#and how he overcame them and how he dressed up as captain america

[slightlycomicobsessed]

okay this is something extremely personal to me but i think everyone should watch this award-winning comic-book style short film about a sikh guy and the (true!!!) story of his life, and the sikh community before and after 9/11. and the unlikely thing that helped him overcome prejudice.

[fluffymcu]

Letting Loose

Part EIGHTEEN

This series is TICKLE related.

Series Summary:  You’re the little sister of the one and only Captain America. You’re also the youngest girl on the team, so that automatically makes you the avengers’ little princess. And they spoil you as such. They have become your amazing family and you don’t know where you’d be without them. This series will show random adventures and fluffy events in the daily life of the reader and her family, along with an unexpected turn later on as you read.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing this series! This is my first time writing one and I’m a bit nervous but I hope it all goes well. :)  Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1,962

It’s been a few weeks since the outdoor movie night. You were looking around in the kitchen for something to eat when you heard Sam make cooing noises from his place on the couch. You turned to see him flipping through a small book. You walked up to him to see what he was doing.

“What are you doing?” you asked. He looked up from the book and smiled.

“Just lookin’ at your baby pictures.” He said. 2 or 3 of them were from the 40’s that Steve had in his uniform pockets while he was looking for you when you were kidnapped by HYDRA. Others were pictures that Steve took of you during the year that you lived in an apartment when you were 5 or 6. The rest were pics that the team took of you as you were growing up after you moved to the tower then the compound.

“Aww, look at you here.” Sam said, pointing to a picture of you with cake on your face. You internally cringed. “So adorable! With your little bows and everything.” He chuckled. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not adorable Sam.” You said.

“Oh, so you think you’re grown now? That you're not adorable anymore?” Sam asked amused, raising an eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips and crossed your arms.

“I may not be grown but I’m not adorable.” You sass. Sam chuckled at that.

“Well I have proof right in this book that says otherwise. Look .“ he smirked, flipping through many pictures or tea parties, days in the pool, the team playing dress up with you, and much more. Through them all, Sam was cooing the while time. You groaned and covered your face in mild frustration. You flopped down on the couch and sat there with your arms crossed. Sam didn’t pay you any mind at your little attitude and just kept looking through the book.

Bucky walked in at that moment and noticed your body language. “What's y/n so worked up about?” he asked Sam. “I mean, I know she’s talking to you and that’s enough to make anyone upset but is there any other reason?” he said, smirking a bit when Sam rolled his eyes.

“Little y/n here is getting all blushy because I keep calling her adorable.” He says, going the extra mile and pinching your cheek. You whined and leaned way from his touch.

“I am not!” you could feel your face heat up. Bucky chuckles.

“Aww this is what you're cranky about? You are adorable! Look at these pictures of when you were a baby; just precious!” he says, taking the book from Sam. You growled and slumped down further on the couch. And so begins the endless teasing session.

“Look she's pouting. How cute. But as adorable as that is, I don’t know how I feel about having a pouty y/n. Buck?” Sam asked.

“Oh, absolutely not. We can’t have that! We love a happy girl!” You pout even more to show your annoyance.

“Nothing seems to work, Buck. What do you suggest we do?”

“Well, I suggest we do the thing that always makes her smile when she's pouty!” he smirked. Your eyes widened at that and you tried to make a run for it. Of course, the super soldier got to you before you could and thew you back on the couch. You were already giggling, your annoyed facade melted away. Nervousness overcame your senses as you realized not only Bucky is about to tickle you to pieces but Sam as well.

“Wahahait! Guhuhuys! I wont pout anymore I promise!!” you begged. Sam raised an eyebrow at you.

“But will you admit you're the most adorable thing ever?” he teased. You pursed your lips in a scowl.

“I'm not adorable!” you growled.

Bucky and Sam turned to face each other at the same time and nodded. “Denial.” They immediately pounced on you, eliciting loud and bubbly giggles. Bucky was wasting no time, drilling his fingers into your ribs while Sam was repeatedly squeezing up and down your thighs. You threw your head back as you laughed, keeping your arms pressed to your sides, even though it did nothing to stop the ticklish feeling.

“We can do this all day, y/n. We won’t stop until you admit it.” Bucky smirked, slipping his hands up further up to wiggle his hands under your arms. You yelped and erupted into high pitched laughter, kicking out your legs. Sam had gotten a hold of your ankle and was now scratching the soles of your feet, making you cackle. “Tickle tickle tickletickletickle! Aww look at that adorable smile!”

Your face was burning as you blushed and tried to cover your face with your hands. Bucky chortled and shook his head, lifting your shirt and blowing a long raspberry, tasing your sides at the same time. You shrieked and shot your arms right back down. “I CAHAHANT BREHEHEATHE!” You cried, shaking your head side to side. It became clear then that they really weren’t going to stop until you gave in. “AHAHAHAA OKAHAHAY OKAHAY ILL SAY IHIHIT! EEH!” You squealed and fell right back into hysterics when Sam started to squeeze your knee.

“Well? On with it then.” Sam said, not letting up on his torture. Bucky smirked, tickling your waistline, making your giggles more desperate.

“Lehehet me go fihihirst.” You giggled.

“NOPE!” Bucky said, blowing another raspberry. You arched your back with a loud squeal and finally gave in.

“NOOOHOHO OKAY IM ADOHOHORABLE!” You cry, scrunching up your neck when Bucky feathers is fingers around your neck.

“Damn right. And you better not forget it.” Bucky said, pointing a finger at you warningly. You blushed and turned on your belly to hide your face.

“Okay, yes, I get it.” You whine feigning annoyance. Bucky and Sam shook their heads at you fondly and left, leaving you to rest on the couch. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up to the soft chatter of the team in the kitchen. You hadn’t opened your eyes yet and were still half asleep but you could tell you were covered by a blanket. Someone must have put it on you when you were asleep. 

You stirred a bit and woke up a little more at the sound of chuckling and you sat up on the couch. You had wrinkle marks on the side of your face that was on the couch and you turned to see the team gathered around the island, having a conversation. Bucky has the first one to turn and see you, smiling and winking at you. You giggled, drawing the attention of the other team members. Steve smirked at your sleepy look and put a hand on his hip. “Look who finally woke up.”

“How was your nap, Sleeping Beauty?” Tony teased, taking a sip of his coffee.

You giggled again and fell back onto the couch to cover your blush with the blanket. “What are you guys talking about.” You asked, your voice muffled a bit. Steve walked over and sat on the couch next to you, lifting up your legs to sit. 

“We’re trying to see where we wanna go to eat. There’s a nice new Wing place a few minutes out of Town Square. Think you’d like that?” He asked, rubbing up and down your legs comfortingly. You nodded with lazy smile. 

“Alright, it’s decided then. Everyone get ready, we leave in 20.” Tony said, clapping his hands once. You got up and headed to your room to change. 

-----

You had all just gotten seated at a table after waiting for a bit. The place was still new so there were many people there wanting to try it out. You sat next to Wanda and Bruce and across from Peter and Steve. Nat was sitting next to him. As you all were waiting for your food, you looked up to see Steve sit back and wrap an arm around Nat’s chair, kinda on her shoulders while Nat scooted closer with a small smile.

You grin to yourself and dig in your food when it arrives, making a note to yourself to tease Nat about it later.

------

You got home and followed Nat around all the way to her room, without saying a word until you closed the door behind you.

“So...? You and Steve have been getting pretty close, huh?” You asked, bumping her with your elbow and smiling smugly.

“What makes you say that?” She said, folding the rest of her laundry and obviously trying to play dumb. You rolled your eyes playfully and scoffed. 

“Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t know. I think you should tell him and the team already; that you officially like him.”

“And why should I feel the need to do that yet?”

“Because... if you don’t tell him, I will.” Of course you were joking, you would never reveal a secret like that to someone. You turned on your heel and went for her bedroom door. “Oh, steeeeve!” You sang. 

You didn’t expect Nat to quickly come up behind you and stick her hands under your arms. You immediately clamped up and fell to the floor in a fit of laughter. “Y/n don’t you dare-I will stuff you in my closet and keep you hostage if you tell him.” She playfully growled, following you to the ground and wrapping herself around you like a koala and tickling your sides. You were in hysterics.

“OKAHAHAHAY I WONT TELL HIM!” You cried. You were basically trapped in her hold and could do nothing but laugh your heart out. She dug her nails in between your ribs, making you cackle and arch your back.

“Promise?” She smirked, pinching mischeviously at your hip bones.

“YEHEHES, I WOULD NEVEHEHEHER!” After that, she let you go from the hold and you sprawled out on the floor, panting. Nat smirked at your exhausted state.

“Good.” She hummed. She stood up and leaned against the bed, her lips pursing a bit as she gulped. “So... how do you feel about it?” She asks a little more serious now.

You sat up on the floor and raised your eyebrows at her. “Seriously? I ship you guys so hard.” You chuckle. “If I’m being honest, I was rooting for you guys since... years ago.” You chortled. “I really hope you guys become a thing in the future. Just know I’ll always be your #1 supporter.” 

Nat smiles at that, pulling you into a hug. “Thank you y/n. That means a lot. Really. I don’t know what would be possible of us if you didn’t support a relationship between us. Maybe now we actually have a chance.” She says. 

“Of course!” You smile and return the hug. 

-------

Tonight was Movie night with the team and you were snuggled up to Thor and Bucky. You smiled to yourself and leaned your head on Thor’s shoulder. You looked around to see everyone on the couches, sitting net to each other nd having their snacks with smiles on their faces. Right then, you had a moment where you became aware of the life you had. You had an amazing family that loved you so much and you loved them back. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You glanced over at Ruby Anne to see her sitting net to her dad. You couldn’t wait until Ruby started to feel the same feeling you feel about your family now. You sighed happily, resting your head back on his shoulder.

  “Goodnight. Love you guys.” You sighed before closing your eyes. The rest of the team smiled at you and bid you goodnight as well. 

“We love you too y/n/n.”

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

I hope you all enjoyed the series! this was really amazing and stressful and fun and interesting to write and although some of these chapters may not be that good, just know I put my heart and soul into this series and I was really happy to share it with you guys. <3 

Remember if you’d like to request a plus chapter continuing this storyline, feel free to request one but please be specific as to what you’d like to see in that chapter. Thank you so much for reading! :D

[copper-wasp]

Prompto x Reader: Kisses (Part 10/?)

Title: Glasses

Posted to AO3!

Rating: T

Words: 1,500

This was entirely inspired by this piece of artwork on twitter 💙

Tagging my fellow Prom lovers: @ofburisms​ @dizzymoogle​ @kn0pa​ 😊😊😊

“Hey, sleepyhead!” you called out, knocking at Prompto’s bedroom door. “You want some pancakes? I’m cooking!”

