#and then he gets good at it and monetizes it as a side hustle
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Because I’m still feeling very Eurovision: “I have a ghost in my body (and he is a lyricist)”
Someone suggested it elsewhere as a fic title and I couldn’t get it out of my mind since
Thank you! <3 Love you! <3
this feels so basic and like low hanging fruit, but I’m thinking of an au where obi-wan is paid to write love letters to strangers for clients who want to seduce the object of their affections but are horrible at romance or very self-conscious.
and then anakin contracts him for a series of letters he can send to Padmé who is 100% definitely the love of his life, and it starts out easily enough—obi-wan has a policy of one phone call pre letter, to talk through with the client about what they want to say, and then a phone call post letter writing, to read the finished product to the client to get the green light before he sends it off.
but somewhere in between hearing anakin talk about his feelings and the future he imagines with himself and Padme + actually meeting him in person (purely by accident, through some hijinks where they recognize each other’s voices in a crowded elevator or something), obi-wan falls in love.
and anakin finds it harder and harder to remember that the voice on the other side of the phone is reading love letters destined for someone else—not actually murmuring sweet and beautifully crafted love confessions to him.
(They were always going to fall in love)
send me a made-up fic title, and I’ll tell you what I would write for it
#asks#obikin#bonus points if this is just a side hobby for obi-wan because he had a failed relationship in college#where he couldn’t emote right and lost his girlfriend because of it#so he started writing love letters and poetry just to practice#and then he gets good at it and monetizes it as a side hustle#while also doing like an office job#so it’s totally possible they could be working together in the same office just different floors#the head snap around when anakin hears obi-wan’s voice outside of the phone in an elevator talking with someone
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Dorm Life
Cynthia was so happy that she loved her roommate as much as she did. She'd been a nervous wreck for the month leading up to move in over fears that they wouldn't get along, but from the moment she'd met Bev, she'd known that this was going to be a match made in heaven. They'd lay in their beds well into the night talking about everything in their lives: their classes, their homes, their interest in boys. It was like having a sister for the first time.
But Bev liked talking about one thing more than anything else: her dreams.
She wanted so much out of life, and she'd mapped out the perfect way to get it. She had her course track, her career, her vacations, and her retirement all planned out already. Cynthia was in awe of her preparedness. There was nothing Bev couldn't achieve with her planner in hand. She'd even developed a side-hustle on campus to make money. When she'd told Cynthia what is was, though, she almost gasped.
Bev had learned hypnotic inductions from her father who was a hypnotherapist. He'd taught her years ago to enter a trance on her own to keep herself grounded and motivated. It hadn't been hard to adapt it to put others under with similar techniques. Monetizing it had been easy. People came to her and told her their secret desires, and Bev helped them come true. She'd been playing hypnotic matchmaker since the start of the semester.
Cynthia reeled at the information, unsure about its morality, but the more Bev explained it to her, the more she came around.
She trusted Bev like a sister.
She even told her once about a boy in her geography class who she'd had her eye on. She'd spend the whole lecture watching him instead of the professor. Three days later, he knocked on the door with a bouquet of flowers and asked her to dinner. Cynthia's mouth hung open as she glanced at her roommate. Bev just smiled and winked and shooed them out the door.
"Take care of her!" she called after.
"I will!" the boy called back to her.
And he did. He'd taken such good care of her that night. Fancy dinner. Paid the bill. And when the night was over, he took her back to his dorm for a movie. And he was a perfect gentleman! He never tried anything inappropriate once. That is, until Cynthia began to act inappropriate herself. The second their lips met, his whole attitude changed. It was like he'd been switched into a different mode. Even so, everything he did was exactly how she liked it. It's like he'd been programmed with all her favorite things in mind. She thought of Bev and realized he probably had.
The next day - late in the afternoon - he walked her back to her dorm and gave her a light kiss goodbye. It had been a perfect date. But when she entered her room, she found Bev sitting on the sofa staring at her phone and looking troubled. Cynthia went over to thank her and ask her what was wrong, but Bev just shook her head slightly and said she had a hard choice she had to make.
They talked for a while longer as Cynthia showered and got dressed up. Bev had a wonderful voice even when she was upset. She loved to listen to it. After a few hours of talking, she seemed to be doing better, even though they hadn't really discussed what was wrong. At least, Cynthia didn't think they had. She couldn't really remember what was said. She'd been too busy getting all prettied up for her date tonight.
Finally the knock came at the door. Cynthia was so excited. She pulled it open and there stood Mr. Bellis, her geography professor. God he was so hot. She'd wanted to jump him since day one. She'd spend all lecture just watching him and fantasizing about what lay under all those clothes. She bit her lip lightly and asked if he was ready.
"Take care of him," Bev said softly to her roommate.
Cynthia stared at him dreamily with nothing else on her mind.
"I will," she answered distantly as he lead her from her room.
She never saw him hand the large envelope to Bev with a nod and a smile.
Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖
#tidal story#fem dom#male dom#fem sub#male sub#teaching moment#brainwashing#hypno fantasy#hypno toy#hypnok1nk#hypnosis#hypnosub#hypnotic#mind conditioning
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Chapter Three: Fate Rewritten
The Missing Title
Helmut Zemo x Reader
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Summary: After bumping into Sharon, you're escorted back to her apartment in High-Town. What lies in wait is way more than you'd anticipated in store for your night.
Words: 6.4k
Warnings: Partying, Alcohol, Power Dynamics, Semi-Smutty, Inferences toward sex, Age Gap
Mentions of: Government, Betrayal, Treason, Hypocrisy, Grief
A/N: I've been waiting so long to get to this part! Ahhh, I feel like this is really when things will start to change, considering the reader's backstory and her growing relationships with the guys. Not to mention that some of the main plot points are finally being set in motion. I decided to not fully wind up writing them together since the chapter got so long, but I'm sure it'll def pop up in flashbacks later on down the line.
It's safe to say that you're more than a little out of it by the time you guys get into Sharon's vehicle. She insists on driving, and the guys need a good view of Zemo to make sure he's in check. That leaves the three of you in the back: Sam, you, and Bucky. As your journey takes you back a similar way you'd come, you can't help but still be fascinated with the lights. What's Sharon got in store for you all? What's her plan? While you're not super familiar with her, you wonder what she was doing in Low Town Madripoor in the first place. Surely, she hasn't been following you all this whole time.
Once she parks outside a luxury-style apartment, you follow Sam out the back door and follow Sharon into her place. "Woah," you whisper, taking in the fact that not only one security guard--slash--doorman stands out front, but two. Through a big metal sliding door lies an art exhibit, glass containers lined with neon blue lights illuminate different sculptures and craftsmanship. Real antique and pricey-looking things.
"Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well," Sam comments as he walks beside Sharon alongside the containers. Whatever she'd been going through when you'd first had your run-in has clearly dissipated as she seems to come to life upon Sam's teasing.
"Well, at some point I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I can get for a real Monet?" She asks, gesticulating with her arms as she explains her situation. While Zemo lingers a few steps behind you with Bucky trailing, you can't help but slow your steps upon this information.
"Easy, deactivate your hustle mode," Sam warns, "You sell fake Monets." He wants to clarify. While Sharon might pretend to allude to a profited criminal life such as Zemo, Sam clearly thinks she's a goodie-two-shoes.
"No, she means real. This gallery specializes in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics," Zemo explains nonchalantly as he follows Sharon, continuing to round the exhibit.
"So it's true then? What they say..." You ask them, eyes shifting from Zemo onto Sharon, then finally Bucky who stands a few feet before you while Sam occupies the space by your side.
"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this," Bucky answers, eyes still taking in the pastel-dotted canvas.
"There's no way," you whisper to yourself, voice trailing off as you take in the scenery. Heading down the two steps, you approach Bucky's side, eyes scanning over the Monet painting before you. You've seen his other works in museums, though now you know they were fakes. Regardless, you don't think you'd be able to tell the difference.
"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good old Sam," your friend complains, still stationed where you stood a few moments ago.
"Yeah? What's Google say?" Bucky asks, a playful tone curling around his words as he physically rounds Sam. This elicits your attention as you shift your gaze onto Sam, glad he's now enlightened onto the, well... not-so theory of conspiracy you and Bucky both seem to know about.
"No shit," Sam exclaims, clearly bewildered by the thought. In all honesty, you can't blame him. To think people would do something so greedy and frivolous? Useless? It takes seeing it firsthand to really believe, and it seems Sam's eyes are finally opening to that aspect.
"Come on, guys-" Sharon calls from the stairs, Zemo waiting a few steps behind her as they stare in your general direction. "You need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour," She informs.
While you don't question her, you are curious as to what sort of clients and business she does... besides selling art, that is. There's a world of art, of course, yet you know that there's only so much a lifestyle of it can afford. Following the group upstairs, you're taken aback by the fact that this whole place is starting to seem like Sharon's.
"Of course, I've got all this stuff out here for you guys-" Sharon eyes the men, "-but I've got a few things you can borrow for tonight. Come with me," she commands.
Following Sharon through a series of archways and pristine doors you find yourself in a massive bedroom. Intricate patterns are embroidered on the comforter, and through an open doorway, you can see that there's a walk-in closet. It's precisely where she's led you, her hands gesturing for you to follow. "I know. Nice right? Every girl needs a walk-in," she comments before chuckling to herself.
Taken aback by the wide array of shoes on the shelves, purses on hangars, coats, dresses, pants, and shirts all hang neatly in their place, their own rack for each category of piece. Though you aren't sure where to even start, let alone if you even want to. Everything is too expensive, you couldn't possibly use them. Sharon speaks up.
Her fingers run across the fabric, only stopping once she spots something, though her back is to you and therefore your view is obscured. "Try this on, I have the shoes to go with them and together? I'm sure you'll have a great night!" She says over her shoulder before winking. With a quick hand she tosses the hangar to you, which you scramble to catch. "I'll see you downstairs, then."
The dress is a plain black fabric, a halter top cut, two slits on either side of your hips at the start of your thighs. It's a little more exposing than what Zemo had picked, though with everything that's happened tonight, you feel for some reason that you can't bring yourself to care. If someone sees something, it's not like it's the end of the world. Besides, with this dress you could wear a thong or panties. Though the panties would have to be matching or sexy, intentionally meant to be seen as a fashion statement. Deciding to just go for the dress, no bra needed and your panties already discarded, you're glad for the comfy snug fit the fabric offers. It's far more stretchy and accommodating than Zemo's. The shoes you have on work, the only thing left to do is to put your hair up. Finding a claw clip on Sharon's vanity, you figure she won't mind if you borrow it for tonight. After all, it's a lot less intimate than a dress.
With a wet wipe from the bathroom, you're all good to go. Makeup is natural enough to pass as anyone, hair is different, so is your dress, and while the shoes may not be, with the darkness of the gallery you're sure no one will notice. Especially not if there's going to be drinking; and no good party lacks a variety of drink. Heading back to the foyer Sharon had originally brought you to, you find the guys settling in nicely.
Taking in the intricate pieces placed throughout the room, you inspect each one carefully. "Much better," Sharon comments, heels clicking against the wooden floors announcing her return.
"What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam asks. The shuffle of fabric and the faint tinkling of metal tells you he's changing his shirt again! Trying to find something suitable for him is practically impossible, and this, you swear. Out of your peripheral vision, you see Sharon place something on the arm of the couch while Zemo stands by the bar.
"They'll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition," She informs.
"Good to know," you joke to yourself. Fingers running along the smooth wood of the desk behind the couch, you don't notice how the comment seems to have everyone's eyes lingering on you for a moment before Sam chuckles and shakes his head.
"Look, sorry I didn't call, but after the Blip and the chaos, I just..." He attempts. This piques your interest, not initially intent on eavesdropping, though this sounds like something a lover might say. Did Sam and Sharon-? You don't wanna know... do you?
"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?" Her tone softens, a genuine question reaching out to form some sort of connection. An attempt to regain a friendship, you think. "I mean the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it's all hypocrisy."
Eyes rising from the necklace displayed by the clothes rack, your eyebrows furrow in surprise. Wasn't Sharon CIA? To join the government so outright, then denounce it only a few years later? Something's fishy about it and eerie in a way you don't like. Even if what she's saying elicits a subconscious subtle nod of your head.
"He knows. And not so deep down," Zemo comments with a raise of his drink. This garners everyone's attention for a moment. You can't help but stare as you linger on him. Curious... Questioning.
"By the way, how is the new Cap?" Sharon asks, hands in her pockets. You aren't CIA by any means, but you know how to read body language. She's clearly got her guard up, but for what? You're not sure.
"Don't get me started," Bucky groans.
"Please, you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit," Sharon argues. You round the room, peeking through the windowed panes of the glass doors into surrounding rooms to see what goodies lie there. If the rooms you've seen so far are anything to go by, you're sure the rest of the apartment complex is loaded with treasures. "Before you were his pet psychopath-" it doesn't take looking to know she's referring to Zemo, considering her positioning and emphasis, "-you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend."
Although you don't comment, you can't help the way your lips curl inward in a silent attempt at holding back any sort of chortle or chuckle from emerging.
"Wow. She's kind of awful now," Bucky comments. While you might guess he may be joking sarcastically, you can't be sure. Is he just insulting her? Being passive-aggressive? You can't tell.
"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum," Sam informs, passing you as he rounds the couch the other way and sits across from Bucky.
"You guys really should steer clear of all this for your own safety," Sharon warns. Being in Madripoor and clearly in a position of wealth and selling artwork underground, she must know the rumors.
"We know it's a risk, but we won't leave until we find the person who cracked the code," Sam responds, unfazed and defiant of her advice. Elbows on his knees he leans in closer.
"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel," Bucky discloses. Sharon gets up and crosses Bucky to get to the bar, Zemo gets out of her way and walks toward you to sit in the lone chair by the side table.
"Nagel works for the Power Broker," Sharon replies. A dissatisfied hum rumbles in your chest. You don't want to think about the past, nor worry about how you're going to find the Power Broker to stop the supplier.
"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared," Sam offers, all the men's eyes intent on her as she pours a drink. Fingers running over the edge of a tapestry hung on the opposite wall, you listen intently.
"You haggling with my life?" She asks, tone sounding genuine to you.
"Not like that," Sam corrects.
"I don't buy that," She responds, and really, you can't blame her. "You pretending like you can clear my name."
You have to admit that Sharon is starting to grow on you in some sense. She's smart, that much is clear. While you don't outwardly boast the things you know will be demonized, she does, and you can respect her for that, if anything. Though you haven't weighed in much, you've been listening. Of course everyone has their judgments and suspicions, and while you may be leaping to conclusions, there's a fishy suspicion brewing in your mind. You only wonder if anyone else is catching onto what Sharon is putting down. Eyes flickering over to Zemo for a moment, you notice him meet your gaze. Immediately looking back to Sharon, you can't help the tiny smile that snags at your lips, blush forming on your cheeks. Originally intending to gather intel, for some reason you couldn't handle the pressure of his gaze.
"-I'm willing to try if you are," you zone back in on what they're saying. "They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he's met," Sam points out. A chuckle escapes your lips and you shrink in on yourself, not having expected that.
"-I heard that," Bucky comments to Sam, though his eyes and dissatisfied look are aimed at you. You don't even have to see it from your peripheral to feel his stare, the sense of it sending an internal sort of shiver down your spine.
"I don't trust charity," Sharon posits, intent on finishing their conversation.
"All right, a deal then. You help us out, and we get your name cleared." Sharon accepts Sam's extended hand and they shake on it. Downing her drink, she places the used tumbler aside and starts toward the door you'd entered from.
"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find." With that, she's out of the foyer and onto whatever business it is that she's doing.
"Trouble," Zemo repeats playfully with a shrug of his shoulders, a mischievous look in his eyes.
"Yeah, that's what you better not be," you warn. Eyes meeting his, you can't help but find that his playfulness has spread to you, even if you know you can switch into gear and act in accordance with the mission if need be.
"Well, you know me," Zemo taunts. With a swig of his drink, he lays the finished glass atop the coaster on the table beside his chair.
"That's the problem," Bucky quips, standing as Zemo moves to follow where Sharon had gone.
--------
You have to admit, with wherever Sharon stands in your likes, she can throw a good party... that much is clear. Originally determined to view all the authentic art pieces lingering around the gallery, it hadn't actually taken as long as you'd have thought. With a drink or two offered along the way, you can feel yourself start to loosen up. Hors d'oeuvres are littered throughout the party, and with Sharon being such the great hostess, you hardly feel the usual sense of guilt for indulging when it comes to fancy parties. It also doesn't help that they're really good and you hadn't eaten a lot, really, since Zemo's jet was scarce of in-date snacks. Eating expired foods wasn't really a risk you were willing to participate in today.
As the night goes on you find your way to the dance floor after a little persuasion from Sam. While you all might still be focused on your mission, the excuse of blending in is one of necessity. It's not really a party if there isn't dancing, right? The Avenger eventually decides to ditch you in favor of making small talk with some of the other partygoers. He's most likely trying to seek information, knowing him.
Dancing with Sam was different than dancing with Zemo. You hadn't anticipated for this to happen, but considering he's maintained a central viewpoint for the boys, that just so happens to be the dance floor. He's discarded his jacket at some point clearly as his chest is in full display in the plum sweater he's donning. It'd started off friendly, simply busting out your lamest dance moves for fun in the same vicinity. Yet, as the songs played on and you grew closer in distance to make conversation, the vibe between you shifted.
There's a reason they say not to mix drinks... and now you know why. It takes a matter of a half hour for your resolve to break, the inner dialogue, the constant fighting of the comical angel and demon on either shoulder bickering with one another. Overall, the devil had won- there was no use in denying what you want, that you have a plan, and are pursuing it. You're going after what you want. Using any chance to get closer, any excuse to feel his hands on you. the recent memory of his hot breath fanning across your neck, the spark when your lips met... it's still heavy on your mind and hot in your blood.
"You should know this one," you joke across the few feet between you as you sway to the music, the beat of the music ramping up, the bass and beats getting faster and faster toward that familiar climax you all know so well. 'There's not a soul out there-' bouncing to the rhythm, you let your hips sway as your arms find their way above your head.
'Give Me,
Give Me,
Give Me A Man After Midnight~'
It's a remix, the techno music is very different from the original, however, you can't deny you enjoy the song. It's fitting if nothing else. If anyone were to ask why you want this, you couldn't explain it--not rationally--and looks aren't a good enough reason, you know that better than anyone. While there are certain characteristics that could be said of his mannerisms and personality, you wouldn't dare to compliment or lead to the ego of a madman overextending its peace. Many would argue it already had, after all.
He doesn't seem to mind either. Whether you're simply keeping up the act, even if it's unnecessary here, you both find yourselves indulging in the ambiance around you. Breath heavy with the adrenaline of dancing and the higher temperature of lots of bodies on the dance floor, you're being bumped and jostled by the people around you. His hand extends at some point, loosely wrapping around your waist as the two of you draw nearer to one another. Over all, it's safe to say that Sharon may just have predicted your 'great night'.
As it draws closer to the wee hours of the morning, Sam makes his way around to advise you all of making it an early night. Tomorrow is supposed to be busy, so it makes sense. While the four of you head upstairs in a staggered manner, you find that once you're changed and sat on the bed that you still don't feel ready to officially end the night. Eyes drawn to the red dress and accompanying apparel you'd borrowed earlier, you can't help the thoughts that follow. However lewd they may be, it doesn't stop your mind from drawing up a vague plan.
Part of you knows it's a bad idea, that you shouldn't do this, but then again... what's the worse it could lead to? A one night stand? There's no reason that leads you to believe, rationally, that any of the same thoughts are going through his head at all. Therefore, you continue your trapse down the hallway. The wooden floors creak every so often, and you don't miss the way that Sam's clicking fingers on the keyboard come to a momentary halt before returning to its previous pace. It'd go unnoticed if you didn't know better, but you know he's well aware of your presence, just as you are of his.
You'd already thought this through--the excuse--the lie. It's a shame, really, to have to lie to a friend whom you love dearly... yet, you know there's no telling the truth in this circumstance. Yet, there is... isn't there? After all, you know it'd be taking a play from Zemo's book, you're sure, no doubt, but anyone who's smart knows that all lies hold some semblance of the truth. Hence, your excuse; smooth and comforting material weighing your hands down by your stomach, you're about to walk past the back of the couch when his soft voice stops you.
"You're going to visit him?" It's a reasonable question, a check-in. Something to note, since, he is a criminal... a dangerous person. Someone to be kept in check. Unpredictable, as they'd said.
"Just returning these," you answer, lifting the bundle of clothing and the accessories of your disguise for Sam's viewing.
"I'm sure he could care less, but, by all means-" Sam extends his hand in the direction of the hallway. "If he tries anything-"
"-call out, I got it. I'm only planning on dropping this off. Maybe asking him something if he's up for conversation. But it shouldn't be too long. Don't worry," you attempt to reassure him. "You should get some sleep soon, too, you know? Especially if we're to do this in the morning," you shift the topic, intent on reminding him of what you hope is tiredness showing, even if the bags under his eyes grow heavier with the hours.
With a nod in your direction, Sam lets his attention drift back to the computer screen, intent on whatever work it is he has waiting within the digital world. Though you'd like to say this relieves you, lifts a burden from your shoulder, it only makes the weight on them sink further into you. Whether it's dread, guilt, or shame at all of the incredulous scenarios that run through your mind in possible what-ifs of the conversation to play out between you and the Baron, you can't do anything but shake your head in an attempt to dissuade them. Bare feet padding across the wooden floor, you notice how the dim light that peeks from under the door gives your heart a reason to speed up. Really, its the realization that you've never truly been alone with this man since you've met. The rumors, perhaps, the danger they claim he holds... the possibility of a supposed madman snapping at any point is equal parts exhilarating and yet, still terrifying. At least when you let yourself truly contemplate this fact.
With a hesitancy at the door, you lift your small fist up to the carved oak, lingering... debating. While you'd thought all resolve had fled the moments after you'd downed your fifth shot... the buzz of alcohol has long since seemed to dwindle away from your mind, the accelerating carefree feeling emptied from your veins and replaced by the cautiousness of someone who Sam would tease is entirely, all you. Determined to defy the limits of the box your closest friends place you in for one reason or another, you gently knock on the door.
There's no response. Something you'd expect, if not for the way that there's a shuffle of fabric and then a sigh on the other side. "Come in." Cold golden ornate knob within your grasp, you turn it and push the heavy door open enough for you to slip inside before quietly closing it behind you.
"Hi." It's the first word that comes to mind, the only thing you can think to say, to break the silence between you as he takes in your bare goosebump-riddled legs and the satin robe you have on.
"Hello," he returns the sentiment, unmoving from his position, torso upright against the headboard as he lies in bed, legs outstretched before him. "What a surprise to see you, Schön. Though I should've guessed from the light footsteps and quiet knock. James would certainly not allow me a moment of privacy, nor Sam." Sitting up a little straighter, his hands clasp in his lap. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Swallowing your shyness, as you can't simply stare at him forever--that'd be far too embarrassing--you lift your arms a bit for emphasis. "I thought I would return these to you." There's a wooden chair with a striped pattern of cloth covering the cushiony seat standing by the vanity. That's where you place the pile of folded clothing and shoes. Although you're no longer facing him, you can feel his gaze lingering on your figure. When you turn around again, he has his head tilted, no doubt thinking about something.
"You can keep the clothes, Schön, I don't need them back. However, I'm sure you knew that. Why are you really here?" He questions.
"What if I really was just here to return the clothing?" You offer, mirroring him unconsciously with a little tilt of your own head.
"Then I'd say you're courteous, and ask how you liked the outfit I picked out for you," he retorts. Even from across the room, you can spot a flicker of something within his irises. Whether he's playing with you, toying with you, or testing you, you're unsure. This question, however, puts you on the spot. A bemused smile graces your lips and you don't try to hide it. Taking in his state of wealth, you decide not to comment on how expensive you thought everything was, as you'd rather not know. It's better to play on his level.
