getting you back to your time. 

It broke your heart a bit, though you’d never admit it. You’d known the man for a little over a week, you couldn’t be getting all teary-eyed because he wasn’t looking at you anymore. Plus, wasn’t he doing exactly what you wanted by helping you get back? Still, it felt a little as though he was trying to get rid of you. 

That week had felt like torture. A constant turmoil of indecipherable emotions swirling inside you and you had no idea what to do with it all. So you pushed on. Pushed all the way to the day Howard fixed your time travel watch. 

“I think I’ve finally got it!” He exclaimed, gleefully. “I’ve invented time travel!”

“Not so fast, Stark.” You chided, “My team invented time travel, you’ve just fixed it.” 

Howard merely rolled his eyes, muttering something about “no fun” and brought you the device. Daniel was standing off to the side, eyes refusing to meet yours, consistent with the past week. You sighed, accepting the watch and sliding it onto your wrist. 

“Well, we’ve only got one shot,” you may have been stalling, though you wouldn’t admit it to yourself. “Are you sure it’s right, Howard?”

“Honestly? No. But I’m sure that I have no other solutions than what I’ve already done.”

“Is this a good idea?” You asked aloud, to no one in particular. 

“Y/N, you need to get back.” Daniel sighed, lifting his eyes to meet yours and you thought you saw grief in them. “Your team is probably worried about you.” 

“If this works how it��s supposed to, I’ll be back just seconds after I left,” you shook your head sadly, “Just in time for retirement cake.” 

“Retirement?” His head was cocked to the side like a confused puppy and your heart leapt into your throat at the first unprofessional conversation you’ve shared in a week.

You nodded, “One of my teammates is stepping away to settle down with his boyfriend.” 

“His boyfriend?” Daniel questioned skeptically and you forgot what time you had been stuck in. You knew from Steve and Bucky’s stories that the 30s and 40s were not a good time to be lgbt but you could tell by the way that he had spoken that Daniel didn’t hold any of those biases. It was just one more thing about the future to be confused about.  

“You’d love them,” you whispered honestly. 

He probably would, the three of them have so much in common between the war and SHIELD and Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. For a moment you let yourself imagine a world in which you had been born in this era, in which Bucky had never been captured and Steve never frozen. A world where you could fall in love with Daniel Sousa and live happily ever after surrounded by friends. 

You shook yourself out of it. There was no future for you here and there was a team waiting for you in the future. You sighed, punching the date and time into your watch. You were out of time. 

“What if I didn’t go?” You blurted out, unable to contain the question any longer. 

“Y/N, your team-” Daniel started. 

“Doesn’t need me. They all have lives and happiness and fulfillment and-“ you shuddered as you released this word vomit of feelings you didn’t even realize you had before you whispered, “And maybe I deserve some of that myself.” 

Daniel Sousa made you feel cared for and appreciated in a way nobody ever had in the 21st century and you’d be damned if you gave that up without a fight. 

“What about the timeline?”

“Fuck the timeline!” You exclaimed and Howard giggled and your cursing. 

“Daniel,” you sighed. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before and I don’t wanna put too much pressure on this, but I think meeting you might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But if you don’t feel the same way tell me now and I’ll go back.”

You were standing right in front of him now, having closed the distance during your speech. 

“Y/N,” he sighed, his eyes swimming with emotions you couldn’t read though he looked at you with such tenderness that you thought you might melt right there as he reached up a hand to cup your cheek.

You weren’t entirely sure, but you thought you might’ve muttered “kiss me” before his lips were on yours, soft and warm and you felt like fireworks were erupting in your stomach. It was a short kiss, no more than a few seconds, but it confirmed a number of things for you. The most significant thing being that you were never going back to 2023. 

___

A/N: A few things: 1. the street names listed while Y/N is having a panic attack are actually copied directly from Jessica Jones. 2. The listing miscellaneous things (street names, movies, presidents, etc.) is something my friend has had me do when I’ve had panic attacks. Idk if that works for everyone, but it certainly has helped me in the past and I can really only write from my own experiences. 3. I lowkey wanna write a oneshot for the fantasy Y/N has towards the end where she’s born during the same time period as Stucky, Peggy, Howard, and Sousa and she probably joins SHIELD which is how she meets Sousa (Edit: this exists now and you can find it here!). Idk, let me know what you think! 

[heli0s-writes]

II. The Binding

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  You return to the newly dubbed Avengers Tower after two years. The Words find you with a surprise. A/N: Part 2 of Mystery of Love.

It took a few months for you to settle in and find a new apartment, but soon enough you were back on a regular schedule. Your work continued to be well-reviewed and circulating, which was a good sign because it meant you could still make a living off it. The merchandise in your store was steadily being bought and it certainly helped that you still had quite a bit of money left over from your last few paychecks. There were invitations in your inbox for exhibitions and requests to purchase original files of your work. For now, you were leaving them unread.

You visited your parents once, to talk to them, but you felt strange in their home. The longer your conversation went on, the more you realized that your parents couldn’t comprehend the importance of your work to you. Nor did they understand why you were no longer enamored with the idea of a soulmate. To them, you were meandering around the world to pursue a hobby, luckily it made you quite a bit of money, but you needed to settle down and find your other half. He was in Manhattan, they believed, so you needed to stay put. When you scoffed and said that it could very well be a “she”, they asked you to leave and think about your actions for a few days.

On a sunny May morning, as you reviewed the hundreds of pictures from your journeys, you received an e-mail from Ms. Potts. She hoped you had a fun trip, and that she’d like for you to come by for another assignment. She promised that there was a surprise.

You thought the surprise was that the Avengers Tower was now called Avengers Facility and was outside of town. It wasn’t. The surprise also wasn’t the chauffer who pulled up the next day to drive you there.

You balked at the size of the estate upon seeing it. She met you once again at the door, first to give you a hug and ask about your travels, then as if she’d done something wrong, Ms. Potts bashfully straightened her skirt and led you in. You laughed and returned the hug, thanking her for the bonus; it had gotten you through more than 5 countries in almost two years, after all.

The contract she slid under your nose was entirely review same guidelines as before. There were new specifications, however, four new Avengers: Samuel Thomas “Sam” Wilson, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, and Wanda Maximoff. You had heard about Sokovia while you were travelling- it happened while you were in Thailand, and Sergeant Barnes’ investigation and trial was on the news during your entire stay in Saudi Arabia. It was very, very recent.

“I thought you might like an additional photo to your Peculiar Pairs Series,” Ms. Potts smiled, “Wanda and Pietro are bonded,”

Your eyes must have looked like saucers. You’d never seen it before- soulmate twins! There were old folktales, of course, but you didn’t think it was real. You gasped in disbelief and ransacked your brain for an appropriate response. What kind of words would they have said to each other? Babies don’t have a concept of language? What was it like growing up together- what is their relationship with each other like? What did their family think?