You heard some shuffling before the door opened, Prom’s smiling face greeting you. His hair was still a mess from sleep, sticking up in even more directions than usual, and he had on just a plain white t-shirt and his boxers. Your lips parted a little in surprise, but not due to his state of dress, or rather, undress. What caught your attention was the pair of black-framed glasses on his face.

“Did you say pancakes? Can I have chocolate chips in mine?” he asked with a yawn, stretching his long arms up over his head. You were staring at him, unable to think of anything else besides how damn cute he looked wearing glasses.

You shook your head, snapping out of your increasingly lewd thoughts, finally replying, “Uh, yeah, sure, chocolate chips, definitely.”

“Awesome!” he replied, leaning against the door jamb, “Just lemme get dressed and I’ll be right out to help you.”

“Okay... thanks, Prom,” you said, eyes tracing over the rounded rectangles of the glasses, the bottoms nearly touching his freckled cheeks, a little smile playing on your lips.

You grabbed the supplies and started making the pancake batter in your tiny apartment kitchen, Prompto coming out of his messy room to join you a few minutes later. He had thrown on a dark pair of jeans and a Captain America t-shirt, and had calmed his hair to its normal style, but he still had the glasses on. You had been living with the blonde for about two months now, due to the fact that you were both nearly broke students who couldn’t afford on-campus housing, and you’d taken a risk and replied to his post on Craigslist asking for a roommate. Not once in those two months had you ever seen him wear glasses. Not that you were complaining, just stating a fact.

Prompto added in a ridiculous amount of chocolate chips to the batter as you heated up the frying pan. You turned to him, a little sheepishly, and said, “So... I didn’t know you wore glasses....”

He looked over at you with a smile, popping a semi-sweet bud into his mouth. “Yeah, I normally wear contacts, but my allergies are really bad today, so glasses it is!”

“Oh,” you replied lamely, spraying the pan so nothing would stick. “You look good in them,” you added quietly. You were too chicken to look at him, so you took an extra long time to locate the spatula in the utensil drawer.

Grabbing the bowl from the counter, you spooned enough mix to make for a nice sized pancake and told Prom he could take a seat. “How many do you want?”

“Uh, maybe, like, four? I’m super hungry,” he said with a chuckle, leaning on the kitchen island, resting his head in his palms.

“Coming right up!” you said cheerfully, flipping the first pancake.

Apparently you had made a little too much batter, as you ended up with over a dozen pancakes by the end, all steaming slightly as they rested on a plate. You plopped the stack of them down in front of Prompto, hearing his stomach growl in anticipation.

“Guess you weren’t lying,” you remarked, grabbing plates and utensils for the two of you. Tucking in, you let out a satisfied noise as the sweetness hit your tongue, melty chocolate giving the pancake the perfect extra flavor.

“Ugh, these are so good,” Prompto said, shoving nearly an entire half of a pancake into his mouth, dripping with syrup.

“I’m glad they turned out okay,” you replied.

“Way more than okay,” he agreed after swallowing, grabbing another off the pile.

When you were done eating, Prompto offered to clean up, and you gladly let him, plopping down on the couch with your tablet. Once he had washed the dishes, he sat down next to you, leaning over your shoulder to see what you were doing.

“Whatcha up to?” he asked, eyes roving over the screen.

“Just writing my story for the school paper,” you replied, turning the screen so he could get a better look.

“Hmm, let’s see,” he began, adjusting his glasses and you swallowed hard, watching his slender middle finger push the acetate up the bridge of his nose. “‘University Quartet Finds Joy Playing Music for Shelter Dogs,’” he read, turning to smile at you. “Please tell me there are going to be cute pictures of dogs in this story?”

“Of course, no one would read it without them,” you commented, typing a few more sentences.

“That’s not true, you’re a great writer,” he said, studying your face. He grinned at you, eyes fixed at a spot on your cheek. “Not so great at eating, though,” he said with a chuckle, “You’ve got some chocolate on your face.”

A flash of embarrassment overcame you, your skin immediately getting warm. “Oh, no, really? Where?” you asked, knowing that your cheeks were completely red.

“Right here,” he said, pointing at his own cheek, a inch or so away from his lips. You brushed your thumb over the spot on your own face, coming away with said chocolate on it.

“Did I get it?” you asked, tilting your head in Prompto’s direction.

“Almost,” he replied with a grimace, obviously trying not to laugh at you. You brushed your index finger against your cheek next, a little more chocolate coming back on that digit too. Prom let out a little chuckle and you pursed your lips at him. “Here, just let me-“ he said, reaching out towards you, brushing his thumb over your skin to get the last of the sweet substance off your face.

You felt that flash of warmth again, eyes widening just a little when he made contact, the rest of his fingers wrapping under your chin, blue eyes looking down at your lips through the lenses of his glasses. “There,” he said, barely above a whisper, moving his hand away.

You were about to lament the loss of his soft skin against yours but that thought was quickly banished as you watched Prompto bring his thumb up to his lips and dart his tongue out to lick the chocolate off of it. You swallowed hard, still holding your chocolatey fingers up in front of you. Prom raised an eyebrow at you watching his show, the corner of his mouth upturning into a smirk.

He licked his lips, leaning his head toward your hand. You audibly gasped when you felt his mouth close around your thumb, sucking off all of the sweetness. He grabbed your wrist so you wouldn’t jerk away before moving his lips to your index finger, pressing the flat of his tongue against it, before drawing it into his mouth, too.

He flicked his eyes up to catch yours, releasing your index finger with a wet pop. He released his grip on your wrist, and it fell onto your lap, completely useless.

You stared at each other for a brief moment before Prompto surged forward, pressing his lips against yours. It felt like his hands were everywhere at once, needy touches over your skin before they found purchase on your neck, warm and soft. Your tablet clunked to the floor and you had a brief, fleeting thought of how glad you were that you had a case on it, before your mind was nearly wiped clean, your one remaining brain cell focused entirely on the cute blonde with the cute glasses.

His kisses were light and flirty, going from soft, short pecks to long, languid ones, his mouth molding to yours like it belonged there. The edges of his frames pressed into your cheeks but you didn’t care, a stunted whine escaping when he took your bottom lip in between his own, sucking on it until you felt his teeth gently bite down. You opened your eyes, pulling away to take a short breath.

Prompto didn’t let you get far, seemingly addicted to your lips as he kissed you again, over and over until you needed to taste him, wanted to feel him slide his tongue against yours in a delicate waltz. Reading your mind, he urged you to part your lips, eagerly entreating entrance to your mouth, winding his wet, pink tongue with yours. You openly moaned into the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders and squeezing them tightly to ground yourself.

He kissed you for a good long time before gently pulling away, looking up at you with blazing blue eyes and a smile on his lips.

“I guess I should wear my glasses more often,” he said, giving you a sweet peck on the cheek. You flushed once again, realizing he’d noticed every little look you’d given him throughout the morning.

“I won’t complain if you do,” you replied quietly, biting your lip and slowly moving your hands up to either side of his neck, intent on kissing him once more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you for reading!!

Find me on:

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_

[70swonderpoisonstark]

Wait, you survived?

// You and Steve survive the plane wreck and end up seventy years in the future. Everything’s different and the only person that understands the confusion and pain of losing your entire world is your now dead husband’s best friend. When the two of you are forced to adapt to the world around you, things can get complicated. //

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

I've gotta put her in the water.

Please don't do this we have time- d- we can work it out.

Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere, if I don't put her down now a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice. Peggy?

I'm here.

I'm gonna need a raincheck on that dance.

Alright, a week next saturday, at the stork club.

You got it.

8 o'clock on the dot, don't you dare be late, understood?

You know I still don't know how to dance?

I'll show you how, just be there.

We'll have the band play something slow, I'd hate to step on your-

--------

"Steve, we lost comms." You say, sniffling as you dive deeper towards the icey plain ahead of you. Steve takes your hand in his, holding back tears not for himself, but for knowing you had to die too. He best friend's girl, too stubborn to wait for Hydra to be taken down that you forcefully threw yourself into the howling commandos. He could live with sacrificing himself, but you? The closest thing he had to Bucky himself? It sent a knife straight through his heart.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I never meant for all this to happen. I just, I"

"It's okay, Steve." You squeezed his hand as you cut him off, fighting the tears threatening to fall. "It's okay, Steve. We're gonna go see Bucky, everything will be fine." You kept your hands together, the warmth between the two of you the only comforting part of this entire ordeal. You pulled the metal chain out of your shirt with you free hand, smiling fondly as you read 'James Buchanan Barnes DOB: 03-10-1916' knowing that you'd finally be able to see him again. You softly ran your finger over your wedding band and engagement ring. Remembering that sweet moment when it seemed like you had all the time in the world with the love of your life, no earthly idea of the pain you'd endure a few months afterwards.

"We're going to see Bucky." Steve squeezed your hand firmly, the ice was dangerously close. You both closed your eyes, refusing to let go of the other, relaxing as the ice hit the metal of the plane with a crack, knocking you both unconscious,and into the icey tomb that would keep you both for all eternity.

~70 years later~

After the initial shock of waking up seventy years later, Steve went with Fury back to headquarters and was further explained his situation.

"So you see, the serum made you resistant to the cold. You froze, but not the way the average person would. The serum functioned as a shield to your vital organs and cells, allowing you to freeze slower, keeping your cells from-" Steve jumped up aggressively, his memory returning to him in fleeting glimpses, all he saw was you hair, a red ribbon, and a gleaming smile.

"(Y/N)! Where's (Y/N)? Mr. Fury, I went down with a-a friend, a woman, we went down together, in the plane. Where is she, please tell me you found her too?” Silence followed as Steve mind raced. THoughts flying about at a million miles an hour as he tried to find a way that you might have survived, knowing his heart couldn’t take the loss of another dear friend. “

Oh god, she's dead isn't she? She's dead? You said it yourself a normal person couldn't-" Steve knew, but saying out loud was a whole different monster. He couldn't lose them both, losing his entire way of life was tragic enough, but you AND Bucky? Nothing could prepare him for the intense sorrow that overcame him in those few seconds of speech. He lowered his head to his hands, slinking down to the cold floor, and sobbed, knowing the people who knew him best were gone.

"Captain Rogers, she's not dead. We found her right next to you. Our team can't explain how she survived, but she did." Steve's head quipped up, putting his tears to a halt. Could you really be alive?

"I need to see her, right now, please." Nick Fury was known as a cold and calculated man, but the way this American legend looked up at him, crushed his soul. He could see the hurt, the desire for you to be alive, the hopeful gleam in his eyes. He was praying for you to be alive, begging, pleading with God for you to somehow still be breathing the same air, not daring to believe it before he saw it himself. So Fury obliged, and took Steve, not the Captain, straight to you.

All it took for Steve was a single nod and he ran into your room, opening the door faster and louder than he'd intended.

You jumped, frightened at the loud SLAM of the door as it hit the plaster wall on it's right. You looked up at the source, ready to attack, when the sweet baby faced Steven Rogers was standing right in front of you.