"I... thought it was very nice. Not something I'd normally wear, but for a nice evening out, I think it was a good pick. The shoes were cool, the gems on the back," you recount.
"The color suited you wonderfully. Brought out your features, just as I'd predicted," he comments with a somewhat smug look upon his face. Seemingly half-placated with the notion, though there's still something gnawing at the seams of his resolve. "There's another reason you're here, whether you're willing to admit it or not." This is a test, you're well aware.
"Mmm," the hum leaves your lips before you can even begin to think of a retort. Turning on your spot, you can't help but run your fingers along the carved wooden back of the chair, walking your fingers along it and taking a step further into the room as you think. "Am I?" You stop moving, offering a look in his direction. "What if I said that you intrigue me? That I wanted to ask you how you do it?" You posit.
Tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, the Baron listens intently. Though he silently chuckles to himself at you returning his question with another question, the second half of your thoughts elicit a narrowing of his eyes. This notion has caused pause for his own thought. "Do... what, Schatz?" He plays along, subconsciously leaning a little closer despite being across the room.
Though the various thoughts and moments from tonight race across your mind, there's one theme that you can't bear to continue reliving. One thought, one realization that you know will have you getting nowhere in the coming days. Jaw threatening to clench down on itself, you can't help but sigh as your hands ball up into fists by your sides. "I... tonight, I just noticed how... in every instance, no matter what seemed to be going on, you... didn't seem scared. Like nothing fazed you," it comes out a whisper. Those final words. Though you'd been trying to search for the right words, everything came out how it wanted to, yet in the end you couldn't help but whisper the truth. It seemed like nothing fazed him. Meanwhile you... were downright terrified. Scared in a way no one has made you feel. Ever. And the worst of it is that you know it's not over. Tomorrow you will get up, alongside the rest of your friends and acquaintances and get geared up and ready to face a man who's only haunted your past.
"Oh..." Zemo responds, your name falling off his lips as if you were simply a child, a silly girl that he feels pity for. Something shifted in his demeanor by the time you finally raise your eyes to meet him again, not sure when you had dropped your vision to the floor. Possibly too embarrassed to admit the truth.
It's this moment... that's when things changed, you think. Time settles in the space between you, the air thick and heavy with confusion and a cluster of effervescent emotions bubbling up and out of you both into the air, a swirling and confusing domination of raw emotion. There's no denying what's there; the truth, the matter of your age held right before you in time like a reflection of your souls. While you'd both endured a heaviness of trauma encumbered in your life time and time again, there's no denying that he's the older man, that he's experienced more... seen more, done more, lived more. And you... well, let's save the stereotype for literature digests, will you?
"Don't-" you warn, the rise of embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall as you begin to march toward the door with a speed that leaves him in a whirlwind. What surprises you both, however, is the way that as soon as your hand is reaching for the doorknob, his is roughly placed atop it. His hand effectively trapping yours underneath. You hadn't even heard him get up, yet you can feel the heat coming off his body only inches away.
"Come," he beckons, "listen." With gentle hands he peels yours away from the knob as he guides you over to the side of the bed, simply sitting. A pat of his free hand on the empty space beside him lets you know what he wants. Really, you'd want it too... if it weren't for the conflicting emotions in your stomach making you want to tear up.
He seems to pick up on your hesitance as he stands once more, hands tentatively moving to ghost over your shoulders, tacitly asking for your permission. When you don't push him away, he places them on you, hands encompassing your satin-covered shoulders. "You have to understand, Meine Süße," he starts, voice holding a softer tone than you've ever heard him use. "I joined my country's military as soon as I was eligible. From the time I was a recruit to the time I eventually became a Colonel..." Zemo sighs as he tears his gaze from you, the motion eliciting your gaze on him in turn. "The point is, I have been through more, seen more, than you and anyone will ever know. And despite my training, the truth still remains... disregarded by most."
Soft hand sliding down your shoulder to your wrist, his long fingers gently wrap around it as he guides you toward the bed. Sitting, you follow suit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as his arm winds its way around your shoulder. "As I see it, there is only reason to be afraid of death if one feels they have something left to live for. Would you agree?" While speaking you'd noticed his gaze, even if no longer stationed on you, become more far off and glazed over. As you silently ponder on his words, his eyes find your face, gauging you no doubt.
"Yeah, I suppose so... though are you saying you don't have anything left to live for?" You prod, eyes shifting between his as you attempt to read him, the two of you finally making eye contact once more.
"I did, once, yes. Though your friends would most likely also claim my recklessness only provides evidence for this theory," he answers. Zemo may not mention it explicitly, but you know that he's referring to his family. You'd heard the stories from Sam, the details from Bucky. That's why he tried to destroy the Avengers. Or did, considering the rift he'd created.
"Maybe... but you know that most people would argue that when you don't feel you have a reason to live anymore, that's an opportunity to find a new one, right?" You offer. Brushing your hair behind your ear, your vision drifts from his face toward the wall before you both. "And don't get me wrong. I understand. I do, really... I'd be lying if I said that I felt I had any sort of reason right now, but... I also think there's a certain cynicism in giving up hope. Maybe it's my naivety... my lack of experience in life comparingly... but I believe there's hope for everyone."
He hums in contemplation, "Perhaps." It's the only answer you receive, his eyes still lingering on your face for a moment before he, too, finds his own spot on the wall across from the bed. Neither of you move, still stuck in quiet consideration.
Held safe within his warm arms, there's a relaxation that finds you in the blue. You hadn't anticipated the night going this way, and yet... you wouldn't change it for anything. The answer was unexpected, but you can't deny that you'd gotten an answer. Heart thumping steadily in your chest, you finally take in a deep breath before leaning back just enough to peer up at him from underneath your thick lashes. "Thank you, Zemo," you whisper. There's no reason to be loud, not when the night is so quiet, so still, and there's only so much room between you.
"Helmut," he offers, a slight nod of his head downward in your direction, a squeeze of your hand in reassurance.
"Thank you, Helmut," you repeat, teasing slightly as you use the name he'd offered. An amused smile graces your lips and his grip on you loosens, glad to see you're no longer feeling beaten down. Unbeknownst to the both of you, while his grip has loosened, the distance between you is increasingly closing. In a matter of seconds, you can't help but jump off the ledge you'd been teetering off all night long- diving into the ocean that is Helmut.
Pressing your lips to his gently, the shocked gasp that resonates through his closed mouth easily turns into a hum as he returns the kiss, then draws out into a growl as his hand roughly finds your cheek, gripping it tightly with a desperate need. A whimper involuntarily leaves your throat as this happens, unsure what you've unearthed. Slowly forcing himself to pull away, his forehead rests against yours as you both breathe deeply, in need of the oxygen that streams into your lungs and filters through your blood. "Why?"
It's a question you hadn't anticipated receiving from him. An answer that you weren't prepared to give. Even if you both knew of the inklings and sparks that'd been building and dancing around you all night. "Because you were right," an airy laugh echoes in the space between you, "earlier. I did want something else, even if I wanted this, too." A smile stretches upon your lips, and the contagion spreads, Helmut mirroring it as an amused smile of his own tugs at the corners of his lips. The moment is short; a brushing of your noses against one another as you breathe in the same light-hearted air. Each of you tempting the other to be the first to lean in and capture a kiss from the other. Some unspoken instinctual game, perhaps.
Lips darting in for another peck, you're not surprised when his hand moves from cupping your cheek to rounding your head in search of a hold, a grasp of some sort. His hand winds into your hair, fingers gripping it tenderly. Pulling you in with his lips, he draws back, making you careen after him in search of his lips. Yet the instant he lies back, hands moving mindlessly down to your hips to help you straddle him and stay steady, the spark is interrupted. Helmut lies on the bed, a look crossing his face that leaves you knowing.
How can one read a stranger like they're a book they'd left open on a coffee table, passed by dozens of times? The heat where your clothed sex meet his undeniable erection. a spark sated in nips and kisses you'd been teasing each other with all night, yet there's something unsaid. "We don't have to," you voice it. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to." The hand that's not secured on his chest and holding you up runs down the front of his robe, the thick and cozy material running beneath your fingertips.
"I want to..." his voice trails off, "I just..."
"Don't want to offend her. I understand," you answer for him. Lips pursing into a thin line, the upward tilt of the inner corners of your eyebrows betray that semblance, showing your empathy. Even if to him it might appear as some sort of pity. "Though... if I may?" You inquire.
"You may," he encourages, curious to hear your thoughts. Warm splayed hands lie on your thinly robed hips keeping you steady and preventing you from grinding down on him and teasing further, even if you aren't presently doing so. A precaution, nonetheless.
"I know I didn't know her, and I've only heard a little, but... if there's anything I can say, I'd think she'd want you to be happy." The sentiment lingers in the air, and you offer him a saddened smile, quickly intent on clarifying. "And I'm not saying that to get you to sleep with me, I just... I think you should know. If anyone hasn't said it, I think any wife that truly loves her husband would eventually want him to find happiness again. However, it may be."
Silence settles in the air for a moment, and his lack of response elicits a spike of anxiety as you continue to voice your thoughts. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me, a stranger, but I still do believe in what I said," you chuckle, "and that includes people some may otherwise consider criminal, but... I believe there's hope for you. To find another reason."
"Verdammte Hölle," he curses. One of the hands on your hip squeezes for a moment. "I know," he acknowledges, "I just..."
"Haven't since?" You question, noticing the slight pinch of his brows. It's a guess, a posture in relation to the circumstance you both come from.
"Exactly," he affirms. Searching your eyes, you leave him no room for doubt as you lean down so you're chest to chest.
"Then we'll take it slow. If that's what you want," you reassure him, eyes searching his for some sort of clue into his thoughts.
"Yes, just bear with me, Schatz. It's been a while for me," He reveals, a hint of red tinging his cheeks. Whether it be from blush, embarrassment, or lust, you can only think of how handsome it makes him look in the golden light pouring from the bedside lamp.
"Me too, don't worry," you reassure. Hands resettling themselves on his chest, you both lean in, lips easily finding their way back to one another.
~~~~~~~~
translations:
Schatz = treasure, sweetheart, darling
Schön = lovely, beautiful, nice
Verdammte Hölle = fucking hell.
Meine Süße = my darling, sweet, dear, honey
forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo
tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit
#baron helmut zemo x reader#helmut zemo x reader#tmt#the missing title#the missing title series#my series#my writing#mcu reader insert#marvel reader insert#helmut zemo x reader smut#tfaws reader insert#the falcon and the winter soldier reader insert#read tags on top
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Day One (01) of thought dumping.
Today, just every other weekend that I have, I spent all day rotting in bed- doom scrolling. However, I always go back to watching videos on YouTube on how to earn money via side hustles. Why though? "Cause money is great!" /insert that Wired Emily Rudd clip.
Anyways, no, but an actual good quote that I heard today regarding money is that "Money buys you freedom", and that's so accurate. I want the freedom that money gives you.
Watching those 'how to earn six-figures via internet' videos, they always start with these questions "what are your skills, do you have hobbies, interests? why not start monetizing those."
However, that circles back to needing money. You want to learn and upskill? You probably have to pay for courses. You want hobbies? Yeah that also needs money... these are what I kept saying, when I compare myself to other people that I see on social media, "Because I do not have the money to invest in myself and upskill, I'm not interesting enough, I'm not artistic enough and I'm not smart enough. Which also means I have nothing to monetize in order to find my own side hustle niche."
What an excuse. Clearly, those are just excuses that I tell myself in order to get away from actually starting. There are ways around upskilling and making your life more interesting using basic internet connection.
All I have to do is start, but why is that so difficult.
But this is why this is here!
WHAT IS THIS BLOG ALL ABOUT
Well, I call it the "Adding Character Depth Project".
Correct, character depth, I believe that my life is not interesting like others who have the money to spend outside, my personality is also not that unique and I don't think I have any out of this world talent, magic, strength or brains. In short, if I am a character in a novel, my life story and personality doesn't have that flare that makes them really interesting. The maximum role I'll get is that one liner character.
But if character building and character development exist in novels, why can't it be done in real life??? There's no way this is it. The other side of myself can't believe this is my maximum potential, I'm not satisfied with this version of myself. There has to be more.
So how can I add character depth to myself? Since this is not research based, let's start with what I find interesting that other people do or the people that I aspire to be do:
Journaling. This is what this tumblr is all about. Thought dump and progress dump. (With my personality of referencing what other people do, I wanted to make an official website for a blog but that's too time consuming and I'll end up stopping before I even started writing. So good old tumblr it is.)
Reading. I like reading actually but need to diversify. But for the past years I got hooked on fluffy romantic mlm and wlw books and I haven't able to explore beyond that genre anymore. I would like to read books that would make me think, that would intrigue me, that would make me feel like life is really interesting.
Pursuing art at 20s. I saw videos like PewDiePie where he started documenting his art journey by drawing everyday for 100 days(?) and it looks promising. As much as possible what I actually find interesting in drawing is world building, I want to draw the world or scenery that is usually being describe in the books that I've read. I don't really know how to start that one though.
Films. The people that I find to have interesting takes on life and unique personalities are usually people who dabble on films and photography. I want to start on expanding my knowledge and "uniqueness" (lol) by watching more films with good writing, good plot, good acting, good music and not my comfort variety shows.
Actually upskilling. The internet have so much to offer I'm pretty sure I can upskill on YouTube and find ways to earn money with that. Though this is quite a goal on it's own.
I'm pretty sure there are more to add but my brain can't think of any. Anyways, there are more details to add in every single one of these projects or hobbies, but I think it's better to discuss them separately.
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Am I doing too much
Maybe it's my desperation or the fact I had believed (subconsciously) that I would have instantaneous results compareable to what I watched on the potential side hustle gigs that are out there that I didn't know about. But I will say I was expecting better results to what I've been getting.
Now the plan was to have all these things going for me, with success in a month (more realistic conscious outlook). Getting some Etsy sales trickling in here and there, and being monetized instaneously with YouTube, and getting that extra income to buy a house before the year is up.
Not even my more realistic outlook come to fruition. Now I will definately I'm spending the majority of my business developing time on my Facts YouTube Channel. But my AI generator needed my subscription to renew to use it (I'm on a basic plan so it doesn't last long). So things like Etsy took to the back burning as I'm more of the digital product kind of person.
I will definitely say lately it's felt like I've been trying todo too much too soon. But I blame my anxiety on that. I've been doing my best to hold that h*ll hole of my brain at bay.
But you're probably looking at all I've written since starting this blog, and going, "Well f*ck, you are doing too much. Your crazy" or something like that. And I agree. But let me tell you why and you can tell me if you still think I'm crazy, I'm probably just more desperate.
To start, I have ADHD, found out during the start of the pandemic in 2020. I had a newborn, I was working from home and falling asleep all the time while working (Granted my job literally had my twiddling my thumbs 98% of the time when I wasn't in the office and even then I was twiddling away 90% of the time. And you're probably like "With a newborn, I don't doubt it, you probably don't sleep at night".
And your wrong there. All my babies were good sleepers, and technically still are. But anyways once I started to treat my ADHD, my middle of the day fatigue disappeared. And that was one problem I've been trying to solve for over 10 years and perplexed my doctors. And my ADHD is why I never continued making music videos on my personal YouTube account, I started doing that for fun when YouTube started up and then dropped it when I couldn't figure out how to had video clips to my videos without being copy righted.
I know I've talked about my attempts at this stuff before. But flash forward to 2023. I work 2 jobs, and my husband also works a full time job and I have 4 kiddos' with 2 in Independent School instead of private. As my income goes up, the cost of the school goes up. And unless I change something financially, this is the last year they will get to go. And I want them to stay.
Why to struggle to keep them in when it causes me so much financial and mental stress, you might ask? Because the community is awesome, but also because my kids get exposed to foreign languages as early as Junior Kindergarten (Preschool- 4y). My oldest (11y) has been taking Mandarin since he was 4 and will continue to do so in Middle School. And not only does he get to take Mandarin, but Latin is part of their curriculum. And my 3rd born (6y) has been exposed to French and Spanish. The School struggled to keep a part time Mandarin Teacher, so they had to phase that program out 2y ago, so my oldest was the last to have the Madarin Opportunity in Lower School.
But still its' one opportunity I wish the entire US education could get behind for Elementary Education. I mean just about every country with an education, makes learning English a priorty and English is their 2nd language, and they start pretty young. But it's the one thing I don't want to take away from them, as I struggled in Middle School and High School to pick up French and trying to learn Japanese off of Anime is a no go.
But this is the sole reason I decided (kind of impulsively, all the best things I've done, and the worse, have been done on impulse) to start up all these side things and turn them into successful businesses. With my ADHD under control, along with my depression and anxiety, being able to stay focused on stuff long term is a new thing for me. Granted it's only been successful in mobile gaming, (1 game has lasted almosted 4y, started it right before my diagnosis).
And so far, I've been monitoring all my stuff on a routine daily basis for the past month and researching optimization ideas to get my stuff noticed and even if this was 2018, I probably would have forgot about all that I was trying to accomplish and gone back to zoned out, not really living ways and working 3 jobs.
So am I crazy, desperate, or just a workaholic who doesn't know their limits? You can let me know your honest opinion, I promise I can't easily take offense.
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Live on TV 2
I couldn't come up with a better name for it. Anyway here's the sequel to Live on TV
Masterlist
Content: dumbassery, bakugo cussing, idk I wrote it at like 11 pm after not eating all day and I was dehydrated and it felt like I was on a different plane of existence
“So what are you gonna do now that the kid’s off to college?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Y/n admitted. “I was so young when I had him that I never had time to establish myself as a person, and then he took over my life, and now… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without him.”
“His school is like two hours away,” Bakugo stated flatly. “And he promised to come visit at least once a month. Don’t start acting like he’s dead.”
“But what do I do?” Y/n asked. “I’m going to have so much free time without him here.”
“I dunno, maybe get back into some hobbies you had before Deku gave you a parasite?”
“Don’t call him a parasite.”
“He’s an organism that benefits at the expense of others,” Bakugo clarified. He smirked as Y/n raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Parasite. What kind of stuff did you used to do?”
“I was really into painting, but I don’t think I’d be all that great now,” Y/n said, shrugging.
“Were you any good at it?” Bakugo asked curiously. “I mean- Not that you have to be good at shit to enjoy it.”
“I mean… I don’t like bragging,” Y/n said, suddenly shy. She gestured vaguely across the living room, in the general direction of the fireplace. “I did that one, though.”
“…The butterfly flowery thing?” Bakugo asked slowly, eyeing up the floral image hanging above the fireplace. Y/n nodded. “Shit. I thought that was a photo.”
“Yeah, I was really into realism,” Y/n said. “The landscape above my bed is me, too.”
“Damn. I thought that one was a photo, too,” Bakugo said blankly. “Sure, you’d be out of practice after however-many-years-old-the-kid-is-”
“Eighteen.”
“Bless you. Sure, you’d be out of practice after eighteen years, but if you were seriously that great, it shouldn’t be hard to get good at it again, right?” Bakugo suggested, shrugging. “Plus, you could make bank if you started selling those.”
“I don’t think I could just sell them off all willy-nilly,” Y/n said awkwardly. “And even then, I don’t know if I’d really want to monetize it… What if I fall out of love with it and have to keep going just to pay my bills?”
“You know I’ll take care of you, dummy, stop worrying about your bills all the time.”
Y/n grimaced.
“You know what I mean,” she said flatly. “Besides, I make money just fine on my own! Well, just okay on my own. Well- …Thanks.”
“I don’t need you to thank me,” Bakugo said seriously. “Get back into it, maybe sell off the first few that aren’t super great, see how it goes.”
“Why are you so intent on this?” Y/n asked. She grinned teasingly. “You wanna see me make it big time? Be a famous artist? Have my stuff shown off in museums?”
“I just think you could make good money!” Bakugo said defensively, brushing Y/n off of his shoulder and watching as she sat up in his lap, an eyebrow raised at him. “That’s the biggest worry in your life, I know that, so why not try a side hustle?”
“Really? ‘Side hustle’? I never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth,” Y/n said, trying not to giggle. “You’re acting all sappy and weird. What’s the ulterior motive here- And don’t say there isn’t one, there’s always an ulterior motive when you get like this.”
“What do you mean ‘when I get like this’? Are you-”
“I asked a question, Katsuki,” Y/n tutted. The playful lilt in her voice disappeared as she asked again. “What are you really trying to do here? This is more than egging me on to get back into old hobbies.”
“It’s like I said, I just think you could put some extra money to good use,” Bakugo insisted.
“What kind of ‘good use’, Katsuki? I have everything I need,” Y/n said. “I can put my son through college and still put food on my table, I don’t need a bunch of extra cash just lying around the house.”
“…But what if ‘the house’ was bigger?”
“What the hell are you talking about now?” Y/n asked exasperatedly.
“Just imagine it,” Bakugo said, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Cool entryway, a little bit of a loft, three bathrooms, four bedrooms- maybe you turn one into an art studio or a study or some shit, the kitchen’s a little bigger than the one you have here, and-”
“Katsuki,” Y/n interrupted, sitting up more attentively. “You’re being very specific. You were being normal about Akemi going to college, then you started acting all weird about money, and now you sound like you’re trying to sell me a house-”
“Fine!” Bakugo said suddenly. He chewed his lip as he stared into Y/n’s eyes intently- If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she would’ve been terrified. “I am, okay? I am trying to sell you a house. There’s this gorgeous place in the suburbs, it’s got a big backyard, there’s two bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs, I was thinking one for the kid, one for us, turn one into a study or whatever, the last one’s a guest room- Guest bedrooms are fancy shit, even my place doesn’t have one.”
“…Us?”
“Huh?”
“You said ‘a bedroom for us’,” Y/n said slowly. Bakugo hesitated for a moment before picking up his bravado again.
“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” He asked. “I was thinkin’ my place could be a summer home, or maybe Akemi gets it when he graduates, but if you really don’t feel like you need anything, I can probably sell it for a fair price and we’ll use that money for the new house-”
“What the fuck, Katsuki?!”
“What now, woman?”
“You- We- I- You just- What?” Y/n stumbled over her words, mouth and brain not lining up to say the words she wanted to. “You can’t just tell me- I mean, you should’ve asked- I could-”
“Woah, settle the fuck down,” Bakugo said quickly, reaching out to take Y/n’s shoulder and gently pull her against his chest. “Haven’t seen you panic like that since you thought I’d take Akemi away from you. I’m not tryna force you outta this place, or say you’re broke as shit, or that I don’t think you can make it on your own, okay? I know you’re happy where you are in life, but there’s some luxuries out there that you ignore. You and the kid deserve more than what you have. Deku started you guys off pretty shitty, but I want you to be happy. Y’know, enjoy your hobbies and have a nice house an’ shit.”
“You really want to live with me?” Y/n asked, twisting awkwardly in his lap to look him in the eyes.
“Live with you? Hell, I want to fucking marry you,” Bakugo said firmly. “I wanna fucking ruin your life with how much I wanna spoil you and buy you shit and do stuff together and help you finish raising that demon child of yours.”
Y/n tried her best to give him a scrutinizing glare at his new nickname for Akemi, but her lips were stuck in a lovesick grin and her eyes were starting to water, so she posed absolutely no threat.
“Really?”
“Of course,” Bakugo said, acting like he was talking about the most obvious thing on the planet. “I didn’t start dating you to waste time. And fuck if I’m gonna raise a kid and not try to claim it as mine.”
“You’re claiming Akemi as your own child?” Y/n asked, not sure if she should be worried.
“Hell yeah I am, Deku ain’t gonna do it!” He said defensively. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyway. I asked the kid a month or two ago. He said I can marry you. If you say yes, I mean.”