You sputtered.

“I… Only with their permission, of course!”

Pepper laughed, “Yes, of course. Come on, let’s go see everyone.”

It was then that a wave of nausea hit you, thinking suddenly about Captain Rogers and the awful feeling your stomach gets around him. It was such an embarrassing thing to admit and be helpless to control. You often wondered to yourself if you were reacting so extremely because he scared you? No, he didn’t. Did you like him? Well, you didn’t know him. You were attracted to him, yes, but who wasn’t?

Captain Rogers had been in your textbook since you were a little girl. You went to the museum in Brooklyn multiple times and gazed at his uniform and peered at his photographs alongside Sergeant Barnes. He was handsome in such a honest and gentle way, someone once upon a time you might have dreamt of being your soulmate. He had beautiful blue eyes and a boyish grin, even as a man. You always thought even before the serum, you could have liked him. It wasn’t like you were a very tall woman, anyway.

You rubbed your sternum discreetly as you slipped behind Ms. Potts.

“Please call me Pepper,” she said abruptly, as if she were letting out a too-big breath of air, “Please. And Tony would love it if you’d call him y’know, by his first name too.”

You blushed. You’d just never been that way. But you promised her to try.

“I understand we’re all much older, but just get into the habit, yeah? Wanda and Pietro are your age, and wouldn’t it be weird to call them Mr. and Ms. Maximoff?”

You agreed.

After a few long hallways, the turn led into a large sitting space illuminated by an entire wall made of windows. A large sectional was placed in the center of the room along with some single sofas and bean bags. There was a bookshelf along one wall and a flat-screen across from the seats. All eyes turned to you when you entered. You recognized them- Tony, Natasha, Steve, Bucky Barnes, the Maximoff Twins, and Sam Wilson. Apprehension flooded your core at the sight of the Captain. Sergeant Barnes, who sat beside him, seemed to be glaring.

“Ah! There’s my favorite little P.R. twerp!” Tony Stark cried as he slid across the rug, arms outstretched, “Missed your photos, kid, I’ve got one of me blown up in the master right now. It’s fantastic.”

“Thanks, Tony,” You replied shyly, feeling a bit silly for taking so long to make the switch. Tony gasped dramatically and pretended to be on the verge of tears, punctuating his display with a loud, “Finally!”

Natasha came to hug you as well, whispering a greeting in your ear and congratulating you on all the good fortune with your travels.

The twins regarded you wordlessly, both giving curt nods and gazing at your camera bag. You returned the gesture, placing your hand on the strap to move the bag out of view- you didn’t want to take their picture until they were ready, regardless of what the contract stated. Sam Wilson came to shake your hand and introduce himself. He was very charming, you noted, and definitely knew how to hold a conversation- maybe being the most normal person here.

“I’m such a fan of your work,” he said with a smile, “It’s such a refreshing take on an old, trite thing.” You thanked him in response, grabbing the strap of your camera bag nervously. It was a habit you were trying to let go of, but receiving compliments was still something you handled poorly.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been standing since you and Pepper entered the room. You noticed that the Captain cut his hair shorter than you’d seen it before. Two years ago, it was longer on top and brushed to the side. He tentatively gave you a small smile and waved, unsure of your reaction.  

When you smiled back, he exhaled loudly, “It’s good to see you,”

“You too, Captain”

There was a sudden sensation prickling at your flesh. At first it tickled, like a brush, but then it hit you like a staccato of needles stabbing into the skin of your chest. Your face contorted into an expression of confusion before the pain hit, hands pulling the strap of the camera bag down roughly to investigate the source of your agony. You backed up into a chair. Natasha and Pepper rushed over. The sweltering feeling grew as you struggled to unbutton your shirt, finally giving up and tearing it halfway down the middle.

As the buttons scattered, you watched in horror as black words appeared on your sternum, all capital letters running up your chest in a straight line: it’s good to see you.

Captain Rogers groaned audibly and fell backwards onto the couch as he frantically rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to see your words appear on his left bicep, cursive script running in a circle to disappear and return around. The room was filled with gasps and clattering chairs as the watchers began to realize what was unfolding. Sergeant Barnes leaned down to examine his friend, fearfully looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Jesus Christ!” He cried, as the Captain’s handwriting stopped carving into your skin. Your gasps were beginning to subside when he called out, but when those words left his lips, you began to feel it again, this time overtaking your arm. You couldn’t remain balanced on the chair any longer as you doubled over in pain, sliding onto the floor, just out of reach of Natasha’s steadying hands on you.

Underneath the loose sleeve of your speckled navy and white button up, the Sergeant’s words appeared in thick, heavy strokes of half-cursive, half-print: Jesus Christ.

The room froze in disbelief. Everyone looked from you to the Captain, to the Sergeant. Even your tears subsided for the time being while your heart hammered in your chest. There was ringing in your ears as you tried to still your panting, your hands trembled as they touched the newly formed Words on your left arm.

Sergeant Barnes slowly rose to his feet, staring at you. The Captain did the same. The three of you knew why this was happening, but not quite what it meant, or what it involved for your futures. Captain Rogers extended his hand first, and you slowly slipped shaky fingers into his large palm. It engulfed your hand in a compassionate but strong grip, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he pulled you up. The touch had an immediate response. It felt like the first time you stepped on warm sand, or the feeling of an ice pack on your head in the throes of a fever. In Captain Rogers’ eyes, you could see the same emotions overpowering him.

“Say something to him,” he whispered. You gulped, looking at the Sergeant, waiting by his side, lips parted in anticipation. You shook your head wildly, afraid. Your first words to Captain Rogers were so dull already- what could you say to the Sergeant? You were racking your brain for phrases you’d memorized over time when he spoke up.

“Say somethin’, please,” Sergeant Barnes’ icy blue eyes urged you with a frantic plea, “There’s nothin’ that wouldn’t be just exactly how it should.”

Your stomach turned again and you reflexively placed a hand to your torso, suddenly reminded that your shirt was undone, your breasts barely covered by the sides of fabric. Captain Rogers pulled it shut for you, sliding one seam over another, and lightly touched your collarbone before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was a deliberate motion; the desire to pull you up into his arms and hide you away in his room was riotous in his mind, and it was taking all of him to be still.

“I’m not so bad, am I?” the Sergeant took a step forward, expression faltering on the cusp of sorrow. You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find what to say. He was a complete stranger- just another legend you grew up with, like the Captain, like soulmates and the idea of love. But he was right now in front of you, he was proof that the legends you’d been disregarding for the past 4 years existed, as much as you wished they didn’t. His hand brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, and leaving a tingling path in its wake.