"Steve! You're alive! What-" You ran up to him, embracing him in the warmest hug, crying into his large shoulder as he lifted you off the ground.

"(Y/N) I can't believe you're here, I don't, I'm so, God, (Y/N) ." He pulled away slightly, looking at your beautiful face as you wept happily. He took your face in his hand, wiping away tears of his own, and looked into your eyes.

"Steve, what are we going to do, they have portable phones, I could barely work a radio back home and.." More sobbing, you hugged Steve again, body shaking with every sob you made. Steve knew this was a lot, it was a lot for him too, but at least somebody would be learning everything right there with him.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be okay (Y/N), it's going to be okay." Steve rubbed your back, gently caressing you hair as you cried into his chest. When he felt like you'd calmed down enough, he tilted you chin up with two of his fingers, gazing deeply into your eyes so that the effect of his words would resonate. "As long as I'm alive, you'll never have to worry about a thing, okay? I'm going to take care of you, you're my best girl all right?" You hated that line, even when Bucky used to say it, but hearing it right here in this moment, looking in his eyes, helped ease the ache in your heart, and you believed him fully. Fury cleared his throat, clearly wanting to break up the scene in front of him.

"It's not much, but we've got a decent place for the two of you in Brooklyn, figured you two might need some time before you get back to work."

"Work?" Your voice was almost a whisper, what work could the two of you possibly be good for? You're only superpower was your stubbornness, and Steve's his inability to be careful. In the forties, yes you two were apart of a formidable team, but now? The common cold could probably kill the both of you.

"Yes, both of you have jobs here, at SHIELD, whenever you're ready. We had our historians find and read all of your files in order to gauge where and what you'll be doing. Steve was easy, but you Dr. Barnes, were tough. But even with the times, a weapons expert like you can be very useful. Until then, rest, relax. The world's a very different place now, take some time before you come back." Fury led you to a car, a very fancy, futuristic black Honda Accord (What's a Honda, Steve? Is that like our old Ford, do we know if this is even safe, look at all those buttons.") When you were dropped off at your already furnished apartment you were given credit cards, per SHIELD to 'get your life together', and books and magazines to catch up on the times. You were given fashion magazines, because apparently tan and grey were not as fashionable as you thought, and Steve couldn't read one of those things to save his life so you had to find a way to conceal that you were both from a time of button ups and showing knees was scandalous. Great.

Steve tried to figure out the TV, and sports, and holy- there were so many things to watch on the tv. And you could actually watch them, not just listen in. You could see the athletes run and bat and hit. It was so much, and all in color too.

You had figured out the internet pretty fast. You just told it what you wanted and it listened, kinda. It had a very skinny typewriter attached to a screen, it was called a 'Laptop'. You found clothes, common topics for conversation, current events, and ways to research all the time you and Steve had missed.

"Steve! Look, it's an article about us!" You read quietly, blah blah blah, Captain America, blah blah blah, Steve Rogers, "Okay mainly an article about you, but still!" Blah blah blah, American hero. Whatever nevermind. It's not like you were one of the few people that could handle and rival Starks ingenuity, but yeah let's worship the guy on steroids sure. You closed the laptop, knowing you had plenty of errands to run you yelled out, "Steve! I'm going to buy clothes and food, you want anything?"

"Liquor, lots of it. And plaid, please tell me I can still wear plaid!" Chuckling, at least he hadn't changed. You stepped out the front door of your apartment, happy to get out into the new world and try and adapt. You were always up for a challenge in the 40's, why should this be any different? You wandered around the streets of New-New york, glancing at the windows with ridiculous amounts of color and materials. The skirts and dresses were so short, you couldn't imagine walking home in something like that back then. But wearing a floor length gown wasn't going to be very casual either. You have to get with the times, you told yourself. Maybe the shopkeepers would be of some help. You walked into the first store you passed, very casual, laid back. The second you walked in you were met with two smiling faces and a "Can I help you find anything in particular?" You nodded and explained your situation (Except for the fact that you were from the 40's, were frozen for 70 years and were now living with your dead husband's best friend who just so happened to be Captain America((Okay so you completely lied and didn't tell them anything, whatever)).

You walked out of the shop hours later, walking in and out of every store you liked buying what looked good on you. It was nice having this luxury, you usually made your own baggy clothes at home, now it seemed like everything was perfectly tailored no matter what. You walked into the liquor store, knowing Steve would try to get drunk as best he could you grabbed the strongest stuff you could find, 96% Vodka, and Everclear. Should do the trick, or at least kind of. You smiled at the guy at the register as he checked you out.

"Can I see your ID, ma'am?" You froze slightly, your ID, for what?

"Uh, sure." Nobody's ever asked for your ID when you bought alcohol, what was he even going to do with it, you were obviously of age, what a pointless thing to ask for. You handed him the thin piece of plastic. All it says is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) DOB: (Y/DOB/1919) Oh shit. 1919? He wouldn't believe that at all! Shit shit shit shit shit!! You sat there anxiously as he read over the typed letters on your ID. The cashier shrugged, "Cool, thank you for your service. That'll be $65.78" He handed you your ID back and bagged your liquor. You paid and left, astonished he wasn't thrown of by your date of birth. You pulled out the ID to look at it, "WHAT?" You yelled.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N) DOB: (Y/DOB/1994) Ninety-four? That's not even close to accurate! What..." You pocketed the ID, not wanting to open up another can of worms that could be taken care of later.

You were thankful for the new clothes, Steve and you were going to fit in perfectly, you had already changed at one of the stores and were now in a high waisted body fit (You can't remember the exact term she'd used to describe it) black and white plaid skirt, a black turtleneck sweater tucked in, paired with knee high black boots and a very stylish black purse. You liked the new look, and felt very modern wearing such revealing clothes, people could see your figure, what a crazy idea these future people had! Your hair was straight, and one of the makeup ladies had fixed you up with a very casual, modern, look. ((Which was just a rip off of what you used to do anyways but)) You dragged all the bags and alcohol up to the top floor of the apartment building and yelled into your apartment as you unloaded.

"Steve! I got the goods!" You turned around and started filling the shelves with food and alcohol, leaving the clothes for later. "You'd been so shocked, they asked for my ID, to make sure I was old enough to buy alcohol!" You heard him clobber his was into the kitchen, "Me! I've never had that happen before, it was so crazy I-" You turned around to see Steve, frozen five feet away from you, jaw on the floor. "Are you just going to stand there and watch me do all the work?" You turned your back, amused at his reaction. He was always such a dork when it came to food, it wasn't even that much and there he was pretending like you'd just bought a buffet.

Steve was down for the count. He always knew you were stunning, but whatever new-age clothes you were wearing solidified the fact that Bucky always knew how to pick 'em. For the first time in Steve's life, your unique body wasn't covered in baggy tan and gray military clothes. It was beautiful, a sudden ping of jealousy and guilt poking him in the side as he mindlessly looked you over. The only thing he'd ever seen you in that was even close to being this fitted was the bulletproof corset Bucky got Stark to make for you as a wedding gift. Forcefully, Steve refocused his attention on the food, trying his hardest not to try and compliment you. His words never came out right, and with other girls he could mess up and be fine, but you were Bucky's girl and that wasn't a line he was willing to cross, even by accident.

//Special shoutout to @lunathepettuna who asked for a Steve related something! Love ya girl! //

[starksnack]

For @stony-week Day 1: Identity P*rn

Tied Together // Stony // 2.4k // AO3

Tony played with the red string tied into a tiny bow around his fourth finger, a precursor to the wedding ring that would sit there someday if all went according to fate’s grand plan. Everyone got a little red thread that only they could see, a cord that tied them to their soulmate across space, time, and the ephemeral fabric of the vast universe.

He ran his thumb over his finger meeting skin where the thread was tied to him. The string would only disappear when Tony found his soulmate so, for now, it was a reminder of the happiness that was to come. When Tony was younger, he used to think it was silly. Afghanistan had changed that, the thread becoming something to live for.

With a deep sigh, Tony settled into his new penthouse. Stark Tower was now a beacon of clean energy. It was a major environmental success and Tony couldn’t help the pride he felt at being the first name in renewable, clean energy. He just wished he had someone to share it with.

That’s when the phone rang, Agent’s name flashing across the screen.

***

It was a crazy and hectic week, from learning thermonuclear astrophysics to battling Loki’s angst and his army of alien misfits all while keeping his identity a secret. He gritted his teeth as he touched down on the tower landing pad. Meeting Steve Rogers was both the highlight and the lowest point of this whole endeavor. It was great to finally meet the subject of his childhood wet dreams, but his delight was eclipsed by memories of his father who always compared him to the great and powerful Captain America. This didn’t even mention the fact that Rogers hated him. A recipe for big fucking yikes.

On the bright side, it hadn’t taken much convincing to get the Avengers to move into the tower. They had all been the for the giant wormhole that opened up above the city and apparently that had been enough to get them to each claim a floor in Stark Tower.

When things finally settled down, Tony got back into the workshop and stepped out of his suit. His heart stuttered to a halt in his chest. The string around his finger was gone. He stared at his left hand, willing his vision to shift the red thread back in place around his fourth finger but nothing changed. Somewhere in the last week, he had met his soulmate, and he hadn’t even noticed.

Tony sat down in his chair, hard, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. There was no use crying over spilled milk. He had been so focused on trading quips with Rogers and battling an emo demigod that he had missed the most important moment of his life.

He shook his head, rattling his marbled back into place. He needed to get a grip before Dum-E hit him with a rolled up tabloid and beeped at him to pull himself together. He was Tony Stark. If he could build the Iron Man suit in a cave with a box of scraps, he could find his soulmate.

“Jarvis, you up?” anxiety colored his words and he kissed his teeth as his desktop booted up. The Stark Industries logo flashed across the glass and Tony’s fingers beat an impatient rhythm across the metal casing of the arc reactor.

“Always,” Jarvis responded, the holograms throwing blue light across Tony’s features. The glow wrapped Tony in a bright cocoon and he relaxed. It would be okay, Jarvis would help. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I need a record of everyone I met this last week and whether or not they have registered soulmates. I’m looking for anyone whose thread disappeared. Scan social media postings and soulmate announcement feeds.” Tony splayed his hands out, looking through the generated lists to see if there was a face he recognized. Someone with whom he had made eye contact and formed a bond. So far, no dice. He frowned, “Sort by the likelihood of being my soulmate.”

Jarvis pulled up the feed from the armor running facial recognition while pulling up a guest list from the event in Germany and a roster of all the Shield agents on the Helicarrier this past week. With the hundreds of names crossing his screen, Tony felt his eyes glaze over, hopelessness pulling at the back of his skull and swelling into a headache.

A knock on his workshop door drew him out of his thoughts and he turned to find Rogers standing on the other side, shifting from foot to foot. He was dressed in civvies, a dreadful looking button-down tucked into khakis.