“Of course I will!” Y/n said quickly. She paused for a moment, looking at Bakugo scrutinizingly. “You got a ring, or…?”
“Yeah, but not with me,” he answered. “Akemi helped me pick it out. I was planning to ask you in a… Y’know, a better way than this.”
“This is the perfect way,” Y/n said, smiling softly. “And I’d love to move in together.”
“You should call the kid and let him know,” Bakugo said, letting himself smile in the calm, vulnerable space around his fiancée. “Later we can go to my place and grab the ring, and maybe I’ll re-propose after a nice dinner, yeah?”
“…I can’t believe you actually want to- I mean, I never thought the Dynamight would want to settle down with someone,” Y/n admitted somewhat awkwardly. “You’re a Hero who’s good at beating up Villains, you really don’t seem like the kind of guy to say ‘hey, let’s buy a house together and get married and raise kids together’.”
“You’ve only got one kid,” Bakugo reminded. Y/n shifted her attention to her hands, absentmindedly stroking the spot on her finger where a wedding ring would soon be sitting.
“…I’ve still got a few years before pregnancy becomes unlikely and dangerous,” she said quietly. “You know, if you want-”
“Fuck. You’re saying I could have my own little half-me, half-you disaster?!”
“Sometimes I don’t know how to talk to you,” Y/n grumbled. She smiled. “But yeah. If you want one, then sure.”
“…There go my dreams of having a guest bedroom.”
=
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#xineohp's fics#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo#bnha#my hero academia#x reader#boku no hero academia#my hero academia fanfiction#fem!reader#bakugo x female reader
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Hey, can I ask you a question about your blog itself?
Apologies if this is half-formed, but I’ve been thinking a lot about online/fandom spaces and what I want out of them. You’ve filled this blog with so much wonderful work, but at least to me it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It doesn’t seem to want to demand my attention in an endless, black-hole kind of way. I find it “quiet” if that makes sense. Not literally, because most of tumblr is literally silent, but like…mentally. Mentally quiet.
I’m wondering if you have any thoughts or advice about engaging in one’s interests online (particularly on the—and I use the term loosely and with mild disdain—‘content creation’ side of things) without getting lost in it. Or only getting lost in the good, fun, I’m-getting-genuine-joy-from-this kind of way.
I want to get better at being able to make things (and give myself the time and space to do so) without feeling like I have to find a way to eventually monetize it or grow it until it becomes a “thing” or else it isn’t worth my time to do. I guess I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove my interests are valuable, and now I can’t stop.
Anyway, since you are probably the only person with whom I am personally vaguely acquainted who seems like they’ve done that/built a space like that, I thought I’d ask.
PS, I’ve now discovered there’s not a 500 character limit in the ask box on mobile. Sorry in advance.
hi, @clintbeifong!
first off, thank you so much for your very kind words. i am so glad to know that you enjoy my blog in the way that you described; i love the idea that it’s a nice, quiet place for you.
second, i’ve spent the last several days considering what you’ve asked, trying to come up with a thoughtful response, and after all of my consideration, i’m still not sure that i have much practical advice to offer, in terms of specific “do this” or “don’t do that” kinds of rules you might follow.
instead, what i do have are some rambling thoughts on art and its value, which i hope at least somewhat apply to the topic at hand:
it isn’t at all surprising that you feel pressure to monetize your fanworks, because, honestly, that’s how things are nowadays—everyone is supposed to have a “side hustle;” we’re all expected to be “on the grind” as much as possible; with the advent of streaming and self-publication, activities that were once solely recreational (like playing video games or journaling) can now effectively be marketed; there is very little separation between the professional and private self, when employers and potential employers have access to your social media accounts and are constantly evaluating what you post in terms of how it relates to their brand.
that feeling of “if i can’t use it to make money or gain exposure, i'm wasting my time” is part and parcel of living in a late capitalist society.
but here’s the thing: art needs time and room to breathe, and the "payoff" from making art isn't always immediate.
obviously, there are times when making art can be profitable and can help you gain exposure. but it can’t be that way all the time—even for artists who are at the top of their games, who make their livings making art.
think about it: for every one famous da vinci* painting, there were notebooks full of his sketch work—line drawings which he, at the time that he was alive, had no intention that anyone but he and maybe his students and intimate acquaintances would ever, ever see. while some of it was draft work for commissioned pieces he would later profit from, a lot of it was much more aimless practice, and, in the cases of some of his more fanciful “invention” blueprint sketches, was just for fun.
* note that i'm choosing da vinci arbitrarily here. the same could be said of any number of artists, writers, musicians, etc.
while that work was half-formed and never meant for public consumption, was it less valuable to da vinci than his finished, “published” works, like the last supper?
though i can’t speak for the man, i have a feeling that if you asked him, he’d say no.
that work was practice.
that work was fun.
and practice and fun are two things that are crucial for every artist, no matter at what level or in what sphere they’re working.
so here’s the thing: fanart can make you money.
particularly, in your case, one of your multiple talents is making—lovely!—visual fanart, which is perhaps the genre of fanwork that best lends itself to monetization.
that means, in theory, you could profit from your work here—and lots of fanartists on tumblr and other sites do just that.
but even if you don’t make money with your fanart—if that’s not something you can do or that you want to do, even if the option is available to you—that doesn’t mean that your fanworks aren’t valuable on other grounds.
when you’re drawing lovely digital comics of cj cregg and danny concannon dancing, your hand doesn’t know the difference between that activity and working on a piece for your professional portfolio (if you have one).
it all still counts as practice—maybe focusing on different elements of the art than were you doing commercial work, sure, but practice all the same. it all acts in service to you getting to know yourself and your craft, developing habits, problem-solving, refining your techniques, etc., etc.
—and it does all of those things in addition to something else, which is allowing you to have a place to play.
with fanworks—whether they be visual art or gifs or fic or meta or memes—you get to experiment without worrying what an editor or employer might think. you get to follow your muse. make things on a whim. fix other people’s mistakes. make mistakes of your own with really no consequence.
while certainly there are occasions to do those same things in art in other circumstances, as well, in fandom, that’s the reg; that’s the function.
you get to play around and make things to suit yourself.
fanwork can—and, honestly, should—be totally self-indulgent.
you want to draw a million versions of the same couple kissing? go for it! write a bizarre au that will make sense to no one but you and maybe one other person who once had the same very niche summer job you did and happens to be in the same fandom? knock yourself out!
da vinci had his flying machines, and we have blorbos and “but there was only one bed!” tropes.
having that playground will benefit you, both by giving you a mental space in which to mess around and figure things out about your art AND by enriching your brain, helping you not to burn out.
having fun is an integral part of being creative.
so grant yourself permission to do it.
it’s okay to monetize your fanworks if that’s what you want or need to do—of course, paying attention to and respecting copyright law as necessary, so you don’t get your ass sued—but it’s also okay not to or not to monetize every piece. it's okay to draw or write or gif or analyze or meme something that will net you nothing more than maybe a few notes and a sense of personal satisfaction because doing so will benefit you in the long run, as an artist and as a person.
you’re not wasting time or effort because your talent isn’t a limited resource.
if it’s something that makes you happy to do, then that’s justification enough in itself to do it.
god knows the world can be miserable enough without us refusing ourselves access to what few outlets we have for joy.
now.
all of the above said, if making fanworks has ceased to make you happy, and if doing so is now something that feels like a chore to you, then the great thing about fandom is that you also have no obligation to produce content for it.
go play on another playground for a while! reblog other people's work without making any of your own. or step away completely! get back into your favorite video game or read a book or plan a birdwatching outing or do whatever it is that gives your brain a rest.
fanwork isn’t a job, and you don’t have to do it if it isn’t gratifying. you owe no one anything with it but yourself. you can always come back to it later if you want to.
and i guarantee: even if it’s been years, the second you update that wip, someone is going to be happy to get that notification. it doesn’t matter that half a decade has passed since you last posted a chapter.
if there is a sense of quietude or relaxation to my blog, it is because, at the end of the day, i make the gifsets i want to look at, i write the stories i want to read, and i ramble out the meta that helps me to make sense of the shows i like.
of course, i am always happy—thrilled!—when other people enjoy my work.
bringing others happiness is a unique pleasure.
but, ultimately, i’d still be giffing and writing stories and meta about two geeky middle-aged scientists in love and a bunch of overworked, underpaid doctors in chicago even if nobody else wanted to look at or read them because that’s what makes me happy.
i won’t pretend that it’s always easy not to care about the “rat race” aspect of it all—in my life outside of the internet, i'm a college english professor whose specialization is creative writing, so i absolutely understand the experience of opening up a wip doc for one of my fics and immediately feeling guilty for doing so because shouldn’t i be working on something i can actually publish under my own name, that i can potentially make money off of and that will help me someday get tenure????—but i do still firmly believe that no instance of making art is ever wasted and that there is inherent value in engaging in the act of collective storytelling that is fandom, even if it's not "profitable" to do so, in the traditional sense.
i don’t know that anything i've said here will prove useful to you, but, speaking solely as a fan of your work, i wish you well in your creative endeavors.
i hope your able to find a way to get what you want to out of your creative process and be happy with how you engage with fandom (or not).
thank you very much for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.
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courage to change— (fem!avenger x bucky!)
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ finally developing feeling for each other, bucky and y/n each spend the night with each other hoping to resolve their feelings
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 2k
ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ honestly nothing
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ! ➢ it’s been like a week but hope you liked this—pretty bad for not being here.
it was pretty awkward for everyone as no one spoke and they didn’t care or dare to open their mouths, it obviously felt weird for everyone to be together again. driving off to sharon safe house, was a pretty nice place to live—she wasn’t going to lie that the woman had some style. sharon and her used to be close but that all changed when they decided to help steve. she never wanted sharon to get in trouble but she couldn’t persuade her father to let go of the charges between all of them.
sharon blamed y/n and was upset at her because she got away with breaking the law. she made it seem more of a higher stake then it was, she got off easily because she was a stark but she still faced the consequences. despite everything bucky did to tony’s parents, he was upset and hurt and he let it all out on bucky. the man had every right to be hurt but nothing could make up for it.
when the news that y/n’s mother had been murdered, she was devastated because she lost the one woman that was still there for her. steve and tony had argued about what they were going to do to bucky but steve kept telling tony that it wasn’t him and it was the winter soldier. at that moment in time, all y/n wanted was vengeance against bucky but he didn’t want to hurt or fight her. she didn’t care.
bucky noticed y/n staring ahead and looking at the rear-view mirror and looking at herself until he snapped out of her deep trance. he asked her if she was okay and she lied once again. they pulled in to sharon house and once they got out, they went inside. the inside was much nicer then she thought it would be, she looked amazed at the furniture of everything in her place.
y/n trailed along to see all the paintings sharon had placed in her house, “huh, looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well—some point, i thought if i had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. you know how much i can get for a real monet?” sharon asked sam walking towards, “easy. deactivate your hustle mode, you sell fake monets.”
y/n could hear the distant conversation between sam and sharon talking about how much they could get for the paintings. zemo spoke up about how they were real, “it’s true. you know, half the artwork in museums like the louvre is fake. real stuff sits in places like this.” bucky said making y/n look up to see sam pulling up his phone to search something up. she couldn’t understand what was happening in the current situation, “okay, guys, i see what your doing. you’re more worldly than good old sam.”
the girl went to see what he typing, “yeah. what’s google say?” bucky asked as y/n went to gently pat sam on the shoulder trailing behind bucky when sharon told them that they needed to change into something else. while sam was changing his shirt, sharon brought some outfit to y/n so that she could wear it. “here you go.” sharon spoke handing her the clothes. y/n grabbed the clothes, “what’s this?”
sharon rolled her eyes gently, “you looked uncomfortable. maybe these would work—we are the same size anyway. give or take.” she mumbled a thank you to the other woman and went to go change. y/n reached towards a bathroom and she bag an taking off the tight shirt and examined the scar on her shoulder.
it was the little scars that made her happy to see where she came from, if it was a battle against bucky with natasha and tony or if it was thanos fighting against the avengers. she hoped it would stay there forever. putting on the clothes, she made it out to where everyone was talking. she could hear some faint things between sharon and sam—nothing she could make out though.
y/n walked to sit across of bucky while he glanced at her but none of them said anything, sharon noticed the tension between bucky and y/n and wanted to see what was up. “what’s this?” sharon pointing to both of them and sam chuckled telling her that everything was becoming awkward for them. “they aren’t really talking.” sam pointed out whispering but y/n could hear him because he wasn’t whispering to quietly.
she furrowed her eyebrows and turned to look at sam, “you’re not the best whisperer.” she said rolling her eyes at him while he kept having the conversation with sharon before she came in, “by the way how is the new cap?” sharon asked while bucky was already getting aggravated by the mention of john. “don’t get me started—please. you buy unit all that stars and stripes bullshit.” sharon scoffed.
she moved towards bucky and y/n, “before you were his pet psychopath, you were mr. america! cap’s best friend.” sharon replied taking a seat and grinning at her comment. “wow. she’s kind of awful now.” y/n chuckled at him before sam went to go around all of them to keep the conversation of the soldier serum. “karli morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” sharon looked unsurely about the whole situation that they were doing. “you should really steer clear of all of this for your own safety.
y/n looked up from the floor that she was looking as she went to speak up, “it might be a risk but we need to figure who did it—we got a name. wilfred nagel.” sharon had a anticipated glance before she got up from the seat, “nagel works for the power broker.” getting up to get another drink—“we need your help, sharon. i can get your name cleared.” sam still tried to persuade her into helping them but she kept refusing each time. “you haggling with my life?”
“not like that—i don’t buy that. you pretending like you can clear my name.” she said while sitting down staring at sam and only him at the moment. “okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. maybe your right. what happened to you. but i’m willing to try if you are.” y/n stopped listening to sam’s conversation and finally looked up at bucky when he mentioned him. “they cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.”
as said before, sam wasn’t a quiet whisperer because both bucky and y/n heard what he had said about him. “i heard that—i don’t trust charity.” y/n chuckled light but not enough for anyone to hear or see her. she thought it was funny to her even though she knew what sharon did—so many times y/n did anything to help sharon and sam. “how about her? you help us out, she will get your name cleared.”
this time y/n looked up wondering how she got dragged into the conversation but sharon still was sure, “she probably wouldn’t do it—she will.” bucky spoke making y/n widen her eyes as she never agreed to do anything and quite frankly it was just she didn’t know if she could do it. “ok, deal.”
she inhaled before nodding and agreeing to do it even though she want sure if it was something that she could surely do. sharon let telling them to enjoy the party and y/n didn’t do the quite thing she told her to do. she saw a lot of people and she decided to have a few drinks and she layer her eyes on a pair of blue eyes. she put her drink down as he came over, “you’re drinking—i mean, is that a crime?” y/n joked to bucky as he shook his head.
“you don’t drink though, it just seemed different for you to drink. go ahead.” he said pushing the drink back towards her but she pushed it away, “you don’t need to take care of me—who says that what my intentions are.” bucky breathed out rubbing his temples. “look, i can drink and do whatever. it isn’t hurting anyone.” she scoffed to him.
bucky couldn’t understand how the conversation turned into her her upset with him, he just wanted to talk to her simply without having any problems. “why do we have to argue on the littlest things y/n.” bucky said shaking his head, sighing at the girl. y/n turned to bucky and looke straight into his eyes, she mumbled a sorry while feeling the alcohol starting to do its worst in her body. “i’m just gonna head out.” she went to walk out the bar and went to go and see the stairs.
she felt dizzy at the lights and couldn’t stand up straight and fell against the wall as bucky went to run up to her and catch her before she fell. “let me help you, please doll.” he pleaded to y/n as she gave up and nodded while bucky pulled his hand out to help her up. they made it towards a a room that y/n was going to sleep at but once bucky brought her in the bed—she laid down drifting away.
bucky smiled lightly seeing her at that state, so sleepy and beautiful at the same time. he admired her for awhile before going to tuck her into the blankets to keep her warm as it was a bit chilling in the room. he placed his phone on the side of her bed and reaching to grab it but she turned to the side hovering over the phone. he sighed, leaving the phone and closing the door gently.
awhile later, bucky knocked on the door but with no response, bucky tried to see if she was awake or just ignoring him. she was actually doing both but not on purpose, the man with metal arm peeped his head open to see her staring at the window. “you awake y/n?” she turned around and nodded and saw him on the edge of the door. “what’s up?—i just left my phone.” bucky walked over to her bed and reach down to grab it but stopped when they looked at each other and we’re meeting each other’s eyes.
it took him a second to see what he was doing, he leaned forward so close to her lips and she just didn’t move to see why they were doing. the amount of space that was left wasn’t that much when bucky paused and asked, “if i do this, i won’t be able to stop.” he warned her and she nodded understanding what he would do. “i know.” she whispered grabbing his cheek and bring down his face to give him a soft kiss and most needed one.
y/n grabbed his shirt pulling him into a deep and more meaning full kiss, she couldn’t stop feeling a sort of way towards him. she needed him and he needed her more then they thought. bucky pulled his jacket off and tossing it towards the floor and started to take off her shirt and stated placing his mouth on her neck started kissing it when she moaned at his mouth on her neck. she heard a knock and cursed. y/n rolled her eyes, “sam?—yeah, uh you alright?”
“yeah. sam, just hit myself. do you need anything?” she yelled but he replied no before leaving and into the room he was staying at—y/n looked back up at bucky and shook her head while pushing him off of her, “wait? what’s wrong?”he frowned at her when she reached the bathroom. “nothing buck. it’s just a lot for me, i don’t want to stop you—what are you talking about?” he asked entering the bathroom.
“you are meant to be happy buck, I just don’t think... i can be that person for you.” as she said that, bucky grew aggravated at her, she couldn’t understand what had happened. “maybe you aren’t the one.” she looked appalled at him before stepping back trying to hear what he said to her. “but i want you. i just want to feel you.” she chuckled at him, patting his cheek. “me too. let’s go finish then.” she said pulling him into the bed and finishing what they had started.
on the other side of the door was sharon and sam listening to them, “i knew it!” sam yelled out making bucky groan at him and yelling him to leave before he would make him leave.
#bucky barnes#bucky imagine#bucky x y/n#fatws bucky#bucky barnes x female reader#marvel#fatws series#sam wilson#bucky barnes fluff#bucky fanfic
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Love Cuts Deep
Chapter 17- Bad Times In Madripoor
Summary: With Sharon Carter of all people as your new tour guide through the wild west city of Madripoor. Yourself, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo are on the hunt to find the man responsible for re-creating the super soldier serum.
Warning: fighting, blood
Masterlist
Following Sharon’s lead into the beautiful interior of her place in High Town, Madripoor. Your eyes trail around the advanced designs of glass and metal, neon lights of dull blues, greens, and pinks lighting up the darkened apartment as you four follow the blondes lead.
“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Muses Sam as his dark eyes trail all around Sharon’s admittedly luxurious place.
“I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?”
Sam smirks, “Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.” A baby spy, huh Sam, the fact that he doesn’t know about all the underground shit that goes on with the real stuff does amuse you a little bit.
“No.” She means real.” Explains Zemo, “This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh....Classics.” Sam gives him a curious glance as he follows Sharon across the room before he stops to study the rare artworks.
“It’s true.” You add while walking past him, “You know, half the artwork in museums like Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”
“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” Jests Sam while taking out his phone to gain some proof of this interestingly new information when Bucky wanders past him before muttering. “Yeah. What’s google say?”
Sam’s eyes find the truth via google as he sends the back of Bucky a surprised look, “No shit.”
You playfully nudge Bucky, “Huh, no shit.” He snorts in amusement while Sam throws you an annoyed look.
“Okay don’t start this with me you two, I know how you are.”
“And how are we.” Says Bucky with air quotes just to further annoy Sam.
“Yeah..” You add, “We’ve never done anything bad in our entire lives.....ever.”
Sam stands there for a moment, just blinking as he purses his lips together, “Right.” He nods, “You two have never done anything bad. Not once.”
“Yup.” Chides Bucky with a telling smirk as you begin to chuckle at that when Sharon turns around to face the three of you.
“You guys need to change. I’m hosting clients in an hour.” Notes Sharon before leading the way through yet another doorway.
“People.” Mutters Bucky while he walks by your side, “I don’t wanna meet anyone else.”
“Not even one person?” You ask.
“No.”
“What if they have a cool hairstyle?”
“Still no.”
“oh, come on. We could learn a thing or two about this place Buck.”
He huffs, “I’ve learned all I care to know, we got shot at yesterday. Did you forget that?”
“Pffffff...so we met some bad apples.” You muse, “Maybe they were having a bad day.”
“We had a bounty on us.”
You snicker at his bluntness, “Maybe they saw Zemo. I don’t blame them for shooting then. Bounty or no bounty.”
“Okay....that’s fair.”
——-
After Sharon ushered your rag tag crew of four into her admittedly luxurious estate, you and Bucky soon found proper outfits aside from the more stylish tactical gear you were previously wearing as Hydra’s Hellcat, supposedly protecting Baron Zemo, well, at least under the guise of it.
Now, you’re thankfully out of the wild streets of Madripoor and seated comfortably next to Bucky who stares stoically at some far wall painting while Sam stands shirtless from behind you two, in search of a shirt. “What’s going on Sharon?” Asks Sam like a concerned brother, “You don’t ever wanna come back?”
She wanders next to the couches armchair, setting her brown leather jacket down for later usage, “They’ll lock me up if I step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn’t allow extradition.”
Sam turns to face the blonde as she glances out the window, “Look, sorry I didn’t call, but after The Blip and the chaos, I just...”
She raises a brow at Sam, “You know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.”
Zemo hums, “He knows. And not so deep down.”
She nods in understanding before a small smirk pulls at the corner of her lips, “By the way, how is the new Cap?”
“He’s a dickhead.” You deadpan with an honest shrug.
Bucky makes a telling face, “Don’t get me started.” Telling Sharon everything she needs to know with both yours and Bucky’s blunt reactions. Yeah, he’s no Steve unfortunately.
She scoffs before wandering around to find a seat on the same couch, blue eyes focused on Bucky as she smirks yet again, “Please. You buy into all the stars and stripes bullshit? Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.”
Bucky watches as she plops herself across the curved couch from you two, “Wow. She’s kind of awful now.” Mutters Bucky with a stoic expression as you hum in amusement. “I like her now.” Earning an eye roll from Bucky who thought you’d be on his side. Being a tough woman from a rough world never meant you girls would stay kind. And anyways, as much as you love and side with Bucky on almost everything, she’s not wrong. Which does amuse you.
“Well, this she-fox and her companions have taken the serum.” You vouch with a nod, “So, we’re stuck down here for some real answers.”
Sharon shakes her head at your bout of information, “You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety.”
“We know it’s a risk,” You quickly implore, “but we won’t leave until we find the one who cracked the code. This world doesn’t need anyone else like us running around and acting like they can do whatever they want just because they’re stronger then the average human...or, some intelligent nutcase with the means and skill to create the serum.”
“We got a name actually. Wilfred Nagel.” Adds Bucky while Sharon’s face shifts into a concerned frown. She soon gets up from her seat before sauntering over to the minibar near Zemo, “Nagel works for the Power Broker.”
“We need your help, Sharon.” Says Sam, “I can get your name cleared.”
With drink in hand, she turns to face him, “You haggling with my life?”
Sam frowns, “Not like that.”
“I don’t buy that. You’re pretending like you can clear my name.”
“Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you’re right. What happened to you. But I’m willing to try if you are.” Counters Sam as he points a thumb at you two on the couch, “They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody’s he’s met.”
“I heard that.” Mutters Bucky as Sam continues to try and convince Sharon, “I mean, they even let the worlds most messed up science experiment turned assassin into America, and she’s technically Russian so...they could let you in.”
“I also heard d’at.” You mutter bluntly through your obvious European accent. Science experiment? Okay Sam. Sharon’s eyes darting from you to Sam. “I don’t trust charity.”