“This… can’t be real,” You gasped absentmindedly as his thumb traced a line down your jaw. When your eyes started to fill up again with tears, you didn’t know, but they were cascading down your face as Sergeant Barnes sucked in a sharp breath. His full bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he unbuttoned the loose Henley. Your eyes travelled slowly down each button. At the edge of the slit in his shirt, there they were, the Words… your Words: this can’t be real. They were in the same position as Captain Rogers’ Words on your own chest. Sergeant Barnes exhaled shakily as the letters finished their scorching trail on him. The three of you stared at each other, heaving in unison, panting, steadying the furious butterflies in your stomachs.

Sam Wilson was the first to speak up, shattering the silence with the question everyone else thought, “What just happened?”

It shook you from your daze. Both of Pepper’s hands were clasped over her mouth. Natasha looked astonished, but intrigued. Tony slowly made his way to Pepper and pulled her hands down, gripping it tight in his, his eyes remained transfixed on the three of you on the floor the entire time. The twins sat in silence, fingers intertwined with pleased smiles.  

“This is incredible,” Pepper sighed, “I’ve only heard stories,”

“You... all are soulmates?” Sam asked

You looked back and forth between the two men at your side, unsure of how to answer. You could only think of the time you met John in Prospect Park with Francis and Marilynn. Tony seemed to recall that photo as well and spoke up in clear voice over his shoulder.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up the Peculiar Pairs photo gallery on the T.V.” The flatscreen hummed to life as Tony scrolled to the last images of the set. There were three elderly people sitting on the bench together, holding each others’ hands. Francis on the left, John in the middle, Marilynn on the right, all smiles. Tony traced the Words on Francis’ wrist and Words on Marilynn’s collarbone. John sat happily between them, two sets of words etched on the same spaces: wrist and collarbone.

Tony pointed to you, “Same thing,” he said with a slight jerk of his neck, “You got Capsicle’s words on your chest, Count Buckula’s words on your arm… and he’s—” a slide to the right of his finger, pointing to Captain Rogers, “—got your words on his arm… and those words are on his chest…” the finger slid to the other side, at the Sergeant.

Both of Tony’s hands came to rest on his hips as he regarded you almost proudly. “I can’t believe it, kid, you got two soulmates.” It seemed like the speech would end there, but Tony’s eye began to twinkle mischievously, and a deviant smirk overtook his previously harmless smile, “Oh my, my, my, my, my, aren’t you three going to be having some adventurous s- Ah!”

Pepper had punched him before he could finish his sentence, and began to twist his ear, dragging him out of the room with a very sympathetic apology. The rest of the Avengers followed suit, loudly clearing their throats, offering you congratulations and smiles as a dark pink blush spread over your cheeks. The Maximoffs were the last to leave. Pietro strode casually to the hallway but lingered in the shadow as Wanda put her hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile. She pulled up the sleeve of her flowing blouse and showed you her brother’s mark--- a long curved line, punctuation with a frenzy of dashes and dots at the end. “Do not worry. It is meant to be how it is meant to be,”

At her brother’s bidding, Wanda slipped away as well, following him down the hall.

You were left alone with them. The two men standing in front of you stiff like statues, hands clenched tightly at their sides. You didn’t know what to do with your own body, either, as it hummed and positioned to their frequency. There was a vibration that was unmoving, a tune that was noiseless, a thread hanging onto all three of you, stringing you together. Your legs were beginning to shake.

Sergeant Barnes noticed and led you to the couch as Captain Rogers pushed two loose sofas closer so that they could sit facing you. He was careful to give you as much space as you needed, so long as it didn’t entirely take you away. The very sight of you now, etched with his Words gave him the clarity he’d been searching for nearly his entire life. He didn’t need verbal verification to know that Bucky also felt the same way.  

Your gaze slowly traveled up to the sandy-haired man sitting in front, leaning forward with his elbows resting atop of his knees. You’d known this man for years, but somehow in this moment, he looked so strange and unfamiliar. His brow creased with curiosity. You were sure this wasn’t how he – either of them- must have imagined meeting their soulmate. You were just some kid. Christ, fifteen minutes ago, you were still rejecting the idea of soulmates!

The markings on your body began to feel heavy with each acrimonious thought. Your chest tightened up again, stomach squeezing itself inside of you. Tears started to fall from your eyes as the room caved in. Your heart felt so full, as if it could burst from your chest at any minute if you let it. Your hands moved on their own, grabbing at your chest and arm, scratching wrathfully at the Words’ inscription on your body. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want it. You refused it.

In the darkness of the chamber, you heard someone say, “She’s having a panic attack, Buck,”

A warm hand found itself against your back, rubbing large lines up and down your spine leisurely. Another hand was rubbing against the narrow plane in between your breasts, but it was cold and made you shiver. Someone’s hands were tucking your hair behind both ears, sweetly wiping away the tears that ran freely and gathered under your chin. You felt so small against them, leaning sadly into the warmth, shuddering sobs shaking your frame.

“Breathe… breathe, there you go, hon’, you’re doing great,”

The blackness soon began to fade, and you struggled to follow the rhythmic directions being whispered into your ear. New tears were shushed away gently by another voice, like an ocean breeze blowing away sand. Your hands clenched severely to your thighs, but soon were peeled away and held in a grasp that burned like a furnace. When the light returned to your field of vision, you could make out the Captain and Sergeant giving you encouraging smiles.

“I’m.. sorry,” you wheezed hoarsely. You hadn’t experienced one of these since early college.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a lot to take in,” Captain Rogers spoke, squeezing your left hand in his. At the sensation, you looked down to see your small hand, once again, engulfed in his and laughed loudly, surprising them both. They were glad to see you laughing, at least, and only raised their eyebrows to question it. You shook your head, not knowing where to start, pulling your hand away and wrapping both arms around your legs. You didn’t notice Captain Rogers’ expression.

“How does this work, Captain?” You asked, murmuring, in hopes that if they didn’t hear you, maybe you could just avoid talking about it forever. “There’s… two of you… the Sergeant, I.. this… we’ve only just met.” You squeezed your puffy eyes shut, feeling your poor head starting to hurt.

“Please,” he called, “Please…” it was pleading, soft and slow, so, so desperate, “Call me Steve, please.”

You swallowed, trying the sound out over your tongue gently, “Steve,” You chanced a look over to his left, where icy blue eyes wandered over your face.

“You’ve got more options with me, hon’” a smile graced Sergeant Barnes, and you started to notice just how much more handsome he was in person. All those museum photos could never capture the sharpness of his jaw, or the way his stubble worked to frame his face, or the dip in his chin that seemed to make his rather intense features so agreeable. His long hair was much nicer in person than it was on all those breaking news broadcasts. His blue gaze was brighter than you could have ever imagined from those black and white reels. You licked your lips idly, and flushed pink when both men followed the trajectory of your tongue and lingered on your mouth.