Tony waved him in, turning back to his project. A small list was forming and it looked fairly promising. It was still a lot of names to sort through.

Rogers cleared his throat pointedly. “Can I speak to Iron Man?”

Tony frowned casting a glance at the suit in the corner. There was no way he could play off someone being asleep in there. “He just left for the day but I can take a message.”

“He left?” Rogers raised his brows incredulously, “I thought all the Avengers were staying in the tower. What if there’s an emergency and we need air support?”

“I gave him the suitcase armor to take with him while I repair this one. There’s no need to get your panties in a twist.” Tony rolled his eyes, turning back to his screen, He nearly let out a frustrated groan when he found the list had doubled in size. Significantly less promising. He needed time to think without the big blond distraction hovering behind him. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No thanks, I’ll just talk to Iron Man when he comes back.” Tony nodded, expecting him to turn around and leave. Instead, Rogers just followed with another pointed throat clearing and Tony resisted the urge to throw the nearest tool, a socket wrench it appeared, at his head. He whirled around in his seat and bit out an irritated, “Yes?”

“I just wanted to apologize for what I said on the helicarrier,” Rogers twisted his fingers in front of him, mouth screwed up in distaste. “It wasn’t right of me, I really appreciate you letting us into your home, and giving us Iron Man.”

Tony nodded, “I didn’t mean what I said either.” He turned back to his list, eyes nearly popping out of his head as he found hundreds of names filling up the screen. “I have a really important experiment running, can you excuse me?”

“Of course,” Tony didn’t need to turn around to know that Rogers was nodding earnestly at him. “The team is going to go out for pizza later, I would love it if you joined us.”

Tony thought about it a moment. If this whole list turned out to be a bust, comfort food would probably be his best bet so he could eat his sorrows away. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, willing the list to get smaller. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

***

Tony never did figure out who his soulmate was. He did get a laugh at some of the names on the list though. Taylor Swift and Elon Musk were apparently candidates, though Tony dismissed those quickly. The biggest laugh was Rogers though, Jarvis thought he was most likely to be Tony’s soulmate but that was pretty much impossible considering Rogers didn’t really like him. Sure, he included Tony in all their group outings and they were friendly, but seeing how Rogers interacted with Iron Man, the ease in their partnership on the battlefield and the relaxed line of his shoulders when they spoke, something he never did with Tony, proved that Rogers didn’t think of him as soulmate material.

One whole year had come and gone and Tony still couldn’t look at the fourth finger of his left hand with anything but longing. Somewhere, someone else was suffering the same despair of an unknown bond and there was nothing that upset Tony more.

And then Rogers had to go and ask Iron Man out.

They were just finishing up a joint training exercise, working seamlessly to take out the targets Tony had painstakingly created when Rogers approached, a broad grin on his face as he pushed his sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead. “Heya Shellhead.”

“Hey Winghead,” Tony responded fiddling with a loose plate on the armor. This one needed a tune-up anyway, he might as well just design a new suit. “Good training session.”

“Yeah,” Rogers replied, shifting from foot to foot in a way that Tony knew meant he was nervous. “I worked up quite the appetite and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go and grab a bite, just the two of us?” Rogers trailed off, eyes trained on his red leather boots.

“Uhm,” Tony frowned. “I’m not really feeling like a smoothie right now,” he pointed to the faceplate to indicate that he couldn’t really put food in his mouth. “So, that’s going to have to be a no.”

“Oh,” Rogers nodded dumbly, the beginnings of a frown pulling his brows together. “I’m sorry, maybe  I was just reading into things.” Rogers scrubbed at the back of his neck with his hand, a blush spreading furiously across his cheeks. “I really like you and I was wondering if you liked me back.”

Tony’s heart hurt because of course Rogers had to go and fall in love with Iron Man when he hated Tony.

“I really don’t think that’s the best idea,” Tony responded, standing up in one fluid motion and forcing Rogers to take a step back. “There’s the whole issue of my secret identity and the Avengers and don’t we have a policy against fraternization-”

“Iron Man,” Rogers cut him off, stepping forward so that they’re face to face. “I don’t care who you are behind the mask, I love you.”

And then Steve’s hands were on either side of his face, pressing a kiss to the slit of the mask. His eyes were open, as though he could see through the glass of the faceplate, gaze heavy with desire. Tony could see every stroke of blue in his eyes, the perfect slash of green and the long flutter of his blond lashes when his eyes finally slid shut.

Steve pulled away, breathing heavily. “I think you’re my soulmate.”

Tony was out of the gym in under ten seconds.

***

When Steve showed up to the workshop the next day, looking totally miserable, Tony almost felt bad for him. And then annoyance overcame him when he remembered that somehow Steve had gotten it into his head that they were soulmates. Well, not them. Him and Iron Man. Tony didn’t know what was worse.

“Hey,” Steve mumbled. There was a giant wicker basket cradled in his arms, the smell of Tony’s favorite muffins, blueberry, wafting up from underneath a red napkin. “Can you give this to Iron Man.”

Tony resisted the urge to just accept the basket and cram the muffins into his mouth while watching reruns of the Bachelor. “He’s not going to be back for the while, the muffins will go bad, just drop them off at the homeless shelter on the corner.”

Steve’s lower lip wobbled and he looked a second away from crying before he nodded, backing out of Tony’s workshop and to the elevator.

Tony tried not to feel bad.

He felt bad anyway.

***

It was a fight that revealed Iron Man’s identity to the world.

Everything started out fine and dandy, some angsty teens had gotten ahold of some Chitauri tech and built robots that were wreaking havoc at a bowling alley downtown until it got out of hand and spilled out onto the street. Some civilians, a bowling team it seemed by the garish matching shirts, were chucking bowling balls at the robots. Tony learned the hard way that when the robots exploded, they spewed acid that kind of melted through metal. And then one exploded in his face.

His first instinct was to protect the reactor. He didn’t know how the metal casing would react to the acid and the last thing he needed was to go into cardiac arrest during the fight when the rest of the team didn’t even know that the same reactor that powered the suit also powered his heart. He didn’t even notice the faceplate had melted away until he felt the cool heat of the midday sun on his face.

Tony took out the rest of the robots with an extreme vengeance before dropping down by Clint to give him a lift to where the rest of the team was gathering in the street.

“Oh my god, Tony?” Steve’s jaw dropped and then he was cupping Tony’s face, eyes wide as his fingers ran over where the acid had singed his skin. Tony waited with bated breath for the insults, fully expecting to be kicked off the scene. He least expected Steve to pull him into a hug asking if he was alright.

“‘M fine,” Tony mumbled back, the words muffled in the kevlar of Steve’s suit. He pulled away turning to the other Avengers but none of them looked ready to tear into him. Instead, there were encouraging smiles all around.

Tony’s suit was still flight-capable, but he chose to ride back with the other Avengers, still shocked that no one was telling him he was unworthy to be Iron Man. He was sitting closer to the back of the quinjet, thinking about how he would handle being kicked off the team when Steve sat beside him.

“Hey so. I know we got off on the wrong foot,” Steve started a bashful smile s spreading across his face, “but I woke up in this new century wondering if I would ever find my soulmate and the night we met in Germany, my string faded away.”

“Oh,” Tony said intelligently, the pieces falling into place in his mind. Maybe Jarvis was right and they were actually soulmates. Who would have thought?

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, a rich beautiful sound falling from his lips. “Anyway, now that there isn’t a faceplate in the way, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner? The two of us, on a date?”

Tony finally allowed himself to think that maybe, the team was okay with him being Iron Man and Steve was possibly his soulmate. He grinned up at Steve, brown eyes lit up.

“I would love that.”

[superhero-daugthers11]

Endgames: captain America ten years later.

1965

He wakes up to the tv blasting in the next room. He could hear the voices of the Sunday cartoons and the children giggling. He looked to his right and saw his beautiful wife, Peggy Rogers, asleeping beside him. He watches her for a moment, captured by her beauty. Her fair skin untarnished by imperfections. Her curly brown hair had grown longer almost to her waist like a goddess. Her lips red like cherries and plump. He smiled as he caressed her arm.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world. He knew that to leave the avengers, to leave his life in the 2000s was the best decision he ever made. He knew he would have never been happy there, he needed Peggy to complete him. Without her..life was just a blur...he was just going through the motions without any hope or purpose.

Back then, he had given up on the idea of ever being happy, ever getting the life he dreamed of. Yet, now his dream was a reality: he had his best girl, and two wonderful kids he adored.

Peggy’s eyes began to flutter as she woke. She looked up at her husband.

“Steve are you okay?” She asked.

“I’m fine.” Steve answered. “Your just so beautiful. I cant keep my eyes off of you.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“I can’t believe you married me.” Steve told her. “I mean son e whimpy little kid from Brooklyn got you.”

Peggy smiled as she sat up then put a hand on his cheek.

“You are so much more than that. I’m glad we found each other.” Peggy began. “Honestly your the best thing to happen to me and i don’t think anyone could have been more perfect for me. Your my everything, Steve.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Do you know what today is?” Peggy asked him with a smirk.

“The best day of my life,” he answered grinning. “The day I married you.”

He leaned in close and kissed her. A passionate kiss that made every fiber of his being surge.

“Ten years, with my beautiful Peggy Rogers.” He continued.

She leaned into him and he ran his fingers through her hair.

“I have a special day planned for us, your gana love it.” Steve told her. “I got us reservations at that fancy Howard always surgests.”

“Your joking? That place costs a fortune for one meal.” She chuckled. “It probably cost more than this house for order of fries. We can’t go there we still need to buy the kids new clothes.”

“It’s not that bad.” He remarked back. “Howard told them that we were friends of his, so the restaurant gave us a huge discount. Free drinks, and 10% off the meal.”

“Wow that is impressive. Geez who knew knowing Howard stark would be useful for something.” She joked.

He chuckled.

“Plus I found a coupon for 30 percent in the paper!” Steve boasted with excitement.

Peggy grinned and she hugged him.

“I have taught you well.” She told him. “This is gana be great! You didn’t go out your way like this, I would have been fine with dinner at the diner.”

“These years have meant the world to me and I have been so happy being by your side. I had to do something to show you how much you mean to me.”

“Oh Steve, you sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Steve leaned in for another kiss when suddenly they heard yelling from the other room. There was a crash and then more yelling.

Then the bedroom door swung open. Two children entered dressed in colorful PJs. One was a girl with long curly blonde hair and dark brown eyes. The other a boy with short light brown hair and blue eyes.

“Mom! Phillip broke the lamp in the living room!” The girl shouted. “He was throwing the baseball in the house! I told him to stop-“

“She’s lying! She is always lying!” The boy, Phillip yelled as he cried. “She broke the lamp doing cartwheels in the living room!”