“Alright, deal then. You help us out, and I get your name cleared.” Proposes Sam as Sharon takes a drink before begrudgingly agreeing to this new proposition.
“Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party.” Advises the blonde as she makes her way over to the small staircase before turning to give one last piece of advice, “Try to stay out of trouble. I’ll see what I can find.”
Zemo hums in amused, “Trouble.” In slight mockery of Sharon’s doubts on your group while you quickly rise to your feet, eyeing up the man as he takes another sip.
“Shut up.”
——
Dealing with the flashy lights, sweaty bodies, and endless noises brought upon by the clubs rich high end crowds. Sharon was finally able to find a proper lead taking you to some cargo port on the edge of Madripoor where this Nagel guy should be living. Wherever the hell he is.
Sharon leads the way in front. Sam, Bucky, and Zemo ahead of you as your wary eyes trail around the metal cargo vessels to either side of you all. You don’t trust Zemo in the slightest and don’t adheredly like the current surroundings, so you’re taking the back to keep watch for any suspicious activity.
“Madripoor could give New York a run for its money. They know how to party.” Jokes Sam as everyone trails after Sharon who’s tracking this guys lab with her phones GPS system while she adds, “With that bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” If that ain’t the truth.
Turning another corner, she points her phone towards a giant metal cargo box positioned further down the rows of various others, “All right. He’s in there. Container four-two-six-one.” Your eyes quickly find it as as she continues, “I’ll watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” Warns Sharon who gives the four of you com pieces for your ears. More efficient communication, that’s definitely needed in a place like this.
Taking the small device, you stick it into your ear as she begins walking in the opposite direction, soon out of sight as Sam leads the way to the large metal shipment container, “Hey, Sharon. You sure this is the right one?” Questions Sam on the coms when Sharon answers right back that this is the correct one indeed.
This place practically smells like illegal activity.
Sam takes a wary glance inside before slowly entering, Zemo right after. Your ears suddenly catch the sounds of running footsteps further away down by the loading area, immediately you press a hand against Bucky’s shoulder just as he goes to take a step inside. His eyes flash to yours in a second, “What’s wrong?”
“We’re not alone.” You mutter, “I’ll stay back okay? Just get this shit over with before I have to hurt anyone.” Bucky’s brows furrow, face shifting like he’s about to protest though his eyes soften when he sees how confident you are in your statement. He knows you can handle anything.
“Okay. Be safe.”
“You too.”
You watch as he gives the flash of a smile before turning around and following Sam and Zemo further into the large cargo container. You stay a couple moments longer and watch as the Sokovian flicks on a flashlight before messing with the back wall when the rippled metal gives way to a secret door. And with that do you shut the front of the metal container, giving an inch of light into the partially closed space to somewhat cover their tracks.
Now to deal with these bounty hunters.
Wandering a short ways to the right, you follow the new sounds of strained grunts and guns falling to the ground when you catch a glimpse of some movement down a row of cargo containers to your immediate left. Racing in that general direction, you take notice of several men dressed in various dark clothing. All sporting some kind of gun with them.
The first one takes immediate notice of you and soon raises his assault rifle just as you make haste across the short enclosed distance to him. Fortunately, you’re able to reach his side before he’s able to shoot. Instead, you unsheathe your claws, slicing his gun into three parts before kicking his whole body into the giant metal boxes. Knocking him out cold.
A second later his friend sends a bullet straight through your upper chest with the aid of his pistol but is quickly disabled when you fight through the pain to break both his arms, not giving enough of a shit to look back and see if he’s able to do anymore damage. The sounds of his agonized whimpers all that you need to keep moving forward and onto the next three bounty hunters hell-bent on getting that cash.
Not today.
You dodge behind the metal container as bullets rain down upon the steel and cement ground, though you soon snatch up a fallen pistol by your feet before whipping around to land a bullet into the hands of the men hunting you four. They drop their weapons, screaming in pain as blood pours from out of their damaged hands.
Tossing the gun to the side, you quickly walk over to them to finish the job. By now they’re on their knees, cradling their broken and blooded hands to their chests like little children who’s favorite toy has been broken. The first mans eyes go wide when you approach him, words nothing but pleads for mercy when you crack him across the temple without a second thought.
He falls to the ground unconscious when you do the same to his friend. Though the third one spits a slew of insults, venom dripping off his tongue while he scoots away from your wolfish form. “No! No! Stay back you fucking bitch!” Screams the furious man in desperation as blood seeps out from his closed fist, you give him a stern glare before using the ulnar side of your fist to shut him up.
Smack!
He drops slack against the ground with a palpable thud, skull most certainly cracked though he’s sure to make it out alive when he wakes up later on. Shit! Sharon! The sounds of her labored grunts mixed with gunfire alert you into action once more, this new area beacon the cause of your haste down more lumbering cargo until you reach the source of her struggle.
She’s currently battling with a man for control over a pistol, and by the looks of it, she’s handling her own pretty damn well too. Thwack. Thwack. White hot pain shoots through your right back scapula, another bout of intense pain spreading up from your lower right rib cage behind you.
“Fuck.” You seethe through clenched teeth as the silent bounty hunter pulls on your jackets hood, he draws his blooded tactical knife straight for your exposed neck to finish the job but is swiftly met by your body twisting out of his grasp like a crocodile in a death roll.
Taking this precious moment of freedom, your right claws come out of your balled up fist, shining beautifully in the clouded light before slicing three clean lines across his left arm. The knife drops to the cement as his screams of agony fill your ears, blood spurting everywhere in the aftermath.
“ah shit.” You mutter, grimacing at your handiwork that’s making a bloody Pollack painting all over the wet ground, “oh that looks....that looks bad, sorry......uh, I hope you weren’t left handed.” He moans in response; you purse your lips together in disgust, eyes flashing over to the decapitated arm before taking a step to leave. You didn’t kill him, he’s gonna be okay.......probably.
Probably.
“What the fuck?!” Gasps Sharon breathlessly as you whip around to face her, red dots scattered across your face as you watch her wide eyes glance from the groaning man with visible lack of an arm to your face and slowly down to your blood coated Adamantium claws.
“It was a reaction.” You quickly protest as she sends you a doubtful look, “He’ll be fine. Come on we’ve got bigger problems.” You urge as she nods in understanding, quickly jogging ahead as she leads the way to the metal cargo container.
Soon you’re both through the door and into the bright lab you go, “Guys, we’re seriously out of time here.” Rushes Sharon as you trail in right on her heels just as a loud shot rings into the small space. What in the..
“No!” Shouts Sam as he quickly disarms Zemo, pushing the Sokovian against a grated metal wall as Sharon looks at the dead man in bewilderment. “What did you do?” She rasps just as an explosion rocks the lab, causing the five of you to forcibly fall to the ground just as fire bursts from its source. Red emergency lights flashing obnoxiously as smoke and more hot flames gather your attentions from the opposite side of the small lab.
Sucking in a needed breath, your vision goes fuzzy from the harsh impact to the tiled flooring just as a familiar stubbled face kneels down at your side. He pulls a piece of glass out of your shoulder before cradling your head in his metal arm, “Y/N are you okay?!” Stresses Bucky as your eyesight regains it’s bearings along with the rest of you, “Babe we gotta go!”
“M’fine....I’m fine..just..help me up.” Bucky’s strong arms pull you to your feet now, he holds you steady for a second before the two of you quickly follow Sharon and Sam to the exit just as the rest of the lab explodes.
Reaching daylight, you’re greeted by the blaring sounds of gunfire when Bucky yells, “All right! Wait for my signal!” Bullets raining down as Sam races towards the right, “Damn it!” Complains Bucky as he ducks to avoid getting shot in the face.
“I don’t have a fucking gun!” You shout angrily as the three of them shoot at the bounty hunters, you crouch down lower before making your way over to Sharon and Sam, “And you like living here?” These people are insane!
“It’s not terrible.” Replies Sharon as she shoots at more bounty hunters, both her and Sam ignoring your existence as they take out as many foes as possible. Left to your frustrations, Bucky randomly crouches next to your side from seemingly out of nowhere.
“I thought we were going left?!” Counters Bucky at Sam while never ending gunfire sounds in the foreground.
“You went the wrong way!”
“I was clearing the way!”
“I came out first. You had to follow me!”
“And where are we now?!”
“Guys, not the time!” You shout from in between them.
“This is a barricade!” Yells Bucky, both himself and Sam clearly ignoring you at this point.
“It’s in every action movie!” Adds Sam when some man in a purple mask shoots a pipeline, a massive explosion of fire and gas emitting in the aftermath. Fuck all this fire. The masked man doing well to take out a couple bounty hunters before jumping from his perch to take out the remaining three. Zemo. You know it’s him without a doubt in your mind, who knew he could kick some ass too. He’s still an asshole though, you think bitterly, despite his actual attempt at helping a tense situation for once.
“Come on!” Urges Sharon as she gets up and books it towards another alleyway of sorts, gunfire sounding in the background as the four of you race across the damp cement for the safety of anywhere else but here.
Soon you’re able to make some ground before Zemo of all people shows up in a getaway car, infamous smirk upon his mischievous face as he greets you all, “Supercharged.” He smiles. Little shithead.
“You’re going back to jail.” Argues Sam as the Baron practically rolls his eyes. “Do you want to find Karli or not?”
“He’s right.” You begrudgingly admit as much as it pains you so, “We need him. And there’s three of us, and at least 20 of them.” You add, wandering to the opposite backseat of Bucky who’s taking the front.
Sam keeps standing as he eyes up Zemo, “Fine. But if you try that shit again...”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Finishes the Baron as Sam gets into the backseat, sitting to your right while Sharon stays her ground.
“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.”
“Come back to the States with us.” Pleads Sam.
“I can’t. Just get me that pardoned you promised me.” Nods Sharon before walking elsewhere, finding her own way back and away from the prying hungry eyes of the bounty hunters still trying to find where you’re all hiding.
Sam says his thanks to a retreating Sharon before finally sitting down in his seat. Brows furrowed as he assesses his new cramped situation, “You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?”
“No.” Deadpans Bucky. It’s almost like this has happened before. oh wait.
——
Laying on the decently hard cushions of Zemo’s private jet, you listen to the conversation happening away from you as Sam thinks about all the shit Sharon had to go through to get her to this point, a frown on his face as he continues his rant, “And Nagel, referring to the American test subject like Isaiah wasn’t even a real person. Just makes me wonder....how many people have to get steamrolled to make way for this hunk of metal.”
“Well, it depends on who you ask. That hunk of metal saved a lot of lives.” Counters Bucky to Sam’s previous statement about the shield.
Sam nods, “Yeah, I get that. All right. Maybe I made a mistake.”
“You did.”
“Yeah. Maybe I should have put it in a museum. I should have destroyed it.”
“Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me. The worlds upside down, and we need a new Cap, and it ain’t gonna be Walker. So if you destroy it, I’ll take it from him myself.” Sam’s keeps silent for a moment to think Bucky’s words over, but before he’s able to respond his phone buzzes with an incoming call from Torres.
A couple moments later Zemo walks in with some pastries on two separate plates just as Sam gets off the phone, “They found Madani.....Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic sea.”
“I have a place we can go.” Adds Zemo as he leans back in his seat, “I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli. Oeznik, we’re changing the course.” Commands the Sokovian as the three of them settle themselves in for the long flight ahead.
You get a couple minutes of peace on the back couch before a certain someone gets up from his seat to tap your legs, understanding exactly what he wants, you move yourself into a seated position and watch as he plops himself onto the couch next to you. Closing his tired eyes for a brief moment before opening them to look over at you, “How’r you feeling?” Asks Bucky, taking notice of the tiny red flecks that dust your cheeks from what you did earlier that day in Madripoor to some unlucky bounty hunters.
Shrugging, you scoot yourself over closer to him, “My jacket is useless now. I’m gonna need a new one.”
“Why’s that?”
“Some guy stabbed me twice and now there’s two holes in it. So, not very fashionable.”
Bucky hums, face shifting into a deep frown as he moves his left hand to take your fingers with his, “You got hurt.”
You nod, “I did. Nothing I couldn’t handle, Sharon needed me anyways.”
Bucky’s eyes dance from over to a snoozing Sam and oblivious Zemo before returning back over to you, “Come’r Y/N.” Whispers Bucky as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. “It’s been a long couple days....and I, I uh...”
“Miss me?” You tease.
He snorts out a breathy laugh, one hand squeezing your side affectionately as he presses a kiss into your hair, “Yeah. Guess I just missed this.....just being with you. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t say getting stabbed or shot is a fun time..”
“You got shot too?”
“Just a tiny bullet, in and out so fast I barely even felt it.” You did feel it, and it hurt a lot. “Honestly I didn’t even notice till after.”
“Jeez Y/N.” Worries your sweet lover as he pulls you onto him while laying himself fully onto the long couch, “You gotta be more careful.”
“I would but we’re currently on the hunt for some crazy super soldiers. But I’ll try, if it means you’ll worry less for your indestructible girlfriend.”
Bucky chuckles, “Good. I really need you around because Sam can be insufferable at times.”
“I know. Now, go to sleep. We’re both gonna need it. Hopefully Zemo’s place has a big comfy bed for us.”
-
Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes @mischiefmanaged71 @jckie94 @mjaudrey @peachymichu @iamasimpingh0e @thescarlettvvitch
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x reader#the winter soldier#the winter soldier x y/n#the winter soldier x reader#the winter soldier x you#marvel x y/n#marvel x reader#marvel x you#marvel image#fanfic#fanfiction#series rewrite
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Snowdrop Chpt 3
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 5033
Series Summary: Bringing Zemo in to help fight against the rise of the new group of super soldiers brings in a new, yet famailiar face into the mix.
Chapter Summary: Sharon uses her contacts to find out information about Nagel. Meanwhile, Bucky and (Y/N) do a little catching up. Sharon's lead sends them to the docks to confront the man behind the serum.
Chapter Warnings: Episode level violence. Brief mentions of injuries and blood.
A/N: So this chapter took me a while and it kind of took a mind of it's own. There is a character mentioned in this chapter I can not take credit for and that will be 'Ghost'. Credit for that character goes to @darke-15 who is one of my favorite authors with an amazing story in which reader is 'Ghost', so big thanks for letting me borrow your character for a chapter!
Disclaimer: All languages that are not English were provided by Google translator with the translations following in bolden italics. Gifs used were found under the gif tab provided by tumblr.
Catch up on Snowdrop here: (1) (2)
“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice came from the hooded figure. Zemo turned around, The female sounding figure, while pointing the guy towards Zemo, reached up and pulled down the hood. The face revealed was familiar, at least to most of the group. “Drop it, Zemo.” Zemo set down the gun he had in hand while Bucky stepped forward looking confused. “Sharon?”
The blonde woman stepped forward, gun raised pointed at Bucky. (Y/N) moved to step forward but Sam grabbed her arm to keep her in place. “You cost me everything.” She mentioned in a low voice. “Sharon, wait,” something was kicked as she approached the four person group as Sam tried to explain what was going on to the woman, “Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Her head nodded to the side in understanding. “That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” The woman’s eyes looked at Bucky like she blamed him. “So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked and his tone was almost gentle as he spoke to the woman. “I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” The gun moved to point at Sam then to Bucky before landing on Zemo again, “so that you could save his ass from his ass.” (Y/N) who was pretty hidden from Sharon’s view was smiling at her comment.
“I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.” Sharon shrugged her shoulders finally lowering the gun. “Don’t blow smoke. I was on the run too.” Sam’s town was low and serious as his attention was focused on Sharon. “Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon spoke and this whole conversation was starting to confuse the other woman who wasn’t around for the events that were being discussed. “Listen, Sharon was it? We need your help blondie.” (Y/N) tells her as she steps up into sight between Zemo and Bucky. Sharon looked her over as she let out a chuckle. “Please.” Bucky adds stepping up next to his old teammate. Sharon let out a sigh as she shook her head slightly. “This isn’t over. I have a place up in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”
Bucky, without asking or offering, scooped the nurse next to him up into his arms. “Don’t argue, you kicked off your shoes and I’m not letting you cut your feet on something.” The rumble of his chest reminded her of a time where the only person she could trust was him. She simply nods her head, glancing over the leather jacket to see Sam push Zemo forward. The group made their way to Sharon’s car that she drove over to her place in High Town.
“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam comments as he takes in the place the blonde woman was staying. “I thought if I had to hustle, I might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” She gestured to one of the paintings on display as she talked. “Ey easy. Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.” Sam tried to correct her but Zemo cut him off. “No, she means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.” Y/N nods from Bucky’s side. “It’s true, Wilson.” She confirms before Bucky adds his own confirmation, “You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”
“Okay guys, I see what you’re doing here. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” The southern man spoke, pulling out his phone to google the truth. Deciding to catch up with Sharon and Zemo who had kept walking, the lone female of the group giggled as she passed by Sam. “Yeah. What’s google say?” Bucky asked, patting his friend’s shoulder as he passed following his old partner. “No shit.” Sam muttered before Sharon called back to them to change before her clients arrived in an hour. Sharon left the men with a cart of clothes before dragging the other female with her to another room to change.
Sharon led them back into the main room where the three men were left. She commented on Sam's change of clothes, or middle of change considering he was still shirtless. Y/N, now dressed in a navy blue dress pant-suit that was surprisingly comfortable and easy to move in, moved to sit on the couch next to Bucky. She reached over to smooth out the lapels of the black jacket the former soldier now wore. She could hear Sam questioning Sharon about why she never came back and how Sharon would be locked up if she returned. Yet hearing Sharon talk badly about the shield drew the nurse’s attention to her rambling about hero business being hypocrisy. “He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo comments holding a drink in his hand. “By the way, how is the new Cap?” Sharon asked making Bucky’s eye’s roll as he replied, “Don’t get me started.”
Sharon scoffs as she moved towards the couch. “Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” The silent nurse shifts uncomfortably as she listens to the conversation. “Before you were his pet psychopath you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” Bucky could probably feel the tension growing between the two females that were now seated on either side of him. “Wow. She’s kind of awful now.” The 106 year old man’s face was blank as he glanced up at Sam who was adjusting the neck of a shirt deciding it best to change topic. “Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” Sharon shakes her head at the statement “You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety.”
Y/N stands up rubbing her palms over her hips before stepping around the couch to stand behind Bucky. “Sure there is a risk sweetheart but until I… we find out who cracked the code,” She started correcting herself as she spoke. Although his face was as blank as ever a metal hand reached up and back to rest on the hand just next to his shoulder. It wasn’t much but the nonverbal comfort that was given was enough. “We got a name,” the dark head of hair leaned back till the nurse could see the blue eyes she had known for years, “Wilfred Nagel.” Sharon’s eyebrows scrunched together before she moved off the couch, “Nagel works for the Power Broker.”
Sam bargained for Sharon’s help in exchange for clearing her name. Meanwhile the nurse was behind Bucky muttering, “We don’t really need her. Just give us a few hours and we can do it ourselves.” The small tug of a smirk against the stubble jawline of Barnes could be seen before he shook his head slightly. “Trust, doc.” His voice rumbled like low thunder as he spoke to her. She was never one to jump full into a plan without looking at all possibilities, which is why Steve always liked her opinion back in the war.
“They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.” Sam’s comment on Bucky drew the nurse’s attention back to the main conversation in the room. “I heard that.” Bucky comments as the nurse moves back around the couch to sit back down next to her dark haired friend. “I don’t trust charity.” Sharon mentions. The nurse groans dramatically, making the room turn towards her. “She’s as stubborn as Peggy. Look toots, it’s not a hand out. You’re doin’ a job. You’re going to help us and in exchange bird-man is gonna get your name cleared.” Sharon took that as a deal and agreed to help using her sellers as a network to find out what she can, leaving instructions to lay low and blend in before she heads to the front to start greeting guests.
The four still sitting in the back didn’t move for a moment. Zemo was sipping from a tumbler, probably a whiskey, which Sam moved over to the other two. “So what did you mean earlier about you and Bucky being seen together?” The room again lulled into silence before the woman hummed and looked from her hands to Sam. “In the days of the Winter Soldier, seeing us together meant death, if you didn’t die that day you would die in a year. Seeing just me represented mercy, if you saw me alone the chances were the Winter Soldier wouldn’t kill you. That’s why I was Snowdrop. The meaning and folklore around the flower was my duty, besides keeping the soldier in prime condition”
“She also was his partner. On a mission if she was not nursing an injury it was her job to cover his right side, the side deemed weaker without the metal arm. She was trained to stay out of his way but move in tandem with him, like magnets.” Zemo added to the woman’s explanation. The nurse stood up from the couch. “It’s in the past. I am not Snowdrop. Just like Bucky is not the Winter Soldier. I’ll see you gentlemen out there.” She left the three men in the room alone. Sam turned his head towards Bucky silently asking if there was more to the story. The man shook his head pushing up from the couch. “Come on, we should blend in.”
The music was definitely not anything Bucky or Y/N were used to. The two war vets met by the bar, both nursing a tumbler of whiskey over ice. “Where did you go after you got out?” If it wasn’t from years of memorizing the tone and every aspect of the voice talking to her (Y/N) might not have heard him over the music. Her eyes glanced up at his as she stepped around to his left side, a nonverbal ask of permission to touch his arm. The man let out a soft grunt, raising the glass to his lips. Sliding into the spot next to him and placing his arm around her waist for casual onlookers she leaned up to talk.
“They were going to use me to get you back, Zemo let me out when he found out HYDRA’s next plan for us. They were going to force Project Chroma onto me...us. I was to be transferred to the lab when my escape happened. First thing I did was go home. Security sure has changed in the years. I saw the war monument in Washington. I got to see the tribute made out to Rogers at the Smithsonian where you were mentioned." She bumped her hip gently against his and even caught a small smile before it was covered by the glass of whiskey. She took her own sip before continuing, walking with the man as he led the way around the outer perimeter of the room. "Most action I got to see since my escape besides what is going on now was the slight trouble I got in with my new hacking hobby and helping someone." Bucky's blue eyes glanced down at her. "I shouldn't be surprised you always were a bit of a tech nerd. What about this person you helped? That's dangerous for you right now until you get pardoned." His hand brushed over her lower back as she turned to face him. "Now listen here James I made an oath when I became a medic, I was going to help everyone I could if I was able to so that's what I did. Now hush or you won't get the story before Sam tracks you down." From the way her eyes darted across the dance floor Barnes knew she had a location on all of their friends. He nods his head pressing his lips into a firm line.
"Zemo called me. Needed me to be ready for a job he was doing. Flew me out to Vienna, Austria. I was there the day you were framed for that bombing Buck." She rubbed a hand over her face thinking back on the day and how worried she got for him after that day. "I was okay, sugar. Now tell me about this kid you helped." Bucky soothed pulling her closer the way his arm felt around (Y/N) was always comforting to her. Maybe it was how safe he made her feel and knowing the damage that arm could do. Her fingers brushed over the metal plating of his left hand.
"They sped up on this bike, jumped off it and were heading straight for the building like they knew what was going to happen and needed to warn everyone. They never made it inside. The explosion, it...it seemed to trigger something and they froze. Just standing there. Something fell from above, a piece of concrete you know the kind with the support pipes, it caught them on the way down. Person was unconscious and more debris was falling. I did the only thing I could think of, took them back to my hotel a block away, away from curious eyes. They woke up when I was laying out the first aid kit.
I nearly got punched in the face if it wasn't for working with you. Stubborn kid that one was, laceration from shoulder to inner elbow on the right side, dislocated shoulder, and there were already some previous injuries. The kid called themselves 'Ghost' so I told them to call me 'Grace'. Fixed them up and sent them on their way with the car I was using to get out of there. After that I went to Visit graves.."
Bucky was quiet for a moment before ducking his head down towards her ear. "Hearing someone call you Grace got to you didn't it?" He asked as his mind went back to how he felt when Steve called him 'Bucky'. "Amazing Grace, Ghost said the whole thing when they left. I didn't think anyone would remember me as Amazing Grace after the war."