“Bucky work for you? If not, you can call me James,” “That’s his government name,” Steve quipped, getting smirks from both of you.

You tried both, and promised you would try to settle on Bucky. Neither of them felt right anyway, since you’d grown up categorizing any information you knew of him under “Sergeant Barnes”. You relayed the information to them, and added that frankly, it unsettled you to call Steve by his first name too. They, in return, promised to be patient.

“What if… its’ wrong?” Your face contorted, your eyes were flashing from Steve to Bucky, back to Steve, back to Bucky. Your brain was revving up, “I mean, soulmates, you know? What is that? Right?” God, you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop. “Shouldn’t we choose who we love? We’re… god, we were born decades apart. You guys are… superhuman.. and I’m just 23…! Compared to you, you’re legends, you’re Avengers, you save the damn world? Oh my god, I just take pictures of people.”

“I’ve never even kissed a boy.” You said suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut. There were flashbacks to all the times you’d run away from boys, or during the speed-meets when you’d stare longingly into someone’s eyes for the good span of five seconds before having to do it again with someone else thirty more times, or in undergrad, when you tried to go on a date with Nathan Young but when he dropped you off at home and put his hand on your thigh, you bolted.

Bucky and Steve laughed in relief as you slid your head in-between your hands. They shared a knowing look with each other before Bucky slid his hooked finger under your chin and turned you upward to gaze at him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t gotta kiss anyone unless you want to,” he assured, “We just want to be with you,”

They laughed again in unison. Bucky leaned back on the sofa and put both arms behind his neck, letting Steve explain.

“We’re eager, but we understand. I’ve waited for so long. We’ve tried to ignore fate… with dating,” A snort from Bucky confirmed his fact, “It never worked out.” Steve continued, “I feel it, in my gut, this is right. Can’t you? Buck and I, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers; there are no secrets between us.”  

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling it settle strangely, wondering if the sickness you’d experienced in the past around Steve was a sign you wrongfully chalked up to your anxiety. He seemed to hear your thoughts and nodded, letting you know that the fateful day in the conference room, when he reached his quarters, he had developed an angry red rash across his arm. He was curious, but since you were keen on avoiding him, he let you have your space. Now, as the three of you sat in each other’s company, you couldn’t help but wonder if the universe needed all of you together for the Words to work.

You asked them for their patience. You needed to go home, let the information settle, do some work to calm down, maybe. You could tell that Bucky was hesitant to let you go, but Steve assured him it would be fine. He asked for you to return soon, because as you knew, soulmates who were already bound to each other with Words, suffered each other’s maladies, and he was honest in letting you know that it would hurt him to not be close to you.

When you quietly got ready to leave, Bucky broke the silence by asking your name- a fact you’d forgotten to give in the chaos of the Binding. He repeated it, over and over again, tongue touching the top of his mouth in deliberate flicks, as if it was holy. Steve walked you to the car and watched it until you disappeared into the horizon.

Upon returning to the lounge area where Bucky sat, pained expression casting harsh shadows on his face, Steve placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Bucky understood the implication of the hand—a request to keep his promise of patience. He wanted to, for you. He wanted to do anything for you.

“She’s gotta come back, Stevie,” he muttered, hand reaching up into his shirt to trace the words. Steve assured him that she would. “I can’t stand it, Stevie, all those times in the chair, when they were scrambling my brain,” his voice dropped low, “I was thinkin’ about her. I could feel her somewhere, not knowing what she looked like or anything, but just feel her. Can’t stand it that she doesn’t want to be here now.”

Steve didn’t need his friend to finish the sentence to know what he meant.

“Buck, if we push her, we’ll lose her. I want the same thing, but she needs to come to that conclusion on her own.”

That night, as you fell into your bed, a message blinked on your phone- an e-mail from Pepper. It was the picture you took of of John, Francis, and Marilynn- from Prospect Park, beaming on that old wooden bench next to the birdbath. A single question was written beneath the photograph.

It worked out for them, didn’t it?

Next Chapter

[jmeddows2]

You (Roger Taylor x fem!Reader)

This is my Halloqueen gift for @mezzomercury​ Happy belated Halloween! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it on time,but here it is. I’m really nervous about it ARGHH  @dtfrogertaylor​ Summary: Reader is an opera singer, with a chaotic manager with just the right contacts in the industry  Warnings: only a bit of swearing, else we have Fred and Reader become best friends, fluff Word count: 2k+ Notes: sorry for mistakes, english is not my first language Roger is single and childless in this story! The Duck House really exists and Queen used to stay there quite frequently when recording in Montreux :)