Peggy got out of bed and hugged Phillip, she stroked his hair comfortingly.

“Amelia.” Steve called with stern voice. “Did you break the lamp and don’t lie to me, I can always tell when you lie.”

“Yes, Daddy, but i-“

“No buts your gana sit your room and think about what you did for 15 minutes and then no tv for a week.”

Amelia instantly began to cry and she clung onto Steve.

“But daddy I didn’t mean too! And I’m sorry!” Amelia cried out. “I’ll be good just don’t ground me, New twilight zone is on tonight!”

“Aww. Don’t cry princess.” Steve uttered as he hugged his daugther.

“Daddy, don’t you love me? Twilight zone is my favorite show and now I’m gana miss it!” She cried harder. “I hate you! I hate you!”

“Okay I take it back, your not grounded!” Steve replied quickly.

“Steve!” Peggy yelled. “We talked about this, you can’t cave in every time she throws a fit.”

“But she said she hated me. I don’t want her to hate me.” Steve replied sheeply.

“She’s 8 years old, she doesn’t mean it.” Peggy told him. “She just says it because she knows when she does you will give her what she wants. She’s manipulative, she is my daugther.”

Later that night, Amelia and Phillip drove the babysitter crazy as they ran around the house playing out the war stories their parents had told them. They knew every line, every detail from the stories and to them they were heros. They would annoy the babysitter by replaying the newsreels from the war over and over again. The kids literally idolized their parents. Phillips favorite toy was a plastic shield, Steve made for him and Amy loved playing with the toy gun.

Meanwhile, Peggy and Steve entered the fancy restaurant dressed in their best outfits. Peggy has her hair in an updo that that reminded her of aubrey Hepburn. She dressed in a beautiful long red dress with red laced sleeves and poofed out at the bottom. She wore her favorite red heels and a pearled necklace, that belonged to her mother. Steve wore a black suit jacket and black pants. He wore a collared shirt and fancy shoes. they still stuck out like sore tumbs amoung the rich but they didn’t care.

They sat down at a table in the center of the restaurant. There eyes darted around them looking in wonder at every beautiful picture, flower and musician playing.

“This is so nice.” Peggy told him. “we haven’t gotten to go out just us in so long.”

He chuckled.

“I know. I think the last time we went out was the week before Philip was born.”

Peggy smirked. “Sounds about right. I miss this. you know just getting time to talk with each other and hear about each other’s lives without being interrupted by the kids bickering or work calling. It always feels like there’s always something, always running around.”

“I still wouldnt change a thing.” Steve answered. “These past few years have been the best of my life.”

Peggy smirked.

“Oh come on! You told me stories about your adventures in the future.” Peggy began. “You were adored and seen as one of the worlds greatest hero’s. You lived in the age of technology were people could see each other on there phone and watch movies in their homes without a VHS player. You met people with incredible powers and abilities and saved the world from being destroyed multiple times. They had a whole bloody museum dedicated to you! You werent happy then?”

“I didn’t belong there and I felt it.”

“What do you mean? You were there for awhile I’m sure you got used to things.”

“That’s not what I mean, i felt like I was just going through the motions, doing what I thought I had to do or should do. I couldn’t be happy there, everyday was another battle another war and it was draining and depressing. No body was ever safe and no matter how many times we saved the day something bigger and badder came out of the shadows. I mean as soon as I woke up from the ice they had me join the avengers and fight Loki, a few months later shield infiltrated, then the fight with ultron, then the accords battle and then the whole thanos thing. I saw the world I knew literally fall apart around me over and over again. The wars never stopped! ...and I couldn’t be anything else but a solider. That’s what they needed and that’s what they got. I was proud to be apart of their team and I was proud of what we accomplished together. But I was captain America, to the world to the team...that’s it, Steve Rogers was gone. I had no hope of him ever coming back.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me any of this before? You always boasted about the accomplishments of the Avengers and you told the stories as if they were fun, as if they were just another challenge.”

“I didn’t want to appear weak, I wanted to be strong for you. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it or that I was selfish or.... I wanted to be someone the kids could look up to, who you could be proud of. Not some fool who cracked under the pressure.”

She put her hand in his.

“Steve, I could never think that of you and you are as much a hero as any of them. War effects everyone in different ways and too much of it can drive a person insane. Your not weak for being unhappy back then your strong because you overcame it and kicked some ass.”

He gave a small smile.

“Thank you.” Answered him. “That means a lot.”

Suddenly the band starts to play a fimilar song. Steve looks at Peggy and they both have the same look of excitement on their face.

Wise men say on fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

“There playing our song.” Steve told her.

“Well...is it? I hadn’t noticed.” She joked.

He stood up and put out her hand to her. Her grin turned wider and she took his hand and he pulled her close to him. He took one hand in his and put the other on her waist. The two swayed back and forth near the table.

Take my hand, take my whole life too

For I can't help falling in love with you

For I can't help falling in love with you

[ao3-elle1991]

elle1991's 2018 round-up!

Wow, it's hard to believe the year is almost over. It's been an exciting one, so let's take a look back on what's happened, and what's coming up in 2019!

The stats...

In 2018:

I wrote 9 stories

I wrote 313,591 words

88,619 of you read my stories

The fics...

Here is a full list of the stories I wrote in 2018:

Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of explicit porn-with-plot featuring Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Each chapter focuses on a different kink, with one chapter for every letter of the alphabet. Or: the one where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers until they can sort their mental health out, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.

I Like Cats, Too (10,526 words) - The Avengers are more than just a team; they are a family. When that family is torn apart by the split caused by the Sokovia Accords, Natasha regresses into herself and lapses into a prolonged period of silence. As Team Cap hide away in Wakanda under the protection of T'Challa, will anyone be able to help Natasha overcome her depression and mutism? Enter a very special cat named Midnight...

At Your Service (12,931 words) - Clint and Natasha lose a bet. For the next 24 hours, they have to dress up in matching outfits and do everything Phil Coulson says... Or: The one where Phil gets Clint and Natasha to dress up and act out some of his many, many Captain America fanboy fantasies.

Secrets (40,706 words) - Bucky Barnes is a man with a lot of secrets: he is a member of the elite Avengers squad; he is 100 years old; for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon, carrying out countless acts of horrific violence whilst under their control. Nevertheless, despite his dark past, he is trying to move on with his life, working hard as a SHIELD agent and even developing a relationship with Tony Stark, a fellow SHIELD agent who heads up the R&D division of the Tech department. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose Bucky's past as HYDRA's secret weapon. With one SHIELD agent already murdered by the mystery thief, it is a race against time to find the individual responsible and put a stop to their sinister campaign. Just how long are Bucky's various secrets going to remain secret...?

The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire (11,161 words) - 7-year-old Steve Rogers does not have many friends. The other children in his class think of him as the weird kid who can't speak. His next-door neighbour Bucky Barnes doesn't care about Steve's Selective Mutism though. He thinks Steve is awesome and is willing to fight anyone who says otherwise. When Steve gets a part-time job as a newsboy, it triggers a chain of events that no one could have predicted. A mystery robber is targeting local businesses, putting Steve right in the firing line. Will Steve find the courage within himself to save the day - and even find his voice?

The Black Widow Ice Cream Parlour (3,746 words) - Natasha Romanoff is used to being the least celebrated, least appreciated Avenger - which is why it comes as a shock to stumble upon an ice cream parlour devoted to her whilst on holiday in an obscure corner of Italy. Or: The one where Natasha meets one of the people whose lives she has saved, and finally gets the appreciation she deserves.

Love Is Blind (14,512 words) - After a mission goes horribly wrong, Natasha Romanoff is left completely blind. Whilst SHIELD scientists desperately seek a cure, Natasha struggles to come to terms with her disability. With boyfriend Clint Barton by her side, can she come to terms with a world without sight?

Black Widow By Day, Black Kitten By Night (6,164 words) - Natasha has a kink for kitten pet play. Clint is only too happy to oblige. Or: the one where Natasha dons her cat ears, Clint ties up his pet, and hardcore, steamy sex ensues.

Time After Time (work in progress) - Steve Rogers, Iraq war veteran and long-time loner, feels like his life is stuck in a rut. With no family and a grand total of two friends, he spends most of his spare time alone, painting, jogging or having flashbacks of the war. Which is why when Natasha invites him to a masquerade party at a kink club, Steve throws caution to the wind and decides to give it a go. There he meets the mysterious Winter Soldier, but as things blossom between them, so does a dangerous undercurrent. Both are harbouring a big secret from the other, and the fallout could have lethal consequences...

Captain America Reverse Big Bang ❤️

I cannot talk about 2018 without mentioning the incredible @capreversebb. It was my first ever time taking part in a fandom event and I want to thank the organisers for all their hard work because I had an amazing time! I wrote fics for two incredible artists (@massivespacewren and @ranaraeuchle) and made friends with a bunch of amazing creative people along the way. @chiyume, @velvetjinx, @whatthefoucault, @thelittleblackfox, @cryo-bucky, @buckities and so SO many more folks, my life is richer with you guys in it. Thank you for being so lovely and friendly and just fantastic human beings. You guys rock and I love you all ❤️

Coming in 2019...

I look forward to continuing to entertain you guys in 2019 with more stories! Here's what's in the pipeline:

Finish writing Time After Time (Estimated completion date, based on posting one chapter per week: early May 2019)

Dear Steve (Part I of The Stucky Letters)

Dear Bucky (Part II of The Stucky Letters)

UNTITLED (A Clint Barton origin story based in my Fearless universe)

Like the sound of these fics? If you want to get an email whenever I post something new, then click on my AO3 profile and become a user subscriber.

My personal life...

2018 has been quite a special one in terms of my personal life, too.

At work, I got promoted... twice!

And the one I'm most proud of: I overcame a lifelong dental phobia! Honestly, it has been a rollercoaster journey, but now I've finally done it, I feel an incredible amount of relief and empowerment. If you're struggling with something similar, it might be useful to (1) try to identify exactly what you're afraid of, (2) try to identify what things will help to reduce that fear, and (3) just take things one little step at a time. Keep chipping away at it and, most importantly, don't give up! Good luck, with whatever it may be. You deserve to live a life without fear and if someone as once-terrified as me can do it, it is absolutely within your ability to do it too ❤️

A special message for you...

And last but certainly not least, I cannot talk about 2018 without giving a huge hats-off to you guys, my readers! I love writing and would do it even without an audience, but the fact that there are thousands of you out there who read my fics makes it a million times more rewarding!

THANK YOU for your readership, your loyalty, your kudos, your comments, your love, your excitement and your enthusiasm for my stories. You make writing so much more fun, and knowing that you guys enjoy reading my works and that these stories touch your lives in some small way is just such a humbling and wonderful experience.

I look forward to sharing more stories with you next year, and reading your thoughts in the comments section of AO3! And if you've been a silent lurker so far... come and say hi! I'm not scary, I promise, and I love to connect with readers ❤️

All the best for 2019, folks. See you on the other side!