"Wait, you're Amazing Grace from Steve's war stories?" Sam's voice asked in shock over the music drawing the faux couple out of their own world to let him join. "Best nurse you may ever meet. Plus she always sang for the injured soldiers. Got the nickname Amazing Grace because that was her go to song and some of the men started to think she was an angel." Bucky looked down at the blushing nurse next to him, eyes swimming with pride and fondness for her, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Sam definitely took note of the change of attitude the grumpy old man always seemed to have after spending time with the woman who was so casually wrapped up next to the man that Sam wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing it. The nurse patted the tall man's chest a few times before pointing into the crowd of partiers to where Zemo was doing his own dance.
【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】
Sharon was able to find the man they were looking for but by the time the guest had cleared and the trip to the docks was made it was light outside. Small conversation was made as Sharon led the way. With word that she would keep watch Sharon sent them inside after handing over an ear piece to each of them. Sam opened the door to the container. Bucky and (Y/N) exchanged a look and there was something in his eyes that she knew meant that he was worried for her. The container was empty upon entry. Yet that was soon disproven by Zemo and his flashlight finding a secret door within the back wall. Zemo pushed open the door as the other three drew a gun. Sam moved to the font of the line followed by Zemo. Bucky kept an eye on the back with (Y/n) between him and the German man.
Music was playing, masking the sound of their entry. The hidden lab was dimly lit with fluorescent light casting a gray tinge over everything. The nurse took a silent deep breath as she took in the lab around her. She could remember the day Erskine brought her in see him work on the serum used on Steve Rogers. She could remember the failed attempts she had in the HYDRA labs and the even worse side affects her body went through upon testing. All the flashes of the serum in her brain and the trouble it caused made her uneasy for a moment as she took a small step closer to Barnes, his eye catching the movement and moving to cover her.
Sam and Bucky lead the way towards Nagel while (Y/N) stays at Zemo’s side. Bucky pulled the needle from the playing record making the music stop. Nagel turned from his workstation to find out why his music stopped only to let out a gasp at the sight of Sam standing there with a gun. “Dr. Nagel?”
“Who are you? What do you want?” The doctor questioned quickly, probably nervous. Sam rose his head slightly and his voice was gentle when he answered. “We know you created the super-soldier serum.” That did not trigger a positive response as the doctor stepped forward ordering him to “Get out of my lab.” The doctor walked past Sam as if to escort him out but froze upon seeing the former Winder Soldier standing there, dark ice blue eyes locked onto him. “You know who he is, right?” Sam’s voice was still calm as ever even as the doctor stepped back away from the direction of Barnes and turned towards the other blocked direction where Zemo and the nurse stood. “This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him too, right? Maybe even her?”
The doctor was escorted by Sam to the more open area. Zemo followed him as (Y/N) stepped up to the workstation to take a look at just what they were making the serum with. “You seem like a smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick.” A slight rattle drew her attention back to the doctor and the interrogation that would soon occur. “How about a counter proposal?” The doctor offered, “Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.” Sharon’s hushed voice came through the earpiece warning them of some company arriving outside. The lone female in the lab stepped forward into the doctor’s line of sight. She moved forward with a sweet smile on her face before reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt to force him down into a chair. “Look here doctor, I’m a pretty patient lady, but if you don’t start talking he’ll start shooting. Got it? Now I’m not too happy about you messing around with my serum.” There was a brief glance towards Bucky as she spoke to the doctor, a firm tone hardening her voice. She didn’t ever realize how she had referred to the serum as hers, which in a sense it could be after Erskine’s death she was the only one that knew how to do it.
When Nagel didn’t respond but just glared at her a warning shot was fired off behind his head before the gun moved back to pointing at the side of his head. “Okay, okay. I was brought into HYDRA’s Winter Soldier program to pick up her work, after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When HYDRA fell I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system.” (Y/N) listened, taking a small step back just barely catching a glimpse of a small head shake from Bucky as he looked at Sam. “After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I was a god-” The woman standing in front of the doctor raised her gun aiming it right between his eyes as she cut him off, “You are not a god.” Buck made a nonverbal command for Sam to move over towards the nurse who seemed to be taking this harder than anticipated. “I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do.” The doctor completely ignored the woman as he spoke to Sam. Zemo moved from the woman’s side to walk around and look at the equipment in the lab. “But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines,” A dig at the radiation chamber used to help Steve, “or jacked up bodies.” A dig at Bucky. “Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at Nagel. She wanted to punch him, it was almost like an insult to herself the way he spoke about her work. She had been there right next to Erskine the day Steve received the serum. She had given Rogers the morphine before he entered the chamber. She had read over Erskine’s destroyed notes so many times the day before because she was scared for the test subject’s safety. Then when HYDRA captured her and she was forced to start recreating it she refused to try it on anyone but herself. The amount of times a HYDRA agent found her near death was probably close to a dozen before she perfected it enough to start inducing it on Bucky. Sergeant Barnes was so weak the first time she gave him a shot of the serum, a test to see if his body could handle it. When she was contacted and brought back, it was a life or death situation that led to her giving the remaining required dose of the serum to Bucky.
“How have we never heard of this?” Sam’s voice brought her back to the present. Her eyes glanced over at the other super soldier and he was already looking at her. Bucky had seen her far off expression. He almost wished she was outside helping Sharon. “Because before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, and the program had been abandoned so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.” The doctor explained the woman in the room taking a step back to recollect herself. She really wanted to put a bullet through this Power Broker at the moment. “How many vials did you make?” She asked as calmly as possible, trying to match Sam but she could hear how annoyed she was. “Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so.. Could only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.”
“Where is Karli now?” Sam asked as the nurse looked over her shoulder at Zemo. The two made eye contact and in that moment a silent understanding was passed between the two. “I don’t know but a couple of days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.” Nagel explains as Zemo came back to rejoin the circle. “What happened to her?” Sam’s question didn’t get a direct answer since the doctor didn’t care to find out since it wasn’t his business. “Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky questioned, looking down at the man. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he waited for the response. When the man did nothing but look at him Barnes pushed the barrel of his gun to the side of the man’s head earning a quick ‘No’.
“Now what?” Bucky wonders aloud looking towards the other three, not moving his gun from the man’s head until he sees Sharon enter. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” Sharon insists, her entrance being just enough of a distraction for Zemo to raise the gun he had found strapped under one of the lab tables and shoot Doctor Nagel. Sam pinned Zemo to the wall as Sharon knocked the gun out of the baron’s hand. (Y/N) quickly moved to the doctor, the impact of the shot having knocked him back in the chair and falling backwards. “What did you do?” Sharon asked in a panicked voice. The nurse checked for a pulse but the man was dead. “He’s gone.”
An explosion broke out as something shot into the lab. Bucky grabbed onto his old friend/partner and covered her from the blast as he dove out of the way. An emergency alarm sounded out against the slight ring caused from the explosion. Groans came from everyone as they recollected themselves to get up and move. Bucky and (Y/N) were the first to move onto their hands and knees given the enhancement provided from the serum. “You good?” Bucky breathed out as he struggled to get up. “M’fine.” She muttered using something near her to push herself up before helping him stand. Things were shaking, glass items clinking together. “This place is going to blow, we have to move fast.” She urged Bucky forward as she began to move both of them looking back at beakers of chemicals. “Anyone see Zemo?” Sam wheezed before (Y/n) helped him up from the ground as the chivalrous Barnes helped Sharon up. “Let’s go.” He ordered. The lab explosion happened right behind the two super soldiers that kept the other two moving.
The four now, without the sign of Zemo, were now outside where the company was waiting for the smoke to clear to take fire. “All right, wait for my signal!” Bucky instructed but went unheard as bullets started to ping off the shipping container around them. Sam shot back as he moved in a different direction. Sharon and (Y/N) followed Bucky around the other way, guns at the ready. It sounded like fireworks with the amount of bullets being shot through the air. Only a few actually hit a target. Sam was taking cover already when the three arrived, Sharon moving to cover Wilson as he reloaded. “And you like living here?” Sam asked in an exasperated yell to Sharon to be heard over the gun fire that sounded way too much like a war field. “It’s not terrible.” The woman behind Sharon scoffed at the answer as she and Bucky shot at targets in opposite directions, each covering the other’s blind spot.
Bucky’s gun clicked a few times proving it was empty. He let out a short frustrated yell, something (Y/N) wasn’t used to coming from him since way back in the days of the Howling Commandos when his gun would jam. He rushed back under better coverage calling over to Sam, “I thought we were going left?” Sam glanced over his shoulder for a moment to the man yelling at him.
“You went the wrong way!” Sam points to him as he yelled back
“I cleared the way!”
“I came out first. You’re supposed to follow me.”
“And where are we now?”
“Guys, not the time!” Sharon called back to them from where she was still shooting nearing the end of her ammo. From across from her (Y/n) was in the same situation as she called back. “We can sign you two up for couple’s therapy later!” The nurse called back completely unaware of the therapy session the two have already been through together. “I’m out!” Sharon called, ducking back out of direct fire. A moment later the other female ducked back too, “So am I.” The two men are still arguing over who should have led. None of them were prepared for a second explosion. Recovering from having to quickly duck and cover from the flames they all looked out to see a masked Zemo jumping into action taking care of the remaining men. Bucky tapped on Sharon’s back, “Go.” Sharon jumped into action and made a run for it, “Come on. Let’s go.”
There were still bullets being fired rapidly as they wove through the maze of shipping containers. Opening up an empty container to hide inside didn’t help as they were quickly located and shot at. Sam and Sharon were already inside. With his left hand Bucky broke off the metal lock bar off the container while pushing (Y/n) inside with his right. He used the bar to knock one man unconscious before turning, raising the bar like a spear and throwing it with the left arm with enough force to pin another person through their shoulder to a shipping container. “Come on, let's go.” Sam grabbed onto Bucky’s jacket pulling him into the container.(Y/n) walked through the dark metal box to the other side. Bucky bit the other doors with his metal fist before she could even lift her leg to break it open. As they stepped out of the container screeching tires alerted them to a fast approaching vehicle. Zemo rounded the corner in a supercharged Pontiac Firebird.
“You’re going back to jail.” Was the first thing out of Sam’s mouth as they all glared at the man. “Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo asked, turning his head away and then back to them. “He’s right. We need him.” Bucky looks at Sam as he helps (Y/N) into the back seat of the car. “There’s three of us and at least twenty of them.” The super soldier says as he gets into the car himself. “Fine but if you try that shit again.” Sam’s voice was hard as he pointed at Zemo while climbing into the back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo states as Bucky turns to glare at him.
“Well that was one hell of a reunion.” Sharon sighs, closing the car door for them. Sam tried to bring her back again but she refused to go without the pardon. That was when they parted ways with Sharon Carter. Sharon walked one way while Zemo drove off in the other heading back towards the airstrip to leave Mandripoor behind them.
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Man Out of Time: Chap. 37, The Power Broker
Charlie's POV:
We follow Sharon to her car, Sam jumps to the front with her, and Bucky opens the door for me, assisting me inside, as Zemo walks to the side behind Sam. Sharon intently watches me and Bucky; noticing how gentle we are towards one another. Both of us needing the other to know that even though we're taking things at a snail speed, we still desire to want to be close, and keep one another safe.
Everyone is silent. Possibly thinking just how much can we trust Sharon. I want to trust her, because Steve did, but I don't. Bucky senses my unease and places a hand on my thigh, struggling to calm my nerves. Here in Madripoor we don't have the upper hand. We know no one, and that gives me anxiety. We don't know where we're going, or who will be there.
"Hey, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Bucky casts over to me, gently squeezing my thigh.
I meet his eyes, "I'm just nervous. Sharon and I don't exactly have the friendliest past. There's always been something I just don't like about her."
"For me...can you just trust me?" I sigh, shaking my head, "I would never do anything to actually hurt you. We've got to get you back to Maggie. If you ever feel this is too much, we'll leave."
"Promise?"
"Promise. Besides, she's smart, you couldn't control her." He's right. She was able to read me quickly.
"So, what's the deal with you two? You look like you're conversing without saying anything." Sharon looks back in the mirror at us.
"They are." Zemo says flatly. "She can also control people. You were able to pick up on her in your head." I elbow him, I don't want everyone knowing my secrets.
"Hmm...interesting." And then silence again.
When we arrive at her place, she walks briskly up the stairs. She has a heavily guarded home. Oddly Sam walks beside Sharon while Bucky and Zemo flank me. He keeps a protected stance over me, hand placed firmly on the small of my back.
When we walk in Sam takes a good look around, taking everything in. "Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well."
"I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I'll get for a real Monet?" She guides us further into the building.
"Easy. Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet's." Sam looks at her, almost as if daring her to disagree with the fact that they're fake.
"No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet, Van Gogh. Classics." Zemo responds walking past us, fully taking in all the priceless artwork.
"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this." Bucky adds. I just look at everything in here. It's beautiful.
"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good ole Sam."
"Yeah. What's Google say?" I giggle behind Sam as Bucky pulls me out of the gallery. "You need clothes that doesn't have your ass hanging out of them."
"I like this outfit." His grip on my wrist gets a bit tighter and he continues pulling me with him.
"No shit." Sam says surprised.
"Come on, you guys need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour." She turns looking at me. "I'm sure I have something that covers you up a bit more, princess." This is why I don't like her. Bucky squeezes on my wrist again.
She leads me to a rack of clothes, and I sigh realizing how much I do actually hate this outfit. My fingers trace along the different dresses; silk, satin, lace, sequins, tulle, they're are beautiful. "I like the black lace one, doll." I smile up at Bucky and grab it off the rack. Sharon leads me behind a partition so I can change. What I'm wearing can just be thrown away. The new outfit is stunning. At first glance you would think that the black satin was a high-low dress, but it's shorts with a high-low train. The neck line is a modest sweetheart, but flows into long-sleeve black lace. I pull my teased hair up into a low ponytail, bumping up the back a bit.
When I walk out from behind the partition Bucky gazes at me with a half, I want to fuck you right now and half you're stunning look. "Wow, Charlie, you look amazing. I mean...much more comfortable." He rakes my hand with his as he goes behind the partition changing. I walk over to the couch sitting down.
"You no longer look like a courtesan." Zemo tells me. "Which, that was the point. You played the part well."
Sam continues to ruffle through the clothing rack. He pulls off his shirt before selecting another and Bucky comes from behind the partition and walks towards me, sitting as close as he possibly can on the couch.
Sharon comes back from changing, looks at a shirtless Sam and says, "Much better."
"What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam asks.
Sharon shuffles to the couch, laying a jacket basically on me. Bucky scoots a bit further from me and pulls my body up next to his. "Can't keep your hands to yourself tonight, huh?"
"Don't want to." He gives the slightest grin.
"They'll lock me up if I step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition."
"I'm sorry I didn't call, but after the blip and the chaos, I just..." Sam is such a good guy. He really does want to help everyone. I'm more of a cynic. You can't save them all.
"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? I mean, the way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it's all hypocrisy." She tries to make Sam feel guilty because he wants to help.
"He knows. And not so deep down." Zemo answers, pouring himself a drink.
"By the way, how is the new Cap?" She asks.
"Don't get me started." Bucky's weight shifts and he places his metal arm high up on my thigh just at the mention of John.
"Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit." She walks over to the couch sitting on the opposite side of Bucky. "Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend." Her eyes fall to his hand on me. "Now look at you, grabbing onto Steve's sloppy seconds."
His hand tightens on me. "Wow. She's kind of awful now."
"Come on, how did this happen anyways?" Her hands flick between us. "You have a child with Steve and when he goes missing you run to his best friend? Sam next?"
"That's not exactly how things happened, Sharon." My voice is cold as I look directly at Sam. Trying to make sure to keep calm.
"Oh, Sam's not a super soldier. Is that what it is?"
"Are you still jealous that Steve chose me over you?"
"Looks like he chose not to be with you, too." She smiles, but not before I return a smile to her.
"Actually, I was the one who broke up with him. He just wasn't the man I wanted to be with."
"This is awkward." Bucky huffs.
"Words that needed to be said. When it came to Steve, you and I both were left lacking, Sharon."
"You built a life with him. How is your daughter by the way?" She looks at me blankly. I don't know what she's getting at. My eyes stare right back at her. Pissed she would ever mention my daughter. We stare at each other, wanting the other to fold, give up their dominance.
"We're not bringing her into this. You two finished?" Bucky looks over to me. "You feel better now?" I nod. Sharon and I will never be friends. Sharon looks over at me and nods, and our gazes move from each other.
"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum." Sam changes the subject.
"You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety." Sharon's eyes glance between all four of us. She actually sounds sincere.
"We know it's a risk, but we're not gonna leave until we find the one who cracked the code." Sam tells her.
"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel." Bucky says. His voice is low and soft. He's tired.
"Nagel works for the Power Broker." Sharon says getting up from the couch.
"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared." Sam says over to her as she pours a drink.
"You haggling with my life?" She looks over at Sam.
"Not like that."
"I don't buy that. You pretending like you can clear my name."
"Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you're right. What happened to you. But I'm willing to try if you are. They cleared the bionic staring machine and he killed almost everybody he's met."
"I heard that." Bucky huffs, he still stares blankly in front of him.
"I don't trust charity."
Sam crosses his arms. "Alright, a deal then. You help us out, and I... we will get your name cleared." His hand extends to Sharon's.
She glances over to me and I nod my head at her, if she helps us, I will do everything in my power to help as well. "I was able to help Bucky, with your help and cooperation, I will help you." I cast over to her. She grabs Sam's hand with a sigh, and takes a drink.
"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party." She begins leaving the room we're in before turning back around. "Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find."
"Trouble?" Zemo shrugs.
"I need a drink." I stand and walk to the bar cart and Bucky follows. "You don't have to follow me wherever I go, Bucky."
"I know. We should have some fun tonight." He whispers in my ear as I pour myself a drink. I offer him a drink from my cup and he takes it.
"This isn't a date." I pull the drink back to my hands and let the dark amber liquid burn down my throat warming me up.
"No. This...is fun, but a date later?" I smile nodding at him.
The gallery has been turned into a club almost. Bodies, booze, music, and dancing permeate through the walls. The deep bass vibrates through my chest. I stand at the bar and ask for an Old Fashion. Bucky gets a straight scotch. I drink from my cup smiling up at him. After I finish my drink, I attempt to pull him out on the dance floor. Stubbornly he doesn't budge. I shrug before walking out by myself, he pulls at my arm. "Stay here and dance with me." I know this music isn't Bucky's favorite, but tonight I just want to have fun.
"People will want to get drinks; we're occupying too much space." I yell up at him. It's been a while since I've drank and I already feel the strong whiskey working through my body. Almost sensing this Bucky turns and orders another Old Fashioned and hands it to me. Sam spots us and walks through the crowd, I follow, and reluctantly Bucky comes up behind me, both hands on my hips as we walk to find a place to dance.
I don't drink too much from my most recent cocktail, so Bucky takes it upon himself to start drinking it, "I really would like to see you drunk, doll."
"No, you don't. I'm too frisky." I spin my body and grind my ass on him. He lets out a grunt before turning me back to face him.
"You're too much of a flirt right now, you know that?"
Without stopping my dancing, "You say that like it's a bad thing." His hands drift over my body as he pulls me closer to him with a jerk. His lips find mine as I taste the dark liquor on his tongue. My hunger for him, mixed with the alcohol in my system and the taste of his mouth is unbearable. Drinking and dancing on Bucky wasn't a good idea. I want him so much right now. The deep smokey flavor of the whiskey and scotch linger on him, I lap up every bit that I can.
I push myself off of him, looking up at his eyes smiling. His hands come to both sides of my face as he pulls me back into his lips. I am completely incapsulated in Bucky, I can feel the heat and electricity spread through my body the more his hands roam over me. He smiles pulling back, "You're creating that bubble again."
"Oh shit." I drop my hands from him. We can't do this with so many people around. I pull at his hand as I walk off the floor to where Sam is standing.
"You want to explain what that was?" Sam asks confused.
"Don't know. It's only happened twice. And it's usually...when..."
"When I really turn her on." Bucky says with a smile. I smack at his arm and Sam groans rolling his eyes.
"Hey guys. I found him." Sharon walks over to us. I don't know how he did it, but Zemo has made his way over to our side as well.
"Here we go." Sam says as we follow Sharon.
__________________________________________________________________
Bucky's POV:
We arrive at the shipping dock where we're led to believe that Nagel is. We walk through the never-ending mazes of shipping containers. Sharon leads the way, and Sam and I have taken our protective stance over Charlie. "Madripoor could give New York a run for its money." Sam says as Sharon navigates.
"They know how to party." Zemo responds.
"With that bounty on your head, the longer you're in Madripoor, the less likely you're ever leaving." She right, we're on a time clock and need to get out of here sooner rather than later. She stops, "Alright, he's in there. Container four-two-six-one." I look around, my assassin eyes roam our surroundings. "I'll watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We're on borrowed time." She hands us all ear pieces.
I watch as Charlie readies her gauntlets, I've notice she favors these as they don't actually cause damage, plus will give her the ability to hover, if needed. She's still walking around in her dress from the night before. Her toned legs are exposed and her heels are shorter, she's not stumbled or fell once. Focus. Charlie isn't my target.
Sam opens the door with a creak. We look inside...empty. Did Sharon set us up? "Hey, Sharon. You sure this is the right one? It's completely empty." Sam says through his ear piece. I guide Charlie inside, continuing to keep my protective stance over her. I've got to get her back to Maggie.
"Positive. It has to be." She answers sure that she was given the correct information. I hope she did, and this information is accurate, and not her setting us up.
Zemo turns a flashlight on, glancing through the shipping container. Charlie and I stay close to the doors, in case we need a quick escape. Zemo walks deeper in the container. Determined that we are indeed in the correct container, that there is a secret to unlock. When he reaches the back, his hand touches the metal as his eyes flicker up and down, he gives the metal a forceful push, and it moves, revealing a hidden passage. Of course, he wouldn't have his lab in the front, right in the open.
Sam and I pull out a gun, "Doll, you got more than your gauntlets on you?" Charlie gives me a nod as she smiles. Naturally, she would have more, even if she doesn't have her full suit. Zemo allows Sam to go in through the front and he follows. Charlie steps in front of me as I bring up the rear. I look behind us, something just seems off, and we're leaving Sharon alone.
It isn't long until I see the lights of the lab, soft music plays in the background, allowing us to be stealthier than we actually are. I walk further ahead and get in front of Zemo, and as if he knows she shouldn't be bringing up the rear he shifts his body to be behind her. This is definitely the place. Test tubes, vials, jars line the walls and shelves of the lab. He will be able to create a super soldier army when he's finished.
We walk deeper into the lab and Sam and I spot him. Both of us look at one another, hoping that things go well. Things have to go well. Our group splits up and Charlie follows me to the left and Zemo stays behind Sam. Zemo is truly annoyed that this man would have the nerve to create more of this serum. He reaches over and moves the needle of the record and Nagel gasps before turning around, meeting Sam's eyes, "Dr. Nagel?"
"Who are you? What do you want?" His weaselly voice asks Sam.
"We know you created the super soldier serum."
Nagel's full body turns as he quickly walks towards Sam. He hasn't noticed that Charlie and I are still close by. "Get out of my lab." He doesn't engage or fight Sam, just continues walking past.
"Hey!" Sam tries to reason with him. His body stops with a jolt as he's then met with my fierce eyes. He glances quickly to Charlie's small body and her gauntlets pointing right at him.
"You know who he is, right?" Sam calmly asks. The man nods his head, Sam grabs his arm and points him at Zemo, "This is Baron Zemo. I know you've heard of him, too, right?"
"I'm more concerned with the girl. Such a high profile she has and yet everyone still wants her and can't get her." His voice is nasally and feels like teeth scraping on metal.