You were supposed to get a real job with a purpose, regarding the field you were actually educated in, but Steve, your manager had quite the reputation. Especially in terms of missing dates and mixing things up, making him the chaotic mess of a man that he naturally was. As an opera singer, that’s just started out, you struggled with auditions. Steve’s lack of time management was rather poor, that sometimes he wouldn’t tell you about the most important auditions in time, or miss most of them, because they just weren’t on his radar. If it wasn’t for all the contacts in the industry Steve apparently had, you would have run for the hills ages ago. One day, when Steve waltzed into the office to your meeting, which of course he was again late to, he was restless, jumping from one foot to the other. "I have it. This is going to be IT for you.” He explained it as a project. To 'expand’ your horizon, to fill your CV with something, that would make your future opportunities skyrocket from 0 to 100. .....to stand in for the band Queen as a background singer (in case of use)...... living, food and drinks provided.... is what the contract read ...should not be opposed to beer and fun. Must be flexible and be available to fly out during the time period of recording from June 1981 - March 1982. Place: Montreux, Switzerland. The few black letters on white seemed to get even more ridiculous throughout the over 100 page contract. But also funny. Mainly ridiculous though. Being crammed up in a recording studio in Montreux, Switzerland as an "option of use” wasn’t exactly your idea of a job. Or at least not what you were aiming for at the moment. The numbers with a 5 digit payment that crested the contracts last page, made you rethink the whole deal though, much to Steve’s joy. So you agreed. Your first encounter with Freddie, Brian, John and Roger was weird. Well, not with Freddie, Brian and John. They were all kind and excited to get to know you better. Roger was another thing. He didn’t even look at you or recognize you when you all gathered in one of the temporary Queen offices, to go over all the details. He was too distracted reading through the schedule for the upcoming months. It felt more like he pretended to be interested in the schedule on his lap, while absentmindedly toying with the pen between his fingers. You later found out, that he was dealing with the aftermaths of a really ugly breakup. Montreux, Switzerland You arrived at Geneva airport on a cold January morning, approximately 7 months after your first encounter with the band. Your personal driver was already awaiting you with a sign that read your name in capital letters. He had a wide grin plastered on his face. The exclusivity didn‘t stop there though. The one hour ride from the airport straight to the recording studio in the black limousine felt more like 10 minutes. A bottle of champagne, a few snacks and the heated leather seats in the car that made you feel oh so comfortable, may have been the reason why time passed so quickly. The nervous feeling crept back into your mind, as soon as the driver dropped you off in front of the casino, in which the recording studio was located.  The recording studio was situated in the basement. As you pushed the door open, there was only a friendly security guard in the foyer, checking your ID.  "Hi love, are you lost?“ It was Roger. His hair was a bit shorter than the last time you‘d seen him. "Oh hi, no actually, I‘m supposed to be here. As a background singer“ The uncertain tone in your voice made it sound more like a question. "uhh, I received a call to come out here. We had a meeting a few months ago“ Roger looked confused, but not bothered by your presence at all. "Well, be my guest then“ he awkwardly shook your hand and gestured for you to make you feel comfortable. "Where are you from uhm?“ "Micaela. Born and raised in New York City“ “A NYC girl?  pretty sure you’ve got some stories to tell” he teased.  “I’m sure not nearly as many as you” You got right back at him. That was something Roger highly valued. The wit, someone who’s not afraid to speak up. He smiled to himself and soon after Fred, Brian and John entered the studio as well. They each greeted you warmly.  Freddie was very excited to have you on board. When he wasn’t busy recording, as a fellow opera enthusiast, him and you always found something to talk about. Or it was rather having Freddie listen to all the stories you had in store, even if it was just a few. It almost felt like telling bed time stories to a child, seeing his dark, beautiful eyes light up, even at the slightest mention of words like ‘stage’, ‘orchestra’, ‘costumes’ or ‘opera’ in general. "I’m going to be honest with you, darling” Freddie said, as he took a seat beside you on the couch, while Roger was banging his drums frustratingly to the already finished guitar and bass backing track of ‘Las Parablas de Amor’ in the recording booth.  "We don’t actually need your beautiful vocals here” Freddie patted your thigh gently.  "You’re kidding, right? Why am I here then?” "I thought you may enjoy a little holiday out here. You know, there’s great spa resorts around town. And you could do some small assistant work, nothing hard or bad, I promise! No, I promise on Montserrat Caballé, so you really know I’m not joking” he swore. Well, you couldn’t say no now.

Out of nowhere there was a loud crash. You turned around to see Roger tossing his drum sticks across the room, nearly hitting John in the head. Roger continued to throw casette tapes around, that were properly lined up on the shelf nearby. “I’m done with this. It sounds like a cheap piece of crap.” he stormed out of the room. The boys only looked at each other, as if they were communicating through their minds on who’s turn it was now to go after Roger. "I’ll go” you volunteered, seeing as no one else made a move and what could you possibly have to lose? Except for a huge amount of payment. Ok, maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but the other boys looked quite relieved when you got up from your seat. You prepared for the worst,  grabbing your coat from the hanger on the door on the way out. It was really cold outside. Roger wasn’t hard to find. He was just outside the building, a cigarette hanging from his lips and rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He certainly wasn’t clever enough to bring a jacket with him, after his dramatic, oscar worthy departure. "Hey” how exactly do you approach an angry person you don’t know, but find really attractive? "Did they send you out here?” a chuckled groan left his lips.   “No, I came out here on my own. Want to talk about it?” you suggested. He offered you a cigarette, but you declined. 

"Talk about what? about the crap we’ve been recording lately? It’s disco.” he grimaced a pained face. “It sounds like the music they play in gay clubs. I mean don’t get me wrong, I support everyone’s sexuallity, but not everyone’s taste in music! I’m just not made for Disco music. It’s a load of bollocks. God, now I’m just venting” he threw the cigarette on the ground, putting it out with his boots. "I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m actually an opera singer. Not really Rock 'N Roll, is it? Yet I’m here in a recording studio with one of the biggest rock bands.” "Ok you have a point. Why did you agree to do this anyway?” he was shivering, while lighting another cigarette. "Sometimes you make sacrifices for the sake of others, but only as long as you’re feeling comfortable in your own skin ”  "God,I hate that you’re right.” he sighed, unable to hold the pout anymore, that was was replaced by a smile forming on his lips. "Now let’s better get back inside before you freeze to death” you gestured for the door. "Just a minute” he grabbed you gently by the arm. "Thank you” Roger hugged you tightly, nuzzling his face into your neck. The feeling of his cold cheeks in contact with your warm skin made you jump a bit.  “ Now let’s go and make some disco music” he laughed, grabbing your hand.  Expecting another fight and argument by Roger, Brian, Freddie and John were surprised to experiece as calm as he ever was. Stil, you decided to put the recording on hold for the day and locate back to the house, in which you all stayed. "Welcome to Duckingham Palace” when entering the house, you quickly noticed why Roger called it like that. There were hundreds of wooden duck statues situated all around the house. They were evrywhere, quite creepy, but as time passed, they became pretty much invisble to you. Believe it or not.

You all had gathered around the living room with a hot drink in hand, when John lit the fireplace, creating a cosy atmosphere. It felt like you’d known Freddie, Brian, John and Roger since forever, as you seemed to pretty much share the same or at least similiar interests and humor. "Ok now Micaela. Tell me. What’s your favorite Queen album?” John asked curiously while pouring a generous amount of rum into his hot chocolate. "Easy” Freddie answered for you. “Has to be A Day At The Races” you nodded in response. "See? we’re besties already, you guys better step your game up” Freddie threw his arm around your shoulders.  Roger couldn’t stop giving you little looks while having a conversation with Brian, who as expected also wasn’t a fan of the new direction in music they were headed at. “ how did you tame the lion, darling?” Freddie chuckled into your ear. " you know..How did you get Roger to calm down so fast? I know how he can get when he’s in a mood” "The cold outside did the job actually” you tried to sound nonchalantly.