Lots of love,

Eli

xxx

[rosebennett28]

Bucky Shenanigans (5)

"Are you going to ransack the place?"

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky falls in love with a saleswoman. (Needless to say it's Fluff)

A/N: And yes, you guessed it, this is actually very loosely based on an incident at work, except for the Bucky Barnes realness (unfortunately).

"It's weird how Captain America doesn't know what no means."

"Buck, come on you have two shirts. It's depressing."

Steve relentlessly tried to convince his best friend to go shopping with him after he had read that wearing the same clothes rigorously was a sign of depression.

"I think it's depressing that you insist on going shopping with me.", Bucky teased him, grimacing at the word shopping.

Words couldn't describe how dreadful the thought of going shopping seemed to him. Not even the limitless debitcards Tony had generously gifted the team members made Steves offer tempting.

It was excactly two weeks later that Steve got Bucky to go with him. It hadn't been quite a fair game as Steve had stolen Buckys clothes in a cloak-and-dagger operation one day.

The store Steve had chosen wasn't quite unaffordable, but it definetely wasn't the cheapest although Bucky really couldn't care less one bit as he only wanted Steve to get off his back.

When the men entered the store, Bucky was pleasently surprised. There weren't as many people as he expected and everything seemed very neat and simple.

Everything was simple and almost uniform, much to Y/Ns dismay, as she struggled to find the location of the particular shirt she was holding.

As she had her back turned to the entrance she didn't realize that she had customers.

Unbeknownst to her, her two customers were watching her as she started talking to the shirt.

"Where do you belong? You know you can tell me.", she held up the shirt a little higher as if she tried out her psychic abilities on it.

Immediately a smirk grew on Buckys lips as he looked at the woman in fascination, which didn't go unnoticed by Steve.

"Excuse me.", Steve announced himself, which severely annoyed Bucky because he had just startled her.

The girl dressed in a sleek black dress turned around humming, her hair swaying as they tried to catch up to her movements.

She wasn't pretty. She was so beautiful it simply wasn't fair. So much so that Bucky was sure he had died and gone to heaven because she was drop-dead-gorgeous.

"How may I help you?", the woman asked with a blinding yet genuine smile.

"Do you sell long-sleeved shirts? My friend needs a few basics.", Steve asked. He knew that they probably sold them, but he wanted to give Bucky a chance to talk to her because he would have never done it of his own accord.

"Yes, we do. Although they have hidden quite well. I'll show you.", she quipped and started walking into the far back of the store.

Following her Bucky regretted that he didn't shave his beard. In fact he regretted his whole getup. He knew, or at least in his mind he believed, he never stood a chance with a girl like her and she was way out of his league.

What Bucky didn't know was that she tried not to squeel all the way to the department where the shirts where located. She had never seen a man more handsome than him and in turn also thought she might actually cease to exist from looking at him.

Suddenly she stopped, making smooth gesture to the rack in front of them.

"Well here they are.", she had happily announced just when Steves phone rang.

"Excuse me.", he said and walked back the aisle.

"So, which size do you need?", she asked already shuffling through the rack.

"Uhm, I don't really know.", he confessed and scratched his neck coyly. He had never felt this stupid in his life and started blushing which didn't help his situation.

"Don't worry, we'll just take a few of these and you'll just try them on. I'm Y/N by the way.", she smirked.

"I'm Bucky.", he smiled awkwardly and nodded when Steve whisper-shouted "I gotta go". He felt both lost and found as she asked him to follow her.

Wicked as she was, she deliberately gave him the smallest one first, telling him to try it on.

After a moment or two of shuffling around he spoke up. "Um, I dont think this is right.".

"Show me.", she insisted. She could already imagine the gloriousness. Bucky slowly opened the cabin door making a pained face.

But Y/N didn't look in his face. She was shamelessly ogling the man that was wearing a shirt so tight she could basically feel his muscles on her finger tips. The real deal was so much better than she had imagined and he had to repeat what he had said until she heard him. "Miss?"

"Uh, yes. I think this might be ... a tad too tight.",  she noted, chuckling lightly, fascinated by the intricate plates of his metal hand. She had never seen anything like it, but she wasn't going to inquire further about it as she didn't want to be impolite. He already looked very self-conscious of it. Maybe that was the reason his friend had asked for long-sleeved shirts, maybe it wasn't only his hand.

The second time around he didnt look much happier. "I think this is much better isn't it? The most important thing is that you're comfortable."

"I don't know I mean it's just a shirt.", he said looking at himself in the mirror dicontentedly. At that you raised an eyebrow and looked at his reflection. "I'm sorry I didn't want to be rude, I'll take it. I have to, my friend stole my stuff."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"He insisted on me buying new clothes. I didn't want to, so here we are.", he shrugged and turned to face her. He looked oddly sombre all of a sudden.

"Why was it so important to him?", she asked softly. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it and looked to the side. "You were gonna lie weren't you?", she said in her best disappointed mom voice.

"What? No.", he scoffed.

"Liar liar pants on fire.", she teased him.

"Well, I guess I'll buy a pair of jeans too then.", he smiled at her melancholily. When he saw her questioning look he knew she wouldn't let him off the hook that easily. "He read that wearing the same clothes over again was a sign of depression and somehow this," he said motioning to the shirt he was wearing, "is supposed to help."

He instantly regretted being that honest with her because the magic in her eyes had vanished.

As quick as the darkness overcame her it disappeared again.

"I think you can call yourself Lucky-Bucky, having a friend who cares about you so much.", she tilted her head to the side as she laughed at her own joke.

Does she know how adorable she is?

"You're right, I guess.", he chuckled. Steve was a punk but a damn good friend he had to leave him that.

She had Bucky try on a few dress shirts and pants before she lead him to the register.

"That's 435 Dollars and 60 cents.", she announced folding the clothes and putting them in a paper bag.

"Good thing I'm not the one who has to pay for this.", Bucky mumbled as he reached to his back-pocket to get his wallet out.

"I knew this was too good to be true. Are you gonna ransack the place?", she said both equally amused and confused.

"No.", Bucky chuckled, "Tony Starks treat.", he said handing her the black credit card.

"Wait, you know Tony Stark?", she exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes, I live in the Avengers Tower. And the man that was here earlier was Steve Rogers. Captain America.", he explained to her.

"Wait. What? That's insane, Captain America is your best friend?"

"Yeah, you know I can ask Tony if you can come to the tower and meet the team if you like. We could grab some coffee too...", Bucky shyly proposed.

"Are you shitting me? I'd love to. So, it's a date.", she smirked contently.

It was a week later that Y/N pulled up to the tower, to be greeted by a very graceful looking Bucky. It was apparent that he had trimmed his beard and hair since they had first met and he was wearing the clothes he had bought earlier.

He was overjoyed to see her again but he felt self-conscious about his look, until Y/N announced herself.

"You look like a million Bucks.", she noted with the brightest smile he had seen on her yet.

And that was how Bucky got a new look and fell in love.

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen does double duty in 'Wind River' and 'Ingrid Goes West'

  LA TIMES – Room 64 at the Chateau Marmont is possibly the most Instagrammable spot in L.A. Its wrap-around terrace is suspended just below the homes built into the Hollywood Hills, tiny glass boxes that form their own constellation when night falls. Rumor has it Howard Hughes once lived in this two-bedroom penthouse, spying on girls at the pool below, decades before Lindsay Lohan and Lady Gaga crashed here for a slumber party.

  Today, however, it is home to the actress Elizabeth Olsen, who has arrived at the hotel with a team of people to help beautify her. High-heeled sandals are lined up on a desk. There are multiple pieces of luggage containing makeup kits. She is wearing borrowed diamonds on her fingers, paging through the room service menu, from which she can order whatever she would like.

  It’s a scene, no doubt, that would incite lust among her half-a-million Instagram followers. But she doesn’t feel like she knows how to do the setting justice. Just this morning, she attempted to photograph her breakfast, but then ended up deleting the image in haste.

  “I’m bad at it,” she says. “I’m bad at the lighting. I’m bad at the framing. I’m bad at the editing. When I look at my food, it looks pretty. When I look at it on a phone, it looks not pretty.”

  This is not a problem that her character in “Ingrid Goes West” would have. In the dark comedy — one of two films the 28-year-old is starring in this August — Olsen plays Taylor Sloane, a social media influencer who has established a reputation as the quintessential California cool girl. She tools around in a vintage Mercedes, is perennially reading Joan Didion’s “The White Album” and spends her weekends at a Joshua Tree abode. When she photographs her breakfast — avocado toast, obvi — it always looks pretty.

  Matt Spicer, who directed the film, felt certain that Olsen could embody this kind of aspirational figure. Sure, he was a fan of her acting, but he’d also noticed how often she popped up on best-dressed lists. She also had proximity to the style world via her sisters, the twins Mary-Kate and Ashley, who run two of their own fashion lines.

  “She has a natural charm and likability to her, which isn’t something you can really teach,” he says. “She’s one of those girls that other girls look up to. Since we did the movie, I think I’ve gained 1,000 Instagram followers that are just Lizzie fan accounts.”

  And for the most part, it appears that those fans gravitate to Olsen due to who she is off-screen. Even though she’s been part of the hugely popular Marvel universe for two years — playing the reality-altering Scarlet Witch in “The Avengers” and “Captain America” films — most headlines about her still tend to relate to her style choices. A quick Google search of her name turns up five Daily Mail articles from July alone, nearly all centered on her clothing.

  But Olsen has been steadily building up a respectable film resume since emerging as an “it girl” at the Sundance Film Festival in 2011, where her performance in “Martha Marcy May Marlene” signaled the arrival of a formidable new young Hollywood talent. A couple years later, she completed her acting studies at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts and began taking roles in movies from bigger filmmakers, including Spike Lee (“Old Boy”) and Gareth Edwards (“Godzilla”).

  Then Marvel came calling — a huge coup for Olsen, who grew up watching action-heavy flicks from the Indiana Jones and James Bond series with her father in Toluca Lake. But participating in the superhero franchise has also meant turning down a number of projects that could have shown off more of her acting ability — including a role in Yorgos Lanthimos’ critically acclaimed “The Lobster.”

  “There have been things more in line with the career arc I’d like to create that I had to turn down due to scheduling conflicts,” she explains. “You want to create a personal canon.”

  That’s what she’s hoping to bolster this month with “Ingrid Goes West” (Aug. 11) and “Wind River,” which debuts Aug. 4. The two movies, to put it mildly, are incredibly different. “Wind River,” which earned filmmaker Taylor Sheridan the top directing prize in the Cannes Film Festival’s Un Certain Regard section in May, is a dark murder mystery. Olsen stars opposite her “Avengers” co-star Jeremy Renner as a rookie FBI agent sent to Wyoming to investigate the death of a local woman on a remote Native American reservation.