"What do they want with her?" My voice is steady.
He smiles, "They've been looking for her for years. Such a high price on her pretty little head. Do you have no idea who she is?" He knows he's struck a nerve and Sam knows he's got to change the subject before I kill him.
"You seem like a pretty smart guy. So, you better become conversational real quick." He brings his body over closer to us, slamming him up against the wall.
"How about a counter proposal? Make me a better offer and I'll talk." He glances over to me and Charlie, smiling at both of us. My body instinctively goes more in front of her.
"Guys, we have company." Sharon calls through coms. We've got to wrap this up.
I've had enough, I walk over to Nagel, grabbing his hand, and slamming his body down in a chair. My gun points at his head. I will kill him; he doesn't need to provoke me further. "Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go!"
I swiftly move my gun to where I won't actually hit the rat and I pull the trigger. His body heavily flinches and Sam gives me a warning look to calm down. "Okay. Okay." He answers clearly shaken. "I was brought into Hydra's Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia." His beady eyes glance over to Zemo as does my own. "When Hydra fell, I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system." Isaiah. Sam realizes who he's talking about and is disgusted, I watch his facial expressions, knowing that he's furious and hurt about everything that happened to Isaiah.
"After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood." My eyes turn back to Nagel's. "I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do." Zemo's attention goes throughout the lab, and he walks around looking at the shelves. "But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect." He's insane.
"How have we never heard about this?" Sam asks.
"Because...before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work."
"How many vials did you make?" Sam looks over to Charlie before his gaze meets Nagel's again.
"Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so..." His eyes land on Charlie's and he holds his gaze, "I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl."
"Where's Karli now?" Finally, his staring eyes turn to Sam when asked a question.
"I don't know where she is. But a couple of days ago, she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that."
Zemo's body comes back to where we are. "Well, what happened to her?"
Nagel shrugs, not caring. "Not my pig, not my farm." He looks around amongst us. "All this time with her and you really don't know who she is? Do you know what she's even capable of? The leverage you hold with her?" His eyes are steady on Charlie. "They really messed you up for you to not remember."
"What are you talking about?" She whispers at him. Her growing curiosity of everyone bringing up who she is, finally sets in.
"Your parentage."
"My parents are dead." Her voice sounds tired and blank.
"Not your real ones." He's cold as he looks at her.
"Doll, we don't have to do this here."
She turns and looks at me. "I don't want to do this Bucky."
"They've been looking for you for years. Your parents sure know how to hide you in plain sight. Even been able to look after you and be a part of your life." He laughs. Charlie steps over and smacks him.
"That's enough." Sam's voice is steady and deep.
"Is there any serum in this lab?" I change the subject to why we're here. Everyone knows about Charlie, but her. Everyone knows about my involvement with Charlie, but us. She silently thanks me. My gun goes back to his head. He refuses to answer, he's enjoyed toying with my girl.
"No." Nagel gives a sigh of relief when I move the gun off him.
I walk away, going closer to her, she needs me. Her eyes are glossy as she tries to deal with the task at hand. I place a strong hand to her hip, centering her. "Now what?" I ask looking at Sam.
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere, doll." I rub circles on her back, and her breathing steadies out. My hand cups her cheek as I search her face trying to get any of her emotions to come through.
Sharon runs through the lab. "Guys, we're seriously outta time here." Before anyone can respond Zemo pulls out a gun and shoots Nagel. I guess he solved the problem of no more super soldier serum.
"No!" Sam screams as he pushes Zemo up against the wall. Charlie looks down at Nagel, "I'm never going to know." She casts to me. I wish I could help her, but now we got to get out.
Sharon pulls the gun out of Zemo's hand. "What did you do?"
"Charlie, I need you to focus. We've got to get out of here, and get you back to Maggie. Can you do that?" Her hazel eyes meet mine as she nods. I see the shift in her posture as she knows that there will be a time for us to unravel her history.
The back of the lab blows up and I wrap my arms tightly around her as we crash through the floor. All of us groan and I lift my body up, pulling Charlie into me. My hand cups her cheek, "Bucky, I'm fine." She groans out. Satisfied with that for now, we look around. Chemicals of unknown substances rattle around and the entire lab is on fire.
"Anybody see Zemo?" Sam asks, pulling himself up off the floor.
"Let's go." I exclaim. Charlie grabs a hold of me as we all run out of the lab. It's whistling and dangerously hot as we run though the hall to the exit. We somehow make it out. "Alright! Wait for my signal!" Charlie gives me a nod. She pulls out a pistol from her side. Knowing that just the gauntlets won't be enough. These people want to kill us.
Sam runs out to the right, leaving me with Sharon and Charlie as we hide behind fallen shipping containers. We run around the corner, shooting in the direction of the bullets firing at us. Charlie releases a soundwave, immobilizing a man that I'm able to shoot. We play a dangerous game or shoot, duck, stand, soundwaves, shoot, duck. Even though we're surrounded all four of us are excellent marksmen.
"And you like living here?" Sam shouts at Sharon.
She aims and shoots before ducking back down, "It's not terrible."
I stand and shoot more. Thankfully I'm using my left hand because I hear a bullet bounce off of it. Ah. Charlie's eyes flick towards me and I nod letting her know I'm fine. We crouch back under the cover of the shipping containers and I shout at Sam, "I thought we were going left?"
"You went the wrong way!"
"I cleared the way!" I shout back at him.
"I came out first. You're supposed to follow me."
"And where are we now?"
"Guys, not the time!" Her sweet voice yells at us.
"I'm out!" Sharon shouts.
"This is a barricade." I continue my feud with Sam.
"It's in every action movie!" He argues back.
"Enough!" Charlie uses her empathy to stop our arguing. I feel my anger replaced with peacefulness as I look at Sam.
"That's not playing fair, doll."
"You two were acting like children. We have more important things to deal with right now." Her eyes are dark as she looks at me. I can see how exhausted emotionally she is.
An explosion happens that stops the shooting. We look over and see a masked Zemo taking out several men. "Go. Come on." I say clutching ahold of Charlie. Her skirt flows out behind her as we run away. More bullets surround us. I feel her skin pulse underneath my hand, as if electric currents run through her blood.
We run into the maze of the shipping containers as bullets continue to be shot at us. I drop Charlie's hand ripping off a bar from a container, hitting a man and throwing it into the shoulder of a woman before turning and following the group into a container. Charlie reaches back for my hand as we run to find an escape.
I bust through the back of a container and hear tires screeching, only to be met with an oddly calm Zemo in a car. "Supercharged." He tells us.
"You're going back to jail." Sam tells him.
"Do you want to find Karli or not?" Zemo answers.
"He's right. We need him." I tell Sam.
"You mind if I sit in the front?" I cast to her. She smiles and shakes her head no, jumping in the back. "And there's two of us, and at least twenty of them. Come on." I climb in the front and Sam gets in the back.
"Fine, but if you try that shit again..."
"I wouldn't dream of it." His icy cool voice assures Sam.
"Well, that was one hell of a reunion." Sharon says standing beside the car. My eyes stay fixed on Zemo. I don't trust him.
"Come back to the States with us." Sam wants to make things right for her.
"I told you I can't. Just get me that pardon you promised me. And Charlie for what it's worth, I'm sorry how things have been between us. But looks like you're right where you belong." She nods over to Sharon with a smile.
"Thanks for everything." Sam's body slides down in the seat. "You're not gonna move your seat up, are you?"
I've waited years for this moment. "No." I hear Charlie let out a giggle as Zemo drives off. Her body curls up and she lays her head on Sam's lap. Maybe I should have sat back there. Sam awkwardly tries to figure out what to do with his hands before he rests it on her shoulder. It isn't long until I hear her soft humming snores.
"You two should really look at that file." Sam tells me.
"I know. When she's ready. She has to be ready." I calmly answer. Zemo scoffs beside me.
"There's never going to be a perfect time to look into it. Everyone seems to know exactly who she is, and even why Hydra wanted her."
"It's true, James. She is important. She's powerful, more powerful than even she knows. A g..."
"It's her past, and she will dictate when she learns about it." I want this conversation to end. I listen and still hear her humming snores.
"Buck, Nagel said the people who raised her wasn't her parents. She was adopted obviously. Her true parents were able to be in her life. If she was adopted, Clint's not her uncle, and I doubt he's the one that's her father either."
"Sam..."
"No, when we were on the run people were looking for her then. Clint said it was because she aligned herself with you and Steve, but what if it's something more."
"It is." Zemo arrogantly answers. Sam nods his head basically telling me see.
"And when she's ready we will look in that file."
"Just trust her. Steve treated her like she was breakable. He always hid things from her."
"Like she was a breakable china doll?" Zemo asks.
My head flares up as I'm hit with a wave of déjà vu. "What did you call her?" I look over to him. He just smiles. "Sam, I'll encourage her to look. But this is something she has to do. I will not force her into it." He nods and the conversation is over. "In the file does it even mention who her parents are?" I turn to look at Zemo.
"Not concrete answers. There are guesses as to who her parents are. Ramblings from a crazy woman. And the fact of her full powers. They're very accurate assumptions." When this is over, we need to look in that file. Charlie's mystery is getting deeper.
__________________________________________________________________
Charlie's POV:
Sam paces the plane as he talks on the phone, "Donya Madani. She's a refugee, yeah. Okay, call me if you get a hit. Thanks, Torres."
Bucky sits beside me, his body turned to where he's looking at me cleaning his metal hand off with a handkerchief. I grab it from him, and begin cleaning it myself. I need my hands to be busy. Sam sits down with a huff, "You, okay?" Bucky asks.
"Yeah." Sam whispers. "Just thinking about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American test subject like Isaiah wasn't even a real person. Just makes me wonder how many people have to get steamrolled to make way for this hunk of metal."
Bucky intensely watches as I continue to clean his hand. I lay down the handkerchief and trace my fingers along his. "Well, it depends on who you ask. That hunk of metal saved a lot of lives." His eyes turn to Sam, and I continue grazing his hand.
"Yeah, I get that. Alright. Maybe I made a mistake."
"You did." Bucky deadpans.
"Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't have put it in a museum. I should have destroyed it." My eyes meet Sam's. There's a lot of overwhelming emotions surrounding the shield and even Steve for me. He acknowledges my movement.
"Look, that shield represents a lot of things to a lot of people, including me. The world is upside down, and we need a new Cap, and it ain't gonna be Walker. So, before you destroy it, I'll take it from him myself." Bucky's body leans closer to Sam. He's giving him his utmost attention.
Before Sam replies his phone vibrates and he answers, "Yeah. Yeah." Zemo comes and sits in the chair beside Bucky, offering plates of food. "Okay. Thanks. Good work." He hangs up and looks over at me, "They found Madani...dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea."
"I have a place we can go. I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli. Oeznik, we're changing the course." The three of us glance to one another, almost uncomfortable with how much we're trusting Zemo. He places headphones on and turns around with his eyes close. He's probably not listening to anything, just wants us to talk amongst ourselves.
Sam's eyes meet mine, "How are you feeling, Charlie?"
"I'm fine."
"Seriously? That's all you're going to say?"
"What more is there to say? We have a mission. We follow through, end of story." My body shifts around in the seat.
"So, you don't want to talk about what Nagel said to you?" Bucky asks.
"Not right now, no. I'm focusing on the mission."
"You sound like Steve." Bucky turns to look at me. I glare at him. He's right, when Steve was on a mission that's the only place his focus was on.
"Yeah. That...whatever is in that file, sounds like a lot. I barely remember my real, well who I thought were my real parents. And now there's someone, some people apparently in my life that are in fact my parents, and they're still alive. And I was in Hydra. People are after me, why? I don't know, but they are. And now I have to wonder, why would my parents give me up for adoption? And who exactly adopted me, and how did I end up in Hydra?"
"People have been looking for you for years." Sam softly tells me.
"Sounds like you knew about that. One of the many things Steve kept from me, huh? Look, that's a lot to unpack. And yes, I want to know. But then I'm dealing with all this. Sam, I get why you did what you did. I do, I think you were the perfect person to take up the shield. You are kind, you see the good in people, you're calm but authoritative, you care about people. And John, he's arrogant. And I have to watch the father of my daughter's legacy be run through the mud. She was so proud when she thought you were going to be Captain America. But I want you to want it."
"That's a lot." Bucky shakes his head, picking up my hand and holding it.
"It's been a lot for months now." He begins to remove his hand and I hold it tighter. "But Sharon's right. Oh, God I agree with her. I'm right where I'm supposed to be right now." Sam spins his chair around, grabbing headphones and placing them on before closing his eyes.
Before I can say anything more, my phone vibrates. It's Clint with a FaceTime. I excitedly answer making sure Bucky isn't in the frame. Maggie doesn't need that kind of confusing just yet. "Mommy! Where are you?" Her sweet little cherub face lights up.
"I'm on a plane little pearl. How is life on the farm?"
"Papa made me a little bow!"
I hear Clint giggle in the background, "Clint, she's three."
"Got to start them young. It's a little one. Just think if you started at her age." Maggie's face comes back in the screen, "Have you got Daddy's shield yet?"
"Not yet. Uncle Sam is working on it."
"Bucky, too?" Bucky's hand tenses tighter on my thigh.
"Bucky, too." I smile.
"Is he with you?" I look over to Bucky. "Are you asleep or awake? Pretty sure Maggie wants to talk to you." He gives me a big toothless grin and nods his head.
"He is. Are you wanting to talk to him?"
She squeals, "Yes!" I turn the phone to where Bucky is in frame, "Bucky! I've missed you. Where have you been?"
"I missed you, too, Maggie James. I had to do some work on myself. Needed some time alone for a bit."
"Does that mean you're coming home?" Shit. This isn't something Bucky and I have talked about. I see his eyes shift to mine as he searches for a way to answer.
"Eventually." He replies.
"Mommy, I got to go. It's bath time. I love you! Love you, too Bucky!"
"I love you too my precious pearl. Sleep well." The phone disconnects. "Sorry, I didn't think about how she would respond to seeing you."
"I really screwed up, Charlie. I shouldn't have left."
"No, we both needed that. I never got to actually thank you." He starts to interrupted me but I put a finger to his mouth. "No, you were right. We both had things we had to deal with, alone. I went from a relationship with Steve to you right away. But because of that time apart I became more independent. I figured out what I wanted. I never thought about how that would affect you. Yes, I know you knew about mine and Steve's complicated relationship, but it wasn't complicated after the blip. It was normal. I wasn't who I wanted to be with, but we had a good life. I made you deal with ugly emotions like jealousy with Steve, and it shouldn't have been that way. You love him, he's your best friend."
"How do you feel about him now?"
"Well, he's my daughter's father. He's an amazing man. I love him, and have always wanted the best for him, but I'm not in love with him. I don't want to be with him. I don't even look at him and fantasize about us. The only person I fantasize about is you. I understand why you feel the need to get this shield. And I agree. Steve was a good man. A hero, and also a legend. And I want the person who takes up that mantle to have the same values as Steve did."
Bucky's hand draws circles on my thigh, he pulls both my legs over his lap and pulls me into his chest, holding me as tightly as possible. "I never want to let you go again. I know you said you want to take time with us, and I want to give you all the time you need, but I'm also going to let you know I'm not going anywhere."
I pull my head off his chest, "I know." He looks down at me with a smirk before gently placing his lips on mine. My fingers tangle in his hair as I pull him closer, extending our sweet kiss to something more of a need. I needed to feel him on me. I move my legs to the floor before flipping my body to straddle him. His hands cup my ass and he pulls me closer.
My body instinctively reacts and I start slowly grinding on him, I hear him grunt before jerking his head away, "Not here, doll." I smile, seeing that we have an audience, they’re eyes are closed, but they’re still there. I stop with my movements. My lips ghost over his face and I trace my mouth along his neck. Finding the tender area where the shoulder and neck meet; I begin suckling and biting the area. Bucky's mouth releases a soft moan as he pulls me off of his neck.
Once I'm upright he returns the favor and kisses along my neck and collarbone. A hand drifts up under my shirt and his warm flesh fingers tickle up my skin before he cups my breast. Teasing and massaging it with his fingers. My breaths come out as panting as he continues to suck along my neck.
Creeping slowly his lips follow along my chest as he yanks my shirt down exposing the black bra, I have underneath. I feel him smile on me as he lowers the material. His tongue that drives me crazy makes contact with a nipple as he stimulates and teases me. Quickly he moves to the other side and begins to stimulate the other me.
His metal hand slides from my ass along my waistband and slips in between my legs. I whisper out a gasp as his hand finally makes contact with the heat and moisture that's pooling in between my legs. I bite at my lip trying to withhold any moan that may escape. While his mouth plays with one of my nipples, his right hand kneads the other, and his left-hand palms me through my jeans and then a feel a backhanded smack on my ass. Bucky and I both pause looking over at Sam.
"I really wish you two would quit while I'm right here. You've had your fun. Now fucking stop." I laugh as I crawl off of Bucky. Placing myself back how we were, my legs draped over his lap, as my head rests on his chest. He pushes himself to where he's leaned back more.
"I had to actually turn music on. Right behind me?" Zemo mumbles.
"We're taking things slow, right, doll?"
"Yes. Slow. I have to keep telling myself that." Bucky chuckles.
__________________________________________________________________
Bucky's POV:
We arrive in Riga, Latvia. Walking down the streets I hold tight to Charlie as Sam walks up ahead with Zemo. In another life this would almost seem normal. That long vacation that Charlie and I said we would take.
"I heard what became of Sokovia. Cannibalized by its neighbors before the land was cleared of rubble, erased from the map. I don't suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial?" I know he's referring to the people who were actually involved with Sokovia, but it still stings. They were our teammates. "Of course not. Why would you? We are here." I glare up at Zemo. He doesn't know what all of us have been through.
I glance down at the ground, and a Kimoyo bead reflects the sunlight. They're here. I know that me getting Zemo out of prison will be frowned upon. But it was a necessary thing to do. I look back up and over at Charlie, pretending as if I didn't see anything. "I'm gonna go on a walk."
"You want me to go with you, James?" She asks. Yes. I don't want to lie to her, and I really don't want to be away from her.
"Yeah, I'd like that." The Wakandans not only adored Charlie, but there is a bit of respect towards her. Steve always kept her in the dark, thinking he was protecting her. I'm done with trying to do things that way. I want her to be my equal.
"You good?" Sam asks.
"Yeah. We'll see you guys in a bit." We turn and walk off. Needing to follow the beads. They'll be waiting on me. I look back making sure they go into the house and lean to pick up the bead. She sees what I pick up and knows what this means. My eyes look towards an alley. This has to be where they are. I look around, making sure no one is following me. Silently Charlie follows closely beside me.
Sure enough, I find another bead. I guide us into the alley way. Both our eyes glance around. "You dropped something." I hold the beads up, still walking down the alley. Charlie and myself spin around in the alley looking for someone, anyone. And then, I sense her. We spin back the way we were, "I was wondering when you were going to show up."
"I'm here for Zemo." Ayo speaks in Xhosa. I knew she would be coming. They want Zemo to pay for the death of T'Chaka. As they should.
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#marvel#marvel fan fiction#marvel fanfiction#tfatws#tfatws fanfiction#tfatws fan fiction#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x oc#sam wilson#helmut zemo#zemo#marvel smut#smut#smut warning#tfatws smut
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The Assistant - CH. 2
Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.
pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character
warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695
Cool air stung her face as she followed Sadie off the train. They'd left London completely under the thumb of summer so the autumnal chill was entirely welcome. She sucked in the familiar earthy, forest air, relishing in the arrival at their destination, and shook the image of her family having dinner tonight without her while pushing through the crowd of students chatting loudly. The small Hogsmeade platform was hardly big enough to house them all so she quickened her pace, desperate to emerge from the pack before the crowd was shoulder to shoulder.
As she walked, she eyed the students around her hopefully. There was still one dear friend that she owned a greeting to but she hadn't seen her on the train. She searched the crowd making its way to the enchanted carriages at the beginning of the forest and spotted sporadic curls walking quickly behind a group of Gryffindors, a few feet in front of her.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Hermione Granger outside of their evenings in the library. Her almost two-year-long friendship with the witch wasn't necessarily a secret but it was certainly unexpected and not very well known.
It had been annoying at first, sharing her late-night library refuge with the young bushy-haired witch, until one night they talked so long that Madam Pince had found them asleep at the desks around sunrise. They'd crossed paths almost every night in the library since, spewing factoids, and quizzing each other but also sitting in comfortable silence. She would never admit it to her fellow Slytherin's but studying with Hermione always made her miss her younger sister a little less.
"Alright, Granger?" She called loudly enough to cut through the bleating crowd, accidentally making her friend jump a little. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's necks snapped back towards her, ready to defend their friend, but relaxed and kept walking at the sight of her.
She scowled. If she had to see any more red hair today, she would vomit. She didn't mind Harry or Ron too much, not that she'd ever spoken more than a few sentences with them. But, by the way, they spoke to Hermione when they came to occasionally tear her away from the library, they didn't appreciate the brilliant witch nearly enough, which rubbed her the wrong way.
Hermione abandoned her red and gold crowd briefly to awkwardly hug her shoulders. "Violet!"
She had grown a bit taller over the summer and Violet no longer had to look down on her, now they stood face to face. Her tawny eyes were bright against her freckled skin. A summer of unwinding had done her some good.
"How was your summer," Hermione continued, smiling broadly.
"Excellent, and you," she asked into Hermione's signature curls, as the witch held her tight.
"Quite busy really, I have loads to tell you," she exclaimed. "I'll find you in the library, I've made some astounding discoveries in Arithmancy that I think you'll find interesting."
Hermione let go of her shoulder as Harry and Ron pulled her onto the enchanted carriage, landing next to Neville Longbottom, a particularly tragic Gryffindor.
"I can't wait to hear about advanced potions this year," she half shouted from her seat, waving as they rolled away towards the castle.
That's right, it was her sixth year so she finally got to be in the N.E.W.T level potions class, the most advanced potions course that Hogwarts offered. How had she forgotten? She silently thanked Hermione for the much needed happy thought.
"You'll be sick of hearing about it before Christmas!"
She smiled. Leave it to the Gryffindor to make her look on the bright side of things.
Sadie pulled her up to their carriage and nuzzled into her as they glided through the trees, cold air whipping any exposed skin.
If it weren't so cold, it would've been a nice walk. The Hogsmeade train station was close to the spot she occasionally wandered to in her free time. There were a few feet, closer to the lake where the various protection spells and other charms were weakest and her cassette tape player worked. She stared at it longingly as they passed by. It, and a few books, would be the closest she'd be to the muggle world for another year.
The Great Hall was already hustling and bustling with students scurrying to say hello to friends from other houses before the feast commenced, by the time they got there. The ceiling glowed ominous blue and black, mirroring the storm that was brewing outside. Below it, thousands of candles hovered, glittering the ornate gold accents and casting bright reflections around the room.
One more important hello left, she thought, as Sadie dragged them to their table.
She passed the Bloody Baron, shooting their house ghost a nod, and craned her neck to inspect the head table at the front of the room before sitting down.
Professor Snape was already glowering at the Slytherin table, inspecting them for appropriate behavior no doubt, so all she needed to do was raise her arm in a small wave to get his attention. It took only a second for his eyes to find her. She greeted him with a curt smile, to which he responded with a polite nod. His somber eyes lit up for just a moment at their interaction but it ultimately made no dent in his stoic expression, not that she expected much more than that. He was incredibly guarded, strict, and stoic but she respected him immensely.
"Did you see him?"
Sadie pulled her down to their seats.
She furrowed her brow in confusion. "See who?"
Sadie huffed slightly, aware that she hadn't been listening to her since they walked into the room.
"Graham Montague!"
She'd heard that name too many times come from Sadies mouth to be curious about what was on about. Their tumultuous fling for the past few years had been exhausting to hear about.