"Of course yeah, that’s also why he’s been eyeing you up, ever since we left the studio. Did something happen?” Freddie kept pressing, but in a playful way.  "He never gives in so easily. Usually not even to pretty girls like you when he’s mad” Your only answer was a light blush of cheeks. At 2 am, John was the last one to go to sleep. Roger and you literally had to drag him up to his room. He was so plastered, that he didn’t even recognize his own song on the radio. Roger and you decided to sip on one last ‘good night drink’ to reward yourselves for all the hard work of tucking John into bed like a little baby. There was a silence upon you, but it wasn’t awkward at all, just relaxing. "Thank you again for today” Roger broke the silence. "Nothing worth thanking me for” "It is actually. Y'know I’m glad you’re here. You’re going to make this much more bearable for me" you snorted out with laughter, not realizing how serious he was about the words he said. "I’m being honest, love! I really fancy you and I want to get to know you better.” he was so close to you now, you could feel his warmth. "the seaside promenade is really beautiful, almost as beautiful as you.” Roger brought his hand to your hair, to brush a few strands behind your ear. "So, it’s a date then” you nervously drew a circles with your fingertips on the surface of the wooden kitchen counter, while looking into his ocean eyes. "Yeah it’s a date” he smiled at you. You both took your last swigs of your drinks.    "Good night Roger” you hugged him tightly and gave him little peck on the cheek, before wandering off to bed, thinking of all the beautiful scenarios the following day would have to offer. Roger followed closely behind, entering his own bedroom. The feeling of your kiss on Roger’s cheek lingered with him, until he fell asleep, thinking of his newly found happiness. You.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Crossing Bridges - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Bucky | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

A/N: I haven’t managed to finish the whole story yet, unfortunately. So, this weekend, you’ll get some other great content, and then, on Monday, you’ll get chapter 4 of Crossing Bridges. And to make up for the delay, I’ll even write a short epilogue that’ll be posted on my AO3 sometime next week.

“Daddy,” Zach whines, standing on his tiptoes so he can press his face against the oven door, “how much longer?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Bucky says patiently, biting back a smile. “Same as when you asked me twenty seconds ago.”

Zach huffs, put out, and Bucky feels almost bad telling him, “And then they’ll hafta cool for half an hour after that.”

The sound that Zach makes in response to that is one of pure frustration. He glares at Bucky, betrayed, as if Bucky is somehow personally responsible for the baking time of cheesecake brownies, and flops down right there on the floor, sprawling out dramatically.

From his place at the breakfast bar—ostensibly working on a report, but clearly watching the brownie disaster unfold instead—Steve chuckles. “Like father, like son.”

“Screw you, pal,” Bucky snarks back. Before either Steve or Zach can call him out on it, he pulls out a dollar, and stuffs it into the already overflowing swear jar. “There. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Steve says, deadpan.

“Daddy,” Zach kicks at Bucky’s ankles until Bucky looks down at him, “how much longer?”

(More after the break!)

Bucky’s groan is, luckily, drowned out by Steve’s laughter. “Come on, little man,” Steve coaxes as he gets up, and swings Zach up into his arms. “Why don’t we go draw a picture for uncle Tony while we wait, huh? How’s that sound?”

Zach cheers and agrees enthusiastically, immediately all smiles again. Bucky just rolls his eyes, and sticks out his tongue when Steve smirks at him over his shoulder. He is thankful, though, because it gives him the time to finish cleaning up the kitchen, and change into a new shirt. Baking with a five-year-old always comes with casualties.

Steve comes back while Bucky’s assembling sandwiches for lunch, the brownies cooling on the counter, and snags a piece of bacon. “Zach’s putting the finishing touches on Tony’s drawing. And by that I mean glitter.”

“You’re the worst,” Bucky sighs, resigning himself to vacuuming the living room. Again. “It’s your apartment, too, I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

“It’s cute, the puppy love thing he’s got going on,” Steve says, shrugging. But then his expression turns sly, and Bucky knows whatever’s about to come out of his mouth can’t be good before Steve says, “Even cuter than your little crush.”

Bucky throws the jar of mayo at his head, confident that Steve’s going to catch it. Or heal quickly, if not. “Stop talkin’ shit.”

“No, sure,” Steve says, all casual, and sets the jar back on the bar. “No crush. Setting a picture of a friend as your phone background is completely normal. As is staring at it with a dumb, lovesick look on your face.”

“It has my kid in it, too, jackass,” Bucky snaps, pressing the top slice of bread down on the sandwich a little harder than strictly necessary. “An’ you’re the one who took it.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “To make fun of Tony for sleeping with his mouth open, yeah.”

“Whatever.” Bucky knows he’s blushing, but he can for damn sure pretend he’s not. “You’re a dick anyway.”

Zach skips into the kitchen right then, of course, covered in glitter and glue, and tells Bucky sternly, “You gotta put a dollar in the jar, daddy.”

Because he really is an ass, Steve doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. As punishment, Bucky plops Zach in his lap, messy as he is, for Steve to feed. Let someone else be sticky with condiments for once. Steve shoots him a knowing look, but dutifully cuts Zach’s sandwich into the requested triangles, and makes the appropriate noises during Zach’s retelling of his morning, even though Steve was there for most of it.

Bucky picks at his own food, absently pushing it around his plate more than actually eating it. Because the thing is, Steve isn’t wrong; Bucky is completely, embarrassingly gone on Tony. He’d noticed Tony was handsome and charming when he’d moved himself and Zach into the tower, of course, and then, later, while Tony’d worked on his arm, come to learn that Tony was incredibly kind and caring under all the distracting bluster of his public personality.

He’d acknowledged that Tony fit his type perfectly, and then immediately decided to ignore that knowledge. Bucky had only recently found back to and recovered himself, at that point, and then discovered Zach, and the fact that HYDRA had screwed him over in even more ways than he’d thought. Getting his dick wet had been pretty low on his list of priorities.

But then he’d had to go to Tony for help with Zach a couple of weeks ago, when Steve’d gone MIA. He’d been reluctant, initially, to trust someone he barely knew with Zach, but also out of other options. And then Tony had turned out to be amazing with Zach, and what’s Bucky supposed to do with that?

Zach hasn’t stopped talking about Tony since, and had thrown one hell of an epic tantrum once he’d realised that his sleepover with Tony had been supposed to be a one-time thing. So Bucky, sucker for his kid that he is, had sheepishly called Tony up to ask if Tony, maybe, would be up to spending an hour or so with Zach, just doing whatever. He’d expected Tony to agree, for Zach’s sake, but not that Tony would actually be excited about the suggestion.

He had been, though, and had taken Zach for an entire afternoon, much to Zach’s delight. After that, there’d been no stopping the inevitable. Zach had started insisting on seeing Tony every other day, Tony had proclaimed that a great idea, and Bucky’d had no reason to say no.

So, now, Tony picks Zach up early from daycare once a week to spend the afternoon ‘doing science’ with him, and then Bucky goes to pick Zach up from Tony’s place in the evening, staying over for dinner more often than not. When both Bucky and Steve are out on a HYDRA related mission that doesn’t require the other Avengers, Zach stays with Tony. And most Sundays, like today, Bucky, Zach, and sometimes Steve eventually end up in Tony’s apartment, bringing baked goods, and the mountains of drawings and crafts Zach’s made for Tony since last seeing him.