  The role would require the actress to train with a veteran law enforcement officer and learn how to shoot a gun — opportunities she relished. She was more worried about flying to Park City, Utah, for production, because she hates the cold and high altitude.

  “So I bold-faced lied to her and said, ��We’re not shooting high and it’s not cold there,’” Sheridan recalls with a laugh. “I knew it would be, which was one of the things I loved about it — you can see it on her face in the movie that she really doesn’t like the cold. But she overcame it.”

  The director, who nabbed an Oscar nomination for writing “Hell or High Water” and also scripted “Wind River,” cast Olsen long before Renner. He says he wanted her from the “very, very, very beginning” because he responded to an “essence of confidence” she exuded — a certain kind of toughness. “There’s a blue collar element to her, which I mean as a compliment,” he explains. “That’s how grounded she is, and maybe it’s because she grew up with [Hollywood], she’s able to see it for what it is.”

  Renner, who plays a local U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent who takes Olsen’s character under his wing, admits he put off reading Sheridan’s script for months. (Chris Pine was originally cast in the role.) Eventually, the actor decided to sign onto the film because he wanted “to work with Lizzie in a different way — in a real way.”

  “Here, I got to observe somebody working in a very different capacity — with more emotional intelligence, not just being in a costume and the whole thing,” the actor says. “She had to be pretty bad-ass with a handgun, I’ll tell you what — and that’s coming from a guy who knows how to use a lot of weapons.”

  “Ingrid Goes West,” of course, didn’t require quite as much prep — though Olsen did start a secret Instagram account, following women like lifestyle guru Jenni Kayne, fashion blogger Aimee Song and Who What Wear founder Hillary Kerr for inspiration. Spicer encouraged her to start posting her own photographs, which she did: one of a crusty baguette with dipping oil, another of some Diptyque candles. (“Those first ones were a little bumpy,” the director says with a laugh. “Like, food that doesn’t quite look as appetizing as it should, or sunsets. Very obvious starter photos.”)

  Then, this winter, Olsen decided to bite the bullet and start her own public page.

  “I decided to join because I realized I was only taking something away from myself,” she explains. “It’s so funny that people like to pretend that they’re maybe or maybe not getting paid to post something. Financially, it’s a brilliant opportunity. Like, I’d really love to be a brand ambassador. I’d love to do a campaign. I think sometimes working with brands or different cosmetic companies — that can help people recognize your face and then they go see your movies. I was only hurting my opportunities by not participating.”

  While some young Oscar winners like Jennifer Lawrence and Emma Stone have held out on joining the platform, it has increasingly become commonplace for even serious actor types — Anne Hathaway, Brie Larson, Shailene Woodley — to open up on social media. Before, Olsen says, she was “being old-school about it” — something she learned from her sisters, who she acknowledges are “notoriously private people.” But even they supported her launching an Instagram account. And besides, she’s not good at being “super mysterious.” She’s too chatty for that. Plus, there are plenty of accounts she wants to keep stalking.

  “There are so many times I’ve seen a picture and thought, ‘Oh, God, how do they make those flower arrangements look so great all the time?’” says Olsen, who recently bought her first home in L.A. and is decorating it with an aesthetic she describes as Diane Keaton’s Hamptons beach house in “Something’s Gotta Give.” “Or: ‘How expensive are those chairs I’m looking at on Pinterest? Did they find them at some place I’ve never heard of? How do you have that kind of eye?’”

  The rest of the photoshoot is posted in the gallery.

    Gallery Link:

Studio Photoshoots > 2017 > Session 017

  Press: Elizabeth Olsen does double duty in ‘Wind River’ and ‘Ingrid Goes West’ was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[creativeashproductions]

Innocent Series [Part 2]

Summary: Blake Ainsley’s always had a rule that she wouldn’t getting into a relationship with someone outside of SHIELD, the problem came in the form of a tall brunette hunter trying to be normal. Blake and Sam believe each other to be too innocent for the world they both know, one that involved chaos, death, blood and pain. Will they ever know about each others ‘real life’?    

Characters: Blake Ainsley/OC, Sam Winchester, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: Swearing, blood, a little fluff, and a little angst.

A/N: This tumblr writings is getting easier I guess. I hope people enjoy this.

Part One

Masterlist

The next week was easy to fade into the life of a normal civilian almost as if she was a soldier returning from a tour. If only it could be so simple without the world nearly always in shambles involving criminals that required only the training of an Avenger to put down. It was a simple Saturday with the floppy haired love reading a book with a raven haired young woman nestled into his side dropping off.

The door was knocked on a few times but Sam was much to lazy to rouse you from a sleep that didn’t involve tight features. It was a welcoming time of peace to see the innocence on Blake’s face but the ever present knocking would disturb her if he didn’t answer. Slowly with his training he managed to place her head on a pillow before opening the door for a familiar face he couldn’t quite place.

“Sam Winchester? My name is Steve Rogers and I’m here asking for the assistance of Blake Ainsley.” The buff blonde man stated.

“What the…” Sam trailed moving his arm to the table on the wall wear a bowl holding keys sat. Under the table was a gun for safety that only he know of.

“I wouldn’t touch that.” Another voice said from behind him. He stiffened looking to see a woman that easily screamed highly trained soldier, “Kid. Don’t test us. We need Blake now.”

“What the fuck!” A feminine voice screeched from the couch, “Steve this is low!”

“Blake what the hell is going on?” The calm tone raised the hairs on her neck. In this situation she would have lost her shit in Sam’s position but instead he was dead calm with an undertone of coolness.

“Sorry. We’re only here to pick her up, it’s only questioning that is just simple routine.” Natasha waved off the suspicion, “We’ll have her back tomorrow afternoon.”

Without a choice the girl packed a quick go-bag before shoving light weight black boots from her custom uniform on her dainty, quiet feet. Kissing Sam on the cheek the group disappeared with a promise to return. It was then that Sam really needed answers about the nearly double life the girl he envisioned sharing a future with was holding back from him.

Routine his ass. Sam was beyond annoyed at the disruption of the downtime they were supposed to share. Hell why did she need to be interviewed! Did she commit some felony he didn’t know about?

In the covert van parked in a small secluded alleyway a meeting brief was happening between Blake, Steve and Agent Romanoff on the newest mission. She wouldn’t give up anymore than a quick mention of the time span it would take for the entire mission to finish compared to the one previous.

“Alright. Buckle kids, we’re going fast.” Natasha cautioned throwing the van into drive as soon as possible. The apartment building growing smaller and smaller as did the silhouette of the man in the window.

“Does he know?” Steve questioned checking the shield over as he took off the hoodie that had initially covered his top half of the uniform.

“No. I don’t want him to know as long as possible. He’s too busy looking after his grades, he came from a bad childhood.” Blake replied leaning against the wall.

“Maybe you should tell him?” Natasha replied pulling a hard left pushing her further into the metal wall, “I mean you’ve been together for a long time and you already know about his life.”

“Actually I don’t know a lot of his childhood or family life.” Blake replied pulling a gun out of the bag that Natasha brought for her, “I think it’s fair that if I don’t know much about his than maybe I shouldn’t tell him about my life.”

“That’s a healthy relationship.” Steve raised an eyebrow. Blake sent him an roll of her eyes before pushing the gun into a holster. All he really needed was his damn shield so he was set while Natasha and her had to stow away weapons.

“Shut up Cap.” Blake chuckled, “Let’s go save some hostages and than I can stretch out at home.”

                                                            ➰

The jet was flying over the Indian ocean prepping for the extraction of the hostages while STRIKE leader Brock Rumlow gave them the information regarding the situation with little empathy to the people on compromised ship. They were walking while Blake strapped a few knives into hidden pockets of her suit.

“The target is a mobile launch platform The Lemurian Star. It was sending their last payload when pirates took them ninety three minutes ago.” Rumlow explained.

“Any demands?” Blake questioned. Rumlow glanced at the dark haired girl before responding.

“A billion and a half.”

“Why so steep?” Steve questioned the physically older man.

“It’s SHIELD’s.” Rumlow admitted.

“In other words. It’s trespassing but not off course.” Blake crossed her arms sending a look at Natasha and Steve. She was fully with Steve’s mindset on the way SHIELD did their work now compared to the reason why it was launched in the first place.

“I’m sure they have a good reason.” Natasha said in her usual tone of voice.

“You know I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.” Steve said towards the agents around him.

“Try being in the business since age five.” Blake raised an immaculate eyebrow at him. She had a similar story to Natasha’s when a group related to the Black Widow project decided to try it in North America. She was a product of the experimentation before SHIELD disbanded them.

“Relax, it’s not that complicated.” Romanoff smiled at the two other people she rode with.

“How many pirates?” Blake questioned for both Steve and her.

“Twenty-five top mercs. Led by this guy. Georges Batroc.” Rumlow said pulling up a photo of the man on a electronic monitor, “Ex-TGSE, action division-“

“He’s at the top of Interpol’s ‘red notice’ before the French demobilized him.” Blake mumbled looking the photo over repeatedly, “He had thirty-six kill missions.”

“This guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.” Rumlow finished.

“Hostages?” Steve questioned finishing prepping for the mission. He only had to wait for for the time to get on the ship.

“Uh…mostly techs. One officer, Jasper Sitwell.” Rumlow pulls up the photo of Sitwell as he continued to explain, “They’re in the gallery.”

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship? Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Blake, you’ll help me with finding Batroc and take down wandering people. Rumlow you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to life pods. Get them out. Let’s go.”

“STRIKE you heard the Captain, gear up!” Rumlow yelled as he himself began dressing into the needed gear.

Blake followed suit getting her parachute securely on her body versus being like Steve and risking death. Checking her weapons again she cracked her neck and waiting for the okay to jump; it was exhilarating to jump out a flying piece of transportation without dying.

“Secure channel seven.” Steve ordered to the people on the jet.

“Seven secure.” Nat replied giving him a smirk.

“Did you do anything fun Saturday?” Blake questioned smirking as she knew the answer would be a negative despite the pressure to go on at least one date. He had been out of the ice for quite some time and would blame his work schedule.

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead…so no not really.” Steve retorted not bothering to hide the sadness that overcame his face for a fraction of a second.

“Coming up by the drop zone, Cap.” Rumlow informed as he watched from the open hatch.

“You know, if you ask Kristen out from statistics, she’ll probably say yes.” Natasha interjected.

“She’s a nice girl.” Blake informed her female friend, “She’s been single for longer than you’ve be awake since your popsicle sleep.”

“That’s why I don’t ask.” Steve explained easily. He didn’t want to date anyone else when his heart still belonged to the spunky woman he had left back in the 40’s.

“Rogers are you too shy or too scared to make a move on the poor woman? She’s been attracted to you for so long and for good reasons.” Blake said motioning to his body.

“Too busy!” Steve yelled over the loud wind as he jumped out of the jet.