"Oh yes, sorry I see him, but I wish I couldn't," she rested her head in her hands and tried to look interested.
"He wrote me over the summer you know," Sadie continued, ignoring the dig. "I told him that he owed me five galleons for making me read his stupid ramblings."
The sound of thunder made the room jump as the clouds on the ceiling broke, signaling a night of rain. Impatience had never been a flaw of hers but silly, elongated ordeals like the first feast of the year brought out the feeling in full force. It was a huge fiasco that took forever. She tried to calm her anxiously bouncing knee but it was torture to be away from the library when it was raining. No one would be there to witness the water droplets ricocheting off the stained glass that contorted the sprawling green grounds outside, transforming the world into a Monet painting.
The front doors opened with a bang and she turned to watch the soaking wet first years scurry down the center aisle. Enchanted music swelled to greet them, much to the surprise of the muggle-born students. They looked like they'd stumbled into a dream as they registered the amount of magic swirling around them.
Her first year, she'd pinched herself the entire boat ride across the lake, waiting for the majestic castle to disappear and be replaced by her bedroom ceiling. Her father's descriptions of the castle and campus hadn't done it justice and she still found new things to marvel at from time to time. She wished there was a way to sneak a camera in next year so that she could capture her sisters reaction.
The festivities crawled at a snail's pace. She politely clapped along for every sorting, ignoring the pang of nerves in her gut when a few of the newly sorted Slytherins scampered over to greet Malfoy with a handshake, clearly aware of the pure-blood supremacy they were joining, and it's leader.
The others nervously stared at their plates, occasionally looking up to search for a friendly face, which she and Sadie were always happy to provide. It was tough, especially for those who were aware of Slytherin's reputation but had expected to be sorted into a different house. Tougher though, for those who had to learn the hard way. She pitied them, as she'd pitied herself. Her father didn't talk about the wizarding world much so she was left to piece together the dos and don'ts through old photos and whispers between her parents. It was a learning curve, especially coming from a muggle school but it took almost no time to realize that a simple green tie could be interpreted in terrible ways.
She glared at the sorting hat as a professor whisked it away.
The shrill noise of echoing metal against glass signaled the room to be quiet. Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat, effectively hushing the students. He extended his arms, the silver of his robes shimmered in the candlelight, as his soft eyes took in the room.
"I have only two words to say to you," he said, pausing pervasively. "Tuck in."
Dinner flooded onto the tables, appearing out of thin air. She craned her neck to watch the first years again, the shock on their faces was hilarious and would probably take a few more meals to disappear. The rest of the room was completely distracted by the lavish meal.
Finally.
"That's my cue," she whispered low enough for only Sadie to hear, turning to swing a leg over the bench.
"I don't think you can escape so easily."
She shot her friend a puzzled look before following her gaze towards the closed main doors, being guarded diligently by the caretaker, Filch.
"Bloody hell," she huffed, glancing around the buzzing room for an explanation. Sadie spotted the Bloody Baron again, making his way down the table and beckoned him to join them.
"Tell me, Baron," she mewed, smiling sweetly. "Why does Filch look like he'd tackle anyone who tried to leave?"
Even in his wispy white form, the Baron's eyes twinkled at the opportunity for gossip. You wouldn't expect it from his name but he had two soft spots; Slytherins and the chance to spread rumors.
"You didn't hear it from me Miss Baldock but the Headmaster wants everyone here for a special announcement at the end of dinner," he answered in nothing more than a whisper. "However, I would be willing to assist you, should you need to make a quick escape." He bared his teeth and shot a devilish glare at the caretaker.
So, she was stuck.
"Thank you Baron but that's alright, I'd hate to miss anything important," Violet insisted, resettling herself back on the bench.
"Suit yourself, Miss Wilkes, I might just go and do it anyway. Excuse me," the ghost floated back through the hall, giving them a mischievous wink.
She glanced back up to the head table. Other than a few more empty seats than normal, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe he had some new professors to introduce? Or perhaps some new school rules to brief them on? Either way, the thought of being trapped was making her restless.
She pursed her lips in thought and begrudgingly returned to the one-sided conversation Sadie was having with her.
"As I was saying, if we don't have Care of Magical Creatures together I will have a fit."
She held her fork and picked at the food in front of her; trying and failing to enjoy herself.
"Oh Sadie, please tell me you're not still on about your obsession with Hagrid," she regarded her friend with a knowing glance.
"I am not ashamed of my lust for a big, daft man," Sadie said, pointing her chin towards the rest of the Slytherin table. "Lord knows none of these twigs could do the job — daft yes —but twigs none the less."
She laughed, easing the nerves in her torso. Sadie's pessimistic view of their house wasn't entirely wrong, the only exceptions were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, two particularly porky fourth years who followed Malfoy around like puppies. Definitely not the big and dumb that Sadie was looking for.
She'd never really looked at anyone from her house as a romantic possibility. Very few gave her the time of day and the ones that did usually regretted it. Her short fuse and hot temper didn't mesh well with the haughty nature and overconfidence of most Slytherin boys.
She participated in bits of conversation here and there during dinner but was at her wit's end by the time dessert finished. The air shifted from excitement to agitation as the rest of the room finally noticed their inability to leave. Dumbledore must have sensed the unrest because not a moment later, he was situated at his podium in front of the head table.
"Now that we are all settled in a sorted, I'd like to make an announcement," his voice echoed through the hall and drowned out the inquisitive chatter. "This castle will not only be your home this year but home to some very special guests as well. See, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event, the Triwizard Tournament."
The conversation was instantaneous and ricocheted off of every surface. Students, mostly from wizarding families, picked their jaws up off the floor and tried to explain the exhilarating news to their less-informed peers, like herself.
The noise was enough to make her miss the train.
Over the twittering, Fred Weasley yelled, "You're JOKING," from the Gryffindor table and the room burst into a fit of laughter. Even Dumbledore struggled to stifle his giggle of delight.
"No, Mr. Weasley, I am not joking. Now for those of you who don't know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a magical contest."
Their headmaster paused dramatically, and then continued, seemingly satisfied with the awe-struck look on nearly everyone's faces.
"From each school, a single student is selected, and let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. Trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted." His voice turned eerily serious and a shudder rattled down her back.
So not a fun, light-hearted tournament then, she thought. It had been a shock to learn that most things in the wizarding world came with a good amount of danger, even some of the most common forms of travel were riddled with risk. She was an idiot to think that a school event would be any different. Just look at Quidditch.
"More of that later," he said, snapping out of the somber trance. "Now please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies from the Bauxbatons Academy of Magic and their Head Mistress, Madame Maxine."
The doors finally opened and a group of girls clad in light blue silk strutted through, nearly appearing out of midair. She rose out of her seat slightly to watch them flit down the aisle between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, releasing blue butterflies with every step. Male voices erupted into cheers. Not surprisingly, the lewdest and loudest comments came from the Slytherin table.
Disgusting pricks had no respect. Not even for themselves.
"Blimey, I'd crack skulls if I were that big," Sadie gasped.
The giant Headmistress waltzed in behind her students, lead by Dumbledore.
"What a woman," she echoed, trying to tune out the embarrassing howls from her male peers as the French witches finished their show. She'd heard of other wizarding schools around the world but never expected to see their students in person.
She clapped along and admired the flattering Bauxbaton's school uniform. Who on earth had designed the grey and black Hogwarts uniform when other schools got that?
Maybe an all-girls school wouldn't have been such a bad idea.
"And now, our friends from the north," Dumbledore bellowed from the podium once more. "Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff."
With a bang, a group of large, tall, men strode into the hall sporting dark turtlenecks and fur coats. This time it was Sadie shouting lewd comments over the crowd.
"Bloody hell I think I'm going to slide off my seat," Sadie said breathlessly, pretending to grip her arm for support. "Guess I won't have to settle for Hagrid this year!"
She couldn't help but smile and laugh at the unconventional, scandalous humor of her friend.
The Durmstrang boy's faces were stoic and brooding, clearly, the cold northern winters were less kind to soft adolescent features. She wondered how they could be the same age as anyone at Hogwarts.
Sparks poured from the ends of their walking sticks, each strike leaving scorch marks on the stone floor. Gasps echoed through the hall as their quick pace eventually turned into a run, with some bounding forward to show off incredible acrobatics before joining the Bauxbaton girls at the front of the hall. Cheers turned into low murmurs as a man, who she guessed was their headmaster, walked into the room with a very stoic and large boy at his side.
"Fuck me," Sadie muttered. "That's Victor Krum. I can't believe my eyes. He's even better looking in person."
Violet tore her eyes from the pair strutting down the main aisle. "In person? What do you mean?"
"Quidditch of course," she snapped. "He almost won Bulgaria the Quidditch World Cup just last week. It's a wonder how he even has time for school."
Figured. Her father didn't even follow muggle sports, let alone wizarding ones. She'd successfully avoided the Quidditch pitch for a majority of games and could barely name a single ball.
The three headmasters met at Dumbledores podium, but the room was still abuzz, eyeing the celebrity excitedly.
This was her chance.
"Fill me in later," she said, swinging her legs over the bench, once more, to hop up from the table. She crouched and ran, hoping to go unnoticed.
"You're a real bore you know that," was all she heard before a rogue lighting bolt from the enchanted ceiling above helped her slip out the door without interruption.
Filch didn't notice her disappearance and she heard the doors slam closed when she was a few feet away. The noise was canceled immediately. The silence was a relief after nearly an entire day of chaos.
She marched towards the library, trying to stick to the shadows as much as possible, as she didn't normally go out of her way to break the rules like this. The halls were empty except for a few raging fireplaces, lighting her way and the occasional preoccupied ghost.
The isolation was heavenly.
She pressed a hand to the library door and pushed. Locked. Of course. Madam Pince was still at the feast, she thought, pressing her wand to the door.
Alohomora
The unlocked doors opened with a loud groan signaling that no one had been there all summer. The long room with mazes of books, desks, couches, and chairs was stale and less inviting in its dark state, than it normally was, fully lit and busy.
Incendio
She smiled. The familiar flickering orange glow illuminated the room and extinguished the final bit of nerves left from the train ride and annoyingly long feast.
One,
Two,
Three…
She counted the bookcases diligently. It took 40 to get to the hidden alcove at the end of the hall but even if she lost count, she'd know her plush, velvet chair anywhere.
No one except for Hermione ever wandered that deep into the library so the long walk was well worth the refuge and privacy that it allowed.
The sound of rain echoed through the shelves and high ceilings, creating a loud repetitive sound, only interrupted by her thudding footsteps on the rug. She dodged a few self-sorting books, enchanted to move on their own, but other than that, there was no movement.
Thirty-eight,
Thirty-nine,
Forty.
Relief.
The large wingback velvet chair in the corner welcomed her back with a familiar creak and groan as she nestled into her favorite spot. Nothing about the sanctuary had changed. Her chair, the oversized couch, and Hermione's long wooden desk with a few matching chairs sat exactly where they had been when she'd left in June. Satisfied with the familiar surroundings, she turned her attention to the large window. The colors outside were much less vibrant as darkness cascaded over the campus but at least she could still make out the last of a purple and pink sunset reflecting off of the lake.
Accio
A copy of Advanced Potions came barreling out of a bookcase too far away for her to see and landed in her outstretched hand. The familiar purple cover reminded her of all the ways that the castle felt like home.
The first time Snape had given her a copy of this textbook was during her fourth year. She'd worked through it late into the night for almost the entire term, only being befuddled by a few of the more time-consuming recipes. The look on Snape's face as she'd presented him with a box of vials containing the completed potions just before Christmas break, was the closest she'd ever seen him smile.
The pages were crisp as she flipped idly through the instructions, much different than her worn copy, and decided on the chapter about love potions.
After a few hours of leisurely reading, she battled the heaviness of her eyelids in vain. She nodded awake, surrendering to her need for sleep, and muttered a spell to return the book to its place. The library was still entirely undisturbed as she made her way to the door sleepily.
The sound of heels clicking over the whirling wind and rain against the windows signaled Madam Pince's return at the entrance of the library.
"I just cannot keep you away," the librarian said, letting her pass. "Is Granger back there as well or can I lock up for the night?"
Violet grinned. "Nope, just me, and I'll be out of your hair until tomorrow."
The generally stern woman shot her a wink and closed the door behind her. Madam Pince had probably seen enough of her to last an entire lifetime but she always made it seem like she was pleased to see her every time. Violet wondered if it was genuine.
Her exhaustion escaped her as she stepped out into the hallway, finding it in a state of disarray with her peers abuzz, running from one group to another, all gossiping about the Triwizard tournament.
Darting back down the main hall, she dodged running Prefects, and giggling underclassmen, sticking to the wall to avoid any familiar faces. Even on a normal day, it was quite easy to disappear in the vast castle and busy hallways. Steering clear of wandering eyes only took a step into a shadow here, or a quiet shuffle behind a babbling group, there. Which is just what she did as she made her way through the corridor. Only a few more paces of being invisible and she'd be back in the dungeon.
The energy in the hall practically rattled the stone walls. She couldn't fight the feeling that she'd missed something else important. She wondered if she was correct, and if leaving early had been worth it. The answer came as soon as the thought passed her mind, as a familiar voice boomed through the hall.
"They can't do that!" George Weasley yelled. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"
Her heart race quickened as the redhead and nearly half of Gryffindor house came into view only a few feet away.
"They're not stopping me from entering," Fred waved his arms wildly next to his brother. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"
Of course, they wanted to enter. There was no doubt in her mind that a Gryffindor would be chosen as the school's champion. They had a tendency for danger, and for proving bravery. She stayed in the shadows but watched the pack's trajectory closely, fearing that it might intersect with hers.
Hermione trailed behind the group, ushering them towards the moving staircase, and pestering them about being the last ones to make it to the common room. The young witch always looked at her whits end around her friends. How she had the energy to herd cats, was a mystery.
Violet accidentally caught her eye and picked up her pace, hoping to escape the group of extroverts with a smile and a nod.
"Violet," Hermione called as they crossed paths. "Can you believe the news about the tournament? Are you thinking about entering? You're seventeen aren't you?"
It would have been easy to lose them in the crowd but she couldn't be rude to her friend. Even if she was accompanied by a pack of lions. Begrudgingly, she peeled herself out of the shadows and met them in the middle of the hall.
"Not until October," she admitted to the group, all of which had their eyes on her. They were significantly less intimidating than her own house, but annoying all the same. The Weasley twins appeared to her left but she refused to meet their eyes.
How was it possible to avoid their hi-jinx for nearly five years, and now, she'd seen them three times on their very first day back, twice before they'd even made it to the castle. Well, she thought, bad things always come in threes so this would surely be the last time having to speak with them.
"The tournament doesn't start until after Halloween so you'll be just in time," Hermione said in an awkward tone, clearly sensing her apprehension. The encounter was uncomfortable but she appreciated the interesting revelation about an age limit. It certainly explained the prominent maturity of the students from the other schools.
The twins pushed between her and Hermione before she could answer.
Her heart rate spiked slightly. The devilish look in their eyes from when they'd entered her train car had returned. Were they going to confront her about the incident? Make her do something worse and in front of everyone?
"An older woman then," George sneered, still looking rather burnt about their previous encounter.
"Whaddya say, Wilkes? Do us a favor and put our names in the Goblet?" Fred echoed.
He loomed over her, his eyebrows arched in question and mouth stretched from ear to ear. She doubted he'd ever held his tongue in a conversation this long, and appreciated the show of restraint.
Regardless, she rolled her eyes. "And watch you get yourself killed?" She took a step around the boisterous twin and squeezed Hermione's hand in a silent goodbye. "I'd be happy to."
The Gryffindors laughed at Fred's protests but she ignored them, pushing through the group, regretting leaving the announcement too early.
She practically flew down the dungeon stairs, happy to have escaped from the interaction with minimal worlds. Freezing air and the smell of stone and musk welcomed her underground. It was good to be back.
The Slytherin common room door came into view and her excitement fizzled. A long summer away had made the putrid password, slip from her mind.
This was, perhaps, when she envied other houses the most. They all changed their common room passwords with the seasons, or just for fun; ad-libbing silly meaningless phrases to make homesick first years laugh as they entered their home away from home.
Not theirs though.
It stayed the same, year after year. She kept it hidden in her subconscious, only acknowledging it for the split second it took to open the common room door. Even then, she tried to regard it as meaningless, simply an old-fashioned tradition that refused to die, but deep down she knew what it was.
Submission.
A forced admission of blood superiority so that everyone knew, regardless of house, who was meant to submit to who. The sour taste lessened the more times she said it throughout the years but the first time back was always the worst.
Her lips curled and teeth bared in order to force her tongue to spit it out.
Pureblood
The stone slab slid away, revealing the elegant stone, leather, and green velvet common room within. She shook off the cloud of disgust and wove through a sea of familiar faces chatting and hanging off of couches and chairs. A group of seventh-year boys boasted loudly to the room about how they would bring Slytherin glory by winning the tournament.
She sucked her lips to her teeth and swallowed a smile. These purebred, pampered, prats wouldn't last a day in the muggle world, let alone with actual beasts, she thought.
Sadie practically pounced on her as soon as she pushed open the door marked Wilkes & Baldock. Despite her roommate's animated pestering, their new two-person suite, a perk for upperclassmen, was quite peaceful. Emerald sheets, curtains, and pillows, accented by dark wood furniture and adorned with silver knick-knacks, memorabilia from alumni past, made the room quite cozy.
She looked around the room once more before submitting to Sadie's chatter.
"Alright, what did I miss?"
"Could you have taken any longer? I've been back for ages," she scolded, pacing back and forth while trying to hold a straight face. "Sometimes I wonder what you would do if I wasn't always waiting around to fill you in on stuff."
She smiled at Sadies attempt to be withholding, especially with such clearly juicy information. Keeping secrets was not her specialty, not that Violet minded. Her lack of scandalous behavior ensured that she only ever got to reap the rewards of her friend's knack for gossip and weakness for babbling.
"But you are," she reminded her.
Sadies half-hearted scowl cracked. "Good point Vi," she said with a bemused grin. "Okay, where do I even begin to begin?"
Violet made herself comfortable in a pile of throws and cushions on the floor and listened attentively in order to correctly adorn Sadies dramatic retelling with appropriate gasps of shock, and bursts of laughter.
It wasn't that Violet didn't like to talk, because she did, but Sadies ramblings were somewhat comforting to her. It relieved her of the pressure to be entertaining, or the center of attention. She liked how relaxed she could be, as her friend had no expectations for her to fill the silence.
She'd missed the arrival of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who had quelled the stray lighting that had covered her escape. Sadie hadn't caught his name but he was apparently very strange looking, not an unusual trait for the rather cursed position in recent years.
Sadie's face lit up as she recounted the looks of shock from everyone in the room when the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation from the Ministry of Magic had stepped forward to warn them about the real dangers of the tournament, and deliver the bad news of the age limit.
Real dangers, she thought. What had they been dealing with beforehand?
Their school definitely seemed more pampered than the Durmstrang's. Surely no one at Hogwarts stood a chance against these men somehow passing for teenagers, who looked like they'd seen worse things on their walk to class than they had in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She didn't even want to fathom the skill hidden behind the pleasant French faces from Beauxbatons.
She couldn't think of a single person at Hogwarts who might fare favorably against the dangerous tasks that had been alluded to. She wouldn't stand a chance unless she could bring a potions kit and be allotted weeks on end to brew. Maybe Hermione, but she was much too busy. If the twins did indeed find a way to enter, they wouldn't stand a chance at surviving, unless the monsters they faced liked pranks and bad jokes.
"Obviously I am going to enter," Sadie said. "I mean I've basically fought half the school already. And I'll take any chance I can get for those Drum — whatever, boys to fawn over me."
Strangely enough, it wasn't Sadie's worst idea.
"I'll happily and safely cheer you on from the stands," she assured her friend. "And help you cheat of course."
Sadie squealed in delight and continued her lecture, only stopping when she noticed how difficult it was for Violet to keep her eyes open.
They changed for bed, and Violet whispered an incantation to turn off the lights, ignoring Sadies not so silent departure from the room shortly after. Probably sneaking off somewhere to argue and then subsequently make out with Graham Montague for the millionth time.
Sleep came for her quickly, and she gladly joined it, despite the ominous impending images of Death Eaters and Dark Marks.
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I know what you’re thinking… Is selling online profitable? sure! much easier to start an online business than it is to open a local store. You can sell virtually anything online and get started as soon as today.
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Grey || Chapter 1
2023
Helmut Zemo
Scheisse!
I’d forgotten that some electronic devices would have spotty reception during this flight to Madripoor, but another part of me cursed once more for attempting to contact someone in particular. Several decades passed since I’d last seen her in and I knew better than to act as if she’d listen to me, especially since my imprisonment.
“Did something in your plan go awry?” James probed, sitting across from me without closing too much space between us both. Meanwhile, Sam perched himself into one chair of the opposite aisle, sitting alone.
“No, James, but I appreciate your concern regarding the mission.” I tucked away the small burner phone, hoping that he would not ask many other questions before we landed. We shared silence, but prompted gratefulness to reach my thoughts.
Only I knew the truth.
______
“Got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” This bearded guard addressed me minutes after we reached Madripoor. By now, I’d entered the Brass Monkey Saloon with James and Sam, planning to contact Selby then after. This bar also lined with decor that would’ve reminded children of Halloween as skulls perched in all corners.
“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if you insist, either come and talk to me or bring Selby for a chat.” Facing that guard, I motioned my gloved hand between him and James, showing authority I’d held by noting current placement of the Winter Soldier. Meanwhile, Sam, dressed in his red-brown suit, remained silent.
“The Power Broker, really?” James eyed me without much emotion whilst asking his brief question.
“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray that we stay under his radar.” I remarked, keeping my voice low amid the presence of others.
“Do you know him?” Sam countered, leaning as well.
“Only by reputation. In Madripoor, he’s judge, jury, and executioner.” I continued, acknowledging how influential The Power Broker had been.
“ Зимний солдат, атака.” A different patron of the bar had lurked nearby, but dared to touch my shoulder. In turn, I uttered Russian, signaling the need for James to attack. Voices of shock and surprise had filled the area, adding noise.
“What is going on?” Sam questioned me moments later. Across the room, James then turned the earlier patron’s arm and inflicted more pain to others almost immediately afterwards. Here, we won, earning slight notice in the venue now.
“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” I uttered to Sam , shoving another guest of the bar towards this fray. As long as we kept up notice here, there wouldn’t be problems, no matter how much people recorded with their phones.
“Shit.” Sam mumbled in return moments later, watching as various people aimed their guns or readied other weapons to defend against us. Meanwhile, James had now clutched his brace around someone’s throat, holding him near the bar counter.
“Stay in character before the whole bar turns on us…Молодец, Солдат.” I reminded James and Sam, keeping my warning quick as Sam peered. I then spoke in Russian once more and turned to face James, still encouraging him as The Winter Soldier.
“Selby will see you now.” The Bartender acknowledged what happened and permitted our entrance towards Selby. Meanwhile, that poor and seemingly helpless victim of James slipped off the bar with this large thud, coughing.
“Thank you.” I said, quickly leaving as Sam and James began to trail behind me. At least we could leave this bar alive.
______
“You should know Baron, people don’t just come into my bar and start making demands.” Selby lounged on her favorite sofa once more, resting her arm onto its backend.
“Not a demand, an offer.” I sat down in one of the adjacent armchairs. Both James and Sam cornered themselves to stand in the room, not bothering to act comfortable while staying in character.
“A lot has changed since you were here last. By the way, I thought you were rotting in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby remarked back, noting my current presence and freedom away from those claustrophobic walls.
“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” I smirked, emitting feigned arrogance to keep us alive just a bit longer. There was no other choice. Once again, I knew much better to give us away, especially now.