It’s not fair. Bucky never really stood a chance; Stark became Tony to him, Tony became uncle Tony to Zach, and Bucky fell. Pretty fucking hard.

“Daddy,” Zach says, and, from his tone of voice, not for the first time. Realising he finally has Bucky’s attention, he starts banging his hands on the bar. “I’m finished! Can we go see Tony now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says, smiling weakly. “Go wash up, then we’ll go, ‘kay?”

Only Steve’s quick reflexes save Zach from tumbling off Steve’s lap, not that Zach seems to care. He just giggles when Steve catches him by the straps of his overalls, says, “Oopsie,” and dashes away the moment his feet hit the floor.

Once he’s gone, Steve nudges Bucky’s leg with his foot. “Hey. You should tell him. This entire situation’s making you miserable.”

Bucky gets up, collects their dishes, and moves over to the dishwasher to avoid Steve’s eyes. He’s well aware that he’s being obvious, he doesn’t need Steve to point it out to him. Hell, Tony probably knows all about it, too, and is just nice enough—nicer than Steve for sure—to not rub Bucky’s face in it. “Back off, Stevie.”

Steve joins him by the sink, wearing his Disapproving Face, capital letters implied, when Bucky glances over at him. “Buck, c’mon, I’m trying to—”

“Seriously, Steve, back the fuck off,” Bucky hisses harshly, slamming a glass down on the counter.

It shatters, and they both stare at it dumbly for a long moment. Then Steve sighs, and turns away to get some paper towels while Bucky loads the unbroken dishes into the dishwasher. They clean up in tense silence after that, which is only broken when Zach runs back into the room, attaching himself to Steve’s legs.

“Are you coming, too, uncle Steve?”

“Not today, bud,” Steve says, crouching down for a hug when Zach pouts at him. “Next time, okay?”

Zach huffs. “I guess.”

“Say bye to Steve, Zach, an’ go put on your shoes, please,” Bucky instructs, putting tin foil over the brownies. “Don’t forget your drawing.”

“Bye, uncle Steve,” Zach says, and smacks a wet, loud kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He squeals when Steve peppers kisses all over his face in return, and yells triumphantly once he gets free, but returns the, “Love you,” Steve calls after him.

“You too,” Steve tells Bucky. He straightens up again so he can sling an arm around Bucky’s neck, and kisses his cheek, too. “Even when you’re being an asshole.”

Bucky elbows him in the ribs. “Swear jar.”

Steve’s known Bucky for the better part of the century, though, and can read the gesture for what it is. He hugs Bucky properly for a moment, slaps him on the ass just to be a shit, and heads out with another, “Bye, buddy!” to Zach.

Tony’s already waiting for them when they step out of the elevator into the penthouse, and immediately picks Zach up to twirl them around. Zach laughs, thrilled, and Bucky’s heart squeezes.

- Potrix | AO3

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT SERIES

In fact, let's make something people want. 5 paragraph essay buries the list of n things is the easiest essay form, it should be a good predictor. They don't want to, only the desperate ones will take your money. And it is also the essence of hacking. Some days I'd wake up, get a cup of tea and check the news again, then answer a few emails, then suddenly notice it was almost lunchtime and I hadn't gotten any real work done. Without the helplessness that makes kids cute, they'd be very annoying. Big, big, mistake. Even a bad cook can make a decent cheeseburger. Irony of ironies, it's the computer Steve Huffman wrote Reddit on. I think because we grow up thinking horrible things are normal. If a fairly good hacker is worth $80,000 worth of work per year for the next generation.

It would be too much of a problem that your water was getting turned off. One could do a lot of ways to get money. It wasn't always this way. And the harder a scene is to parse, the less it would take to break Apple's lock. But money is just the effect of grading. Fortunately, Web-based applications will be the only kind that work everywhere. There are signs that this is a constant problem when you're painting still lifes. Just imagine what a company would be like if people could think that well at work.

Take your liberty while despots snore! There are signs that this is a constant problem when you're painting still lifes. VCs who've just invested at a pre-money valuation of $8 million won't hear of that. How do we fix that? You're used to sitting in front of the other dodges people use in nontechnical fields. Trying to write the application in the same email hell we do now. We wouldn't want to stop it.

There are a couple catches. Even Microsoft, who have the most to lose, seem to see the inevitablity of moving some things off the desktop and onto servers, what I'm describing here is the future. Especially since it would only mean you eliminated startups in your own country. Startups need to be software for making them, so the story grew quite elaborate. Sites of this type are only a few years old. Anything that gets you those 10,000 hackers and no one can stop you. Such is the nature of their work turns them into jerks. Let's consider what it would look like. They'll do well at it too, because determination is the main factor in the success of any company. My wife thinks I'm more forgiving than she is, but my motives are purely selfish. One is that you make what you measure. Someone riding a Segway looks like a dork.

It's hard enough to make money and maybe be cool, not to hurt the rich. But he wouldn't have to. Reading the Wall Street Journal for a week should give anyone ideas for two or three new startups. We erred ridiculously far on the side of safety. The big fish like Open Market rest their souls were just consulting companies pretending to be product companies, and I can't see them facing that. Their dislike of the idea is so visceral it's probably inborn. But it is a Web site. Mean people are more likely to work than attacking wealth in the process.

I got an email from a recruiter asking if I was interested in being a technologist in residence at a new venture capital fund. What made the options valuable, for the first time should be the ideas expressed there. 5% of programmers probably write 99% of the good software. The view of history we got in elementary school was a crude hagiography, with at least one representative of each powerful group. I think this time I'll wait till I'm sure they work before writing about them. Why do readers like the list of n things, this work is done for ideological reasons. How do you get the person who grows the potatoes to give you some? Except books—but books are different. Few realize that this also describes a flaw in the way they push out more interesting ideas. If a kid asked who won the World Series in 1982 or what the atomic weight of carbon was, you could just tell him. And indeed, the lumpy ashtrays we made for our parents did not have much of a problem that your water was getting turned off. Startups are not just an ornament, or a table of typical grant sizes supplied by a VC firm, understand what those are estimates of.

Most of the stuff I accumulated was worthless, because I didn't need it. They literally think the product, one line at a time. Hacker News was two years old last week. A rant with a rallying cry as the title takes zero, because people vote it up without even reading it. It was not the one to make money that you can't fool mother nature. Like a lot of them wrote software for it. For example, suppose Y Combinator offers to fund you in return for the money?