“Was he wearing a parachute?” A random agent asked staring at the now empty space.

Rumlow, Nat and Blake shared a similar smile as they replied with a definite no. Captain didn’t have a death wish but he was still physically a young man with a very well matured mind and heart, he didn’t bother hiding from death when he could easily die in the shower.

Part Three

[secondsightcinema]

Love Letters: Dear Mr. Rains

Dear Mr. Rains,

Or perhaps I should say

Dear Captain Renault, …Jack Griffin (The Invisible Man), …Alex Sebastian (Notorious), …Adam Lemp (Four Daughters), …Prince John (The Adventures of Robin Hood), …Nutsy (Moontide), …Senator Paine (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington), …Job Skeffington, …Dr. Jaquith (Now, Voyager), …and all the other roles you inhabited so magnificently on stage, screen, and in your own remarkable life—

It’s your birthday. Today is the 129th anniversary of your birth, November 10, 1889. Happy birthday! I hope the afterlife has fabulous birthday parties, and that you’re celebrating with all your old friends and colleagues: your acting pupils, Gielgud and Laughton; your friends from the West End, Noel Coward and James Whale; writers you worked with, like George Bernard Shaw, and directors like Michael Curtiz…and of course the ladies—lots of ladies. Not sure if you’d invite your ex-wives, but naturally you will be celebrating with your great love, Rosemary, who left you bereaved in 1964, three years before you joined her.

You contain multitudes. All great actors do, especially character actors. You are never less than utterly convincing in every kind of role and movie, but your own fire and intelligence, your own fine intensity, are always present in that amazing gallery of portraits.

I have loved you for a long time, along with legions of fans winding back through the decades, spooling through your films and long before and after that through all your stage appearances in London New York, starting when you were only 10 years old.

Unlike with some of my other dead boyfriends, there was no Aha! moment watching you in a particular role when I suddenly realized you had my heart. Maybe that’s because you were present in so many wonderful films of the ’30s and ’40s that you sneaked up on me before I even thought about it. Pretty sure our first encounter was Casablanca, where, surrounded by an incredible Warner Bros. dream cast, you came close to walking away with the film in your pocket.

Captain Renault is your calling card, the one you will be forever remembered as, just as Frank Morgan is indelibly the wizard of Oz, no matter his long list of other distinguished performances. Your Renault is an irresistible survivor: cheerfully corrupt, unapologetically self-interested, and always on the make. His sexual exploitation of pretty women desperate for exit visas may in our time prove to be his least excusable offense, but I think Renault will probably weather even that. Casablanca will always be with us.

But here you are, 129 and still devastating. I’ve been watching your movies and reading David Skal’s biography, Claude Rains: An Actor’s Voice, which so evocatively conjures your childhood in a series of poor London neighborhoods in the 1890s. Your father, Frederick, was a grandiose failure, an occasional actor, singer, and songwriter. You survived, one of only three children (and the only son) to do so among the 10 your loving, mentally unstable mother, Emily, brought into this world. She did her best to shield you from the harshness your old man lavished on his only son. Imagining you as a child in those tough streets, restlessly looking for a way to do more than survive, has made me love you more than ever.

I had heard a little about your childhood speech impediments, how you called yourself “Willie Wains”—the Ws for Rs, the stutter, the Cockney accent so thick that your only child, your beloved daughter, Jessica, said she could not understand you when you sang the Cockney songs of your childhood, that it was like you became a different person.

But what was the mysterious force that drove you? Aside from hunger, I mean, and the constant awareness of how precarious your family’s position was. The first spark for what became your stellar theatrical career was when you left your job selling newspapers to follow a boy to the church where he sang in the choir, lured by the glamour of his costume, and got yourself a spot in that choir (and your own costume!). Which led, eventually, to your first appearance onstage, then to a job as a theater “call boy,” and eventually assistant stage manager, stage manager, and actor. Two men, one your boss and mentor, Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, one of the greatest actor-producers of the London stage, took an interest in you and helped you to conquer your speech difficulties, which was the first step to preparing you to become an actor. One of them taught you to roll your Rs, which you did for the rest of your life, and also insisted you educate yourself by reading—you had left school in 2nd grade to go to work, to bring in a few pennies to help your family, who so often struggled to eat and keep a roof over their heads.

Early on, you were caught stealing change from an actor’s pockets, and fired. You took the money because you were so hungry, but when you were fired and had to return to school, when your mother wept and your old man beat you repeatedly for it, you felt the shame in your bones and swore never to steal again. A few months later, you got a job at another theater, and your career resumed.

You were such a little boy to be so stoic in the face of your father’s frequent beatings. You never cried. But that’s not uncommon with abused children, they learn not to flinch, they won’t give the abuser the satisfaction. Skal writes that Frederick used to beat you in the garden shed, Emily’s face floating agonized in the window of the flat. So small, but with the spark of the ferocity that would eventually find its way into your acting.

There is something so moving about you and a few other incredibly gifted actors who survived childhoods of Dickensian deprivation and loneliness—Cary Grant, Charles Chaplin, and Barbara Stanwyck—children who were largely left on your own to scavenge and somehow, miraculously, survive. Among this small group, you are alone in having had both parents, though like Chaplin and Grant, your mother was institutionalized for mental illness. Yours, unlike theirs, returned home, though she would have repeated bouts of illness that took her away from home throughout her life.

You traveled so far from that series of flats in neighborhoods that ranged from squalid to genteel poverty. But always, no matter what, Emily kept the steps tidy, brass on the door, and a paper fan on the fireplace. When there was enough money, your father would invite colleagues to dinner, and at its conclusion your mother would always ask, “Would anyone like some cheese?” Then your family all held their breath. Fortunately, no one ever wanted any, because there was none—the cheese course was out of reach at the family’s best of times, but your mother’s sense of propriety drove her to ask. Maybe it was partly that yearning for something nicer, which you had in common with her, that drove you so far. Frederick came from a prosperous family, and you never forgot a visit to one of his relatives in the country, and later in life, when you were successful and well-to-do yourself, you bought yourself a farm in Pennsylvania where you enjoyed country life to the hilt.

You came so far. At first, when you were what, 10, 11?—it was the long commute from the family current flat to the West End, an hour or more each way. Then as you grew a little older and rose in your profession, you began to tour with productions, and by your mid-teens you had traveled around England and Ireland, and then to Berlin. A little later, in the early 1910s, you came to America for the first time as advance man for another production. By your mid-20s you had traveled widely and become a respected member of your profession. During WWI, after that service-ending gas attack that took 90 percent of the sight in your right eye and gave your voice its distinctive rough undertone [sigh], you returned to London determined not to go back to the theater (after life at the front as a sharpshooter, the theater seemed “sissy”), it took a single lunch with colleagues to entice you back onto the stage. And that’s when your acting career really took off.

Reading about the London theater scene of the era, the shows you were in then, working with friends like Noel Coward and Elsa Lanchester, as an acting teacher at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts to Gielgud and Laughton, famously…appearing in a number of original productions of Shaw, as well as in avant garde plays—my favorite was The Insect Play, in which both Gielgud and Lanchester appeared, four episodes in which actors played butterflies, warrior ants, and other six-legged crawlies. It sounds like such an exciting scene, so much fresh creative energy and talent.

But as the professional triumphs began to accumulate, as you began to make enough money to subsidize your family and to dress elegantly, you also began to accumulate romantic disasters. You said toward the end of your life that you had loved a lot of women, but only one had loved you back.

Is that one of the stories of your life that you told yourself? It’s heartbreaking. You were ill, grieving the loss of your Rosemary, your last wife, presumably the one who had loved you back. You married six times, for periods ranging from months to 21 years. The first marriage was undone, perhaps, by World War I, which took you away from your actress bride. After returning from the military hospital to London, you caught her in the arms of another soldier, whom she subsequently married, but she seems not to have lost her yen for you.

Let’s face it: You have It. Had you been a few inches taller you might not have become a character actor until later in life; being 5’6″ sealed your fate. But the lack of height didn’t read as a lack of stature, as you discovered as a call boy observing a successful actor who was not physically imposing. You saw that his excellent posture and confidence overcame actual measurements. And just as you practiced to overcome your speech impediments and accent, you practiced carrying yourself with authority.

You created a container for your larger-than-life self, for your wit, your intelligence, your ardor. As I’ve seen written repeatedly, you are able to cut a man to bits just by slightly raising your right eyebrow. You set hearts a-flutter for decades. Matter of fact, my dear sir, you are still doing it today, 51 years after you left us.

Bette Davis was in love with you. Shortly after your death in 1967, she told your daughter—gushed, really—about you as both actor and man. She said you had brought your wife and daughter to the set of Mr Skeffington to keep her in line, and that she bet your dressing room / trailer was as busy with lady callers as Grand Central Station. That she would have loved to get you drunk… I mean, dayum, Bette, why don’t you tell us how you really feel?

Anyway, I hope you will forgive me for bringing up such personal matters when we just met, but…with a world full of women who adore you, how on Earth did you wind up marrying five who didn’t love you back? Or did some of them love you, but you couldn’t see it because you believed they didn’t or couldn’t?

What I’m asking, Dr. Jaquith, is if the sad story is that women did not love you, which we know is not true, or that you repeatedly managed to marry women who did not love you, which is possible, or that you were so convinced that they could not love you that you were unable to perceive that they did?

Reading about your jealousy at your first and second wife’s betrayals, pounding on the door of your flat when you heard another man’s voice inside, I think of Alex Sebastian in Notorious, realizing  that the beautiful wife he adores is a spy who is not only betraying his love, she very well may get him killed. And of Job Skeffington, surely the epitome of unrequited love, married to a woman whose vanity renders her incapable of loving anyone until her looks are gone: maybe the power of your extraordinary performance is partly generated by your own pervasive sense of not being loved back.

We all have these stories about ourselves, whether we are aware of them or not. We live by them. They have real consequences in the choices we make, how we interpret the contours of our lives. And for the artists among us, like you, they are origin stories, potent emotional fuel that inform and drive your work.

So on the one hand, I hate to think you believed yourself not loved back when a world of women love you still, and on the other, maybe if you did believe it, it helped drove your absolutely incredible work, and that is no small thing.

Anyway, look at the time, I better wrap this up. But I want to thank you for your beautiful work, for all the pleasure you have brought me in my long, obsessive movie watching life. It’s been wonderful to have this blogathon as an excuse to spend so much time with you, watching your films, reading about your life, speculating about your inner life. At the age of 129, your work still speaks to us, and thanks to film, the only time machine we will ever have, you are still racking up female conquests. May our love reach you. May you, at long last, know fully and deeply, that we love you back.

Here’s more Rains-related posts:

The Invisible Man

Now, Voyager

This post was written for The Claude Rains Blogathon, hosted by Pure Entertainment Preservation Society. Head on over and check out the other swell entries.

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