“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger. What’s the offer?” Selby bravely purred in the direction of Sam, gesturing her hands to imitate the ferocious cat of his alias-namesake. Yet, her eyes faced me, asking to describe the purpose of our visit.
“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum and I will give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want” I stood up from the armchair and lurked to James, momentarily baiting Selby here.
“Now, that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you or want or thank or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the Serum, but things didn’t go as planned.” Selby almost plastered her wickedly famous smile whilst I then sat back down in the posh armchair and listened to this extremely significant information. James and Sam were once again quiet.
“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” I asked, lifting one of my gloved fingers to emphasize the question itself.
“The breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery’s gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her sofa and gestured to me. I could only imagine what else had to be done.
Just when I planned to respond, Sam's cell phone buzzed out loud. My thoughts now raced with anger as we all glanced around the room. Selby’s guards had departed the nearby shadows and lifted weapons, planning to attack, of course.
After Selby demanded for the call to go on speaker, we heard Sam’s sister, Sarah. This clueless and innocent woman did not realize our mission in the slightest. As Sam and Sarah bickered to and fro, I froze, eying nothing but the farthest wall.
“Sam, let me call you back.” It was not long before Sarah had acknowledged Sam by name, ruining our cover during this mission immediately. Even James had nearly lost his own composure, for good reason.
“Sam, who’s Sam? Kill them!” Selby glanced around, realizing that we were all imposters now. Just moments later, however, this singular gunshot pierced through the glass of a nearby window, ending Selby’s life without fail. Accurate, perfect.
“They’re gonna pin this on us.” Sam huffed. Between gunshots, guards in the room aimed to put up a fight with us. James and Sam defend themselves as I rose from the armchair and cornered us all, lifting my hands when Sam had addressed me.
“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” I breathed to respond quickly. Outside the bar, cell phones chimed, pinging a bounty message. A reward would be given to anyone who found Selby’s killers.
______
“Deactivate your hustle mode because you sell fake Monet pieces.” Sam wasn’t convinced that Sharon Carter kept such exquisite artwork in this high-rise. James and Sam were moving around, eyeing the property as others would keep sight.
“No, she means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet, Van Gogh, classics.” I recalled more information, but paused midway through my own acknowledgements… Sharon, James and Sam still conversed, but left me alone.
At that moment, I cornered to take out my burner phone, hoping to see if a call would actually go through. At least I could rid this device if need be, otherwise the digital exchange would be found by others. Blue and white lighting of the room kept me hidden to an extent.
Placing the phone against my ear, I watched as Sam and James kept chatting with one another. Sharon looked uninterested, but annoyed all at once. Meanwhile, I listened as three dialing rings filled my ears. I’d waited too long for this moment.
“Hi, you’ve reached Dionne Charles. I’m sorry for missing your call, but if you leave a message after the tone, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks and have a great day.”
There it was. Somehow, her sweet voice hadn’t aged in the decades that passed since we first met. I shut both eyes, immediately remembering the pretty smile that always hid whenever she sipped from those champagne flutes after the auction.
Before I could dare to clear my throat and leave a message, Sam caught me off guard.
“Are you just gonna stand there all night to use your phone or change into different clothes? Sharon’s got clients visiting soon.” Before I could dare to clear my throat and leave a message, Sam caught me off guard.
“Apologises.” Facing Sam in return, I tucked away my phone once more, heading towards one of the last guest rooms located here to switch my current attire.
Tonight would show a great reprieve until the next hurdle came along.
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#SIYC
Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for sensitive language and content
It gives me sweet little pains in my heart Like a sweet little rain, that falls for a flower And that's love A new kind of love
– A New Kind of Love, Skylar Grey
The sun had already set when the little party ended at the Home for Boys. The day ended with hugs and high fives, some ugly cries too – from the big guys, not the kids. The team promised to be back the next year. Even with that promise, goodbyes weren’t really that easy. Juvia had to comfort a sobbing Mika all the way to the presidential car. She said it never gets easier.
After a laughter-filled dinner and teasing, Gray invited Juvia to walk off the carbs. He took her to the back part of the house, to the most beautiful flower-filled garden Juvia has ever seen.
Mika Mine hand-grown the flowers in her garden. She started with just some dark pink Geraniums she liked sitting around the house. Not until she found that large blank canvass behind her mansion that the Mine matriarch eventually developed a certain fondness getting her hands dirty, waking up early to water them and most of the time, talk to her plants. She said it was therapeutic, helping her cope with the stress. Gray uneasily admitted he was almost always the reason for her stress. So, her mother named that garden after him.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Juvia was sure Mika Mine’s garden would have been very beautiful under the brightest shine of the sun. She took a note to come visit the “Stressful Gray Garden” in the morning. Tonight, she took the time appreciating the living attraction in the silence of the evening. It was simply magical.
Illuminated by natural moonlight, Gray and Juvia covered the narrow pathway, bathed in cold breeze and silver light. On either side of the pathway were beautiful, fully bloomed flowers on trimmed shrubs. But they cleared the path that led somewhere more beautiful, as Gray promised.
“More beautiful than these flowers borne out of the stress you caused?”
Juvia looked around the backyard garden. Mika Mine outdid herself. Or Gray was just a stressful fellow to raise. Page Six did a good retelling of how Gray painted the town red. Looking around the fully bloomed buds around the ‘stress garden’, Juvia had a feeling she didn’t know the half of it. Different kinds and colors scattered around, giving life to Mika’s green-thumb project, like fresh from a Monet painting. If Olivia Lockser saw this, she would have begged Gray’s mother to become best of friends or maybe died of jealousy. That’s a thought.
“Yes. But not as beautiful as my girlfriend.”
Gray pulled her to a stop. As a gentleman who had his fair share of women, Gray knew that off-hand ‘more beautiful’ comment would read as ‘even than your girlfriend?’ He crossed the small distance between them and got himself that kiss that he’d been waiting for. It was just a brief brush of the lips, like a kiss shared in children’s books, at the end of the story, when the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. One innocent kiss like that came so naturally.
Juvia wiped the stain of lipstick that transferred on Gray’s lips. Then, she took his hand, taking the lead this time. They walked down the narrow path, side by side. Her small hand was clasped in his bigger one, her slender fingers intertwined with Gray’s. She leaned on Gray every now and then, wanting and needing the contact. They exchanged stories here and there, talking about nothing much really, until they reached the end of the paved path and a silhouette of a familiar structure emerged.
“That, girlfriend, is my favorite part of this house.”
The ground they stood on was abruptly cut by a grassy, shallow slope, right before the rectangular pavement began. Gray guided the ballerina down the sloping garden, watchful over Juvia who was trying not to lose her footing, and held her hand as he ushered Juvia onto the flat surface.
“Stay here.”
Gray’s absence was quickly missed. It made the breeze feel colder against the skin. Juvia enveloped her arms around her own frame to fight the chill. Her eyes never left the figure jogging towards a shed. Even through the dimness, Juvia saw Gray pushing a lever. The light coming from the lamp posts standing at each corner flooded the playing surface. In the floodlit view, Juvia could make out the unmistaken round hoop attached to the backboard; the rectangular pavement bordered by freshly cut-grass. Juvia knew enough about basketball to recognize the lines painted on the pavement. Although, it did seem to have seen better days. There were obvious wear and tear, a few repairs here and there. When the mansion decided to move forward, that particular part of the house was left behind.
She lost Gray for a moment, not finding him where has just a minute ago. Next thing she knew, her boyfriend was standing next to a covered cart near the stone bench. He peeled off the cover, bent over to pick one ball out. Gray remained standing, feeling the rubber skin in his palms, taking his time, like some sort of ritual. He then waved his girlfriend to come.
Juvia crossed the paved court, her purposeful steps synced with the bounce of the ball in Gray’s hand. But instead of running toward the ring to show off a perfect shot, as Juvia expected, Gray replaced the ball inside the cart. He met her half-way and led Juvia to rest at the stone bench.
“Man, I spent most of my childhood here.” shared Gray. He turned to Juvia, who remained quiet, and held her gaze. “This is where everything began, you know.” The usual confidence in Gray’s smile was hidden safe for the time being.
Gray left her side and covered the pavement with sprints toward the middle of the court. His absence allowed the breeze to touch on her exposed skin, penetrating through the fabric of her clothes.
“My first shot.” He dribbled an imaginary ball and pretended to shoot the same, flicking his wrist like the pro that he was. Juvia imagined the ball went in perfectly and she clapped, humoring him with his ‘play pretend’ game. Then, Gray scampered over to much nearer the ring, executing the familiar two-step footwork before he jumped off his left foot and shoot with his left arm. The ball would have hit the backboard and went into the hoop without miss.
“My first lay-up.” He made a quick chuckle. “It wasn’t a good one. That I admit.”
Gray dashed back to the center, the tip of one shoe nearly touching the white paint which Juvia recognized as the three-point line. Hoopster had his proper posture down to a T: with feet shoulder-width apart; his dominant foot ahead the other; knees bent at the perfect angle; his toned body and shoulders squared toward the basket. His dark blue eyes were unrelenting, drilling a hole on his target. Juvia has seen it far too many times, but every time Gray fell into that stance, her heart skipped a beat. Like any minute now, something magical was about to happen. That’s how he always made her feel. Gray held the ball above his head, elbows bent in the perfect degree, then he snapped his wrist, ending his signature three-point shot with a perfect follow through. Juvia was back at the lower box of the Fairy Academy Dome, her heart in her throat as she and the rest of the roughly six hundred basketball fans waited at the edge of their seats.
His sharp blue eyes, now staring at Juvia’s mesmerized ones, pulled the ballerina out of her reverie. He resumed his rightful spot next to her at the stone bench, drawing a long, slow breath. That little prancing around the court didn’t tire him out. Gray didn’t even break a sweat but showing off to his girlfriend did exercise his lungs.
“My dad always said, ‘Gray… if you. Want to set yourself apart from the others, you need a signature’. He decided, right there and then, that three-point shots would be mine.” He relayed to Juvia. “He trained me day and night until I perfected that shot.” Those perfect three point shots that eventually earned him his nickname.
To Juvia, it sounded like the Fullbuster patriarch was a believer of putting in the time. She knew now where Gray got his hard-working disposition. She believed in that too… nothing of value was ever borne out if taking it easy. Juvia believed in the hustle, too. His father may have had all the connections to make her dream a reality sooner but Juvia was never one to want everything handed to her.
“Or passed out, whichever came first.”
He tried to play it off as a joke but Juvia could see no humor in Gray’s eyes nor that forced smile – because he was talking about his father. Once, when they were just starting to get along, Silver’s name was mentioned in passing. Juvia remembered how his expression turned serious and how Gray quickly changed the subject. It was obvious back then that it was a touchy subject, one Gray would rather not talk about. Ironic, considering how Gray was considered an open book, his tales of gallivanting making headlines. But Juvia understood, that topic was too personal for Gray. This was the first time that the elusive Hoopster was the first to mention Silver Fullbuster to her, which only meant one thing – he trusted her. She knew better than laugh. Juvia sought his hands, took them in hers and giving them a gentle squeeze – one that told him that she was there. This time, she was going to be there for him, like how he was always there for her. It was Juvia’s chance to show Gray that she was going to be the one he could rely on; the one he could trust with his heart. If she could, Juvia would have eased the pain she knew was still there. A big chunk of Gray’s heart was still missing. But there wasn’t much she could do but to lend an ear. Her soft gaze told him she was ready to listen.
Gray heaved out another breath, preparing himself for the outpour.
“I miss him every day, you know. He was my best friend.”
Gray wasn’t looking at Juvia. He was staring at somewhere at the court, remembering. A bittersweet smile touched his lips, eyes looking out at the empty court as if he was watching the figures play on the paved ground – Silver and an eight-year-old Gray.
“He trained me in this very ground. Sometimes, we’d just play around all day until mom calls us for dinner.”
When Gray turned to the quiet ballerina, his eyes were different. The soul behind them was different. He was showing another side of him, one Juvia has yet to see. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul; that they held the truest, most genuine emotions. Tonight, those windows held his vulnerability.
“He wasn’t just my coach, my strict trainer. He was my dad.”
Juvia knew she was only an audience, merely a listener. She didn’t say a word and continued to listen even through the shy moments of silence that filled the in-betweens. A few strands of black hair fell over his forehead. Juvia brushed it away from his face, tucking them back to that shock of coal-black hair.
“What I am now is all because of him.”
Honor and gratitude equally shone through his dark eyes. But there was another one hiding behind that shine – loss. He lost his father. The tears he was holding back was for that important person taken from him far too soon. Juvia knew of the pain of losing someone she loved but she could never fully understand what Gray went through, still going through. It was something that sticks with us no matter what happens.
“When I was in my senior year, my school was up for a championship in the regionals. He stayed behind because he wasn’t feeling well. That was a first for him because he was always present to all my games.”
It’s been more than a decade but the memory was as fresh as if it happened yesterday.
“The neighbors called my mom. They said dad was… my dad was on the way to the hospital. He had a heart attack.”
His last words felt like a silent whisper lost in the soft gust of wind.
“She hid it from me. My mom waited until I finished the tournament. And when I got there… when I got to the hospital,” Gray shifted in his position, his strong jaw tightening at the memory, at the long-forgotten anger that resurfaced. He faced Juvia, finally letting her see that side of him he never wanted to show people. And she saw the tears in his eyes that he tried to hold back. “It was too late. He was there, lying on the hospital bed. His doctor just…covered him in that… in that white sheet.”
He brushed away the tear that managed to fall and for some reason, an awkward chuckle erupted from him.
“I don’t even know why I’m still crying over it.” He said, harshly wiping the tears with his bare palm.
“It never really goes away.” offered Juvia.
“For years I’ve blamed my mother. I blamed her because I couldn’t even properly say goodbye. Then, basketball.” Gray huffed. “God, I hated basketball.”
Juvia remembered that silent, blank space in his career. When he graduated from High School, everybody expected Gray to be the first to be picked out for the draft season. No one ever heard from him since the news of his dad’s passing.
“I should have stayed, you know. I should have been there for him.”
Regret clouded his dark blue eyes like an unkind storm rolling in.
“It isn’t your fault, Gray.”
Gray visibly gulped.
“I know that. But for so long I’ve been so angry at everyone around me.” He struggled to bit back the sob. “If I hadn’t met Natsu at that orphanage, I would have never went back to basketball.”
“Is that why the Home was so important to you?”
His only answer was a gentle smile followed by a stretch of silence. Juvia thought Gray didn’t want to continue but he did.
“I realized, basketball was only way I can feel closer to him. When I touch that rubber ball, the rough texture of its skin, the smell of the rubber, the beat when it hits the floor, suddenly, I was back here.” He didn’t need to point to the open space. “In this court, with my dad, teaching me how to properly hold my first ball.”
He gave her a small smile, a result of a mixed feeling of gratitude and regret.
“That’s why I can never hate basketball ever again.” He expelled a breath that felt like a finality, like an end. The worst part was over. “Why are you crying?”
Juvia laughed it off, looking like some crazy woman as she frantically rubbed her eyes. She told Gray she didn’t even know why. That wasn’t true. Juvia was crying for him, for all the bad things he went through and for all the good things that came after. She couldn’t feel more proud of him, of how Gray overcame that painful moment in his life. Not all could recover from that loss. But Gray was strong. A warm feeling swelled up in her chest. Juvia was grateful he was able to overcome his rock bottom. Now, he was on top of the world.
Gray reached to Juvia, cradled her wet cheeks between his palms. She leaned into the warmth of his hands. Juvia wished she could be there for him back then, to help him go. Through that darkness. That’s all in the past. All she could do was be here for him now.
“Look at us crying like idiots.”
They made a shared attempt to laugh. Then, Gray gathered her in his arms, lending his girlfriend heat against the night chill. But more so, feeling sorry for having Juvia go through all of that. Yet he was grateful to be able to get it off his chest. It wasn’t easy to be so out into the open, to even admit to any weakness. In his world, in basketball, there was no room for weakness. But even if he covered himself of layers and layers of defenses, at the very core he was still vulnerable. When he saw Juvia struggle through her dance albeit being a professional, seeing the stern, no-nonsense ballerina he first met being bothered by the small things as performance jitters or her paralyzing adoration for Aquarius, Gray realized that he didn’t have to keep up appearances all the time. That he could just be him – flawed and human.
Hoopster rested Juvia’s head against his chest, gently stroking waves of her long, silky hair while Juvia listened to his heart’s every beat.
“Man, after all the ugly crying, you still think your boyfriend is cool?”
He used to think that his pain was his weakness. It did almost ruin his career and his future once. He was never going to let that happen. He was never going to let his emotions get the better of him. So, Gray went through all those superficial relationships, if he could even call them that, and worldly fun, albeit fleeting. But now he decided it was time to break down the wall. He was ready to allow himself be vulnerable.
“Much cooler.” answered Juvia as she snuggled into his hard chest. “Much, much cooler.”
Because now he wasn’t just some fantasy Gray Fullbuster that was perfect at everything. He was real.
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Writer’s Corner: Allowing yourself be vulnerable in front of that person you love, I don’t think it can get any realer than that. As promised, this is a double chapter posting since, as you noticed, this chapter is a little short.
P.S. We got a new design because we are entering a new age.
tags: @ship-ambrosia @juviaafullbuster @keencreatormuggoop @sasskiiia @anaken101 @mika-milano @icelyn20 @gruviafanficsyo @nay-ssi @shampooneko @hiccstridhumour @shounenmangaotphell @ftmains @sobatsu @freeezingrain @gruvia-galaxy @tinyvoidtrash @juvialockseroff @jetblackrevival @cobblepottantrum
#gray x juvia#gruvia#she's in your court#siyc#be-dazzled#gray fullbuster#juvia lockser#fairytail#fairytail fanfics#gruvia fanfics#gruvia au#modern gruvia#gruvia fanfic
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The Divine Hustle
Do the hustle(!)
Working yourself to the death has never been so glamours!
To live in America is to play by the business savvy handbook. America has never been a country of a wholesome omniloving God, instead the USA has always been the land of fleeced pockets. Much of America has fetishized the concept of “Hard Work” from the Puritantical Protestants to the Bootstrap pulling fantasia sprung from the Industrial Age. Some business CEOs even go as far to reinvent history by putting the word “Hustle” into Abraham Lincoln’s mouth:
“Things may come to those who wait … but only the things left by those who hustle.”
An actual quote from our Hardest Working President Business
Yes, Lincoln the original Tall King, the first Presidential White Saviour, a Myth more than Man, the living embodiment of a Pull Yourself By the Bootstraps Aesop fable. He needed that stove pipe hat to hide his vast quantity of hustle. I can see why a Business CEO type would be tickled by this fake quote. Lincoln’s legal work had him making more money at times than that of a prominent State Governor. There are reasons why he’s a Money Man. So tell me, Encyclopedia Britannica why would Lincoln feel the drive to accumulate this money and capital? Does it stem from Abraham Lincoln’s insecurities and low self-esteem from coming from a low income background? EB offers us none such info but it does lean heavily into Mary Todd Lincoln being a questionable influence on Lincoln. The EB is quick to file MTL as being the Insane, Difficult Woman who has developed an “obsessive need to spend money.” Of course, Lincoln had to make all of this money in order to pay for his expensive crazy wife. Makes perfect sense if I am someone completely stoned and drunk from hagiography and cute, quaint reductive views of history.
Lincoln’s business savviness is made abundantly clear in his failed presidential campaign against Douglas. He published personally curated debate transcripts and his own Biography to hawk on the campaign trail. The acute self-awareness of his own remarkableness is perhaps one of Lincoln’s main shortcomings and strengths. The man worked himself into a frenzy, constantly looked emaciated and worn down, and for what? The one few times he tries to take in one of his only pleasures in life, The Arts, he gets murdered. The Capitalist Mythmakers want us to forget about all of that. Abraham Lincoln worked because he loved to work and he was a good American, therefore if you want to be a good American like Lincoln, you’ll work the Hustle.
Yes, this essay has been nothing but the ramblings of someone pretending like they know what they are talking about, but everytime I see the word “Hustle,” exclusively when it’s being used in terms of celebrating hyper capitalist America another part of me dies.
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Wow, the people look meaningless from up here.
The New York Hustle. The Detroit Hustle. To do these hustles once meant finding a dancing partner for the night and telling the 4/4 rhythm, “4 steps are fine, but six steps are even better.” Now the New York Hustle is working three unpaid internships with the promise that a slightly underpaid gig could be on the way. All language inevitAbly changes and evolves, but that doesn’t mean I have to be okay about it. The modern hustle is the joy killer. The modern hustle is pushing and shoving fellow hustlers over the faint whiff of dining room scraps. To hustle is to continue to believe in your own self mythology so hard that you too can become your personal Lincoln. An emaciated, husk working for the Good of the Company, er, I mean Nation. Maybe a scuzzy Matthew McConaughey will give you a spin. That’s sure to make any hard worker smile before she collapses.
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Have you ever seen a side hustle news filler story that didn’t make you want to walk into a murky ocean’s depths? One Google “News” search of the term hustle brings up this article about a New Zealand Woman supposedly planning slumber parties during Covid times. One can only assume that this is the case because the article (sourced from the highly reputable looking Stuff.co) despite being published in February 2021 makes no reference to the pandemic. This is because New Zealand has already moved well beyond those covid days. Covid slumber party nightmares aside, the idea of hiring a professional slumber party planner in or out of Covid times is a brazenly gross idea. The extent of “planning” that should go into a slumber party is how much should you tip the pizza delivery driver, how many boxes of brownie mix, and maybe the one job I could jokingly fathom hiring a person for is choosing what regrettable movie a kid should watch at a slumber party.
Slumber parties are for children, and can easily be planned and arranged by a child. There should never be a need to outsource “Harrypotter glam” themed teepees and treats. Maybe that’s the kind of life people in New Zealand want to lead and if certain individuals want to have that ambitious drive to make a ridiculous small company they should be free to do so. The sinister creeping reality is that the standards of the Exceptional Money Making Individual are becoming the standards everyone is expected to live up to. Passion for the sake of passion, and art for the sake of art is getting the squeeze in favor of monetizing slumber parties.
Monetizing off of Twitter followers. Monetizing off of newsletters. Monetizing off of podcasts. Content creation for the sake of profit is basically the main reason the Internet exists anymore. If you have something you love to do in your life like the act of reading a book you better be willing to invest in a USB microphone and recording booth to start your audio book reading career because otherwise you’re just reading a book. You’re just playing a video game when you could be streaming yourself for all of your adoring fans and followers. I could be thinking, but instead I’m tweeting.
I do not respect the Hustle. I respect differences and a variety of lifestyles. I respect Passion and drive. I do not respect the Hustle, because the side hustle is just a full-time job the capitalist system is trying to make you consider a “side” project. One look at this exhaustive CNBC “The ultimate side hustle guide for 2021”, and what they are describing is not a side hustle but starting your own small business. They are not the same thing. A side hustle should not require an immense amount of time, personal wealth, and the possible necessity of hiring a freelancer and tax analysts to start when you are already working a full-time job and/or participating in the American Breeding Dream.
I know that I am lazy compared to many over working Americans. I am already in my late twenties and still staunchly refuse to engage in American Adult Tie Sensitive Checklist. I would like to work, truly I do. I would love nothing more than to be in possession of a job in a safe and humane company that legitimately favored Human Kindness and Decency over the Grind. Working for a company that didn’t feel like the sole purpose of its existence is to make more and more money.. I am trying to minimize. I am trying not to let other people’s perceptions clutter and crowd out my mind. I am trying to survive through this pandemic that has completely melted what little brains and physical strength I had. I will not stop trying to do the Divine Hustle.
Let’s just appreciate this blurry picture of Divine being eaten by a lobster and call it a day.
#hustle#side hustle#economy#personal essay#capitalism#employment#employee#work#america#divine#John waters#Abraham lincoln#lincoln#president lincoln
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