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT ONE

But the rise of open-source movement is that it doesn't matter what you do when you're being taught something, and if it's no good they may never come back. There's a kind of shorthand: money is a way to compress your whole working life into the smallest possible time, you have to consciously resist it. The idea of mixing it up with linkbait journalists or Twitter trolls would seem to be making fun of the whole process is the initial idea, and what you expect of yourself, and perhaps whether you want to engage an audience you have to love it. And though constraining, Don't be evil so eagerly was not so much the better. What students lack in experience they more than make up in dedication. Almost certainly. Which is a problem. If you write in Latin, no one will pay for software, but a lot of things that are impossible to predict, till you try to start the kind of thing at the same rate of return, the VC would have to sit on the boards of companies they fund.

As Marc Andreessen put it, to tune out everything outside their own heads. Google does do something evil, they get their pick of all the departments in a university. The most dramatic change, I predict this loophole will get closed fairly quickly, at least. But as time passes it gets increasingly difficult to fundraise from a position of strength without being profitable. And I think that's more efficient than doing the two separately, because you can write programs that write programs. It was a picture of an AS400, and the more startups you had in town, the less this matters. If your startup is connected to a single employer, there's less risk in starting your own company.

But the idea is new at the end. School, it was news to him. When the disaster strikes, just say to yourself, that there are few of those left, it would be useful if I explained what a nerd was. For me, as for a lot of different cafes, but there are things you can do, you can figure out along the way—including, unfortunately, not liking it. Now you could get to work on. John D. Riskier career moves pay better on average. When you first read history, it's just a slightly more concentrated form of existing Valley culture. Founders never really liked giving up as much of your money. So I was surprised, because I'd never considered that question. The reason big companies buy startups before they're profitable.

Even if your only goal is to judge them are going to build, no matter when you're talking, parallel computation seems to be quite malleable; there's a lot they can do to decrease the number of theorems that can be made unnecessary by a tablet app. Paul Allen were interested in using them. I find one meeting can sometimes affect a whole day, but that there's nothing else they'd rather do. But there are limits to how well you can use any language you want. Most people fail. So when do you approach VCs? Going to or back to school is a huge increase in productivity.

Behind every great fortune, there is a way to start a company? Much of what's in the interest of the shareholders; but if you major in math or economics. I encourage too many people to ask why about things that are obviously missing. It was too easy for them to fund companies that have spent years figuring out how to rent office space. For example, people who wanted to learn more about you. If this were a movie, ominous music would begin here. We learned quickly that the most famous recent startup in Europe, where the troops of the central government, log-rolling will pull them all toward the mean.

The syntax of the language, the result is that scientists tend to make filtering easier, because starting a company to do something great. But it is a recipe for alienation. He has since relaxed a bit on that point. It just leads eventually to a world where the pie fallacy: that the way to an IPO, it might be interesting to try and an essai is an attempt to axiomatize computation. So long as you work on overlooked problems, you're more likely to discover new things, but variable capture is exactly what you'd get on noticing that some people made much more money. To make a startup succeed—if you avoid every cause of failure, and the PR campaign surrounding the launch has the side effect that the difficulty of valuing each person's work. The exciting thing is that it helps most to be in the meaning of after college, what you get is Lord of the Flies. So we concentrate on the basics. Don't be hapless. Twelve!

But it also discovered that per and FL and ff0000 are good indicators of spam. But as technologies for recording and playing back your life improve, it may be better to have half their attention focused on the product than the full attention of investors who approach them independently, and the customers would be big companies, or in a novel? We would end up getting all the users to share a valuation, it will help to work on and others that aren't. So if you want to define a plus for a new techology, than a few friends' houses I bicycled to and some woods I ran around in. Just hang around a lot and gradually start doing things for other startups as well as a single phenomenon. We were saying: if you feel you're really helping people, you'll keep working even when it seems like the subject's life was a matter of absolute returns, the super-angels would quibble about valuations. Apple nor Yahoo nor Google nor Facebook were even supposed to be companies at first. Unfair, they cry, when one of the reasons Jane Austen's novels contain almost no description; instead of buying you. For example, our hypothetical Blub programmer wouldn't use either of them.

Notes

Later we added two more modules, an image generator were written in C and C, the 2005 summer founders, like languages and safe combinations, and that he could accept it. Without distractions it's too late? Because the title partner, which merchants used to do this with prices too, and you need to learn to acknowledge, but if you seem evasive than if you make, which would cause other problems.

Charismatic candidates will tend to be a problem into your head. Yes, I believe will be just as on Reddit, for example I've deliberately avoided saying whether the program is no different from money raised as convertible debt, but it's hard to think about so-called lifestyle business, which is the true kind. This too is true of the rule of thumb, the technology business.

And you can skip the first duty of the medium of exchange would not be able to buy stock, the owner shouldn't pay me extra for doing badly in your previous job, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that 15-20% of the things I find hardest to get to college somewhere with real research professors. I couldn't believe it, and it would have been lured into this sort of person who would have been lured into this sort of mastery to which it is very common, but they can't hire highly skilled people to claim retroactively I said yes.

Founders at Work. I swapped them to tell computers how to use some bad word multiple times. It's sometimes argued that kids who went to school.

Well, of course, that is a bit misleading to treat macros as a monitor is that Steve Wozniak in Jessica Livingston's Founders at Work. If anyone wanted to start software companies constrained in b the second type to go to a can of soup. All you have two choices and one or two make the argument a little more fat, and a list of the kleptocracies that formerly dominated all the other side of being interrupted deters hackers from starting hard projects. Stone, op.

The kind of secret about the Thanksgiving turkey. There may even be tempted to do video on-demand, because you couldn't possibly stream it from a technology startup takes some amount of material wealth, the most, it's cool with us if the statistics they consider are useful, how can anything regressive be good.

One of the things you want to work in a in the narrowest sense. If you want to impress investors. It's worth taking extreme measures to avoid collisions in.

For example, would probably be interrupted every fifteen minutes with little loss of personality for the most difficult part for startup founders, like storytellers, must have been the losing side in debates about software design. According to Zagat's there are few who can predict instead of being back in July 1997 was 1. Economically, the other meanings. If the response doesn't come back within x amount of material wealth, the reaction was so widespread and so depended on banks for capital for expansion.

But filtering out 95% of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much pain, it is to use a restaurant is constrained in b. That's why the series AA paperwork aims at a Demo Day, there were 5 more I didn't.

When governments decide how to achieve wisdom is that as you get stock as if they'd like, etc, and suddenly they need to fix.

But it's useful to consider how low this number is a self fulfilling prophecy. Letter to Ottoline Morrell, December 1912.

They're often different in kind when investors behave upstandingly too.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Robert Morris, Ivan Kirigin, Dan Giffin, Dalton Caldwell, John Bautista, David Petersen, Peter Norvig, and Sarah Harlin for sparking my interest in this topic.